《Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods》 Paladin Class Rules: Pdin ss Rules: Here is a brief introduction of the Pdin ss. Be aware that some things are simply copied from sites. For those of you who are familiar with the D&D game, I will not be using skill bonuses, hit points, or dice. Know that I am trying to adapt these rules to make the powers as consistent as possible in the world of ''A Song Of Ice And Fire''. So take this information with lead feet as I will be updating the various rules as much as possible to fit the story. I will also publish in the future all the spells and its rules. The Pdin as early as level 2 may be able to use spells. We still have to get to that part. On the, with a little bit of research, you can already find most of the things you want to know specifically. From Level [1] acquires: Skills Armor: All armor, shields Weapons: Simple weapons, martial weapons Divine Sense: The presence of strong evil registers in your senses as a noxious odor, and powerful good resonates in your ears as heavenly music. As an action, you can open your awareness to detect such forces. Until the end of your next turn, know the location of any celestial, demon, or undead within 60 feet of you that is not behind full cover. You know the type (celestial, demon, or undead) of any being whose presence you sense, but not its identity. Impose your hands: Your blessed touch can heal wounds. You have a pool of healing power that fills up when you rest for long periods of time. With this pool, you can restore a total number of hit points equal to your pdin level 5. As an action, you can tap a creature and draw power from the pool to restore a number of hit points to that creature, up to the maximum amount left in your pool. Alternatively, you can spend 5 hit points from your healing pool to cure the target of a disease or neutralize a poison that affects it. You can cure multiple diseases and neutralize multiple poisons with a single use of Lay on Hands, spending hit points separately on each. This trait has no effect on undead and constructs. From Level [2] Combat Style At 2nd level, you adopt a fighting style as your specialty. Choose one of the following options. You cannot take a fighting style more than once, though you can choose againter. Defense When wearing armor, you gain a +1 bonus to AC. Duel When you wield a melee weapon in one hand and no other weapon, you gain a +2 bonus to saving throws with that weapon. Fighting with Large Weapons When you roll a 1 or a 2 on a damage die for an attack made with a melee weapon you are wielding two-handed, you may retract the die and must use the new roll. The weapon must have two-handed or versatile ownership for you to get this benefit. Protection When a creature you can see attacks a target other than you that is within 2 yards of you, you can use your reaction to impose a disadvantage on the attack roll. You must wield a shield. Spells At 2nd level, you have learned to tap into divine magic through meditation and prayer to cast spells as a cleric does. See Spell Rules for general spellcasting rules and the Spell List for the pdin''s spell list. Preparing and Casting Spells The pdin table shows how many spell slots you have avable to cast your pdin spells. To cast one of your pdin spells at 1st level or higher, you must spend one spell level slot or higher. You regain all spent spell slots when you finish a long rest. For example, if you are a 5th-level pdin, you have four 1st-level spell slots and two 2nd-level spell slots. With a Charisma of 14, your list of prepared spells can include four 1st or 2nd level spells, in anybination. If you prepare the 1st-level cure wounds spell, you may cast it using either a 1st-level or 2nd-level slot. Casting the spell does not remove it from your prepared spell list. You can change your prepared spell list when you finish a long rest. Preparing a new pdin spell list requires time spent in prayer and meditation: at least 1 minute per spell level for each spell on your list. Divine Strike Starting at 2nd level, when you hit a creature with a melee attack, you can spend a spell slot to deal radiant damage to the target, in addition to weapon damage. From Level [3] : Divine Health At 3rd level, the divine magic that flows through you makes you immune to disease. Sacred Oath * When you reach 3rd level, you take the oath that binds you as a pdin forever. Up to this point you have been in a preparatory phase,mitted to the path but not yet sworn. Now choose the Oath of Devotion described at the end of the ss description or one from another source. Your choice grants you features at 3rd level and again at 7th, 15th, and 20th levels. These features include Oath Spells and the Channeling the Deity feature. Oath Spells Each oath has a list of associated spells. You will gain ess to these spells at the levels specified in the oath description. Once you gain ess to an oath spell, you will always have it ready. Oath spells do not count toward the number of spells you can prepare each day. If you get an oath spell that doesn''t appear on the pdin spell list, the spell is still a pdin spell for you. Channeling Divinity Your oath allows you to channel divine energy to power magical effects. Each Channel Divinity option provided by your oath exins how to use it. When you use your Divinity Channel, you choose which option to use. You will then need to end a short or long rest to use your Channel Divinity again. Some Channel Divinity effects require saving throws. When you use an effect of this ss, the CD is equal to your pdin spell saving throw. From Level [4] : Improved Skill Score *. You may give up this trait to take a talent of your choice. From Level [5]: Extra Attack Starting at 5th level, you can attack twice, instead of once, each time you take the Attack action in your turn. From Level [6] Aura of Protection Beginning at 6th level, whenever you or a friendly creature within 10 feet of you must make a saving throw, the creature gains a bonus to the saving throw equal to your Charisma modifier (with a minimum bonus of +1). You must be conscious to grant this bonus. At 18th level, this aura''s range increases to 30 feet. From Level [11] Improved Divine Strike At 11th level, you are so imbued with the power of righteousness that all of your blows with melee weapons carry divine power. Whenever you strike a creature with a melee weapon, it takes extra radiant damage. From Level [14]: Purifying Touch Starting at 14th level, you can use your action to end a spell on yourself or a willing creature you touch. You can use this trait a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum once). You regain consumed uses when you end a long rest. From Level [18]: Aura Enhancements. At 18th level, the range of your auras increases to 30 feet. *Pdin: Oath of the Ancients The Oath of the Ancients is as old as the race of elves and the rituals of druids. Sometimes called fey knights, green knights, or horned knights, pdins who take this oath take the side of light in the cosmic struggle against darkness because they love the beautiful and vital things in the world, not necessarily because they believe in the principles of honor, courage, and justice. They adorn their armor and clothing with images of things that grow - leaves, horns, or flowers - to reflect theirmitment to preserving life and light in the world. Source: yer''s Handbook Ts of the Ancients The ts of the Oath of the Ancients have been preserved for uncounted centuries. This oath emphasizes the principles of good above any concerns ofw or chaos. Its four central principles are simple. Kindle the Light. Through your acts of mercy, kindness, and forgiveness, kindle the light of hope in the world, beating back despair. Shelter the Light. Where there is good, beauty, love, andughter in the world, stand against the wickedness that would swallow it. Where life flourishes, stand against the forces that would render it barren. Preserve Your Own Light. Delight in song andughter, in beauty and art. If you allow the light to die in your own heart, you can''t preserve it in the world. Be the Light. Be a glorious beacon for all who live in despair. Let the light of your joy and courage shine forth in all your deeds. Oath Spells You gain oath spells at the pdin levels listed. Oath of the Ancients Spells Pdin Level Spells 3rd Ensnaring Strike, Speak with Animals 5th Moonbeam, Misty Step 9th nt Growth, Protection from Energy 13th Ice Storm, Stoneskin 17th Commune with Nature, Tree Stride Channel Divinity When you take this oath at 3rd level, you gain the following two Channel Divinity options. Nature''s Wrath. You can use your Channel Divinity to invoke primeval forces to ensnare a foe. As an action, you can cause spectral vines to spring up and reach for a creature within 10 feet of you that you can see. The creature must seed on a Strength or Dexterity saving throw (its choice) or be restrained. While restrained by the vines, the creature repeats the saving throw at the end of each of its turns. On a sess, it frees itself and the vines vanish. Turn the Faithless. You can use your Channel Divinity to utter ancient words that are painful for fey and fiends to hear. As an action, you present your holy symbol, and each fey or fiend within 30 feet of you that can hear you must make a Wisdom saving throw. On a failed save, the creature is turned for 1 minute or until it takes damage. A turned creature must spend its turns trying to move as far away from you as it can, and it can''t willingly move to a space within 30 feet of you. It also can''t take reactions. For its action, it can use only the Dash action or try to escape from an effect that prevents it from moving. If there''s nowhere to move, the creature can use the Dodge action. If the creature''s true form is concealed by an illusion, shapeshifting, or other effect, that form is revealed while it is turned. Aura of Warding Beginning at 7th level, ancient magic lies so heavily upon you that it forms an eldritch ward. You and friendly creatures within 10 feet of you have resistance to damage from spells. At 18th level, the range of this aura increases to 30 feet. Undying Sentinel Starting at 15th level, when you are reduced to 0 hit points and are not killed outright, you can choose to drop to 1 hit point instead. Once you use this ability, you can''t use it again until you finish a long rest. Additionally, you suffer none of the drawbacks of old age, and you can''t be aged magically. Elder Champion At 20th level, you can assume the form of an ancient force of nature, taking on an appearance you choose. For example, your skin might turn green or take on a bark-like texture, your hair might be leafy or moss-like, or you might sprout antlers or a lion-like mane. Using your action, you undergo a transformation. For 1 minute, you gain the following benefits: At the start of each of your turns, you regain 10 hit points. Whenever you cast a pdin spell that has a casting time of 1 action, you can cast it using a bonus action instead. Enemy creatures within 10 feet of you have disadvantage on saving throws against your pdin spells and Channel Divinity options. Once you use this feature, you can''t use it again until you finish a long rest. The Price of Magic The Price of Magic Hello everyone. Here''s a little summary to keep an eye on market prices,ponent value, and spell power. Each of the three cities: Oldtown, Braavos, and Carcosa sell mana stones. Each at a different, but set price. At the moment, only Carcosa can produce Mana Stones with all threeponents. Carcosa has a monopoly on the engraving of Runes. -The Guardian of Magic keeps all runes to be engraved on the refined dragon ss. 2) Braavos has a monopoly on the sale of magic ink. The Iron Bank buys the mana stones worked by Carcosa. -The Guardian of Love has control over the process of refining blood into magical ink. It sells the ink only to Braavos. 3) Oldtown has thergest stock of Dragon ss in the known world. -The Keeper of Beauty has control over the process of reshaping andpressing Dragon ss into spheres. The Guardian sells the ss spheres only in Oldtown. P = Penny CS = Copper Star = 8 P. SS = Silver Stag = 56 P. SM = Silver Moon = 392 P. GD = Golden Dragon = 11,760 P. --------------- Divine Blood Market: Braavos (Iron Bank) First Tier. x Cup ( 259.75 mL ); x Drop ( 0.05mL ) Low Blood: 1 SM. 0.075 P. Dirty Blood: 3 SM. 0.2 P. Common Blood: 9 SM. 0.6 P. Non-Common Blood: 27 SM. 2 P. Rare Blood: 2 GD + 21 SM. 6 P. Very Rare Blood: 8 GD + 3 SM. 18 P. Second rank. Semi-Pure Blood: 56 GD + 21 SM. 127 P. Pure Blood: 396 GD + 27 SM. 882 P. Purest Blood: 2,788 GD + 9 SM. 6,174 P. Blood King: 19,518 GD + 3 SM. 43,218 P. Legendary Blood: 136,626 GD + 21 SM. 302,526 P. Sons of God Blood: 956,386 GD + 27 SM. 2,117,682 P. Sons of God, Divine or Blood of God = No Price. Magic Ink Market: Guardian Love (Zick) x Cup ( 259.75 mL ) Rare Ink: 5 GD. Mana Stone 2 Very Rare Blood: 15 GD. Mana Stone 3 2nd Tier. Semi-Pure Blood: 105 GD. Mana Stone 4 Pure Blood: 735 GD. Mana Stone 5 Purest Blood: 5,145 GD. Mana Stone 6 Blood King: 36,015 GD. Mana Stone 7 Legendary Blood: 252,105 GD. Mana Stone 8 Blood of Sons of God: 1,764,735 GD. Mana Stone 9 ----------------- Dragon ss Market: Oldtown (Hightower) Each 9.16 Ounces (259.75 grams): Basic ss (2; Dragon Cub): 2 GD + 21 SM. Low ss (3; Baby Dragon): 8 GD + 3 SM. Second Tier. Medium ss (4; Young Dragon): 56 GD + 21 SM. High ss (5; Dragon): 396 GD + 27 SM. Off Market; Pure ss (6; Adult Dragon): 2,788 GD + 9 SM. Ancient ss (7; Ancient Dragon): Off Market; 19,518 GD + 3 SM. Legendary ss (8; Semi-Wyrm): 136,626 GD + 21 SM. Dragon King ss (9; Wyrm): 956,386 GD + 27 SM. Market Refined ss: Guardian of Beauty (Green King) Sphere (259.75 g) Base ss (2; Baby Dragon): 5 GD. Low ss (3; Baby Dragon): 15 GD. Second tier. Medium ss (4; Young Dragon): 105 GD. High ss (5; Dragon): 735 GD. Off Market; Pure ss (6; Adult Dragon): 5,145 GD. Ancient ss (7; Ancient Dragon): 36,015 GD. Legendary ss (8; Semi-Wyrm): 252,105 GD. Dragon King ss (9; Wyrm): 1,764,735 GD. ---------------------- Market Mana Stone: Carcosa (Magic Confederation) + Magic Guardian (Lo Tho). Price per Stone N. of 0 level spells in each stone Mana Stone Base 2 = 15 GD; 9 x 0 Mana Stone Low 3 = 105 GD; 27 x 0 Mana Stone Medium 4 = 735 GD; 81 x 0 Mana Stone Hight 5= 5,145 GD; 243 x 0 Off Market; Mana Stone Pure 6= 36,015 GD; 729 x 0 Mana Stone Ancient 7= 252,105 GD; 2,187 x 0 Mana Stone Legendary 8= 1,764,735 GD; 6,561 x 0 Mana Stone Imperial 9= 12,353,145 GD; 19,683 x 0 Chapter 1: Prologue: Chapter 1: Prologue: My name is Matthew and I would like to tell you the story of how I became ''The Pdin of the Old Gods''. I had just entered a half-empty Subway car, a few stops from there I would finally make it home. I held an envelope in my hand with the logo of a modeling and board game store. I was anxious to get home to study the new expansion of the famous D&D game (5e edition) well. ''Heh heh, next Saturday we will start the new campaign I can''t wait. The wizard this time, I will choose the wizard! For goodness sake it was still cool to y the Pdin, but it''s time for a change!'' I thought excitedly. I noticed a little girl a few feet away from me who looked 12 years old at most. ''Alone in thete evening at this age'' I thought showing an involuntary frown. ''If I were her father I would be anxious, but after all this is a quiet part of town.'' And I went back to my own business. During the next stop thest 3 people on the carriage exited, leaving me alone with the girl, facing each other. Before the doors closed a tall individual with a ck leather jacket and a hood covering most of his face entered. The hooded figure walked briskly towards the young girl who seemed rxed and not in the least bit concerned about what had happened, in fact she had a small hint of a smile on her face. "Come with me now. Hell is your home. Do NOT force my hand." He threatened the individual with a serious tone. "Pff...Over an hour to find me?! You''re losing it...heheh... Anyway, the answer is NO!" Replied the girl in a childish and slightly distorted voice. I was quite shocked at the bizarre bickering event. ''What a fu**? Should I reconsider my previous opinion about the quiet part of town! He doesn''t look like a father or a brother'' I thought anxiously as I instinctively stood up. I had always had a passion for fantasy stories of heroes saving the innocent and helpless maidens. More as a hobby than as a sport, I had tried many types of fencing and martial arts even though. I had never reached a very good level in any of them I could honestly consider myself average. Not once in 15 of my 23 years have I ever needed to put myself in a dangerous situation, but today was the day, I could feel it, my legs moved on their own instinctively sensing the tension. "Sir excuse me don''t you think you''re overreacting? You''re scaring the youngdy." I said unbelievably as the ''youngdy'' had a strange and disturbing smile of defiance on her face. I approached anyway trying to interpose myself between the two. "Get as far away as you can boy! For your own good!" he said, pulling out of nowhere a long sword wrapped in white mes. I stood frozen, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, as if the world had stopped. But my numbness did notst long, a stabbing pain in my back and chest apanied by a terrible sound woke me up. I looked down and saw a small red wed hand sticking out of my chest. "Still worried about these useless bugs Micheal..." said a shrill, inhuman voice. "LILITH DAMMIT!!!" this is thest thing I could hear as my vision darkened and a sense of exhaustion swept over me. "AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" ...PUFF...I plummeted into the void for what seemed like an interminable amount of time and all of a sudden Inded on a chair made of clouds. "Forgive the transition, I am Archangel Metatron, no this is not a dream, yes you are really dead and yes this is what you humans call ''PARADISE''." Said a suave andmanding voice in a mechanical manner. "FORGIVE THE TRANSITION!!!??" I shouted. "I WAS PR..." "Precipitating for about 3 hours I know, the time between earth and this dimension is different, you''re about the ninth billionth soul to tell me that." He replied again in a recorded manner while continuing to turn his gaze towards his book. At that point I noticed that the angel in front of me was the spitting image of ''n Rickman'' in the movie ''Dogma''. "Before you tell me who I look like, I''ll let you know in advance that you humans see us angels in the form you are most familiar with and feel mostfortable with. So please don''t describe me is very irritating." "So let''s see what we have here..." on the fine desk made from what looked like ivory appeared a gray scroll. Metatron unrolled the document and frowned. "O no...it''s an ''DDI''..." He said in disgust putting a hand to his forehead to hold up his head. ''Oh holy Tyr I''m an DDI!!!...Wait what the hell does that mean?'' I thought terrified. I panicked thinking about all the possible bad things I have done in my life. "Yes I admit I''ve let myself go a little bittely, but I swear I quit smoking two years ago andtely I''ve been getting back into exercising and eating healthy!!! I already confessed to my parents that I stole the money from the drawer, not the cleaningdy! I had already paid back every penny with interest and I had to go all the way to that remote vige in Peru to find Miss Carmen and apologise to her!!!!!" I said desperately trying to speak as fast as I could. "Save this ''Chunck from Goonies'' tantrum. ss ''DDI'' means ''DIMENSIONAL DIPLOMATIC INCIDENT''...Father every powerful...I hope it''s not him...phew," he took a moment. "YOU OFFICIALLY HAVE THE RIGHT TO A LAWYER," he said aloud. "OOOBJECTION!!!! My client is entitled to bepensated for the injustice done to him by Archangel Michael and Demon Princess Lilith!!! I want to recall the examples of the soul case number: 895694679, 1012394583, 1590909341..." A loud echo erupted with a familiar voice that made my eardrums jolt and whistle horribly, but there he was a Bob Odenkirk Saul Goodman Angel at my side listing meaningless numbers as if his life depended on it. (several numberster) "Double BINGO," said Metatron, massaging his temples. With a snap of his fingers he silenced Saul. "First of all, he''s not your client yet, and secondly, you don''t even know how or with what he wants to bepensated...calm down brother Seraphinus." Metatron snapped his fingers again. "Ah fair point great brother Metatron...I request a moment tomunicate with my potential client alone!" Seraphinus replied in a more rxed and professional voice. "Granted." p p, with two ps of his hands 4 marble walls surrounded me and Seraphinus/Saul. "Mr Matthew if you please, I should understand what you desire most." He touched my forehead gently with his index finger for a few seconds closing his eyes. "I guarantee I can represent you to get the best possible result. I will fight tooth and nail, I will pour sweat and blood, I will fight with all the weapons at my disposal, I will be your vanguard, your light that will cut through the darkest darkness, your ship that will sail stormy oceans, your oasis in a sandy desert..." (Countless metaphorster) "I ACCEPT!!! You are hired angel Seraphinus!!!!!" I shouted. ''One more metaphor and I would have been sent to hell for ''Attempted Murder on God''s Servant''.'' I thought with my hands in my hair. "Well thank you, but you should at least know my fee before epting...I require a sry of one prayer every hour of service...but I could round it up..." "One prayer an hour will do just fine, just tell me where to sign!" I interrupted him before suffering another marathon. "Oh splendid, then here it is." A parchment and a floating pen appeared. "Should you be reborn in another world, you only need to pray by quoting the listed words repeating the verses for 10 minutes in any sacred ce, you can pay the amount within 10 years without interest. If he is unable to pray for: health reasons such asa, dementia, brain damage, premature death..." I signed without reading the contract. Seraphinus was slightly shocked by the gesture at first, but strangely enough I think he interpreted the act as total trust in him, instead of a more than justified ''Let''s get this over with and now I''m going to have a nervous breakdown''. His chest heaved, his face expressed pride and determination and he exuded a fighting spirit that would have put Leonidas and the 300 to shame. "''We are ready,'' said the warriorwyer. In the blink of an eye I was teleported into a ss booth and sat in a soft armchair. What I saw in front of mepletely shocked me. A circr rammed earth arena with a radius of at least one kilometre with two tiny figures in the centre floating a few metres above the ground with their wings outstretched. A screen appeared that clearly showed the two figures: Metatron and Seraphinus in full battle armour and armed. Metatron: an ebony-coloured te armour drenched from tip to toe in silvery symbols, a fire whip on his left hand and a ck bastard sword spotted with tiny moving star lights. Seraphinus: a very fine and detailed gold and tinum half te armour, his non-steel d shoulder and leg were filled with exquisite studded leather armour, he wielded a majestic silvery two handed hammer with humanly irreproducible definitions and details that expressed the word "divine" in every inch. "Are you serious! You''re unleashing ''The Hammer of Eternal Judgment'' for a simple ''DDI'' case?!" asked Metatron annoyed. "I don''t think the ''Sword of the Cosmos'' is any less, and how can I repay the trust and respect shown to me by my client if I don''t give my all to represent his interests! Also, I''d like to remind you when..." "Forget it...Let''s wrap this up as soon as possible." Metatron cut it short. As I listened to every word as if it were only a few metres away, I began to feel a strong sense of guilt towards Seraphinus. With shining eyes I promised myself that in future I would never, ever interrupt my defencewyer''s sermons again. ''Shouldst for eons!'' thought a naive boy who did not know what fate awaited him. "Here and now I Metatron ording to decree No. 86 of the year 10,023 after creation, proposed by our brother Gabriel and approved by the Great Father for the ''Procedure for the negotiation of two parties in conflict'', dere the session open." As soon as he had finished speaking Metatron positioned himself on guard. Seraphinus didn''t hesitate for a second after the start, emitted a war roarparable to that of 100,000 bloodthirsty soldiers, and charged towards his opponent. And so the ''negotiations'' of mypensation began... Chapter 2: Dungeons & Documents Chapter 2: ''Dungeons & Documents'' I stood there motionless, my eyelids refusing to close. "Indescribable" was the only word I could utter. They had fought without interruption or pause for six days, then finally a bell rang and the two angels shook hands as if nothing had happened. I could be sure of one thing, if the best 100 choreographers and special effects specialists on earth had worked together with unlimited funds to reproduce such a fight scene...they would have failed. I had watched every second, mesmerised and unable to look away. ''The coolest FUCKING fight ever!!!!!'' If one of them died during the fight, a few momentster he woulde back to life and continue fighting. I was able to keep track: Seraphinus had been defeated 576 times and Metatron 53. It had to be said, though, that every single time Seraphinus was resurrected he returned to the fight with exactly the same ardour and intensity. Metatron had been unppable during his first 10 defeats but gradually I could sense his frustration more and more, after his 40th defeat he lost most of his calm and lucidity. Seraphinus was gaining ground inch by inch. During this week I had noticed that I did not suffer from thirst, hunger or sleep. However, if I craved any snack, food or drink it would appear. Salted caramel candied popcorn + extra fizzy Cherry Coke + cloud chair with soft massage mode + best show ever = PARADISEdies and gentlemen. Seraphinus arrived shortly afterwards with a distressed look on his face and a document in his hand. "Is this what you angels mean by ''negotiations''?" I asked instinctively. "Yes an idea of Big Brother Gabriel when he discovered that angels couldmunicate through the intent of blows." Said a dejected Seraphinus. "Mr Matthew...I have failed you. I promised you that I would get the best and I was sincerely confident that I could achieve more...yet Big Brother Metatron was almost unreasonable, as if he took it personally. Towards the end of the fight in a fit of rage he verbatim shouted ''Why didn''t I ept the shift change with Raffaele?! Whyyyyyyyy?!?!''. I honestly don''t understand what he meant, why he was so unrational and rigid for an ''DDI'' trial, yet he has dealt with countless moreplex cases*." Seraphinus. *Author''s note: Seraphinus does not know that he is nicknamed ''The Scourge of Heaven''. All the angels and souls who know him try to avoid him as much as possible. The Great Father (God) has proimed a taboo on the subject with strict punishments, for despite being the No. 1 troublemaker in heaven he is also among the purest, most loyal and kind-hearted. "Don''t say that Seraphinus, I know for a fact that you gave your all. The fight was a unique and legendary event that will forever remain engraved in my heart. I am happy and proud to have been served by an angel like you!" I replied still excited about the scenes of the fight. "And above all, don''t jump to conclusions, let''s see the conditions first." "Ah sure, I almost forgot." He handed me the scroll and I began to read its contents. --- Soul Compensation Conditions No. 2,331,870,463,575,483--- - The soul will be reborn in the world of "A song of Ice and Fire": - Westeros; Northern Kingdom; Torrhen''s Square - Year of birth 278 AC - Tallhart family; Natural son of Lady Varra Tallhart (Free Folk, a living descendant of the legendary king beyond the wall Joramun) and unknown father. Legitimate son of Helman Tallhart Master of Torrhen''s Square. - Name: Duncan Tallhart - Appearance: Strong resemnce to Actor Charlie Hunnam, ''steel white'' hair and green/silver eyes. - The soul will be able to retain memories of their previous life, their time in paradise and additional knowledge such as: - Civil and Naval Engineering (level: Master) - Agricultural, Forestry and Botanical Science (level: Master) - Geological Sciences (liv: Advanced) - Architectural Sciences (liv: Intermediate) - Special: ''Knowledge of the ancient art of Damascus steelmaking''. - Special: ''Knowledge of the ancient art of Castilian soap''. - The soul will have a ''limited'' system modified to be able to acquire powers of a D&D 5e game ss created and varied by the Archangel Metatron in coboration with the angel Seraphinus: - Pdin ss; Oath of the Ancients subss; - Acquire 1 druid ss cantrip of your choice (from level 0) - Conditions and guidance: - The system will only show the guest their stats once after each level increase; - Each level can only be gained when the guest acquires a sufficient amount of training and direct experience (including level 1), which will not bemunicated through a numerical system but can be felt. In order to advance to the next level after acquiring the requirements, the soul will have to meditate for at least one hour in direct contact with a weirwood. - Attribute statistics such as: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Will, Perception and Charisma, can only be increased through hard work, personal improvement and magical means in the world itself and not through level up. -Intelligence and Will statistics will be adjusted ording to the current amount possessed by the soul before signing the contract. - The soul will be able to recover spent divine magic with 8 hours of normal rest, 4 hours of rest within 300 meters of a heart tree, or 1 hour of meditation within 3 meters of it. - The soul will be able to use and know all the spells of the Pdin ss. It will not need any material or somaticponents for the cast. In addition, increasing the level of divine energy spent (slots) will increase the range or duration of said spell proportionally; -Skills and abilities can be acquired and enhanced through practice and study. -All other skills and powers will follow the line of the ''yer Handbook D&D 5e'' rules and guides. Special Ability: The soul will be able to sense the level or degree of danger (CR) of any person or creature within 30 feet of it. Examples sses, Liv and stats adapted to the ''A Song of Ice and Fire'' world: Liv: Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne = ss ''Fighter'' subss ''Knight'' Liv 10; Melisandre of Asshai = ss ''Cleric'' subss ''Adepta R''hollor'' Liv 6; Bronn = ss ''Fighter'' subss ''Battle Master'' Level 9; Azor Ahai = ss ''Pdin'' subss ''The way of R''hollor'' Level 20; Drogon = Breed Ancestral Dragon Young CR (13) Stat: Example Average Stat Common Person = 9 or 10 (Depending on location and culture) Strength (Gregor Clegane) = 22 Dexterity (Oberyn Martell) = 19 Constitution (Greatjon Umber) = 20 Intelligence (Qyburn) = 20 Will (Grey Worm) = 18 Perception (Anguy the Archer) = 18 Charisma (Rhaegar Targaryen) = 17 Details :20 is normally the maximum statistic that a human from that world can reach, with abination of talent, aptitude and hard work. The only exceptions to exceed this limit are: Divine Blessings, Magical Rituals, Scientific Experiments and Natural Gic Pool Errors (Aberrations-Mutants). - The soul will get one magic item (very rare ss) to start with and the chance to get a second one (Legendary ss) if the requirements are met. These items will always refer to the Forgottem Realms world adapted to the ''A.S.o.I.a.F.'' world such as: Very rare ss item: - Bag of Holding (Created by the Archdruid Ancient King of the Children of the Forest). - Properties: -The bag has a magical dimensional space of 3 cubic meters. It can carry a maximum capacity of 4 tons, but the actual weight of the bag does not exceed 1.5 kg. -Any objectrger than the bag itself can be momentarily resized to one third of its original size during the insertion and extraction interval. -Each inserted object will magically position itself in the safest and most optimal position and can be recalled simply by cing your hand inside and thinking about the specific object. -Time in the bag is different, if you insert an item, organic or not, it will keep longer. The ratio is 1/365. outer space. Living organisms cannot be ced inside. -The bag cannot be damaged by non-magical means. -If the bag is turned upside down, its contentse out, unharmed, but the bag must be put back in ce before it can be used again. Legendary ss Item: Unknown Properties: unknown - IMPORTANT: ording to Archangel Micheal''s decree no. 345.765: Any interference from any kind of power foreign to a type of world will be bnced in order to maintain bnce. In summary: "The more your power grows, the more the power of the forces that oppose you will grow." As soon as the soul signs the document, it will ept all the above conditions and begin transmigration. Signature: ---------------------------- I reread the document three times to make sure I understood the contents correctly. My whole body was trembling with excitement! "Serap...Seraphinus this is..." I said staring at the angel, unable to find the correct words. "Yeah I know a total piece of crap! And I couldn''t even get it before 6 days. I...I don''t feel like asking you to pay my fee in full...we can renegotiate the payment if you agree." Seraphinus kept his head bowed towards the ground in apology. "AMAZING!!!!! You''re just amazing!!!!!!! I ADORE YOU SERAPHINUS!!! You got an amazing contract! HAHAHAH I''m so excited! I can''t wait to start!!!" I shouted happily... and it was a momentter that something inside me clicked. A sixth sense had been activated, time slowed down. I could hear the sound of my own heartbeat. A secondter I felt it. I felt every cell in my being screaming ''DANGER! DANGER! DANGER!'', and in that moment I realised. Why did Seraphinus until now speak in such a normal, concise manner? FU** the answer is because he was sad and depressed!!! But now I''ve just handed him on a silver tter an incentive to cheer up!!!!''. I was anxiously watching for any possible change on his person. TUTUMP...TUTUMP...TUTUMP.... An angel in front of me was raising his head.... He had a surprised, happy look on his face and was bursting with energy from every pore... He inhaled to recharge the air in his lungs and his chest looked more and more like a balloon ready to burst... ...''Oh no!'' Chapter 3: A Rise of a Legend in the Skies Chapter 3: ''A Rise of a Legend in the Skies'' I had promised myself, I had promised myself that I would never, ever interrupt Seraphinus again...He fought for me, he gave his all in the fight. The least I can do is stay and listen to him until he''s finished... ''You have to do it Matthew! Whatever it takes!'' I thought confidently... [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Day: ''0'', Hour: ''5''] '' I can''t even make sense of his words anymore...No I must resist! You promised Matt, TO THE END AT ANY COST!!!" roared an old me inside. [Mission logbook; ''A promise to keep''; Day: ''1'', Hour: ''2''] '' No sigh sigh I can''t! I can''t! Ugh sigh (inner cry)! I can''t do it! I''m just weak! I''m sorry Seraphinus. I''M SORRY!!!!! ARRGHHH!!!'' [Ship''s log; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Day: ''3'', Hour: ''11''] ''Remember what Gimli said in the two towers "Keep breathing, that''s the secret. Breathe!!!'' fiuuu! ''Seraphinus has been fighting for me for 6 whole days! I have to at least hold out for 3 more days! I can do it!!!'' [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Day: ''11'', Hour: ''6'']. '' ''Okay I realised that singing ''Stronger - Kanye West'' after the 300th time doesn''t work anymore... it''s time for ''Try-Pink'' ''La!..La! (Intro)'' .... Where there is desire there is gonna be a me! ..... You''ve gotta get up and try! Try! Try! ..... [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Month: 3 Day: ''4'', Hour: ''23''] ''Enough this time, I have decided. I''m going to get up and go there. I''m going to hell! Yes I''m going! I want to explore every inch of the nine circles, smell the sweet scent of ash and sulphur, throw myself freely into a fiery pit and feel that new and different pain!'' I thought, smiling. ''Oh oh oh yes, yes, yes I do! It is decided, then, I will go to Satan himself and kneel to him! I''ll be his servant, his dummy... his Whore if I have to!'' [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: 1 Month: 1 Day: ''29'', Hour: ''1''] ''I''m so stupid for not noticing this before'' I thought sadly. After trying to relive every moment of my life in chronological order for the fifth time. I realised more and more that with each rewind of the film ''My Life'', I could remember events in more detail than I would have noticed before. People I had offended or insulted unknowingly, girls who had tried to approach me that I ignored by not picking up on the signs of interest. I finally understood why my brother came back that day bruised, bleeding and with his clothes torn. I was five years old and crying. I was crying because I had lost my bicycle that my grandfather had given me, it was my most precious possession, my ''treasure''. Scott left the house and returned at night in that condition. I asked him dozens of times why he was hurt. He kept telling me that ''a car hit him because he didn''t look at the road before crossing!'' hahaha. But the next morning Scott, Mum and Dad called me and I found the bike on the porch!!! Mum still half furious with Scott, Dad still trying to hide a smile of pride as he looked at my brother and Scott pretending to be as surprised as I was...now I know. And I never got to tell him, "Thanks big brother, I love you and I always will!" [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: 2 Month: 2 Day: ''21'', Hour: ''3''] ''Yes, I''ve finally found something that might help me,'' I thought excitedly. By now Seraphinus'' voice had be a neutral noise for more than a year and I had found a stability that prevented me from going mad. But that was not enough. I wanted with all my heart to try to listen to the angel somehow. But I still couldn''t. Until I remembered a small lesson I took at the age of 15 with my Aikido teacher. A breathing technique to direct the blood to the head to maintain concentration. "Remember Matthew, use this technique when you''re stressed or think you''ve reached your limit. It will help you, you''ll see." Said a memory inside me. ''Inhale for 6 seconds...hold your breath for 3 seconds and finally exhale for 10 seconds''. I started the process and it wasplicated at first to get used to it... [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''? Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] * *author''s note: Matthew stopped checking time around the third year. He thought that by now the concept of time itself was just a distraction and psychological torture. ''YEEESSS! I finally get it! Eureka!!!! HAHAHAHAH!'' I gave a toothy grin. I could follow, make sense of and ESPECIALLY REMEMBER every word Seraphinus said. My breathing technique was good but not good enough for this Herculean effort. I had to try and try again to perfect it and finally I had seeded!!! "And then my former client Sun Tzu, interrupted me one more time by asking me if I wanted to listen to his book ''The Art of War'' for the third time in a row. ''What a strange guy!'' I thought but went along with him and so he started dictating it again ''...Victorious warriors first win and then go to war, while defeated warriors first go to war and then try to win .... Be quick as the wind, slow as a forest, assault and ravage like fire, be still as a mountain, mysterious as yin and swift as thunder...'' Seraphinus continued unstoppably. Change of scene: Somewhere in the sky... "That''s it, I give up! I don''t care if there''s 12 of us taking turns! I don''t care about the bookmaker, the betting and the faith credits! There''s no point in keeping score anymore! He broke the record, full stop. I won''t listen to another word from Seraphinus if I have to start a second war in the heavens!!" Said an angel as he stood up from a desk in front of a screen. It transmitted the image of another angel speaking and a young soul listening attentively. "That boy is a monster! An abomination that shouldn''t exist, I should report him to the Great Father!" He said as he walked out of the room shouting. [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?''; Hour: ''?''] -------------------------------------- [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] -------------------------------------- [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] -------------------------------------- [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] -------------------------------------- [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] -------------------------------------- [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] -------------------------------------- [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] -------------------------------------- [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] -------------------------------------- [Logbook; Mission ''A Promise to Keep''; Year: ''? Month: ''?'' Day: ''?'', Hour: ''?''] And then it happened.... Ping a noise emerged from between Seraphinus'' pockets. "Oops another assignment hase in already. I''m so sorry Matthew I can''t slow down time any more than this. I''ve almost used up the faith credits in my possession ahahahahaha!" said the angelughing in delight. "Creepy how time flies when you have a good chat! I apologise again for interrupting the story halfway through like this but I really must go." "Creepy already...hahaha! Don''t worry Seraphinus you''ll tell me about the 82nd work of art of this famous master ssmaker from Saint Gobain next time...I''m counting on it." I said with sincerity and a small hint of yful irony. "Sure, I promise! Don''t worry, I always keep a marker on interrupted and unfinished conversations!" the angel replied confidently. I had be a different person, I could feel it. Fifteen, maybe twenty years earlier, I began to notice that this session was gradually increasing something within me. Was it my memory capacity? No, it was improving, but it wasn''t that. Was it the valuable and detailed knowledge of sciences and cultures of the aforementioned ''former clients or former victims'' of Seraphinus? No. It was my resilience...yes my resilience...my will. I felt calm as a breeze, steady as Mount Everest and ready to snap and explode like a gunshot at any moment. As if I had been torn to pieces and then forged from scratch. ''A piece of raw Adamantium, warmed by the mes of Mount Doom and tempered by 10,000,000 blows from Thor with his Mjolnir!'' I thought with amusement. "Ah Seraphinus!!!" I almost forgot. "''I have two favours to ask of you if possible.'' I said quickly because the angel was getting ready to leave. "Of course Matthew ask away!" he said curiously. "First I wanted to ask you if it was possible to send some kind of message to my parents and my brother on earth, to let them know in some way that... well I mean that I love them with all my heart, that they are in a better ce and that I could never have asked for a better family to grow up in." I asked hopefully. "A don''t worry about that, yours is a special case, there is a protocol that has already been carried out. They already know about it...though not directly." I took the point and nodded with a sigh of relief. "Second, could you please hand me the employment contract for your services? I have a small change to make." Seraphinus froze for a few moments, with a small nod of sadness on his face. He quickly recovered, with a surrendered smile he snapped his fingers and a contract and pen appeared in my hands. I quickly nced at it, made a couple of marks and handed back the closed parchment. I took my indemnity document and looked at Seraphinus onest time before signing it. "Thank you for everything my friend. I really hope you will be the one to wee me back next time if I ever return!" I said with a smile and a wink. I signed the document before he could reply. POV Author: Matthew''s soul dematerialised. Seraphinus stood there open-mouthed. "My...Fri...end," he sybled. He opened the parchment, stared at it for a few minutes and walked on to his next job. .... A long time ago, In a sky far away... Only one entity in that ce known as "The Great Father", who sees all and knows all, knew why a certain ''Angel'' kept crying for happiness... Chapter 4: ‘And now it begins…’ Chapter 4: And now it begins Pleasant, safe, silent and reassuring warmth. These are the sensations I feel, as if I were at the bottom of an empty pool, in a meditative position, breathing slowly while gentle hands caress my skin. I am inside the womb of my second mother." I think enjoying every moment in this different paradise. ''Correction I was...'' The amniotic fluid dropped rapidly andbour began. About three hourster... Total frostbite, severe burning in the eyes and deafening noise. ''Ouch!!!! That was my umbilical cord. Whoever you are I curse you butcher!!!!'' ''I don''t understand what they''re saying...wait My Lady yes...I understand maybe every third word''. As I think this, I feel strong twinges in my chest as if someone is giving me heart massage.... ''Damn Matthew-Duncan squeal and cry like any normal baby would!!!''. I started crying and screaming with all the energy I had. ''You''re dropping me like that on the first step of the ''Royal G Catwalk!'' Dammit remember the first rule: [Show your skills, knowledge and qualities in a gradual and justified manner, otherwise armies of people wille marching after you based on the hymn ''Let''s burn that Monster!!!'']''. I think whipped. POV: Varra Tallhart; ''I did it! You were born safe and sound'' thought Varra happy and exhausted. ''You are beautiful my son!'' she said clutching a dirty, screaming bundle to her. "Maester, will my son be all right?" Asked the mother still a little shocked that ording to Maester, the baby wasn''t breathing at first. "Yes my Lady, the child is healthy and strong...however you should not talk and you should try to save your strength you are losing a lot of blood..." Said a worried Maester Golbarth. "Maester, do whatever it takes to save my wife! Yourdy! That is an order!" said a furious and desperate Helman Tarth (Torrhen''s Square Master). "No my love it is toote...I feel it...Leave me alone with my husband!" said Varra with a serene smile and an exhausted tone of voice. "NOW, that''s an order!" she shouted. All the servants walked out in fright, the Maester seeking a nod of confirmation from his lord before walking out with a surrendered face. "My love! Please don''t say that...you can''t leave me...sigh. Please don''t give up!!!" cried Helman in despair. "No Helman, it''s all right. The gods foretold it, I was aware of it and so were you." Said a suffering Varra. "He will be the key Helman...the key to a chance for peace between my people and yours...I have seen him in my dreams...Protect him, help him grow, guide him...and when the timees tell him the truth." Said the woman with all the energy she could muster. "Swear to me that you will do it, that you will do everything you can. Swear it..." "I swear it by the Old and New Gods. I swear it on my life and everything I hold dear. May the gods and men damn me for eternity if I ever break my oath!" said Helman wholeheartedly. "I thought...of a name...ugh...the name...that knight and his squire prince...you were telling me about..." she gasped exhausted with her remaining strength. "Duncan...it is a perfect name my love...yes our son will be called Duncan Tallhart." Torrhen''s square master announced loudly. And with onest smile on her face she handed the child to her husband, who grabbed the bundle. Immediately the arms went limp and the light left the eyes of Varra Tarth, daughter of the free people and descendant of the ancient King-Beyond-The-Wall Joramun. End POV. ------------ 6 monthster... Year 278 BC, fifth day of the seventh moon. ''Yes I can finally more or less understand this sort of English-Anglo-Saxon-Norse.'' I exult, clenching my little fist. Some terms were still unclear, it wasn''t easy. I mainly heard my ''father'', the singing nurse and sometimes Maester Golbarth speaking. It wasn''t easy at all. Metatron gave me a good tug of war. I swear I must have seen at most three different rooms during this period. It was a silent cage where I could barely stay awake for six hours a day. I couldn''t even apply my breathing techniques, I tried for one minute once and woke up in Maester Golbarth''s room with Helman slumped in the corner. He had dark circles under his eyes and a scruffy, pained appearance. Ergo my body was not yet able to withstand any physical or mental exertion. However, today was the day for my first debut. I''d been practising and was ready for the big event. Helman Tarth arrived in the evening for his usual ''Kiss on the head + Goodnight''. When he leaned towards me as I was held down by my wet nurse Bicka, I moved my arms towards him smiling. He took me in his arms with a bright smile on his face and kissed me on the forehead saying, "Goodnight my little Ser Duncan." ''Houston we have OKAY, ready to roll in 3...2...1!''... "Gh...ghh...Ghuknight Dad!" My ''dad'' stared at me with his mouth open and eyes wide. "Bi...Bicka did you hear that too!??" he asked stammering still in shock. Bicka ''my Bardo-Milk Cow-Cradle'' had her eyes zed over with a trembling hand over her mouth. "Yes MY LORD! Your son is a little genius blessed by the gods!" said a proud and excited Bicka. 4 monthster... Year 278 BC, 11th day of the 11th moon. ''Come on soldier up and give me six! I want six steps! And don''t you dare crawl I want to see those high hands!'' I get up after the thirty-second fall and put one foot back in front of the other trying to bnce with my arms. "''Tom! Tom! The little lord has run away again. Help me look for him!" echoed a voice from the corridor of a worried Bicka. "''I''ll go right Bicka. You go towards that corridor, he can''t have gone far!" replied Tom. ''Oh no they''ve unleashed the hounds! I must at least reach the end of the corridor and get to the beginning of the stairs before the [END GAME. TRY AGAIN!].'' I think as I was even more focused on the next step. ''10 metres...8...6...3...and I felt two hands grab under my armpits, but they weren''t Bicka''s. Helman (Dad) was peering at me with a serious face. "You little brat! You already know what awaits you." He said in a thunderous voice. "NO! NO! Good Duncan! Duncan good! Bad daddy! ...ghiahahah!!ghighighi!!!" the punishment began. Bicka arrived and watched in amusement as one Helman Tallhart continued to blow on the belly of a ticklish child. A minuteter the torture ended...thankfully. "Don''t worry Bicka. I''ll look after Duncan for the rest of the morning. Go and get some rest." Said Helman quietly as he saw Bicka make an apologetic bow. "Duncan today is going to be a special day, we are going together for the first time to the Gods Wood and we are going to meet two special people. Do you want toe with Dad!?" asked a smiling man. "YEAHHH!!!!PARKKK!!!" I raise my arms like I''m on a roller coaster and shout my approval as loud as I can. Outside... ''Finally the light!'' For the first time in 10 months I was seeing something other than worked stone and wooden furniture. I could see the entire castle of Torrhen''s Square: a 30-metre-high stone wall with square towers at each corner and a square fortress inside the walls. From that height you could see andscape stretching for many miles. The fortress was situated on a small penins surrounded by a majesticke. Beyond it stretched snow-covered mountain ranges (it was almost winter). On the opposite side one could see white valleys apanied by small clearings of trees. It was breathtaking. "Duncan this is the fortress we live in and all you see around it is ournd we protect." Helman said childishly holding me tightly in his embrace. "Land! Land! Duncan protects!" I exult pping my hands and pointing at everything. "hahaha! Yes and now we are going to the Park to meet your uncles!" he continuedughing at my childish gestures. Gods wood... "Brother, Lady Berena...May I present Duncan Tallhart my son and heir." A man in his early twenties and a girl who must have been barely sixteen stared at me curiously. However, they were not the most curious. I was on tilt. As soon as I entered the park I felt a refreshing and satisfying sensation inside me. The air filled my lungs and I felt increasingly calm and rxed, and then I saw them. Two numbers made of green smoke adorned the two individuals. Leobald Tallhart (Helman''s brother): [4]; Berena (Hornwood, Helman''s future wife): [1]. ''That number should be the level, but why am I only seeing it now! It''s never been activated before, I thought it was due to age.'' I stood petrified in thought. ''Park of the gods! There''s the answer. I must havee into contact with the divine energy that activated my first ability!'' I thought, finding it the only reasonable answer. "''My nephew has a piercing gaze! I''ve never seen a child who isn''t even a year old stare at someone like that! Ahahaha." I wake up to the words of ''Uncle Leobald''. "''Do you want to hold him? "'' Helman asked. "Of course I do! Let me have a look at this supposed demon genius you''ve been bragging about so much!" ''Oh yeah?! I thought annoyed. As soon as he took me in his arms and brought his face closer to mine, I made the first open-handed stroke towards his forehead. ''Spackh!" and continued on and on. "Bad Uncle! Bad Uncle!" ''Spach!'' ''Spach!'' I manage to hit him three times before I can get far enough away. Helman copsed inughter, Berena trying with much effort to maintain the calm and dignity of a future Lady wife. Leobald, taken aback by the blows, by the shock of a child of not even one year old who could partly understand him and above all articte two words, stood still and stared at me for a moment before joining in theughter. "A true knight! Already ready to defend his honor and that of his lord!" roared Leobalth with a proud tone and a smile on his face. An hour of praise and talkter... "So brother have you decided whether to ept Lord Cerwyn''s marriage proposal?" Leobald asked with a more serious and less yful look. "Lady Myra Cerwyn is seventeen years old she is young, beautiful and pure. She is Lord Medger''s only direct cousin and one of the few remaining of that noble house." Meanwhile I was perched under the hearth-trees pretending to sleep among the leaves and moss. I had my merchant ears well ced to catch every word. "I don''t know if I can do this brother, you know I''m not over Varra''s grief yet," Helman replied. "Brother winter is upon us, the popce will suffer without the Cerwyn''s grain supply and as you know the Hornwoods are hundreds of leagues away. The roads are already blocked. We cannot risk being isted here without allies." His uncle replied shortly after and continued, "Lord Cerwyn has already epted my proposal to postpone the wedding but within a year at the very least we must amodate Lady Myra." "I would not insist if we were not in such a precarious situation." Helman took a few minutes in silence. "I will send a raven to Lord Medger Cerwyn and ept the proposal." Said the lord of Torrhen''s Square. ''Well well it looks like I''m going to have a stepmother soon'' I thought as I continued to pretend to sleep. ''Well I shall have to give her a warm wee. Winter is Coming after all.'' POV Myra Cerwyn Year 279 AC thirteenth day of the ninth moon. Myra couldn''t stop thinking about the words of her cousin the Lord. By now she was almost at Torrhen''s Square to meet her future husband and son.... ''Could I really do this to a child?'' thought Myra not looking sad and remembered those words again. "''Remember Myra this is an excellent opportunity for our family. The alliance between our two Houses will make us strong again and we will put down even deeper roots. Who knows, your children might even be the new lords of Torrhen''s Square one day. After all, the rumours about his ''bastard son of the wildlings'' might be true or maybe he might even have ''an ident'' in the future." The word ''ident'' held several meanings she knew. Her cousin the Lord was not an evil person, but over the years several ''idents'' had happened in hisnds in various disputes with lesser lords tax collectors or dishonest merchants. Medger would do whatever it took to protect his family. ''Would I be able to do that?'' She asked herself for the umpteenth time. ''In the future I might have a son and his half-brother might see him as a threat and so getting rid of him would be...'' she interrupted this forced thought because the carriage had stopped. It had finally arrived. A Cerwyn man-at-arms opened the door. Myra stepped out of the carriage in her expensive and elegant fur coat lined with the finest wool. She took a few steps and immediately caught sight of a small procession of guards leading to two individuals in the centre. A man in his early thirties about six feet tall, light brown hair, decently attractive and well-groomed, and a beautiful boy no more than two feet tall, unique steel-white hair, piercing green eyes with silvery tones on the edges of the iris, also dressed smartly in miniature clothing and a small toy wooden short sword on his strap. Myra was mesmerised by the child and continued to advance, staring at him involuntarily. "Lady Cerwyn, Torrhen''s Square wees you. I am Helman Tallhart and this here is my son Dunc..." an innocent voice interrupted Helman. "Daddy! Daddy who is that beautiful princess? Is she that fairy tale princess you tell me about at night?!" Said the child with an innocent and curious face. Slight nods ofughter echoed through the castle. "Duncan!!! I beg your pardon mydy. No she is the special maiden we spoke of this morning. My future wife and your future stepmother." Said Helman holding the child back. "Really?!!! But daddy you are the luckiest man in the world! She is beautiful!!!" This time not even the ceremonial guards in all theirposure could resistughing. Helman blushed embarrassed not knowing what to do. Duncan slipped from his father''s grasp and hurried a few steps away from Lady Cerwyn. "So are you my new mommy Lady Princess!?" asked the child with a look that pleaded hope and expectation. Myra Cerwyn copsed to her knees hugging the child in tears. ''I AM A MONSTER!!! A MONSTER!!! Only a monster....deserves to rot in the seven hells for eternity just for thinking of hurting him!!!!'' she thought over and over holding little Duncan firmly in her arms. "Yes...sigh sigh little one I will be your new mommy!" managed to say Myra with a small smile between sobs. "Why are you crying mommy!? Did someone hurt you? Tell me who it was I''ll protect you!!!!" said the child pulling out his wooden broadsword and cleaving three imprecise blows to show off his skills. "UARghh! aaaaH sigh sigh!" Lady Cerwyn shrieked in pain and tears, seeking a new embrace from her little knight. Chapter 5: ‘A dangerously sharp mind’ Chapter 5: A dangerously sharp mind Year 280, AC 18th day of the 8th moon. Almost a year has passed since the arrival of Lady Myra. The white raven from the citadel, signalling the beginning of winter, arrived three days after hering. After being harassed (gods only know why) by my new mother for three months straight with: hugs, kisses, caresses, fairy tales, sweets, pinches on the cheeks and other hugs apanied by waves of tears, she finally managed to distance herself a little. Lady Myra announced the news of her pregnancy to the whole family in the 4th month. My father threw a big party for all the residents of the castle, sparing no expense. I, as a good ''future big brother'', to the joy andughter of everyone, put on a little show about how I would defeat any bad guys who dared threaten the safety of my little brothers or sisters. In thest few months I finally got an overview of my active skills. ording to the contract I should be able to see the ''level'' of anyone within 9 metres of me and be able to use a trick among the spells of the ''Druid'' ss. I only managed to see him between my uncles and my father that day in Gods wood, and I couldn''t do any magic...believe me I tried for a whole night doing all kinds of poses and shouting all kinds of nonsense words like an idiot. I thought about it for a moment and decided to go back to Gods Wood alone. It wasn''t easy, I had yet to turn 3, I was watched constantly. In the end, praising my ''mother'' for her beauty, generosity and nobility of spirit for a whole week, I managed to get permission. Of course it was still the middle of winter. I was bundled up in four differentyers of leather and wool and could hardly move. I had to ask my father''s faithful captain of the guard Tom to pick me up and take me to Gods Wood. Facing the majestic Tree Heart with a carved face, I began to close my eyes and breathe slowly. The strange calming energy began to flow through me. I inhaled and exhaled for minutes on end. Nothing seemed to change... when I noticed I had a small, unnatural impulse. I wanted to touch the tree, I was attracted to it, but the closer I brought my hand, the more an instinct of danger grew. s, curiosity kills the man... I touched the tree and a wave of information swept over me. Design, testing of boats and ships, types of crops and knowledge of all the trees known to man...and so much more information. The speed at which it was flowing was worrying, my head was beginning to boil from the overload, and at the limit of pain I abruptly broke the connection. My head was aching like hell, I felt rivulets of blooding out of my nose and ears. Now it was clear... My mind couldn''t assimte all that knowledge yet! Looking back, I still couldn''t remember all the information I learned from Seraphinus!!! I didn''t notice it at first because the information left behind was gargantuan anyway. ''You idiot you could have blown your head off!'' I scolded myself. ''I still have a child''s body with undeveloped organs, it''s normal that I can''t remember everything. I guess that''s also why I can''t use magic yet! Damn it Duncan this isn''t a game where you have an indestructible virtual body! You''re made of flesh, bone and blood!...how did I not think of that.'' I was disappointed in myself, hurt and bitter. I cleaned the blood as much as I could through mossy leaves and snow. ''If my father or Lady Myra saw a single drop they would lock me in a padded room with twenty men standing guard outside the door until I came of age.'' I thought terrified. I walked out of the small forest and just outside the entrance was Captain Tom waiting for me. I noticed him immediately, clear as day. The number 7 was floating above his head! ''After all the risk and pain, I''ve gained something,'' I thought excitedly. It took me a few days to get used to it. Now I was able to switch the ability on and off at any time. I analysed almost every person in the castle and got more or less an idea by asking around and being told about ''life experiences''. In a situation of neutral ground and equal weapons and equipment: Level 0 = Zero fighting ability. The person has neither the ability nor the will to defend themselves. Level 1 = Peasant who takes up a weapon for the first time and fights. Level 2 = Peasant who has been trained superficially for a month with little resources. Level 3= Soldier without experience, trained for 3 months but with poor results. Level 4= Soldier trained with a decent talent in a weapon type who has faced danger at least once. Level 5= Soldier trained for at least 3 years, with high means and resources, who has faced danger several times. Level 6= Knight errant who lives selling his sword with many battle experiences. Level 7= Knight with years of hard training and fighting with high talent in different types of weapons. Liv 8= Fighter who has lived between life and death several times and shows a natural talent in martialbat and survival tactics. Liv 9= I have no idea yet and don''t want to find out. Liv 10 = I hope to never face him in battle, in fact I hope to make an ally out of him. Most of the castle''s militia were level 4. Oddly enough, the cksmith Will in my father''s service was level 7! Take note: [Never piss off that nice man Will]. ''This skill will be very useful to me in the future,'' I thought happily. ----- In thest period I convinced my father [level 6] that I wanted to ''learn to read''. He was reluctant at first, telling me that it was still early days and that I should think about ying and having fun. He gave in after a few ''strategic'' sad faces and sweet words. I took lessons with Maester Golbarth [level 0] to start learning to read and write. For three whole months I had to simte mistakes here and there and to have some of the notions I had already learned repeated several times. Despite my precautions, Golbarth informed my father that I had a unique talent for learning and that my future at the citadel would be ster. After closer rtions with the maester, he managed to slip in (with a few ''childish'' questionste in the evening) some information about his past that he would not normally share. Galborth Hill was his real name, he is a bastard of a cousin of Tytos Lannister (Tywin''s father). I marked in my mind a red card on the maester that read [Warning, possible spy for Tywin Lannister]. When I wanted to confirm some suspicions, I waited for a window of opportunity to inspect the maester''s office. After all, I was still strong in my ''I''m only a child and I don''t know what I''m doing'' armour. Maester Golbarth came out of his office to give his usual monthly report to my father on the general situation in the Tallhartnds. I already knew where to go to check; Golbarth, by now used to my presence in his rooms, let his guard downst week. I climbed into my chair to reach the drawer of his desk and found it. An imperceptible double bottom opened by pressing in a lever point. There were two rolls. I quickly opened the unsealed documents and scrutinised two reports. Both reported in detail everything that had happened in thest month in the Tallhartnds. ''The bastard also reported my sess in my studies and that I had a "dangerously sharp mind"!!!'' I thought angrily. ''Ohoh maester you don''t know how right you are!'' I searched to the end for any possible clue to the two recipients, and found them. On one more detailed and precise report, Golbarth had written the word ''Archmaestro''. On the other report, although it did not mention anyone, I sensed a less formal and more familiarnguage. ''The citadel and the Lannisters...'' I clenched my small fist tightly. ''Golbarth is a bloody triple agent! Lady Barbrey Dustin was right. Probably almost all masters are lousy grey rats.'' I thought as I analysed the situation. ''The Lannisters are not yet a threat and I feel quite confident about the future. Tywin is cunning, rich and ruthless and certainly not to be underestimated but he is also an intelligent, reasonable and fairly predictable person. He is not someone who would seek unnecessary conflict that he is not sure he can prevail in. Cercei is literally the malignant tumour of the household and the kingdom. A woman who has seeded in almost every move, who thought she was the most cunning, to weaken the Lannisters. For goodness sake, I don''t doubt that blowing up the Temple of Baelor was a good move, but she created all that mess! She practically put a loaded gun in the High Sparrow''s hand, drew a target on her chest, and screamed "Shoot if you dare! A lion can''t be hurt by a bullet!"...No doubt about it, she must have missed every lesson in which Tywin exined the importance of prevention rather than cure.'' I reasoned, analysing all the information I had about it. ''But the citadel...if my assumptions are correct, it is among the most dangerous.'' ''They pretend to be weak and helpless with no power in their hands, but they are not.'' ''They can lend their ''wise counsel'' to the most powerful men on the continent.'' ''They are almost certainly the main cause of the future downfall of the Targaryens, trying to prevent the return of magic by any means and guarding its secrets...but most of all they have direct control over who and how should be instructed and cared for!'' I thought furiously. ''It is almost certainly the citadel that is the reason research and progress are and will remain so stagnant in Westeros!'' ''An invisible, odourless poison that consumes you and leads you gently into a cognitivea is certainly among the most dangerous...'' I put everything back in order and returned to my reading ''The Dance of Dragons''. ''It is not yet time to act...a war must be won before it is fought.'' I repeated to myself, calming myself with a deep breath. Chapter 6: ‘The Seventy-seventh’ Chapter 6: The Seventy-seventh Year 281, AC 1st day of the 5th moon. (The Great Tournament of Harrenhal is about 6 months away). POV: Author; "Fortunately, ording to reports from the citadel, winter will soon be over...phew." Said the Torrhen Square Master, speaking quietly to himself in his office as he read the reports. Although it didn''tst long the winter had hit the North hard. Dozens of snowstorms had blocked almost every road, even the King''s road was almost unusable. Every vige or hamlet in its territory was cut off. The Tallhart family expended a lot of manpower and resources to get aid through. Despite their efforts many convoys of grain and clothing were wiped out by frost, packs of wild beasts and bandits. Even with the help of House Cerwyn the situation remained difficult. Thest report from the scouts who had managed to return indicated that an entire small vige had been wiped out by a blizzard and that another was besieged by arge group of bandits... Helman took thest report of the evening. It concerned the current state of the family''s finances... Reserves: 41,710 Gold Dragons. Provisions: 3 years'' reserves for the castle; 6 months'' reserves for the popce; Debts: Tot. 10,550 G.D.; * House Stark 1,200 G.D.; House Manderly 850 G.D.; House Tully 1,000 G.D; House Tyrell 7,500 G.D; ''Damn Tyrells, they tripled the price of grain six months before winter came. They don''t even im responsibility for the cargo, in case ''''the Iron Fleet'''' or ''''pirates'''' should ''''plunder'''' their ships. They even reduce their transport costs by simply leaving the cargo in White Harbor!'' Helman clenched his fist in frustration. ''''I can''t affect the reserves of gold any more than that would leave our house too exposed...'''' The man sighed. *[Author''s note: 1 golden dragon = 30 silver moons 1 silver moon = 7 silver stags 1 silver stag = 7 copper stars 1 copper star = 2 copper bigs 1 copper bigs = 4 copper pennies 1 copper penny = purchasing power value about $0.75] [To recap: 1 gold dragon = 11,760 copper pennies = approximately $9,000 (rounded up for the harmony and peace of mind of all)]. There was a knock at the door. "Yes Tom?" Helman. "Little Lord requests an audience, My Lord" Tom. "Let him in, thank you Tom." Tom withdrew with a polite nod. A child now almost over three feet tall entered. "Father. I hope I''m not disturbing you." Said Duncan. ''The days of "Dad" are already over...time is the cruelest of enemies.'' Thought the Lord with a deep nod of sadness that he quickly erased with a warm smile. "Not at all son, in fact you are saving this poor man from oblivion." Tallhart. "Maester Golbarth has once again praised your achievements in study, he is practically begging me to send you to the citadel, he says you could be the youngest ''Grand Master in the history of the seven Kingdoms''. I am proud of you my son." Said Helman with a big smile. ''Oh, Golbarth, my old friend... You have already almost reached the ''Mines of Moria''... Why do you keep digging your own grave?'' Duncan thought irritated. "''Your mother also says you spend every spare moment helping her with the twins*...tell me do you need any more favours? Or is there anything your mother and I can give you besides those trivial ingredients you requested for your name day?" Helman. *[Born about 7 months earlier, a boy "Benfred" and a girl "Eddara"] Now that little Duncan was a few steps away, Helman noticed that a pleasant scent hovered in the air and that his son''s skin was strangely cleaner and shinier than ever. "No father. I really don''t need anything...but...here I..." Duncan said, keeping his gaze downcast in a hesitant and slightly fearful tone. "What''s going on son?! Has something happened? You can talk to me you know!" Helman straightened up from his chair and stared anxiously at his son. It was the first time ever he had seen Duncan so worried and all the man''s rm bells were shrieking. "Nothing serious has happened...I think...''Dad'' I don''t know if I should tell you...I...I don''t think you can understand me...or believe me." Said the boy in a tone that screamed desperation, insecurity and resignation. (Yes... he had practised quite a bit). Helman sprang to his feet, dropping papers, pens and inks, and rushed towards his son, hugging him in the most reassuring way possible. "Daddy''s here Duncan! I will always protect you no matter what happens. But I implore you, for your old man''s sake, don''t keep secrets from me. You''ll make me die of anxiety and worry...Your obstacles will be my obstacles!..Your enemies will also be mine! Dad swears to you, son!...So please tell me what''s going on...Can you do it for your Dad!?" Said Helman with moist eyes kissing his son''s ''perfumed'' forehead. ''I''ll almost certainly have to serve at least a year in hell for what I did and what I''m about to do to the poor guy...Forgive me if you can Helman!" thought Duncan feeling guilty about the ''little show''. "Yes daddy sigh sigh...Do you remember when I asked you a few months ago why the people in the castle smelled so bad?" He asked ''sobbing''. "Yes of course...because of the Frost...but this..." Helman was more confused than ever. "You told me that not everyone could wash in winter, both because of the hot water problem and because bath oils were a luxury the castle couldn''t afford...I...I wanted to look for a solution...and...I went to Gods wood to pray to the gods...to ask for help...and there I heard it...it was a voice...it came from the gods tree..." Duncan interrupted himself to fuel the suspense a little. "...and? What did that voice say to you son?!" Helman asked concentrating hard with his pulse racing. "...It told me to touch the tree...I did and the next thing I knew...visions...so many visions Dad! I saw old men preparing something and the longer I stood there watching the more I understood! They told me it was called ''Soap''...and I knew how to make it...in every way, I knew...and...and I made it...well here it is." Duncan opened his hand and a bar of soap sprang from his closed little hand. "The presents I asked for on my birthday...well here they were the ingredients to make this so called ''Soap''...The voice also said it was a ''Gift''...but it also said I had to be careful...that''s why I asked for the safe room Dad! The voice showed me ugly, ugly scenes...of you...mum...uncles...even...sigh sigh MY BROTHER AND SISTER!!! Ugh ugh...I realized that if I told anyone wrong...all those bad things would happen!!!" Duncan began to cry and sob, partly naturally because he felt like a real soulless shit. "I''m sorry Dad I let you down!!!I let you all down!!! Sigh sigh...I put my family in danger!!! Uuuaaaghh! ghug ghug!" He cried harder dipping his face into the man''s chest. "Shhh it''s okay Duncan! It''s alright! Daddy''s here! You didn''t do anything wrong...shhh" He said trying to be as reassuring as possible. 15 minutes of crying, sobbing, reassurance, hugs and caressester.... "Son, now that you''ve calmed down, can you exin to me better what this soap does?" Helman asked, satisfied that he had managed to calm down and even make his sonugh a little. Duncan, riding the wave, exined to his father all the practical and functional aspects that the ''Old Gods'' had exined to the boy. He also exined to him all three types of soap he had created: one for themon people, one for wealthier people and one for the nobility. He demonstrated the effects on Helman himself who was shocked for a moment. Now he understood why his son''s skin was so clean and soft! Duncan had even prepared a sheet with quantities of ingredients,bour processes and costs. The cheapest soap could be produced for only about 2 penny a piece. The second of higher quality 1 copper star and 3 penny. The third of very high quality 1 stag and 4 stars. They could easily have sold the three products for: 5 penny mon), 1 stag (superior) and 1 moon (supreme) a piece...it was a gold mine!...and now the Tarth family had a clear path to a monopoly on production!!! Helman tried with all his might to keep hisposure and not to think about the possibilities and solutions of this great opportunity. Duncan subtly and covertly told his father that it was also because of an article in a book by a certain Maester Qyburn that he had managed to optimise the process (a half-truth). When the excitement and enthusiasm waned, Duncan was ready for ''the Final Act''. By now he could have yed poor Helman like a violin. "Dad I have to tell you onest thing...There is a reason I acted regardless of the risk...I believe the Old Gods gave me a ''second gift''...to protect me." Said Duncan again in a grim tone. "What is it?" The man asked calmly but seriously. "I could and still can feel it. I don''t know how to exin it...but I can tell who inspires me with confidence and who doesn''t." Duncan. "When I''m around you, uncle and mum I feel it...I feel a warm,forting and pleasant feeling...I feel it in others too but not as strong as yours. But... I don''t know how to say it..." he interrupted himself as if he didn''t want to continue. Helman immediately understood the message. "Who son?! Who didn''t give you that feeling?" Helman. "Well... I don''t think it''s that reliable, Dad... I mean, it was just a feeling..." said a hesitant and frightened boy. Lord Tarth gently took his son''s hands to reassure him. "Don''t worry you can talk to me about it you know, even the gods are telling you!" said Helman falling with both feet into the trap. ["Captain the men are ready! What are your orders?!"... "Fire at will!"] a strange voice echoed in a child''s head. "The...the...Maester Golbarth...yes, that''s him...he gives off an aura that scares me father...if I go near him I get shivers all over my body...I don''t know how to exin it but...but I feel that he can''t be trusted...But he''s never done anything to me, I swear! He''s always helped me whenever I asked for help. He''s always been kind!...an...and...I really don''t know why it makes me cringe....even though..." the boy paused for a moment to think. "Even though?!...Please continue son." Helman continued to maintain a slight calm smile but the look...the eyes were icy...they were the eyes of a man ready to kill at any moment. "Well yes a strange thing happened...about almost a year ago the Maester was more rxed and calm when we had our lessons, but one night I think he said something he shouldn''t have...I don''t know why, he just told me that he was born in the Wesnds and that he was the natural son of a Lannister...I can''t remember the name...Ah yes but I remember he was Tytos Lannister''s cousin...I don''t find anything wrong with that anyway. Since that day however the Maester has treated me a little more coldly and carefully. He never told me anything more about his past...but that''s all I swear!" Exined Duncan quickly. Helman stood still for a few seconds, contemting the boy''s words. The smile had disappeared, his left hand trembled slightly. "Duncan thank you for being honest with me. It''s getting veryte your mother will scold us if you don''t go to sleep now!" said Helman quickly. "Yes dad, thank you for listening to me. I love you!" said Duncan with a smile. "Me too son! Now go, it''ste." The Lord gave his son a small hug, trying with all his energy to keep control. The boy quickly walked out of his father''s office. -------------------- In and to the north of Westeros, a child walked slowly down a corridor of a castle. A loud roar of anger was heard echoing throughout the keep. The child stopped, looked over his shoulder for a moment, and resumed walking towards his rooms. A small, childlike voice echoed down the corridor... "Let the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games begin." Chapter 7: ‘Debts to be Contracted and Paid’ Chapter 7: Debts to be Contracted and Paid Year 281, AC 9th day of the 5th moon. Eight days after Duncan''s visit. POV Captain of the Guard Tom; The captain stood there in silence in his lord''s room. He had had his most loyal and capable men check several times to see if there was even the slightest chance that a spy could eavesdrop on the voices in the room. As far as he knew there were none. Helman Tallhart was reading some papers for future work, waiting for his brother Leobald''s daily report. A knock was heard on the door. "Your Brother mylord," said one of Tom''s two chosen guards respectfully. Leobald entered withoutplying with the formalities, and closed the door again. "It is confirmed brother, Golbarth is a Lannister spy." Said the man holding a scroll in his hand stained with a few drops of blood. Helman read the scroll, scrutinising every detail. Finally he clenched his fist, crumpling the paper. ''Duncan is truly blessed by the Old Ones...'' Thought a concerned father. Helman trusted his son, with all his heart, he would have already torn Golbarth apart the morning after his visit if his brother and Tom hadn''t calmed him down and talked some sense into him. He still had to make sure of that before he condemned the man who had served his family for over 10 years. "That boy Henry hit the bird with a shot from almost 200 feet away, never seen anything like it...I had a small bag of silver coins ready to reward him, but in the end I gave him 2 gold dragons. Congrattions on your choice Tom." Said Leobald still slightly incredulous. "That guy is shit in the mix, but give him a bow, 5 arrows and 5 married men armed with swords and there will be 5 more widows in the world. "* Replied the captain with a small grin of satisfaction. *[Author''s note: If any of you are wondering "If he''s so good. Why doesn''t the archer go to some tournament and win an archerypetition and make millions and live the rest of his life in booze and whores, instead of serving a lord for pennies." It''s not that easy, for 3 reasons: 1 Normally tournaments are only for knights and Nobles with a few rare exceptions (e.g. King Anguy''s First Knight Tournament the archer won 20,000 G.D.). 2 The lords (cunning) would not allow amon person in their service, with such a high talent, to win arge sum and escape from their hands. 3. Common people without a nobleman or armed men to protect them are practically condemned to death when they merrily prance around with a bag full of gold on their shoulders. In this world, if amoner identally drops a gold coin from his pocket in the street and picks it up, he will find his throat slit at night...let alone a full purse, in 99.99% of cases, at least one lord in the audience will send his men dressed as bandits to hunt him down]. Helman nodded in approval. "I want your honest advice on the proper course of action. Tom?" asked Helman. "My lord I believe that before we make a move against Golbarth, we should wait for winter to pass. He is currently the only one in the castle with true Healer abilities. I also rmend postponing the production of this ''Soap'' until early spring. We are already selecting men and women of unquestionable loyalty. Preparing a suitable location that meets your requirements will take more time." Said Tom sincerely. The Torrhen Square Master nodded at his right arm and turned his gaze to his brother. "As much as I want to choke Golbarth with his own entrails, Tom is right. Sure we could threaten him, keep him under control and send false information, but the point is, if we need him and he feels his back is against the wall, he might make a bold move. A man who has nothing to lose, especially one who holds another person''s life in his hands, is a dangerous man." Said Leobald reluctantly and went on to say: "Regardless of the fact that I don''t want a nephew forever traumatised. If the Maester disappeared now because of an ''ident'', the boy in the near future would realise that it was his fault and consequently it would be a blow to his growth." "On the second point I am on the same line, better to take time and also secure a good supplier with steel contracts in the meantime. We need to enter into amercial contract with suppliers before they know of our sess." Said Leobald. Helman greatly appreciated his brother''s advice. Leobald had always been more talented at negotiation, logistics and history than the sword. Helman pondered for a few minutes, then looked up again. "So brother what are your orders?" asked Leobald curiously. "We will wait a few months before taking action against Golbarth, but we will not stand still." Answered the brother. "Tom I need your son Ronan (12 years old), I want him to attend sses with Duncan from now on and keep an eye on the maester. If I am not mistaken he is more attracted to books than swords right?" The lord asked already knowing the answer. "Aye my lord, lucky for me. I already have two sons who can''t wait to go die in battle." Tom replied sighing slightly. "And how many men-at-arms do we have whose loyalty is irond?" Helman. "Forty that I would vouch for with my life. Another two hundred who would not run from a battle without an order to retreat." The captain replied, thinking for a moment. "The best six of the first group will ensure from now on that Duncan is undisturbed in his experiments and future visits to God''s Wood." "I want Chief Steward Paul to go to Old Town and seek out a Maester Qyburn and personally invite him here as our esteemed guest. Give Paul the gold needed to sweeten the request if needed and the men needed for the escort." Said Helman thinking of the new birthday present his son had requested. His father had insisted after learning that he had sacrificed his previous gift for the good of House Tarth. "Leobald you will go to Braavos to find the suppliers and deal with the Iron Bank. Our grandfather had opened an ount there, there should be more or less 5,000 golden dragons, use them and apply for a loan for what we will need. I leave it to you to negotiate. Also use their services for the guarantee of the business contracts you will enter into." Said Helman without hesitation. "...Yes my lord." Leobald replied, abandoning his youthful cockiness. This was the most important assignment his brother had ever given him and he did not want to disappoint him. "Tom I want you to go with my brother. You will have a different assignment, I want you to hire the best weapons master you can find to take care of Duncan''s training. No matter how much time or gold it takes. Get Leobald to help you with the money. Take as many men as you need so that you both return safely." "It shall be done my lord." The two men to whom Helman would entrust his life replied in unison. End POV: ------------- POV Duncan; Year 281, AC 19th day of the 10th moon. About five months after Tom and Leobald''s departure.... "Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et magni patris servi! Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et magni patris servi!...I think that''s enough for today uff I''ll only have to do it another 412 times* and the debt to Seraphinus will be paid." I got up from the ground, observing for a moment the almostpletely melted snow. It had now been over a month since winter had passed. The days became warmer and warmer, the roads were safe again. My father had responded to Lord Whent''s invitation to the Harrenhal tournament, apologising for his and Leobald''s inability to attend. I was almost tempted to ask my father if I could attend. I would get to see for myself, Raeghar and Aerys Targaryen, Barristan Selmy, Arthur Dayne and all the greatest knights and lords of Westeros! Calming my emotions and excitement eventually came reason. I couldn''t risk changing even a p of my wings at that event. The butterfly effect scared me considerably. Who knows, maybe standing in the spectator stands Raeghar might get distracted by my unusual appearance and get unseated by Ser Barristan at thest fight!'' I thought, it was a bit of forced and improbable reasoning but it was still possible. *Author''s note [When Matthew (Duncan) had asked Seraphinus for his contract of employment for a change he had crossed out the number ''1'' of a prayer for each hour of service and added ''4''. He was originally only supposed to pay 144 prayers, but had chosen to pay Seraphinus one prayer for each time he had fallen in battle fighting for him i.e. 576 (4 x 144= 576)]. I looked at the temple''s heart tree once more before leaving. I was bing more and more resistant to the pain I felt when I touched it. I had gradually assimted a lot of knowledge but there was still a long way to go before I could recover all that was due. I still hadn''t acquired the knowledge of the lost art of Damascus Steel. Not that I was in a hurry... it was certainly the most dangerous knowledge I possessed. A steel that would put the other lords'' metal to shame. It was second only to the steel of Valyria. Why was it the most dangerous? The First Men were able to conquer most of Westeros because they had weapons made of bronzepared to the obsidian weapons of the Children of the Forest. The Andals invaded the First Men and conquered six of the seven kingdoms because they had steel.... The big news of thest period was that I could finally use the magic trick of the Druid ss!!! When I touched the tree about 3 weeks ago, I felt that I could assimte a spell and what I wanted was there! I had no doubt about the choice: ''Druidic Artifice''*. Unfortunately I could only try it at Gods wood for the time being... *Author''s Note [Spell Effects: By whispering to nature spirits, caster creates one of the following effects within range: - The caster creates a tiny, harmless sensor that predicts the weather at his location for the next 24 hours. The sensor might manifest as a golden orb in the case of clear skies, a cloud in the case of rain, a cluster of snowkes in the case of snow, and so on. The effectsts for 1 round. - The caster instantly causes a flower to bloom, a pod to open, or a sprout to open. - The caster creates an instantaneous and harmless sensory effect such as a pile of flying leaves, a puff of wind, the sound of a small animal, or the faint smell of a skunk. The effect must be norger than a cube with an edge of 1.5 metres. - The caster instantly lights or extinguishes a candle, torch or small campfire. A trick can be cast indefinitely under optimal conditions]. I walked out of the temple and met my Uncle Leobald outside, who was waiting for me. Uncle Leobald has been back from Braavos for over a month but Tom hasn''t...'' I thought a little worried. "''Greetings Uncle, today will you finally tell me what happened to poor Tom? And if above all I will ever see him again?" I asked a little angrily. "Don''t try us nephew, your father has been clear on the subject. Tom is on a mission for your father and no one can know where. Don''t worry he knows how to look after himself." Replied Leobald yfully. "Don''t give me that angry bear pout I am not Lady Myra. I won''t give in to your ''cuteness'' haha!" He said pinching my cheek. "But I have a little present for you that I think you''ll like, of course only if you pay your debt..." he waited for a reply. I looked at my uncle for a minute, staring into his eyes and trying to win the staring contest. Finally I gave in, and with a sigh said aloud... "LEOBALD TALLHART IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL, STRONGEST, MOST SIMPATIC, MOST COURAGEOUS AND MOST INTELIGENT UNCLEANTS EVER WISHED FOR!!!" my uncle broke downughing and enjoying the moment. Half the castle looked in this direction, many whispered and someughed. Last month my uncle, who had just returned from Braavos, brought me a gift of a game called ''Cyvasse''. He exined the rules to me and pretended it was his first time too. We started with a small bet of a penny. I kept winning game after game and my uncle was ''frustrated'' by losing each time and doubled the amount. Until he brought up this stupid bet...and it wasn''t until I lost miserably that I realised he had me in the bag from the start. "Ahahahah enough I can''t take it anymore my tummy hurts!" Uncle took a couple of breaths. "Alright enough the debt has been repaid,e on nephew." Leobald turned around and I followed him. He led me into the srium of the castle and there I saw two men talking, one was Paul the chief attendant and the other a thin old man in his fifties wearing a ck robe and arge chain made of dozens of different rings. "Nephew this is Maester Qyburn from the citadel!" Said his uncle loudly. ''Oh! Now that''s a fine present! Atst we can get a certain ''Lannister'' to pay back his debts.'' Chapter 8: The First True Knight %&$#*?!/#*………… Chapter 8: ''The First True Knight %&$#*?!/#*'' [Hello everyone, and forgive me in advance for this small ice barrier slowing down your reading of the chapter. Some readers have inspired me for a little idea. You must know that normally, when I read or write, I aggravate my experience by listening to music. Mostly soundtracks from TV series and movies. That''s why I would like you to participate in this little statistical survey. [ Do you want me to share the music files that I listen to for chapters production?]. If you are able or willing to please write a shortment next to this text. You can choose between these 3 options : 1) I don''t give a sh**!Don''t waste your time on this cr** and just concentrate on writing! Daddy needs more chapters!!! 2) I have noints about it, but don''t expect me to listen to the tracks. I like to read in silence and I don''t think mine and your musical tastes can coincide. 3) I''m with you Duncan!!! I''m a sick nerd of that genre too!!! I will follow you in this war no matter what!!! Even if it means stabbing Jon Snow in the heart! FOR THE WATCH!!!!!!!!!! Pleasement next by writing even just the number. I will make a decision as soon as I reach 100 votes! Thank you so much!! I''ll attach the two pieces that inspired me for this chapter next to it to give you an example. Good reading!! P.s. If you also have songs to rmend, I invite you to share. It''s one of my favourite hobbies to find new songs that inspire new ideas!] ------------------ POV: Author Five seconds after Leobald''s announcement... Maester Qyburn stared at the reason and goal of his long journey north, the one for which he had been handsomely paid... A child of barely four years old, pale skin typical of the Norse, well-groomed steel-white hair, peculiar light-green eyes that shifted into silvery eye-sockets, a normal height of just over three feet and a gait worthy of a nobleman. This was the first information Qyburn was able to glean in these brief moments. "Torrhen''s Square wees you honourable Maester Qyburn. I thank you for your trouble ining all this way to the North just to satisfy the whims of a curious child. I hope I will have the opportunity to show you hospitality worthy of Northmen and a person of your rank." Said the child, in a polite and formal tone (as much as a child''s voice could), making a small bow. Leobald Tallhart, hearing how Duncan disyed perfect linguistic etiquette, gave a small proud smile. He looked at his nephew for a moment for the signal of confirmation. Duncan made an imperceptible sign to his uncle with his gaze and a small smile. "Well my lords, we will leave you to your discussions too tedious andplex for our humble minds." Said Leobald jokingly as he nodded to Paul and the guards to follow him. "No bother young Lord, it is always a pleasure to satisfy the curiosity of capable young minds. I thank you for your hospitality and the undeserved honours you bestow upon me. I am but a humble man of knowledge in the service of the citadel." Said Qyburn btedly on ount of both Leobald and the shocking disy of a child barely four years old. "If you don''t mind taking a few steps Maester, there is a room on the castle''s attic ready for us. If you''d like to follow me." Said Duncan showing the stairs. "No displeasure whatsoever Young Lord. The citadel is carved by thousands of steps and I personally find it a pleasant exercise to keep my body healthy and my mind sharp." Qyburn replied kindly, giving a small amused grin. "Well said maester Qyburn. ''Healthy mind, in a healthy body.'' Ahah." Replied the child smiling. A few minutester... "I hope the view is pleasant maester." Duncan. "Splendid my lord, the structure is not as tall as the great tower of the citadel but the naturalistdscape is unique." Qyburn replied sincerely. "I found your book ''History of Man''s Diseases from Valyria to the Present'' incredibly forward thinking and detailed. You have a unique style and mind Maester. It is especially your ''whys'' that are so frequent in the text. A unique trait that spurs the reader to think and stimte curiosity on multiple topics. You could be dubbed the ''thousand whys'' maester." Duncan praised with sincerity. "I am amazed and honoured that you were able to read and more importantly understand my book Young Lord so thoroughly." A visibly surprised and pleased maester replied. "I had the opportunity to greet Maester Golbarth before your meeting. He did nothing but praise your great achievements in studies with joy. I note with pleasure that the rumours of your fame are honest and well deserved." The maester continued, wanting to return the kindness shown by the little genius. "Yes...Maester Golbarth... I wonder how long the maester has been passing on information about my House at the citadel..." the child said quietly. Qyburn froze for a brief moment but recovered quickly. "...My lord I do not know what you..." he was interrupted. "Please maester. I believe I have already proven my abilities to you sufficiently. I ask, if it is okay with you, that we both speak frankly and sincerely, so as to save time in unnecessary word games. After all, time is the most precious resource of any man, woman or child." Said Duncan in a confident and not at all threatening tone. Qyburn stared hesitantly into the child''s piercing eyes in silence for nearly a minute. ".....imagine that this is the case Young Lord." Said Qyburn slightly resignedly. "Please maester, just call me Duncan if that''s okay with you. I don''t hold any titles yet." The boy. "As you wish Duncan, you may also cut the title from my callsign in return." Qyburn. "If you don''t mind me asking Duncan...Is the real reason I''m here to ''rece'' myself with the current Maester Golbarth?" Qyburn asked in a manner more curious than frightened. "Only if you wish it maester. Golbarth will repay my family in due course...The real reason, why I have gone to such lengths to meet you, is to talk to you about a vision...my vision of the world to be precise." Duncan. "But first a little demonstration for your eyes only." The boy quickly moved his hand, barely whispering verses. All three candles on the candbra on the table lit up. The man sitting opposite drew his head closer in shock and curiosity. "''A little trick, nothing more, but it was magic maester Qyburn . An art known and developed in the antiquity of great empires and kingdoms and to this day sadly lost or forgotten." Said Duncan with a sad face. "You and I both know who, in the Seven Kingdoms and to some extent in other free cities, is ensuring that such an art remains lost and sealed in perpetuity." Duncan. "If it were out of simple fear of the unknown I might still ept it but that is not the case. Am I right maester?" Duncan. Qyburn, activating every brain cell in his possession, nodded, motioning for the conversation to continue. "The citadel, Old City even the Hightowers house that supports and protects it, are in my opinion the true invisible evil of this world." "The Archmaesters dere to the world that all maesters are ''the knights of the mind'' but in reality they are nothing more than a bunch of ''marauders''. Human refuse who want a slice of power and a privileged ce in this world and instead of developing, increasing and spreading the knowledge they have gained, they block progress and civilization in thends known to this day." Duncan stood up walking towards the penthouse balcony, Qyburn following him. The boy stared at the view in silence for a while. "What do you really want from me Duncan Tallhart? You don''t need my confirmation of your theories from what I hear." Qyburn had abandoned the jovial, simplistic tone. He now addressed the boy as his equal. "Before I answer you, I will tell you something that very few people know...I possess abilities Qyburn, abilities granted by gods if we can call them that. I see possible futures and have learned knowledge lost or unknown to this world...and I have seen you too Qyburn...your studies...your experiments and a possible future I will not tell you about...you are what many would consider evil...but in my eyes, you are a necessary evil to heal this world...a worthy and capablepanion on a dark path full of dangers." Duncan. "Could you please look to the horizon and tell me what you see?" The child prodigy asked with a friendly smile. Qyburn stared at Duncan with a deep, meditative expression, andplied with his request. "A majestic blueke, mountain ranges, forests, ins and valleys." Qyburn said sinctly as he studied the horizon. "...I see infinite possibilities. Where you see ake I see a great trading port with fleets of ships trading and protecting the coastline. Where you see mountain ranges I see unexplored mines of new and precious minerals. Where you see ins and valleys I see cities, great cities full of people, well fed, well educated, cheerful and industrious. Instruments that can light up the streets at night, clean and safe streets, tall and mighty buildings, a mother safely escorting her daughter to a school...a better future Qyburn, a future where people who seek conflict will find it only with others of the same intent, without involving innocent people who seek only peace and harmony..." "...I don''t want to offend you, but what you seek is a utopia. Even if you had the means to achieve it you would have to go to war with the whole world to get it..." replied Qyburn coldly. "You are right I would have to face quite a few enemies...but the possibility of obtaining this ''utopia'' is there Qyburn, I have seen it. Any child, who sees a majestic building for the first time, will think that beings more powerful and magical than ordinary people built it having no idea how to build it. Yet it was man who created it, stone by stone. Look at the great empires of the past and what they created." Qyburn remained silent at that answer. "What I really want from you Qyburn is for you to swear allegiance to me. Absolute loyalty...and I want you to help me change this world. I cannot promise you that we will seed, but I can promise you that history will never forget our actions. History will remember men who fought to the end, using every means and resource possible and dying on their feet in an effort to better the world." Duncan. "Take the time you need to decide. Even if you decide to refuse, know that you will have safe passage to the citadel, on my dream and ideals I swear, but be aware that the moment you step foot in the safety of your home, I will consider you my enemy." Said Duncan serene and rxed. Qyburn looked at the boy and nodded with a slight smile and an understanding look. ------------------- POV Qyburn Three dayster.... Qyburn was standing on a in, watching a small vige near Torrhen''s Square in the distance. He had spent the first day after the ''meeting'' in pleasant and fruitful discussions with young Duncan. He had exined to him his theory about different ''antigens'' on blood and micro beings called ''bacteria and germs''. He found the subject bold and brilliant, well worth investing years of study in their research. He spent thest two days here on this little meditative trip. He had a boy attendant with him for his needs and four guards for security. He thought back to a story he didn''t want to remember. The story of a boy who lived in a small vige like this one. One day the boy fell ill and was fortunately helped by a passing maester. He was able to treat his symptoms and cure him with several treatments. However, the maester did not know what kind of illness it was. A monthter an epidemic struck the vige and the region of the little lord who protected it. The epidemic started with the boy himself. No one in the vige survived, not even his family, except him, who was now immune to the disease, and fires were set in and around the vige to prevent the disease from spreading. Yearster the boy went to the citadel to follow his dream of bing a healer just like the maester who saved him. He devoted himself to learning as much as he could and achieved excellent sess. He forged several rings in a very short time. Many apprentice healers practice on hopeless cases to temper their mindset in failure and lower empathy for patients. For the boy, empathy never lowered. Although he had seen dozens of patients die, he approached cases with the utmost care by doing everything he could. He wanted with all his might to be able to prevent an event simr to his vige''s fate from happening to others. However, that moment also came for him yearster... He discovered while archiving various documents, an order written by the high council of the maesters, which reported themand to a certain maester to stop his attempts to cure a disease that was afflicting a certain vige. The high council wanted this new disease to be spread in a localized manner to study its nature. When the boy confirmed that not only was this the case in his vige but that all research done was sealed, to prevent its spread and make it a secret weapon for the citadel, it was at that moment that his empathy copsed. It wasn''t his empathy for the patients no... but for the world itself. The vige boy died that day. ''Why don''t I just stop second-guessing myself and keep staring at this vige?'' thought the maester. Shortly thereafter a small secretion foreign to him oozed from his right eye. He picked up a dropposed of a clear liquid, scrutinized it and analyzed it at length. He had perfect control over his emotions and knew that by now "that boy" was dead and buried. However, she analyzed his mood and perceived emotions such as mild anger, confusion, fear, excitement and something that could be called ''''courage''''. '' The time hase to answer. Qyburn returned the same evening to the castle. End POV ---------------- POV: Author; Gods wood. That same evening... "So Qyburn, have you made a decision?" asked Duncan staring at the maester. "Death... betrayal, indiscriminate violence, corruption, innocents suffering, loss of loved ones, hatred, stupidity, barbarism, mes and destruction. The chaos resulting from a war inevitably leads to these and other terrible fates... and you, you will face the greatest of them all." Qyburn said with a frosty look. "Do you think you will be able to carry and bear this burden in the future?" Duncan smiled at the maester''s question. "No maester... the question is ''Will we are able to carry and bear this burden?''..." Qyburn looked at the boy again... and gave a small, softening smile at his answer. The man walked over to the boy and bent his knee to the ground. He took -with both hands- from his neck a heavy jingling object, a symbol of pride and prestige for every maester in Westeros, and ced at the child''s feet. "I, Qyburn, son of Barren and Celia, born and raised in the vige of Rose Peak, swear to you, Duncan of House Tarth, here, now, and forever eternal loyalty." Duncan slowly picked up Qyburn''s chain. He detached a small sprig of dam tree and chanted a short incantation. The twig wrapped itself around forming a wooden outline on a ring of Valyria steel. He gently ced the chain around the man''s neck and said: "Arise Ser Qyburn, First True Knight of the Mind of Westeros!" Chapter 9: Soap...Utility...Prices...War...and Messages... Chapter 9: '' Soap...Utility...Prices...War...and Messages...'' Sorry for this second small barrier in a row. Sincest night I have been asking myself the same question and I hope you can help me. The question I ask myself is: In case I''ve been captured and don''t have a chance to escape ormit suicide... "Ramsay Snow or Qyburn?" Thank you all and happy reading. POV: Maester Golbarth Year: 281 AC 1th day of th 11 moon (2 weeks before the tournament in Harrenhal) ''These are the seven hells?'' Thought the poor man, no longer able to reason properly. ''Clipk Clipk,...Gnnhiik...'' A lock rattling was heard, followed by a door creaking. ''No! No! It hasn''t been a day yet! IT HASN''T PASSED YET!!! It can''t have passed already!!!'' Indeed Golbarth was right it had only been 22 hours since thest resumption of the ''procedure''. "Maester Golbarth, good morning! I apologise my friend for waking you up earlier. Unfortunately, today is going to be a very busy day and as you well know, I hate beingte for work..." said Qyburn politely. "Today I bring good news and bad news." Qyburn. "The good is that we can double the dose of milk of the poppy...s, the bad is that we''ve got to the part where, we''re going to study the effects of this rare and fascinating disease on the nerve bundle sections...Unfortunately, even with the additional dose I''m going to have to attach a few extra straps, to make sure you don''t move." He said with a sorry tone and face as he tightened 4 more leather straps. "ghuu!!!! Nhughgg!!!! gUgh!ugh!" Golbarth had lost track of the meaning of the word ''despair''. "Up! Up! Maester there is no need to waste unnecessary energy and fluids, you know we will need them for our long journey. I apologise again. I was very sorry to have to remove your tongue, but it was necessary. We can''t risk ruining the restful sleep of the good people upstairs." Said Qyburn, wiping away the watery discharge with a handkerchief. "As always, wash your hands carefully before starting work. I do believe this soap will be a great sess at the citadel. Its properties go far beyond hygiene, outperforming our alcohol-based solutions in more ways than one." Qyburn said with a smile. "Fear not my friend, in all likelihood you will be able to hold out long enough to know the answer to the raven I sent to the citadel. Let''s just hope the messaging office doesn''t file the request on the ''not-urgent'' section. Officially you''re already dead, but I made sure to point out in the letter ''that we were forced to burn your body''. After all, I don''t know about this disease, not ''officially'' at least." Qyburn finished washing his hands, put on protective leather gloves, an apron and a mask. He walked over to the instrument table. He grabbed the previously disinfected scalpel and walked slowly towards Golbarth. ''The milk of the poppy! Milk of the poppy! Milk of the poppy!!! You said it! YOU SAID IT!!!!!!'' Golbarth tried as hard as he could to turn his head pinned by the strap, towards the sk less than 2 feet from him. "''Ghu!ghU! ghu! Ghu! Ghu! Ghu!" the maester blinked repeatedly, trying to send the message to Qyburn in any way. "Don''t worry maester, I know exactly what you want. I have long since learned the bodynguage of my ''subjects''. It will only take a minute I promise. I will just have to measure your pain tolerance to calcte and quantify the effects of the milk on the procedure." Said the new knight trying to reassure the ''patient''. "As always Torrhen''s Square thanks you for your sacrifice maester. This data will be very useful should the citadel agents decide to use their ''weapons''." And the work began again... ------------------------- POV Lady Melessa Tarly; Horn Hill, that same evening... Lady Tarly had had a very tiring day. She prepared to head for the halls of her personal baths, her trusted handmaiden Katia Flowers led the way. The handmaiden was to help her young, and for just over a year married, Lady Tarly dry and change her robes after the woman''s customary evening bath. Horn Hill did not have the usual baths, it had an entire pool of fine marble about 20 feet wide on each side. A luxury her ancestral home did not have. Melessa noticed that the water emitting vapours was clearer than normal and that the normal bath oils were not in their usual ce. But there was an exquisite closed brown wooden box, on the lid three green pines were adorned with a well-crafted carving. He looked curiously at Katia raising a frown. ''''Mydy a gift from House Tallhart. It seems that all castles from Last Hearth to Salt Coast have received such gifts." The handmaiden answered quickly. Melessa carefully opened the box, intrigued by the news. Inside she found five strange objects of equal size and rounded shape. At first nce they looked like exotic stones. "Why 5 different colours? And above all, what are they, Katia?" thedy asked confused. "The strange object is called ''soap'' mydy it is an incredible beauty product, much better thanmon bath oils and salts. Each colour represents a different fragrance. Of course I and the other handmaids made sure of that before we let you try it mydy." The handmaiden replied confidently and full of expectation. "Have you tried it? Did House Tallhart send more boxes of this workmanship as gifts?" Melessa. "O no mydy that box is unique, we handmaidens have tried the so called ''superior soap'' for the high ss merchants. That mydy is ''supreme'' qualities of a higher rank. In fact..." Katia. "What Katia? Go ahead and finish the speech, more than once you leave a sentence in the middle, keeping me in doubt for hours!" Melessa. "Yes my Lady!.... yes we handmaidens wanted to ask you if...if....We could try at least 1 of these 5 samples!!!" Said Katie, who immediately blushed for the indelicacy of her manner. An hourter... Melessa felt more rxed than ever. Her skin was slippery in her silk nightgown. She felt clean and fresher than ever before. Not only that, but the smell she gave off was sweeter and less pungent than the perfumes she usually used. She was waiting for her husband Randyll to join her. She had no expectations for this night. Lord Tarly hardly every with his wife after a hunting trip. A noise interrupted the woman''s thoughts. Lord Tarly was a not very tall and handsome man, but his wife found him attractive from every aspect. In every gesture of the man she perceived a sense of security and protection. "I apologize my dear for thete hour." Randyll began. "Never mind Lord husband,e to bed now." Randyll nodded his head slightly. "Do you really have to leave tomorrow?" Melessa. "Yes my Lady, I already gave Lord Went confirmation for the tournament a month ago." Tarly. Randyll stroked his wife''s face tofort her and after a moment''s hesitation continued by sliding his hand down her neck. He continued the hand movement several times, Lady Tarly had closed her eyes, savouring her husband''s gentle caresses. The man moved closer, with each caress, his lips touched his wife''s neck. He was tempted by the feel of her skin and the pleasant fragrance the woman gave off. That night there was one exception to an unspoken rule... The next morning... "Edgar!!! Edgar!! WHERE ARE YOU DAMMIT?! "Shouted Lady Tarly throughout the vi. "Here I am my Lady! I''ming!" Melessa noticed a man in his fifties, plump and fatigued from a long run. Edgar the Tarly''s chief attendant. "I beg your pardon mydy, we were making final preparations for..." "It doesn''t matter! Edgar from now on for bath products we will no longer buy oils and salts from Myr and Lys! We will have to buy this product! THE ''SUPREME SOAP'' from House Tallhart!!!" said Melessa hurriedly. "Mydy I''m afraid we renewed the purchase contracts just the..." he was interrupted again. "IT DOESN''T MATTER! You must act at once Edgar! Have the maester send a raven to ask House Tarth for arge purchase for at least a year''s worth of stock! Even if we have to pay double or triple. In fact, you must send a delegate to Torrehn Square to negotiate directly! We will also have to find suitable gifts to thank them!" Lady Tarly said as quickly as she could. "Mydy, I... I do not understand why... why the urgency?" asked Edgar visibly frightened and confused. This was the first time ever that the calm, sweet, gentle and shy Lady Florent/Tarly had shown such hysteria and violence in her manner. "I''VE ONLY JUST HEARD THAT NOW EDGAR! DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW?! This box had already arrived 8 days ago!!! Do you know what that means???? It means that those BLOODY ARPHEADS of House Tyrell, Lannister, Tully, Martell and all the other bloody Houses of Westeros have at least 8 DAYS ADVANTAGE ON US already!!! Look! SEE FOR YOURSELF WHAT IS WRITTEN IN THIS LETTER!" Lady Melessa Tarly cried out in despair, literally knocking the message into the hands of the poor chief attendant. Simr events were happening in many castles and mansions all over Westeros... End POV --------------------------- POV Helman Tallhart; Four weeks after the hysterical outburst of a Lady... The owner of Torrhen''s Square was reading the sales reports for the umpteenth time. He was still in disbelief at the sess. He knew the product was magnificent, but he certainly did not expect a second ''war on spices''. ''My Lady wife was right...The noble women of Westeros are literally grabbing their weapons and armour, and are ready to go to ''War''...''. Helman thought as he recalled how thrilled Myra was to personally take charge of writing the apanying letter to all thedies of Westeros, exining in detail the uses and benefits of the product. She had, in an elegantly cruel way, pointed out (without going into specifics) ''''how ''COMPLEX'' and ''LONG'' the process of making ''Supreme Quality Soap'' was...'''' At this rate we will be forced to reinvest the profits to, at a minimum, triple production and increase safety...''* *Author''s note [It is not true that only men in this world go to war. Women also fight, tooth and nail, but a different kind of war. In their warfare, the lords and knights mainly need: Forged steel (for weapons and armour), Military Training and Provisions (food, bandages and other healing and healing ingredients for weapons). For the noble (and not) Ladies of Westeros and Essos instead: essories (clothes and jewellery), Etiquette (courtesy, arts: in singing, dancing, seduction...etc etc...and...''Beauty Ingredients'' (make-up, oils and bath salts, perfumes and skin creams). So yes, the race for ''soap'' is literally an ''arms race''. Sales Specifications: In a month of non-stop production, Tallhart had managed to bring to market: -50 ''Supreme Soap'' Lots (1 Lot = 500 pieces) -300 ''Superior Soap'' Lots -5,000 Lots of ''Common Soap''. *At the price of: 1''Soap Supreme'' = 1 Silver Moon for piece (approx. 300$) 2''Superior Soap'' = 1 Silver Stag for piece (approx. 43$) 3''Soap Common'' = 5 Copper Penny for piece (approx. 4$) (Review Ch: 5 ''The Seventy-seventh'' for the money system. Ps. Here I have to admit that ''Big George'' threw a good hammer on our heads). Each piece of ''Supreme Soap'' is sufficient ording to the styles of the nobles for 1 or Max two uses to person. For ''Superior'' or ''Common'' four or five (formon people''s washing styles) House profit to month 1= 5 Stags and 3 Copper Stars x 500 x 50 = approx. 646 Golden Dragon 2= 5 Copper Stars and 5 Penny x 500 x 300 = about 574 Golden Dragon 3= 3 Penny x 500 x 5000 = approx. 637 Golden Dragon Tot = about 1857 Golden Dragon in one month. *The average Tallhart house normally manages to save about 2,000 G.D. in a year. This first month and for the next five, Leobald and Qyburn, have advised the Lord to sell these lots only to Northern families. All Northern houses have the option of reselling their lots to Southern houses. Lord Rickard Stark and all the Northern Lords came personally to thank the Tarth family a short time ago. To thank their ally for giving the North some real help in recovering from the harsh winter that had just passed. The Tarths have only set one condition: the ''Soap Common'' cannot be resold, to the people or to other houses and merchants, at a price higher than 2 copper stars (without exceptions). And a small request regarding thends of the Hignd (Optional). There were noints about this. Economy and Politics are two sides of the same coin...] -Fine Author''s Note; A knock was heard on the door.... "Maester Qyburn, my Lord," said a guard. "Let hime in." He answered quickly. Qyburn entered making a respectful bow. "Greetings my Lord, I hope I''m not disturbing your work." Qyburn. "No problem maester, let''s get straight to the point. Tell me everything." Helman. "Of course, I''d like to start with the fact that we are constantly getting crows from everywhere. That poor boy Ronan (Tom''s son), works diligently day and night to help me with the task. I have tried to reward him with a few coins but he has always refused. I would suggest, if possible, rewarding him with some rare texts from the citadel on subjects he is most interested in. Perhaps, if possible and if you have time, give him a few words of recognition for his efforts." Qyburn. "An excellent suggestion, I will see to it in the morning. As for the books, I leave you free to act maester." Qyburn nodded with a small smile. "Our mutual friend, sadly will be of no further use to us now. I assure you my Lord, he has been of incredible help to House Tallhart. Just this morning I finally received a reply from the citadel.*" Qyburn continued: *Author''s note: [Qyburn had set himself the ''personal goal'' of making his ''work'' with Maester Golbarthst until the Citadel had sent a reply to his raven. Unfortunately, the message had been filed in the ''not-urgent'' section until the Old City received the shipment of ''Soap'' as a gift from House Tarth. The next day the raven had been sent. "Poor Golbarth....."] End Author''s Note. "The Citadel regrets the tragic passing of Maester Golbarth and wishes me well in my work here in the North. They extend their warmest regards and best wishes to you." Said Qyburn with an amused smirk. "Also my Lord, the most ''urgent'' messages that require attention are those sent from Casterly Rock and the free cities of Lys and Myr. They ask us, in a subtle tone of threat, to create a future business partnership with them. How should we respond?" Qyburn asked. "Respond by politely refusing their request. Tell them that unfortunately we have already made and signed agreements with the ''Iron Bank'' and that they can try asking them in the future. You have my permission to tread on the letters of the name of our ''Business Partner'' as you write your reply." Helman replied in an angry tone. Qyburn nodded. "I am pleased to inform you that Paul returned a short while ago from his long trip to High Garden. He reports that the debt has been settled and that our tribute has been given in the proper manner." Qyburn smiled reporting it. Helman nodded in satisfaction. * *Author''s note [ Helman although he finds Qyburn frightening, trusts him blindly since Duncan told him that with his ''ability'', he feels the same feeling of trust that Tom exudes. Furthermore Helman applies a philosophy of life '' If they throw a stone at you you respond by throwing a flower...but never, ever forget the ''Vase'' while doing so.''] "All the houses of the Reach are flooding us with crows and emissaries with gifts of all kinds. We respond with the same message of ''You may address yourints to your protector.'' ". Qyburn "And finally my lord, a message from White Harbor that I''m pretty sure you''d like to read for yourself." Qyburn handed small scroll to his lord with a smile. Helman took the message, scrutinised it and said exultantly... "Tom is back!!!". End POV ------------------ POV Olenna Tyrell; That same day... The ''Queen of Thorns'' sat again pondering and contemting for a solution to her enormous ''headache''. She was constantly staring at a small scented object with the symbol of House Tallhart on it. A knock on the door awakened her from her thoughts. "Come in." A very familiar attendant entered with a lowered head and a worried face. "Well? Any news?" Olenna already knew the answer to this silly question she had just asked. "No mydy Olenna. Unfortunately it is the same answer from all the Northern Lords. We continue to receive missives from our allied houses..." the boy said fearing the worst. Olenna sighed massaging her forehead with her left hand. "House Tallhart?" Another stupid question. The boy handed over the small scroll with the exact same message inside. Olenna, used to it by now, opened it without thinking. It read... ''The North Remembers.'' Chapter 10: Why do you wish to learn to fight? Chapter 10: ''Why do you wish to learn to fight?'' Once upon a time there was a ''baby'', born in a former ve ship captured a year earlier by a small force of the Iron Fleet. The captain of the gship took all the ve women of that ship as ''his salt wives''. The captain was the father of that ''infant''. The iron men were unhappy with the booty of only ves collected and the scarcity of riches found. The captain decided to sell those ves in the free city of Vntis. A strange, hooded merchant offered 10 gold for every child no older than two years. The captain epted without thinking and sold all the children he had, and that ''infant'' (his son). The merchant was a sorcerer from Qohor... Shortly afterwards, a group of priests and sorcerers from Asshai and the free city of Qohor coborated to perform an ancient and powerful blood magic. For every child on the altar, 10 had to be sacrificed for the magic ritual to take ce. The chosen child had to have a strong constitution to have a real chance of survival. Next to the child, a creature from thends of Sothoryos was ced. The enchanters wanted to see if it was possible for humans to acquire traits unique to the creatures themselves through these rituals. Magic was thinning in the known world... there was not enough power for that kind of arcane experiment. All rituals failed except one... the ritual of that ''newborn''. The ''infant'' came out of that ritual in critical condition and permanently damaged. The rare type of Sothoryos Eagle burned in the mes and turned to ash. Since most spellcasters considered yet another ritual a ''failure'' they decided to put an end to the suffering abomination. A priestess of Asshai named Melisandre objected; she had seen a message in the mes. The woman took the ''infant'' and left it in the middle of the street, of the city of Vntis, which her lord had indicated. A few minutester, a famousnista from Meereen and his procession passed through that street. The handmaiden of the Wise Master''s wife asked permission to receive the wounded ''infant''. It was granted. The handmaiden was the wife of thenista''s ''Champion diator''. Yearster... A ''child'', with a very fragile constitution, watched with a smile of serenity on his face, his father. The man was training diligently. The ''child'' was joyfully studying every moment, every gesture and every detail of the man''s fluid and precise movements. He felt a sense of peace, aplishment, admiration and a slight sense of envy. He knew it would be impossible for him to fight ... but he watched anyway and watched with joy. The ''child'' had a unique ability that only the ''Great Future Champion'' knew. The eyes...those eyes could observe details and inuracies that no one else could perceive. Beyond that the ''child'' remembered EVERYTHING he saw. Like a sequence of detailed paintings that he could flip through whenever he wanted to. He would dly help his father with his training. He warned him (secretly) where and when the movements were wrong. He could spend whole hours observing without suffering from hunger, thirst or sleep. The sensation of peace he felt from observing was unique.... Shortly afterwards a rival Wise Master, fearing that at the nextpetition his champion would be defeated by the ''Great Champion'', ordered ate night attack on thenista''s house. Many perished that night, including thenista and the adoptive parents of the ''child''... The ''Grand Champion'' managed to get the ''child'' and his mistress (wife of thenista) to safety, before perishing surrounded by enemies. Yearster... A ''boy'' left a note near a door of a vi in the town of Pentos. The note read: "I''m leaving in the hope of finding that peace. Thanks for everything." "P.s. I took 7 silver coins from the drawer." Yearster... ''A young man'' was advising and exining movements to a group of people who had chosen to follow him. He had not been the one to ask for it. He had no interest in gold, fame or power, he liked to observe and seek that feeling of peace. Every time he met someone, training or fighting, and stayed to observe, the sense of peace returned. Over time it became more and more difficult to find that ''peace''. He had not yet found anyone who gave him the sense of harmony and tranquillity that he felt when he observed his father... but he was not discouraged and continued his search. If they asked him for advice, he gave it. If they asked him for help, he gave it. Soon a group of ''students'' formed. When they asked him if he could teach them how to fight, he just asked: "Why do you wish to learn how to fight?" based on the answer he could get an idea of how much potential the person had and how much ''peace'' he could bring them. Some answered "I have to avenge my family", some "I want to be remembered and feared", others "I want to open a weapons school". The ''young man'' did not refuse anyone. He only had one condition. When he realised that the potential was exhausted, he would stop giving advice and if he left to seek ''peace'' elsewhere, anyone could follow him or go their own way, he did not care. Soon he was nicknamed ''the Watcher''. Some of those pupils began to form a secret organisation to protect and safeguard ''the Watcher'' (not that he asked for it). Many owed him everything they had achieved and would repay the debt, even if ''the Watcher'' did not ask for it. Yearster... ''the Watcher'' found himself talking to the leader of a sect called the ''House of ck and White''. He had praised him for being able to notice ''a man'' and that he had note to bestow a ''gift''. He wanted to ask him a favour...if the ''House of ck and White'' could send aspiring ''faceless men'' to face a test. It consisted of trying not to be noticed by the ''Watcher'' and touching him. He did not refuse and asked for nothing in return. This coborationsted for twenty years until an ''aspirant'', frustrated by failure, tried in vain to attack the ''Observer''. The secret organisation (which very few people knew about) took the body of the poor ''aspirant'', who had not understood the true purpose of the test, back to the ''House of ck and White''*. *Author''s note: [The test was to fail and return to the House knowing that ''faceless men'', however trained and with unique abilities, are not infallible]. The ''House of ck and White'' apologised, broke off the coboration and offered in return for services, the promise that the ''faceless men'' would never try to give the ''gift'' to the ''Watcher'' (not that he had requested it). A short timeter the whisper of a certain ''Watcher'' reached the ears of the ''Iron Bank''. A delegate of the bank reached The House of ck and White'' asking for the ''price''* of this ''Watcher'', who, if the rumours were true, produced individuals of astonishing abilities. Author''s Note: [The Iron Bank also asks for the ''price'' of a certain individual to quantify the level of threat or utility an individual generates. Es King Robert= 3,000,000 G.D.] The answer was: ''An institution should not ask. An institution should not look for problems if it does not want problems toe to it." The delegate left quietly withoutint. The Iron Bank assembled a council of officials that day and they discussed at length. Some proposed a possible future possibility of profit... but a certain ''organisation'' and a certain ''someone'' did not care. POV Tom (Helman Tarth''s right-hand man); This was the fifth month in a row that Tom and his men had been searching for the ghost called the ''Watcher''. Not only had Tom paid and indebted the House that serves 10,000 G.D. more than he should have, for an empty piece of information, to the ''Iron Bank'', but all the leads he found were total holes in the water. First he had gone to Vntis, then to Tyrosh, and now he was back in the goddamn city of Braavos!!! He had only two confirmed pieces of information: ''The Watcher is the best and that he was not to look for trouble with ''the Watcher''.'' Another whisper, paid bags of gold, brought him back to his point of origin. Back in the city he found lodging in an inn, for him and his men. That night he awoke suddenly to a man, dressed in ck with his face covered by a hood, who had pinned both his arms down and was holding a de to his throat... "Why are you looking for ''the Watcher!''? "said a cold and irritated one. ''I have no chance to react...'' Tom thought instantly. "...To ask him for help in training our lord." Tom. "Is that all?" the individual. "Yes that is all I swear on my honour." Tom. "I have no use for your honour. You''re lucky your men gave the same answer!" ''SDUGH!''...Tom lost consciousness. Fifteen men in an inn suddenly woke up and passed out a minuteter that night, one after the other. A message with an address was found by visibly shaken and bruised northern men the next morning. Around noon that same morning, at a vi in Braavos... "Pleasee in, Tom. Would you like something to drink or eat? Are you sure you don''t have any titles? Ser or...?" A thin man in his fifties asked. "No no thank you, just Tom please...I am just a soldier in the service of Ser Helman Tallhart Master of Torrhen''s Square." Tom replied quickly, he was very ufortable and worried. "I''m not sure how I should address you, I don''t know if I should call you..." "Ah how careless of me, yes many people call me ''the Watcher'', not that I mind, but if you like you can call me Zick or Master Zick if you are morefortable with the formalities." Said Zick. "Yes thank you, emm Master Zick if you don''t mind me asking...yes in short why wasn''t I searched or did anyone request my weapons?" Tom. "Ahahah a sympathetic question. I apologize again for what happenedst night and for not granting you an audience sooner...yes well my fellow travellers have strange habits. I don''tmand them anything, I swear, but I don''t stop them from acting as they see fit either. For example, we could have had this conversation in Vntis or Tyrosh, but they insisted..." he continued, "As for your question, well, because I don''t sense any hostility on your part, just a great deal of unease, anxiety, disbelief and expectation. Yes, I would say for that reason." Said Zick. "....cough cough....I understand.....master Zick I would like to ask you if I may. No I beg your pardon! My master wishes to request..." he was interrupted. "Ah yes that child Tallhart, yes all right I will go north with you Tom. In fact I have never been there. I''ll see what I can do with that boy, but I warn you I have some personal conditions I would like House Tallhart to respect." Zick. "Ah! We are grateful and honoured that you have epted!...You will of course be our honoured guest for as long as you wish and for the fee...well yes excuse me, what is your honorarium for your services?" Tom asked concerned and stunned by the bizarre conversation. "Nothing for that, there is no need to pay Tom. I do it for passion and personal pleasure. No the conditions are: that my travellingpanions cane with us and receive the same hospitality extended to me, that I can instruct the boy as I see fit and that we can leave freely when we please. If you can meet these 3 conditions Tom we can also leave right away, in about...one moment please...Will?" a blinkter. "Yes Master Zick, we have 3 ships ready to go at any time sir! A priest from R''hollor has assured us that we will not encounter any storms on the journey. Furthermore our scouts guarantee that the plotted course will encounter as little pirate activity as possible." Tom was frozen-''Who was this man? And what kind of organization is behind him!!!'' were questions he had repeated to himself for hundreds of times within himself. "Well...Yes! House Tarth has no objection and thanks you Master Zick." Tom. "Well then we''re off Tom!" he said enthusiastically smiling. END POV. POV Duncan; Some 40 days after a bizarre conversation.... "So Ser Qyburn, where are we with the projects I requested of you?" I asked my ally. "The first project is concluded my lord, the second, as much as it intrigues and stimtes me more and more, will still take some time, but I guarantee it will bepleted within the timeframe." Qyburn replied calmly andposedly. "Well thank you again, I am well aware of how arduous and extravagant my request was. Tell me if there is anything I can reward you with for your efforts." I said. "New ''subjects'' for my research if possible my lord, your father has already funded my research sufficiently." Qyburn. "I will see what can be done, after all some of those bandits, who exterminated the vige a few months ago, should still be hiding in thesends." I thought remembering to mark this problem in my diary. "My father?" I asked. "The lord has taken your ''visions of a possible great war'' seriously, he is already preemptively recalling vigers and peasants to beginpulsory military training. " I nodded quite satisfied. Knock Knock... "Yes?" It was strange...usually the guard announced the reason for the interruption. The door opened and a very, very familiar man walked in with a big smile on his face. "TOM!!! "'' I shouted as I stood up to meet my ''second father''. The man reached down to hug me, which I did with all my heart. "My young lord, I apologise for the long wait." Said Tom slightly excitedly. "Where the hell have you been venturing all this time! DAMN YOU!!!" I shouted in both joy and anger. "In due course my young lord, there is someone you should meet first. I rmend that you pay the utmost respect and honours...he will be your master of arms from here until the guest remains." Tom said in a serious voice, staring intently into my eyes to confirm if I ''got the message''. I nodded in curiosity. Two individuals, a man and a woman, entered the room and looked around for threats, before stepping aside. "BOTH OF THEM ARE ''LEVEL 9!!!'' I shrieked inwardly before the real cannonball arrived. I sensed danger from every pore of my skin as I looked at those two individuals, I assure you the little number above their heads was unnecessary. And then he walked in... A man with slightly tanned skin, in his fifties, grey hair and beard, not very tall and wearing ordinary merchant''s clothes stepped forward and stared at me. '' No way! What the hell is going on!!! This doesn''t make any sense!!!'' A sense of extreme confusion overwhelmed me at the contradictory message I was receiving. On the surface and from what I could perceive, the man was even more physically helpless than Qyburn himself! I felt no sense of oppression or threat from the man and yet....a big, bright ''13'' hovered above his head!!! And it wasn''t the most shocking thing....his eyes, those eyes were scrutinising and analysing every millimetre of my body. I felt naked and helpless!!! I couldn''t hide anything! AND I MEAN NOTHING! FROM THAT MAN!!! "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Young Lord Duncan of House Tallhart. If I may ask, ''Why do you wish to learn to fight? ''...." .... almost a minute in silence... "Beca...because...BECAUSE I WANT TO TRY TO MAKE THIS WORLD A BETTER WORLD!!!"... Chapter 11: Imperfections Chapter 11: '' Imperfections '' POV: Author; Year 282 5th day; of the third moon. About 3 months after the Tournament... "Beenfreed! Tropt, tropt, trop! Herees the piggyback! Say aaammmhh!" Said Duncan to an almost two year old. "NO! NO!" The child turned his head trying to avoid the little wooden spoon. "Prrhuu!!!" he spat, smearing his older brother''s face. "Ghighighiaha!" Eddara beside giggled, witnessing the scene. "Well well, looks like two very veeryyy bad children don''t want to eat! Looks like there will be more gruel for brother Duncan!!!" Said the boy, slowly cleaning himself up. Immediately he began to eat from the bowl. "Mmmmmhh that''s GoooOODD! Mmmmh yummy!" he quickly ate the second spoonful trying to hide the bowl so the kids could see that it was now his. Both children watched mesmerized and open-mouthed. "MY GRUEL! MY!!!!" Benfred began, waving his hands. "NO MYYY!!!" joined Eddara. Duncan blocked the third spoon and brought it slowly closer first to Benfred then changed direction with thest one going towards Eddara. The girl didn''t think about it for a moment and immediately opened her mouth and ate. "NOOOO!!!" Benfred was about to start crying but a second spoon arrived for him soon after. The twins resumed eating voraciously. Theughter of the twins and a few other children in the castle was the only source of joy and happiness in the air for over a week... Seven days ago a raven hade from Winterfell... Helman Tallhart nearly cried out in anger and grief when he learned that Aerys II had burned Rickard Stark alive and strangled his eldest son Brandon to death. Benjen Stark, by order of the new Warden of the North, Eddard Stark, had asked House Tarth and all the other northern houses to gather their men and march south. The North had gone to war. Duncan had been caring for the twins for three days. Myra Tallhart (Lady of Torrhen''s Square) was constantly embroidering small tapestries with the Hearth Tree and the symbol of the house to be protected. Her grandmother taught her this as a child, to calm her down when her father went off to war. It was a good luck charm ording to her, because her father came back and her older brother, for whom she hadn''t made it, didn''t.... She was working in the corner while Duncan thought about the children when a knock was heard on the door. Leobald Tallhart entered the room. "Lady Myra, Nephew...the time hase. My brother requires the presence of the entire family before departure..." Said Duncan''s uncle in a sad but serious tone. "NO! Not yet! It is not finished! It''s not finished yet!...I need more time!" Said Myra almost going crazy. The children had stopped giggling at their older brother''s antics. They sensed the tense air and were beginning to be frightened themselves. Duncan approached his mother and gently grasped her hands that held the piece of cloth firmly. "Mother, your husband and our father needs e on." He said slowly managing to open her stiff hands and calm her down. A few minutester... All the castle staff, including guards, servants, and inhabitants were just outside the gates watching the northmen depart. In the row ahead was the Tallhart family and guardian Bicka helping Lady Myra hold the twins. Helman Tallhart approached the youngest children first and kissed them on the cheeks, taking them in his arms one by one. Then it was his wife''s turn. "My Lady, thank you for giving me these two beautiful children. See you soon my wife." Said the husband tenderly kissing his wife on the lips. The wife returned the kiss and embraced the man without formality. She wrapped a piece of cloth around the Lord''s arm. "Never take it off, promise me!" Myra. "I promise mydy." Helman. After that the man moved and knelt to reach his son Duncan''s height. "Protect your mother and brothers while I am gone." Helman then whispered but not too softly. "Your uncle sucks with a sword, and be sure to help him keep the castle from copsing in my absence." Said the boy''s father winking at him. "I swear by the ancient gods, father. When you return you will see Torrhen''s Square brighter and stronger than ever." Duncan hugged Helman, who lovingly returned the hug, stroking the back of his head. "I heard you..." Leobald said when it was his turn. The two men stared at each other intently for a while, then both smiled. "Torrhen''s Square is your brother, these walls protect the most precious things I have. Take good care of them. And try to get me a nephew when I return." Helman said resting his forehead on Leobald''s and with his hand behind his head. "I will, my lord. And you make sure youe back alive or I will find a way to resurrect you to kill you with my own hands." Said Leobald in reply. Helman rode towards his horse and did not look back. He mounted and stared at the 1,500 men lined up in front of him. All the men, even the peasants and vigers called up months before, were sufficiently equipped with arms and armour. *Author''s note [The army numbered: 300 mountedncers, 800 pikes and swords and 400 archers (excluding porters and scouts). In the castle there were 400 men left between archers, swords and crossbowmen + 700 reserve men scattered in thends]. " NORTHMEN!!! OUR LORD PROTECTOR RICKARD, HIS SON BRANDON AND 200 STARK SOLDIERS HAVE BEEN BRUTALLY MURDERED BY TARGARYEN MADNESS!!!" Helman shouted to his army. "THE MAD KING ASKS US TO BEND THE KNEE AND FORGET!!!" "HOW WILL THE MEN OF TORRHEN''S SQUARE RESPOND?" Helman. "NEVER!!!!!" "THE NORTH REMEMBERS!!!" "WAR!!" "DEATH TO THE TARGARYENS!!!" A loud echo of different voices with different phrases rang out everywhere. " WHO DO WE OWE OUR LOYALTY TO?!" Helman. "TO THE STAAAARRRKKS!!!!!!!!!" All echoed the same name. "LET''S SHOW THEM!!!" Helman shouted, then raised his sword. "PROUD AND FREE!" Shouted the man almost hurting his vocal cords. "PROUD AND FREE!!!!" They all roared the motto of their house in unison. Helman [level 6] began to move towards the head of the army. His second-inmand Tom [liv 7] and his eldest son Peter [liv 5] (18) followed at his side. "Men into formation and begin the march!" Tommanded loudly and several captains repeated the orders. The army began its march towards Winterfell. The Tallharts were the first to answer the call to arms and join the Starks.... End POV Author. POV Archmaester Harodone The citadel 3 days after Robert Baratheon''s defeat at Ashford... Seven Archmaesters sit at a circr table, in a room that at most 30 people in all of Old Town knew. These men were officially ''Archmaester'' in the eyes of all. But only the present Archmaester and Lord Hightower knew that they held a higher position. They were ''Great Archmaester'' whoposed the supreme council of knowledge. All information that the rest of the world could not and should not know, passed through this council. "Robert has been defeated by Lord Tarly and is currently awaiting reinforcements from Lord Mace Tyrell. We have already signaled to Maester Gormon to ''suggest'' the Lordy siege to Storm''s End instead of pursuing Robert Baratheon." Harodone. "The Starks and the Tullys have reunited in Riverrun and soon Jon Arryn will join in. Old Lion on the other hand is quivering to make a move as soon as victory is certain. The war didn''t start on the right foot gentlemen but it still remains our greatest opportunity in centuries." Great Archmaester Zarabello. "The maesters who handled Lyanna Stark''s message?" Great Archmaester Embrose. "Both will be ''dealt with'' shortly. We will send Maester Luwin to Winterfell when the timees." Harodone. "We pay our respects to our brave knights of the mind, for their sacrifice to this noble cause..." Embrose. "We must order Pycelle to increase the ''doses'' to be given to King Aerys. This is the time for stupid decisions. We must not waste this opportunity and make a bolder move. We already have a man ready in case Pycelle is discovered." Great Archmaester Guyne. "Are we all agreed then?" Harodone. "Aye!" They all eximed, pping their hands on the table. "Gentlemen after 282 years of oppression, the House Targaryen will finally fall." Harodone. "Aye!" End POV POV Duncan; The day after Helman''s departure I was resuming my training in the training room. Syggha [level 9] was carefully watching my slow (too slow) movements with the wooden sword. A month ago training had started Master Zick hade on the first day after his arrival, he walked around once to observe my shirtless body.* Author''s Note [The training didn''t start until two monthster because Zick had said Duncan''s body hadn''t grown enough to do any practical exercises yet]. "Alright Duncan, I want you to first perform these 5 basic sword movements correctly." Said the Master doing 5 consecutive movements with a unique fluidity and slowness. He showed me only once and left me in Syggha''s care. Syggha was in her thirties, she had short ck hair, brown eyes, dark skin and a well-defined muscture that made her look more like a man than a woman. For the 34,000th time Syggha repeated the same two words. "Wrong! Again!" Syggha. I repeated the slow sword movement. "Wrong! Again!" Syggha. About two hundred repetitionster I said.... "Why don''t you tell me where I went wrong instead of just repeating those two words?" Said an exhausted me. "If you don''t know the answer, it just means you haven''t tried hard enough." Syggha. I continued until the four hours were up...no change. That night I almost couldn''t sleep thinking about Syggha''s words. Finally I hade to ask myself a question...''What if the exercise was not just to learn those five forms? I hadn''t reached Zick''s level, that was for sure. But why won''t Syggha tell me what I''m doing wrong?'' I thought as I got out of bed. Do I have to notice my own mistakes? Is this the real exercise?'' I sneaked back into the training room with that thought in mind. I picked up the wooden sword, and tried the movement again while closing my eyes. I applied my breathing technique, learned during Seraphynus'' sermon. I could only make the techniquest 2 minutes before there were side effects, and I could not apply it again until I had rested for at least 10 minutes. There I noticed something for a moment. A sort of luminous flux that was just ahead of its path. I tried to follow the flow...but it was difficult. I had to correct the movement several times, my muscle memory was used to a different path. It was as if I was driving and wanted to turn left to turn, a foreign hand was trying to keep the steering wheel straight. Time was up. I rested and tried again...again and again...the more I did it, the more I noticed my ws and imperfections. And then... "That''s a really good breathing technique..." A familiar voice made my blood run cold. "Don''t worry, I won''t ask you where or how you learned it. If you don''t want to tell me, it doesn''t matter." Said Zick. "I see you understood the exercise finally. Not bad at all. Usually your predecessors got it after two or three months of perseverance, most of them quit." Zick. "Master Zick....I...." I was terrified to open up to that man. I was certain that if I said one word too many at some point he would say, "Hey Matthew how''s your dad Derek and your mom Anna? Did your brother Scott finish his medical training? I hope Seraphinus is doing well...".... "Don''t worry, if you''re not ready to confide or talk to me yet, it doesn''t matter. I just came to ask you a question for your practice." Zick "A question?" I asked. "Yes,e closer by the light of the torch boy." Zick. I approached as requested. "Tell me between these two eggs, which one has the most cracks?" Zick showed two hard-boiled eggs, I grabbed them. One was covered in cracks and even had a small hole in it. The other was smooth and polished like a baby''s skin. I paused for a moment to think before giving the most obvious answer of the century. I looked for cracks in the seemingly ''perfect'' egg but didn''t notice any. "Don''t worry, I already know your answer and the fact that you don''t want to admit it shows your ability to think." Zick. "This..." I said still doubtful showing the cracked egg. "How do you find the other egg?" Zick. "It looks perfect to me..." I replied. "Well believe it or not the egg in your hand has 533 cracks, but the ''perfect'' one has 1,712." Zick. "What? Where?!" I asked taking his egg in my hand scrutinising it more closely. "I think only I in this castle can notice them. Because of my innate abilities." Zick. "But that''s not the point. You know what we learn from this?" ZicK pointed to the two eggs. I thought about it for a while.... "That even though on the surface there are no weaknesses, there actually are but we don''t see them..." I said. "Bull''s-eye Duncan! Ahahaha! Well done indeed!" Zick was ted. "Every thing or person has imperfections...that''s why that exercise. You have to learn to recognize yours. Observe them, study them, modify them, ept them and hide them from others as much as you can. I assure you that if you keep practising at this rate, the day wille when you will appear to everyone else as ''perfect'' as this egg and the imperfections of everything around you will appear as in this one. "I firmly believe that there is no such thing as a perfect being. Even gods, sure they might have the power to exterminate a kingdom, raise oceans, destroy mountain ranges with their thoughts...but I highly doubt they don''t have imperfections. Well, at least that''s my thought. Call me a sphemer if you like. Aahahahaha." Zick. I thought about those words with my mouth open. Perhaps it was the wisest statement I had ever heard. "I''ll keep going Master Zick, I swear! Thanks for everything!" I said, bowing to the master. "You''re wee Duncan Tallhart, that''s what I''m most passionate about. Watching others perfect their imperfections. Good pun huh! Ahahahaha!" Yes Zick had the urge tough at every silly thing. "Master Zick if you don''t mind me asking..." Maybe it was time to get it out of the way. "Yes?" Zick. "I don''t sense...any threating from you, not as in Syggha or Will...yet I know you are strong, perhaps the strongest there is. Here..." I tried to be as elusive as possible. "But I''m not strong, not in the way you mean at least. Even a squire would be able to defeat me. Unfortunately, my body prevents me from making efforts or dexterity that others would find normal." Said Zick with quiet sincerity. "Of course if I had a healthy body, yes then I could be considered the strongest. And I''m not afraid to admit it, it''s not arrogance that speaks, but experience." Zick "Experience? But if you can''t fight?" I asked confused. Zick simply pointed to his head. "In here. I''ve already faced almost every fighter I''veid eyes on in my mind. That''s why I also enjoy watching so much. It''s the only way I can test my skills." Zick. "Well it''s gettingte, you should go to sleep too Young Lord." Zick "Yes, thank you for the lesson Master Zick" I bowed respectfully. "Ah, Duncan a small favor if you could." Zick. "What is it?" I asked. "Try not to use that breathing technique while training with Syggha or you''ll give her a heart attack. But if you must, please call me first. I would never, ever want to miss the image of her expression in shock. Ahahahahahaah!!!" Chapter 12: I cannot save them... Part I Chapter 12: ''I cannot save them...'' Part I Hi everyone sorry for this overbearing and annoying barrier. I would just like to thank you all for the valuable help you are giving me with yourments. Many of you have advised and inspired me and if possible I would like to mention the names of some of you in the future to give proper credit. I would like your permission as the quoted reader may receive ''Eternal Glory or Hate'' from other readers who may have different views. So in future if youment please leave a message at the bottom with ''Y'' (If you agree) or ''N'' (if you prefer to remain anonymous). Thanks again and enjoy your reading. P.s. Watch out for pictures in thements. POV Oberyn Martell; Year 283; 9th day of the fourth moon; 3 weeks after the Battle of the Bells.... Dorne, Sunspear; Oberyn was waiting impatiently for this famous ''mystery package'' to arrive. He sat next to his brother Doran. Both had not been able to sleep well for weeks. After the defeat of Jon Connigton (Former Hand of the King), Aerys had practically threatened Dorne to send reinforcements to face the rebels. Several times Doran had tried to convince the King to send their sister Elia and nephews to Sunspear, but he had always refused. He didn''t want to lose valuable hostages that guaranteed Dorne''s loyalty to the Targaryen cause. After a year''s absence from the alleged kidnapping of Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar Targaryen reappeared to the world and took up the task of leading the loyalists'' defences against the rebels. The prince was currently leading along with Lewis Martell (their uncle, a member of the royal guard) 10,000 Dornish men to join the remaining loyalist forces (about 30,000 Targaryens, Tyrells and various lesser lords). A week after the army left, a messenger arrived. A eunuch, a mute one at that, hired by Essos to personally deliver a message and a key to Prince Doran Martell. The eunuch had been escorted by a small mercenarypany from Essos known to Oberyn for their particr services. They were called ''The Heralds''. They would only ept delivery assignments. They would die to guarantee security, the content of the item to be delivered and the anonymity of the sender or the receiver. Twenty men from thatpany would escort the messenger. On the letter was written: "Prince Doran, if you are reading this message, a second emissary will arrive with a ''special casket'' within a week at thetest. The key you are now holding is the only object that can open the chest without activating the security mechanism that will release, if forced or shaken, a corrosive substance that will permanently damage the contents. The ''gifts'' in it are for his eyes only and those of his brother Oberyn. No harmful traps are present inside, but I understand you want to make sure. Try to control the security of the package and try not to damage it. I must inform you that it is impossible to obtain any information about the origin of the packages through the emissaries. I assure you that these precautions are absolutely necessary. I wish you and your family all the best". The sender was anonymous. Obviously the Princes while wanting to follow the advice of the letter had taken the proper precautions. A loyal Martell guard would open the box with both Princes at a safe distance. Afterwards Oberyn would check for poisons. He also had a personal kit of antidotes ready for every eventuality. The maester in their service did not possess half of Oberyn''s knowledge and experience in dealing with poisons. He was not called "The Red Viper" for no reason. Four days after the first delivery came the second. A ry had already announced, a few minutes ago, that a second emissary with an identical escort had reached the city gates and demanded an audience. A short timeter, in a private room of Prince Doran''s... Two guards from the prince''s escort opened the doors and two unarmed men entered, carefully carrying a medium-sized chest. "You may leave it on that small table in the centre of the hall, thank you for your services." Oberyn said, staring at the two Essos men. The mercenaries did as instructed, cing the chest carefully on a sturdy wooden table ced about 30 feet from the Princes. Immediately afterwards they bowed politely and left the room after receiving a nod of approval. The doors were closed again, only 3 people were present in the hall: Oberyn, Doran and Nimos, one of Prince Doran''s personal guards. Nimos approached, at a slow but sure pace, towards the chest with a key of the highest quality in his hand. He inserted the key into the lock, a couple of ''clicks'' and small sounds of gears being unlocked broke the silence in the room. The guard opened the lid and quickly scanned the contents. "Well?" Oberyn asked, already dismissing the possibility of darts and types of poisons drifting through the air. "Two sealed scrolls, about a couple of dozen identical vials, some sort of needle and the top of the lid is covered with five ss spheres with a clear liquid inside my Prince." Nimos. "Thank you Nimos, you can go now. My brother will take care of it from here on." Said Doran. The guard bowed and left the room, sealing the doors once more. Oberyn approached the chest, wearing a pair of unique basilisk leather gloves and a small shoulder bag. He grabbed each item scrutinising it from several angles for a few minutes. "The contents seem safe brother, but I have no idea what kind of substance these little vials contain. The two documents on the surface look like another message and a map." Said Oberyn, his curiosity level was through the roof. "Bring me the two documents please." Oberyn set about the task with celerity. Doran began by grabbing the message. He broke the wax seal (without symbols) and began to read. The document was at least two feet long. The more seconds passed, the more sombre Doran''s expression became. He was concentrating as hard as he could on reading. He read the document twice to make sure he understood everything. Then Doran rested a hand on his forehead, massaging his temples to try and calm his thoughts. "What does it say? I''ve never seen you react like this before brother." Anxiety was beginning to creep into Oberyn''s mind. "I can tell you that if what the message says is true, the methods of conveying it are more than justified. Read it and tell me what you think." Doran handed the parchment to his brother who immediately grabbed it, and while Oberyn was reading he prepared to scan the second document. The contents of the letter were: "Princes of Dorne, I offer you my greetings. Unfortunately, I cannot yet introduce myself, as I do not yet possess the means to face or endure the grave consequences that could befall me or those I care about should such information about the contents or the sendere to light. I fully understand that you may doubt or distrust what I am about to say. It is your choice whether or not to believe me. I possess an ability... an ability that allows me to know future events. This ''gift'' is not under my full control, I cannot choose what I will see, but what I have seen involves events that will bring House Martell into an inevitable cycle of suffering and hatred. I have had other visions in the past, and it saddens me to report that they have alle true, but it is not impossible to prevent certain events from happening. This year Rhaegar will fall on the battlefield and the rebel forces will prevail over the Targaryens...this, as far as I know, is an almost certain and unchangeable event. The event that may yet be changed is the fate of Princess Elia Martell and her children Rhaenys and Aegon..." Oberyn, at this point in the letter, paused to catch his breath and try to remain calm so as not to tear up the document. He resumed reading a few secondster.... "As soon as the rebel forces prevail in the final battle, Tywin Lannister will attack King''s Landing with his army. The city will fall... I saw-- and I apologize in advance for the brutality of this-- a Lannister knight stab the body of poor little Rhaenys Targaryen over and over. A giant man, in ck te armour with the symbol of House Clegane, throwing an infant, ripped from its mother''s arms, against a wall, killing it... And the poor woman with Dornish features, whom I presume to be Princess Elia...being brutally disfigured and killed in ways my hand does not have the strength to describe..." "NO!!! LIES!!! THEY WOULDN''T DARE!! THEY CAN''T DO THAT!! IF THIS IS A JOKE I SWEAR BY ALL THE KNOWN GODS THAT I WILL FIND THE SENDER OF THIS LETTER AND KILL HIM WITH MY OWN HANDS!!!" Screamed Oberyn dropping the letter on the floor. He clenched his fists with such force that both hands were bleeding. Doran stared grimly at his brother''s already foreseen scene. He already knew at what point in the letter he had interrupted himself.... "Keep calm and keep reading." Doran. Oberyn took a minute inhaling and exhaling slowly before picking up the paper. He resumed his reading... "All is not lost, the possibility of saving Elia and her children exists. If you were to study the second document, you would notice a map of the red fortress of Maegor. That map shows secret passages leading to multiple safe entry and exit points into the structure. It is actually possible to make a rescue n. The chaos that will be generated in the fortress during the siege is your best window of opportunity to act in my opinion. You will also notice that in addition to the documents, you will find 30 bottles with a serum in the chest. It can make a person immune to the effects of the ''Naath Ind butterfly disease''. Each vial is a dose for one person. In the second document you will find, apart from the map, instructions on how to use the instrument called a ''syringe'' that is to be used to administer the serum. The ind of Naath is one of the safest ces in the world if people want to hide. The people are peaceful and do not know the meaning of ''violence''. The only risks are the small incursions of pirates and vers, which hardly everst more than a day, for fear of contracting ''Naath disease''. If you ever decide to hide ''someone'' on that ind, please do not harm its inhabitants, and if possible help them to protect themselves. In the future, when the time is ripe, I will show myself to you. I hope we can create a prosperous rtionship for both sides. Should you ept the information contained in the message, I would ask you to light a fire signal on the highest tower of Sunspear. Should you require more ''dosh'' in the future, please do the same. A word of warning: if I ever learn in the future that certain people have been rescued, and that despite the rescue, the bodies of a ''girl'', ''an infant'' and a ''woman'' have been found, with features very simr to the potential victims...I will be VERY VERY disappointed in House Martell. That said, I wish you all the best and my warmest regards Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn." The message ended with a hand-drawn symbol and a... "P.s. Please burn the message as soon as you are done finding it useful. Thank you in advance." Oberyn had regained hisposure and continued to think and ponder over all the points in the letter several times. "What do you think?" Doran. "What it says about the ind of Naath is correct. Not many people know that the ''Naath disease''es from the butterflies that inhabit the ind. I studied the research done by Archmaester Embrose myself when I studied at the citadel." Oberyn. "Have you ever seen that symbol?" Doran. "A knight with wings holding a hammer? Never seen-- Do you seriously think Tywin Lannister could do that?" Oberyn. "Tywin Lannister is a hard man, cunning and ruthless. King Aerys has insulted him for years, making his heir Jaime a royal guard was the straw that broke the camel''s back. Besides, he always wanted his daughter Cercei to marry Prince Rhaegar...yes he could." Doran said, a minute of silenceter he asked. "How should we act in your opinion?" Doran. "You already know my answer to that question brother." Oberyn replied staring intently into Doran''s eyes. End POV -------------- POV Author: That same evening... A man in a t in Sunspear was staring at a tall tower from his balcony. Bright mes adorned the tip of the tower itself... --------------- Torrhen''s Square... That same morning... "Give up and put down that piece of wood." Syggha. He ignored the woman and continued on his way.... "Both your legs and arms scream that you have reached the limit. Put it down." Syggha. "Never..." Duncan resumed the route step by step. He had already been circling the training ground for two hours. Several times his body had sumbed to the spasms and tremors of over-exertion, but each time he fell he grabbed his torso and stood upright again. This was the fourth day since Zick had informed the boy that he could begin with physical training. Syggha began the first day with lighter training, convinced that the boy would give in. But he didn''t... Although Duncan returned to the field each morning in a more pitiful condition than the previous morning, he continued undaunted with the tough physical training. Syggha tried gradually increasing the intensity, urging him to surrender, insulting him and various other ways...the boy would not relent. The boy''s gaze expressed in a roar the exact same word since four days. ''Unmovable''... The woman was beginning to lose patience. She was almost about to forget that the ''mountain'' in front of her was just a five-year-old boy. "Looks like I''ll have to teach you the message in a different way..." She lost the wooden sword from the rack and approached Duncan who continued on his way. ''SHAPFFT'' a whish hit the boy''s thigh and he dropped to his knees gritting his teeth. Duncan got back up and continued on his way. ''SHAPFFT'' same result.... "Drop that log!" Syggha. ''SHAPFFT''...nothing...Duncan got back up and continued. "I will continue every minute until you stop." Syggha. ''SHAPFFT''...''SHAPFFT''....''SHAPFFT''...''SHAPFFT''... Syggha lost his patience and hit Duncan with a blow to the sr plexus. Duncan fell to the ground... "Cough, cough, cough....bleargh....phuargh..fiuu...." The boy coughed and vomited on the ground, but after regaining air he crawled back to the log. "LEAVE IT!!!" Syggha shouted furiously. She didn''t really understand what was urging the child to continue. She had never experienced a situation like this before... "DON''T GO AHEAD LITTLE LORD!!!" yelled a guard, unable to resist. "NO! DON''T GET UP!" Shouted a maid still holding her hands to her mouth. "STOP!!! YOU''RE KILLING HIM!" Shouted someone else. A small crowd had formed within the walls adorning the camp. Even the recruits who were training stopped to watch. Duncan ignored the pain and shouting and tried to raise his torso even though his legs were no longer responding. He tried onest effort...and then passed out. Total silence hung in the air. Concerned Syggha regained her wits and approached the child, but a hysterical scream behind her took her by surprise. "YOU FILTHY BITCH! LEAVE MY BABY ALONE!!! ARGGHHH!!!"... End POV POV Leobald Tallhart; Two dayster... Leobald was working in his brother''s office continuing to think about the events throughout Westeros and the events in the castle two days ago. Duncan was still in bed resting under Qyburn''s tutge. The Maester rmended at least one more day of rest to let his nephew''s body recover from the physical stress he had umted. Trying not to think about it, the casten returned to his work. By now the production of soap had increased sixfold since the first month. Leobald confronted Qyburn and decided to start trading with Braavos. Half of the lots would be sold to the northern lords and the rest to the Iron Bank on the same terms as the other lords. The Iron Bank had already sent a delegate to draw up the contracts of sale and purchase. Braavos would trade the soap in Essos and the North in Westeros. In this way they would not only secure the security position in the North, but also from threats from outside forces. It was the best move for his house. They would already have been able to pay off all their debts and still keep a decent reserve of gold (currently from the soap house alone Tallhart has a profit of about 11,000 D.G. per month). Even in wartime all the nobles of the north continued to buy batches of soap. A knock was heard on the door.... "Master Zick, my lord." "Let hime in!" Leobald quickly stood up worriedly. "I hope I''m not disturbing you Lord Tallhart." Zick entered with a serene smile on his face. "Not at all! Please master have a seat!" Leobald quickly replied. "Thank you very much." Zick took a seat and so did Leobald. "Again, my deepest apologies for the events of two days ago. My sister-inw Lady Myra has already left this morning along with my nephews to visit her family. I assure you that such events will not happen again!" Said Leobald quickly. "haha! Rest assured Lord Leobald. I didn''te here to show any reproach. It was just a minor incident with both parties at fault. Maester Qyburn has assured that no scratch marks on Syggha''s face will remain and my friend shows no discontent." Zick said in a calm and peaceful tone. Leobald took a deep breath of relief. "No I just came to ask a few questions for information. If I''m not too much trouble." Zick. "Please master ask away!" Leobald. "Thank you. Yes as strange and indelicate as the question may be I will still have to ask it. Has your nephew Duncan ever suffered any kind of trauma in the past that might have shaken him significantly?" Zick asked. "To the best of my knowledge...No Master Zick. My nephew has always lived in peace and quiet within the walls of this castle. I also believe he is adored and loved by all the residents...even more than my brother Helman." Leobald answered sincerely while remaining slightly confused. "Mmm I see...Yes I had to warn Syggha these days not to eat or drink certain dishes and drinks...ahahaha!" Laughed Zick. "Then I have a request that will need your permission." Zick. "...Yes I have also warned the servants sternly master. Again I offer you and Miss Syggha my apologies. Please ask." Leobald answered embarrassed. "I understand you are again preparing a punitive expedition for bandits in yournds...I would like Duncan to participate." Chapter 13: I cannot save them... Part II Chapter 13: ''I cannot save them...'' Part II Leobald''s eyes widened and for a moment (which Zick did not miss) small sparks of fury burned in his eyes. He regained control and began to reflect for a moment. "Please Master Zick could you tell me what you mean? Would you like me to send my barely five year old nephew on an armed hunt for bandits?" asked Leobald while maintaining his calm andposure. The master internally praised Duncan''s Uncle, it had clearly shown him that Leobald was prepared to do anything to protect his family, but also that he could maintain control and weigh carefully before acting. "In summary, Yes is what I would like to do for the next step in Duncan''s training. Your nephew disys unique abilities that I have never before had the pleasure of encountering in others. Physically he isparable to a six or seven year old...but the mindset is on a whole other level." Zick. "Duncan has certainly proven time and time again that he is more mature and intelligent than others of his age, but what you ask of me master is too much...he is not yet ready to see the horrors and brutality of this world." Leobald. "A valid point. The fact is that no one is really ready...The horrors of this world most oftene without knocking on anyone''s door Lord Tallhart. Also when I mentioned your mentality I may have been vague. Allow me to rify further..." Zick took a moment. "I have never met any individual or creature on the same level as Duncan. His tenacity and will are nothing short of unparalleled. I''ve travelled so much, met countless people: free men who won their freedom, warlords who faced hundreds of battles, men and women who would dly give their lives to achieve their goals...none of them canpare to that boy. I can''t really tell you how this is possible, but your nephew has the look of someone who has suffered the pains of hell. One who has lived and struggled in the darkest oblivion and who has unravelled step by step into the light on his own strength... I don''t know how else to describe him... It''s as if he''s ready to carry the weight of this world on his shoulders." For the first time, Zick had abandoned his courteous and jovial tone and reced it with a serious and cold one. Leobald stared at Zick for a long time to see if there was the slightest hint of a lie in the master''s face... He could not find it. "Duncan''s path will be arduous, full of pitfalls, pain and suffering, and he has no intention of changing it. No normal person would be able to bear it...We at least have a duty to prepare him as best we can to make that ''burden'' more manageable." Zick. "But...it''s too dangerous...if anything were to happen to him..." Leobald didn''t really know how to respond. "Syggha and eleven others of myrades, who have agreed to lend me a hand, will go with the boy. Not even a small militia of unsullied could harm your nephew. Believe me...I speak from first-hand experience." Zick said with a small grin. Leobald thought for a few minutes in silence... "The shipment will leave in two days, by tomorrow I will make a decision to your request master..." Leobald. "I thank you Lord Tallhart. I do not wish to take up any more of your time." Zick stood up and gave a small bow which Leobald returned, and left the room. Leobald stood alone in the room again... He ran both hands over his hair, thinking repeatedly the same thing.... ''Myra will skin me alive...'' End POV ---------------- POV Duncan; Two dayster... I was making my way to my pony, already saddled and ready to go. I wore a small, studded suit of boiled leather armour, custom-made metal forearms and a short sword (the only one I could wield so far). I had epted the task from my uncle and master, especially after learning that twelve of Zick''spanions would be escorting me. Perhaps not even Aerys II could have been protected by better men. I could see why Zick wanted me to participate, and I honestly felt it was time too...time to see death in the face in all its forms. I knew the time woulde sooner orter, it was inevitable. For five days I couldn''t get the thought out of my head... ''I can''t save them.''...Lyanna Stark, Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, Oswell Whent, Wim Dustin, Mark Ryswell, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull and...Ashara Dayne. I didn''t have the means or the manpower to do this without exposing Jon Snow, my family, the North and the Seven Kingdoms in danger. All it took was one mistake, one whisper or one word too many to trigger horrible consequences. If I''d had capable men under mymand, with unquestioning loyalty, perhaps I could have...but now the risk was too great. If Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister had even suspected it, it would have been war... a war the North would not win. Knowing that people were going to die and being able to save them (despite the risks) and doing nothing was like lowering the executioner''s axe yourself... This was also one of the reasons why a few days ago I did not want to give in. Despite knowing that I was only doing myself unnecessary harm. I wanted to atone in some way for my guilt... I understand Ned Stark''s choice better now. I know why he kept it a secret until the end. You can''t really understand it until you''ve borne the burden yourself: anxiety, fear, doubt, the thought of condemning to death, your loved ones, thousands of soldiers and innocents...it''s a tremendous burden and not easy to handle. Two figures approached from behind, Syggha [9] and Will [9]. "Are you afraid little lord?" Will asked with a small grin of amusement. "I''m a five year old boy about to witness his first armed confrontation and participate in a spectacle of misery, horror and death." "Of course I''m scared." I replied not at all amused. "Oh Oh, such wisdom and truth. One point for you." Syggha at this point pped the back of Will''s head to shut him up. "I apologise Miss Syggha for my behaviour a few days ago. That unfortunate incident would not have happened if I had listened to you." I said apologetically as I looked at three scratch marks on poor Syggha''s face. ''Ra''s al Ghul was right...Myra [1] did manage to hurt Syggha [9].'' I thought and an old quote resonated within me.... [Training is NOTHING! WILL IS EVERYTHING!!! WILL TO ACT!!!] ''Of course Syggha must have held back... but it''s still a remarkable fact.'' I lowered my gaze, waiting for an answer. "Never mind." Cold, terse reply. "Don''t stray from me or Will during the hunt." Syggha. I looked around for Zick''s remainingpanions but there were only Tallhart men. "I thought there were ten more of yourrades participating." I asked confused. "They will when necessary, for now they will act as scouts around our group" Will replied. We were just outside the walls of Torrhen''s Square, in addition to the three of us there were 60 mounted men-at-arms from House Tallhart. The group was originally supposed to be 40 men, but for safety Uncle Leobald added another 20 men (for the sole purpose of protecting me). Captain Drobhert called the men together to begin the expedition. "Men, to me. We will hunt down those murderers and rapists who ughtered innocents in the vige ''Snow Mill''. We will do justice once and for all, and we will not return until every single one of those animals is hanged!" Captain Drobhert said. All the men nodded silently, ready and determined to avenge the inhabitants of Snow Mill. Some of them had family and friends in that vige. "MARCH ON!"... End POV ----------------- POV Ser Vane Westbrook; Ser Vane and his men were camped in a cave a few miles into the wolf forest. They were waiting for Grudof and his band to return. ''We missed a golden opportunity...if it wasn''t for that damn storm we would have reached Tallhartnd sooner and I wouldn''t have lost half my men.'' I think Ser Vane cursing the seven gods. By order of the Tyrells (Olenna Tyrell''s to be precise) Vane was to, along with 80 chosen men, find the soap making base and try to take the ns or kidnap someone who knew the method of production. He had taken two ships with him but only one had managed to reach the Straits of ''Salt Lance'' to sail up the River of Rills and from there dock about 30 miles from Torrhen''s Square. They had found the production workshop but it was far too well protected. At least 100 armed men stood guard day and night. Theb had been fortified and had a good defensive position. Impossible to hit in a direct attack with only 40 men. Then a rumour reached Ser Vane that Lady Myra Tallhart and her children were travelling to Cerwyn Castle. They had not been able to reach them before a second convoy of Cerwyn men joined their escort.... They would then continue with the original n. They would join forces with small groups of fleeing bandits and attack small viges around theboratory. Small attacks by groups of 20 men, hoping to drive off some of theb''s guard. So far the situation remained unchanged. A sound of horses alerted the men. "Grudof and his men Ser Vane!" said a Redwyne soldier. "You idiot, how many times do I have to tell you not to use our names in thesends!" Vane. "ah...I beg your pardon, S.-Ser....meant to say Phitt" said the soldier. "....uff....how many have returned? "Vane. "Twelve!" Vane nodded. Vane''s entire group was dressed in the robes and armor of the Iron Men. No one was to learn that the Tyrells were behind the attack. "Phitt! Hey Phitt! Come out you lousy Ironborn." Grudof. "Scream like that again and I''ll open your throat with this spoon! Do you want the whole North to know our hiding ce?" Vane. "Ahaha! Sputth! You can definitely try that salt-eater! I''m screaming because things are finally moving in Torrhen''s Square!" Grudof. "Sixty armed men areing after us...but it looks like a second golden opportunity has presented itself again. The Lord''s idiot sent his nephew and heir on his expedition! Ahahah" Grudof. "Why would he do that? It must be a trap..." Vane. "Apparently not, your spy in the castle reports that no one other than that group is nning to move...they''re on their own and we have nearly a hundred men!" Grudof was trembling with excitement, anxious to act. "Remember what you promised, the recipe or a Tallhart heir in exchange for 1000 gold dragons." Said Grudof trying to intimidate the man. "Those are the deals yes, but you won''t see a penny before you get your hands on one." Replied Vane thinking of ways to kill these idiots when the job was done. Vane was weighing the risks. It was true that they were outnumbered, but half of them were just human trash who barely knew how to hold a weapon. They were only good at killing defenseless people, but if they had managed to capture the heir to Torrhen''s square the mission would have been a sess. The Reach would have carved a golden hostage that would have brought House Tallhart to its knees. Finally the knight made a decision. "Let''s move we must try to hit them at night while they camp! In two days'' time there will be a new moon, that will be our chance." Said Vane, inciting the men to leave. End POV --------------- POV Syggha; One day after departure... Vige Snowmill. Syggha was walking alongside Zick''s little pupil. Zick''s demands had been clear, they would have to show the boy first hand the horrors of this world and protect him. They walked through the narrow streets of the burnt-out vige. Some houses were still smouldering. A few survivors were still there not knowing where to go. ''Is this really the best choice, Master?'' thought Syggha. Although he would never admit it, he was beginning to grow fond of Duncan. He was certainly a special boy. Never once had she seen himin, he had always followed everymand without fail and showed a unique talent and skill. She was certain that at this rate he would reach unprecedented heights. Syggha had trained with many men in the past who thought they were very tough. Some had knelt to her and begged for mercy, others had even cried like little girls...but no matter how hard she had tried over thest few months, this guy would not bend... He had a will of steel. She even doubted that he would be discouraged even if he lost a leg or an arm.... Today, for the first time, Syggha noticed hints of fear, hatred and pain in the boy''s eyes. Duncan approached the putrid body of an old man holding a child of about four in his arms. They both had wounded chests. Probably the work of a spear on horseback. "How many are dead and surviving?" asked Duncan in a neutral tone to the garrison captain who approached him. He was closing the open eyes of both victims and trying to wipe the mud from their faces. "So far we have found 51 bodies, most of them elderly, women and children...another 30 of the survivors have serious injuries, probably half of them won''t make it through the night Young Lord." Drobhert replied. "Try to treat the survivors as best you can, share some of our food supplies and offer anyone who wants it shelter in Torrhen''s Square." Duncan. "Yes my Lord." For a moment Drobhert forgot that he was receiving orders from a five year old boy. Syggha watched the boy rise from the two bodies only after he had given them a more dignified position. "Syggha." The woman was not startled by the sudden voice behind her. She knew her well. "What did you see Ramas?" Syggha asked the best scout she had ever met. "Ny-seven armed men half a day from here. About fifty are poorly trained and poorly equipped, the rest look like former soldiers or mercenaries hired by someone. They''re probably waiting until nightfall before attempting a surprise attack on us." Ramas replied quickly. Duncan listened to every word with a cold look on his face. "I couldn''t save this vige, and I won''t be able to save the men who carried out this massacre from the fate that awaits them..." said a child. Chapter 14: The first of many... Chapter 14: ''''The first of many...'''' POV Author; Snow Mill Vige... The morning before the attack... Duncan was surrounded by people, arranged in a circle around him, watching and listening intently. He held only a wooden stick in his hand, he had sketched a drawing on the ground depicting the vige and its surroundings. Around him were 12 individuals: Captain Drobhert: [Lev 6], man (Nordic) close to forty years of age, long sword, standard triangr shield with the crest of house Tallhart + Split Armor (medium made). Syggha: [Lev 9], woman (Qarth) barely thirty years of age, long sword and dagger, leather armor + steel breastte and shoulder straps (excellent workmanship). Will: [Lev 9], man (origin unknown) aged just thirty, 2 long daggers + throwing daggers and studded leather armour (good workmanship). Ramas: [Lev 10], man (origin unknown), age ???, short bow + short sword + one-handed crossbow, leather armour + protective steel forearms (medium quality). Baragh No Dau: [Lev 10], man (Norvos) almost fifty years old, two-handed two-handed axe + 2 small throwing axes, no armour. Narbo: [Lev 10], man (origin unknown) aged around forty, two-handed greatsword + short dagger + full te armour (very good workmanship). Josua of Jh: [Lev 9], woman (summer inds) around thirty years old, goldenhearth longbow + leather armour (very good workmanship). Leng Ro Ju: [Lev 9], man nd of Yi Ti) in histe thirties, long staff + leather bracelets and leggings (good workmanship). Cohollo: [Lev 8], man (Dothraki) in histe twenties, long whip + Arakh , no armour. Gadon Sand: [Lev 8], man (Dorne) in his early twenties, two handed long spear + 2 throwing javelins + studded leather armour (very good quality). Dywen Stone: [Lev 8], man (The Vale) almost thirty years of age, two long swords + split armor (good quality). Recallio Sodal: [Lev 8], man (Braavos) just over twenty years of age, smallsword + long dagger, no armor. "Ramas, Cohollo, could you please describe the enemy forces in detail? How many horses, archers and melee fighters are there?" Duncan. "Thirty-six horses in total, eleven archers, two crossbowmen and the rest with swords, clubs, one-handed axes and a few pikes." Cohollo replied, speaking themon tongue quite fluently. "Scouts?" Duncan. "Three, but only one is decent." Ramas. Duncan had been thinking about the situation from many angles. The most important question for him was: ''Why do they want to attack us? Why risk so much?'' After giving it some thought the only answer with any sense that came to his mind was: ''They know I''m here. They want to capture me to get a hostage,'' thought the boy. ''If that is the correct answer then it means there is a spy in the castle and some lineage is making a move taking advantage of the chaos of the great war. I don''t think it''s iron men, they don''t like fighting on horseback. They''re probably Lannister or Tyrell men in disguise.'' That was the most likely scenario, he thought. "I have a n." Duncan said, drawing more attention to himself. Both Drobhert and Syggha had been instructed to test the child. If he made any wrong decisions they would intervene, but for now they let Duncan take the reins. "We will fight here in the vige, it is the ideal ce for a trap. This ce is vulnerable without any palisades and is surrounded by small hills on all sides. The horsemen won''t miss a chance to charge straight at us, we need to convince them that we are vulnerable." Duncan paused for a moment thinking back to a quote told by Seraphinus. [You must appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.] "I''ll act as bait, it''s probably me they want. Let''s prepare a path where they will chase us. The vigend is still dry from the fires. Let''s take some straw, wood from the destroyed houses, and the remaining pitch. As soon as they enter they will be surrounded by fires on their sides and will be forced to charge straight ahead." Duncan. "How many vigers are in any condition to work?" Duncan asked. "About thirty, my Lord, excluding the remaining children." Drobhert replied. "We will need them all, we do not have much time to prepare. I also want you to build palisades of long wooden sticks tied together, and we need to dig a small ditch here." Duncan drew each specific task required on the ground. "I also want each inhabitant to be camouged, as much as possible, so that from a distance they appear as soldiers." Duncan continued. "We will pose, tired, distracted and drunk. A very ptable dish. As soon as the cavalry charges, the inhabitants will head to this safe spot, away from the fighting." He took a pause and then continued. "Probably the remaining 60 men of the enemies will approach after the cavalry charge, so as to surround the vige." And then the boy asked. "Ramas what is a good spot for our cavalry to hide without being discovered?" The boy asked the scout. "Here, they cannot reach this point without crossing the river, they would pass too close to the vige in this open clearing." Ramas replied, pointing to the spot. "Captain, I want you and forty of your knights to take up positions there to await the signal. When ites, mow down the enemies on foot as if you were reaping wheat." Duncan. "Yes, my lord." Drobhert. "Ramas, Cohollo, I would like you to send out a signal as soon as the enemy attacks. Afterwards take eight men to hunt down anyone who tries to escape." The two men nodded. "I will take the remaining twelve Tallhart men and the nine remaining here. We will deal with the trapped cavalry." Duncan concluded with a question. "Any objections?" Silence hovered for a few seconds. No one spoke, they were still trying to figure out how a five year old could put together such a n. Drobhert was sweating visibly. He couldn''t stop thinking that probably, if he had been in charge of the bandits, he too would have fallen into the trap with both boots. "Possibly I would like you to capture at least a dozen men, we need to interrogate them. In addition to finding out who is behind these attacks, several women in more than one vige have been kidnapped, they may still be alive, prisoners in theirir. We must try to rescue them." Duncan. Everyone present nodded. "Well then, let''s get to work." Said the boy. End POV; ---------------- POV Ser Vane Westbrook; That night... The knight was waiting for his scouts to return. They were waiting in silence about half a mile from the vige. In the distance they could see dozens of small fires burning. "Phitt the scouts have returned." Said Grudof, the leader of a group of northern bandits. Three of Vane''s men stepped forward. "Well? What''s the situation? I want you to describe everything in detail." Command Phitt (aka Ser Vane). "About twenty men guarding the entrance to the vige. Many are camped around campfires drinking andughing. A few actually act as lookouts, but in this darkness they couldn''t make out the horizon more than 50 feet from their noses. Also nearby a child and a man-at-arms are training in fencing with wooden swords. This seems to be our chief target. We also saw at least a dozen horses tied to a fence nearby. Probably the remaining men of the garrison are sleeping blissfully helpless." Described the scout trying to remember everything in detail. "Is that all?" Phitt. "Yes sir, that''s what we were able to see without getting too close as you requested." The scout replied, the other two nodding to confirm what he had just said. ''In fact if I were them I wouldn''t expect a night attack, they were expecting a group of 20, 30 bandits at most. Surprise is on our side.'' Vane Westbrook thought smilingly. "''Grudof! I''ll lead the cavalry charge, you take the men and drop down the hill immediately afterwards. We need to surround the vige before anyone manages to escape." Grudof nodded, licking his lip. He couldn''t wait to make a few brave soldiers squeal in pain. "Get ready. We''re going to attack!" Vane said, mounting his horse. Little nods of jubtion echoed through the men, they too were eager to get some blood flowing. A few minutester... "Remember we must take the child alive!" The men on horseback nodded. Ser Vane raised the arm that held his sword, and lowered it, shouting: "Charge!!!" and set off first, spurring his horse. The 35 men followed theirmander. Vane could also hear Grudof''smand behind him, urging his group to attack. The target was less than 600 feet away. As Vane descended, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a small light in the sky. Immediately he noticed that, all the seated and distracted figures in front of them, stood up and started running quickly towards one direction, including the boy. ''You had a few more hidden scouts for safety, but that won''t save you! It''s toote now.'' He thought spurring the horse to pick up more speed. All the riders rode like lightning taking advantage of the slope of the hill. They would soon reach their targets on foot. Vane led the cavalry towards a wide enough path between the vige houses. "Break through!!!" Roared Vane noticing a small group of soldiers less than 100 feet away from them who were hastily trying to organize. Only now did Vane notice that many torches had been dropped at their sides and that slowly mes were rising higher and higher. Instinctively he spurred his horse more fiercely, thinking it best to get away from the fire as quickly as possible. They had to break forward at any cost or they would be surrounded by mes. 80 feet...60 feet...30 feet.... ''Oh no! There''s a small ditch!!! We''re too fast we''ll have to jump!!!'' Thought Vane and some men on either side of him instinctively as they noticed a small ditch in front of them, at least 6 feet long and at least 2 feet deep that was invisible before due to some debris. "NOW!!!!" rang out a loud boyish voice. At least five men pulled ropes that raised in unison arge wooden fence with sharp poles. "STOP THE CHARGE!!!!" Shouted one man...but it was toote. Vane somehow managed to throw himself to the side, abandoning his horse. He heard an echo of nitrites and screams of pain apanied by various sounds of broken bones, thudding bodies on the ground, broken wood and banging metal objects. He was rolling on the ground in the mud and dirt, when a stabbing pain came from his left leg. A dying horse had run him over. "ARRGHH!!!" He screamed, unable to bear the pain...and then he heard another loudmanding from that devilish voice. "ARCHERS, LOOSE!!!!" End POV. ---------------- POV Grudof; The leader of the band was running up to the vige with his nearly seventy men. A few seconds after the cavalry entered the main street of the vige he shouted: "DISPERSE AND SURROUND THE VILLAGE!!! DO NOT SAVE ANYONE!" shouts of approval echoed behind him. Shortly afterwards he heard a loud noise of chaos, screams of suffering and various nitritesing from the vige itself. He noticed a short timeter that mes were rising, lighting a clear path. He was confused and frightened, not really knowing what was going on. Then he heard behind him... "Boss! They''re behind us!!!" Shouted one of his subordinates, and soon he heard other voices. "TEAR THEM APART! CHARGE!!!!" Roared a man on horseback a few feet away from them. Grudof turned around and immediately his vision became blurred. Everything in front of him was moving as if he were going in circles, and when he stopped, he noticed a headless body at his side...then his vision darkened... End POV ------------------- POV Duncan; The scene before me was a one-sided massacre. Screams, blood, horses and dying men. Two bodies were impaled a few feet from me, blood spatters reaching my face. I didn''t panic, but above all I didn''t feel guilty. "ARCHERS, LOOSE!!!" I shouted for the third time in a row as soon as I noticed that, the eight men and one woman next to me, again had their bows pointed and outstretched. Another volley hit a mixture of senselessly piled bodies. A few screams from standing men, who had somehow saved themselves from the threat in front of them, echoed again. ''Now, it''s time!'' I thought instinctively. "PREPARE TO CHARGE!" I shouted themand. Many bows were thrown to the ground and swords and shields were picked up. "DROP!" The men, who were holding the ropes of the fence taut, let go. I took a long breath as I began to practice the breathing technique I had been exercising almost every night for over a year. "ADVANCE!!!" Imanded drawing my short sword. A dozen men stepped forward step by step. A pile of bodies in the moat along with the fence, acted as a bridge to cross the small moat. Syggha, Will, Baragh and Leng were on either side of me, acting as personal guards. Josua (the archer) was behind me with her arrow drawn, ready to intervene. The rest of Tallhart and Zick''s men were already entering the fray. Of the original 36 mounted enemies, there were about 20 left standing. Almost all of the survivors had somehow managed to get off their horses (which had be unmanageable in the chaos). The fight began, Narbo (a level 10 two-handed sword warrior) had already sliced a man in half and was preparing to cross des on a second victim. Dywen [8] and Recallio [8] had also just overpowered one enemy each. Gadon had impaled a poor man with one of his javelins, after which he grabbed his two-handed spear and stabbed a man in the neck who was charging forward. Time around me slowed down. I could hear the sound of my own breathing above all others around me. And then I saw him... A man about six feet tall was walking towards me. I had noticed that Zick''s men had deliberately let him through. He looked tired and wounded, an arrow, stuck inside his chain mail, protruded out of his shoulder. ''They chose an opponent I could deal with.'' I thought while keeping my focus on the man in front of me. My personal guards took a step to the side to surround us and give us space forbat. The man must have lost his wits, he charged without thinking about what was going on around him. He was level [4] but I didn''t care. I could see every step and every gesture of his arms. Coming within two steps of me, he tried a two-handed sh with his longsword downwards. ''I don''t have time to dodge it, nor the strength to parry it. I must deflect it!'' I thought instinctively as my arms moved on their own. A basic movement rehearsed thousands and thousands of times. ''Tingheennn!'' echoed the sound of one de sliding over the other. I could see it! The flow of the de, was telling me to strike on his exposed left knee. Calmly and fluidly I followed the movement, moving my body to the side. "Shiff".... "AAARGHHH!!!" Shouted the mannding on the ground on his knee. I didn''t hesitate a second longer, I spun around looking for a sh on his neck. ''Splurshh''...the blow was fast but not strong enough. However half of my de was inside his neck. Sshes of blood swept over me from head to toe. The man''s body slumped to the ground. I took deep breaths trying to realise what had just happened. I looked at my bloody hands, then looked around me. Bodies of men and beasts everywhere, a devastating stench of burnt, blood and shit wafted everywhere. The fight was almost over. A small group of seven men was surrounded on all sides. "THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER!" I shouted, staring at the frightened men. I was tired... too much death and misery in one day. A moment of silence and then metallic tinkles echoed through the air... The battle was won. Chapter 15: " BLOO-DY-SNOW!! " Chapter 15: " BLOO-DY-SNOW!! " POV: Duncan; The morning after the Snow Mill massacre... "So Captain, what''s the situation? How many casualties have we suffered?" I asked after putting off this question as long as I could. "Three dead my lord, and another eight wounded but none in serious condition." Drobhert. ''Three dead....Could I have done more?....maybe if only...'' I thought of various possibilities but finally decided that now was not the time. "''Try to treat the wounds as best you can. Search the vige for any healers, use all the alcohol and soap we have to temporarily clean the wounds. I want those men escorted to Torrhen''s Square as soon as possible. Let''s avoid possible further losses." I said, trying to do so as authoritatively and clearly as possible. "Yes my lord!" Drobhert replied, bowing his head. The poor soldier had probably forgotten that if he wanted to, he would have the authority tomand otherwise... "The names of the fallen soldiers?" I asked the captain. "Jon, Mullyber and Gardy..." he paused for a moment and then added. "Gardy had just be a father my lord..." Said Drobhert. A few moments passed and then I said: "I want their bodies transported with the wounded and delivered to their families with all the honours they deserve." I said to the captain, then asked another question. "How many prisoners and losses by the enemy?" "Seventy-eight dead in total and neen prisoners in all my lord. Though I doubt 4 of those prisoners will make it through the night. Also among that group are 8 prisoners who should be part of that mercenary group. It seems their leader managed to survive." Drobhert paused for a moment and then continued. "We are still interrogating the prisoners, 11 we believe to be true bandits are using each other and we are not sure what to believe. The captain of the mercenaries is a knight and has pleaded for mercy for his men. He assumes all responsibility and swears by all the gods that none of his men have ever touched captive women or attacked a vige. It seems they wanted to try to kidnap you my lord, or obtain the secrets of soap making." Drobhert said, waiting a moment before continuing. I gave him a nod to go on with the report. "The knight and his men refused to say a word about where they came from or who they worked for. The leader, nicknamed Phitt, said he is willing to reveal all information about the bandits'' hideout and the captive women in exchange for the lives of hisrades. He has already told us that four bandits are guarding the den and that two days ago there were seven women still alive." Drobhert concluded. "Ask Ramas if he can help, I want you along with him to ask ''Phitt'', using these exact words, ''Are you Lannister or Tyrell men?'' Have Ramas tell you when his eyes have shown astonishment and we will have our answer. Inform him further that if he reveals all he knows within the hour about their, the bandits, and the prisoners, we will offer him and his men shelter and care for the wounded in Torrhen''s Square and that as soon as they are healed, they will have a chance to join the Night''s Watch." I replied. Drobhert seemed satisfied with my choice. "As for the bandits my lord?" Drobhert. "Ask the vigers for help. See if any of the victims recognise one of their attackers. I also want all 11 to be interrogated separately. Inform them that ''the first one who confesses to every crime of all, including his own, will be able to leave this vige unharmed''. That way we should have confessions. The ten stragglers will be escorted to Torrhen''s Square as prisoners." I said remembering every single body of the vigers. "As youmand my lord!" Drobhert was preparing to leave the tent. "And Captain....I want the bandit who will be released, as soon as he sets one foot outside the vige, to be captured and hanged." Drobhert stared at me, widening his eyes. He was visibly starting to sweat.... "Y...Yes, my lord." Drobhert. About an hourter... Ser Vane Westbrook (yes, he revealed more than he meant to) agreed to the terms offered. Ten bandits were bound and prepared to be escorted to Torrhen''s Square along with the wounded and future ''Night''s Watch''. One of the bandits was hanged in a forest near the vige. Before the Tallhart men left, I wanted to thank them in person. Fifty-seven men stood before me and Captain Drobhert. "Men of the Tallhart house! Thank you for risking your lives for the safety of the people of the North! Unfortunately, I will have to ask you for further effort and sacrifice..." I said, I had their undivided attention. "Half of you will shortly be leaving to escort our wounded and prisoners to Torrhen''s Square. The rest will have to leave to try and rescue the women kidnapped by those godless beasts!" I took a pause and said more loudly: "FOR EVERY PERSON RESCUED, YOU WILL GET A DAY OF REST AND UNLIMITED REFRESHMENTS ON ME!" I shouted. "YEAAAHHHRG!!!" the men echoed in unison. "IN ADDITION... EACH OF YOU, FOR YOUR SERVICES TO THE NORTH AND TO THE LAND OF TALLHART, WILL RECEIVE 3 GOLDEN DRAGONS! EACH FAMILY OF THE THREE HEROES WHO DIED FIGHTING FOR THE NORTH: JON, MULLYBER AND GARDY... WILL BE REWARDED WITH 20 GOLD DRAGONS!!!! "I said aloud, pleased with myself... The men nearly went mad, screaming with happiness, hugging each other... then, pointing their weapons rhythmically to the sky, they echoed in unison: "BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!!" They shouted non-stop spurting with pride and happiness.... ''EH??!'' I thought for a moment confused. "Captain, why are the men shouting ''BLOODY SNOW''?" I asked Droberth beside me. "Well...there...Cought! Counght!....I.... I don''t know my lord... "Said a very agitated and not very good at lying Droberth. "BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!!" the shouts continued unabated. "Speak up! This is an order Captain! Don''t you dare lie or leave out any details!" I ordered Droberth, already fearing the worst. "Yes, my lord... that would be... the nickname the men have given you... let us say that in the heat and happiness of victory,... cought cought! ....yes that is... I may have let it slip that you were the real mastermind of the battle n... ....emm....there are also rumours..." Droberth tried to speak in a lower voice, to avoid anyone hearing him, myself included. "What? ME??? ''BLOODY SNOW''? WHY EVER???? What rumours? TALK DAMN IT!!!" I''m starting to rage. "BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!!" The men did not stop. "YES MY LORD! Yes there would be some rumors about your real mother ''Lady Varra''....the fact is that.....and I beg your pardon in advance My Lord.....some think that you don''t look much like Lord Helman....and that therefore.....you might.....so in short....the rumors say that you might be a...a ''bastard''....hence the name ''SNOW''...also.....men believe that you led them to victory in this battle, which has been dubbed '' The Snow Mill Massacre'',..... also...some men saw you kill an enemy in a swordfight....and....well...that during the final blow you were covered in blood.....unfortunately the fact that you are still stained with blood and that your hair is indeed white, doesn''t help My Lord.... .yes, I would say that because of all these ''coincidences'', the soldiers created the moniker ''BLOODY SNOW''.....I assure you my lord I tried to stop them....but... "The captain didn''t know what to say anymore. Anger, confusion, anxiety, disappointment...these and other emotions overwhelmed me. "But...but...Blo.....''Bloody Snow''..." I stammered like a fool looking at my still stained clothes, even my hair was dirty. At some point a voice echoed in my head and I had some kind of hallucination...In front of me was the old me...Matthew... [p! p! p! Well Done! Congrattions! Congrattions indeed new Matthew...AH No I''m sorry! DUNCAN! or should I say ''BLOODY SNOW!''] Said Matthew pping his hands. ''Please stop...'' I tried to answer him in my head... [No no, my congrattions are in order! I congratte you, really good work. But yes, why not? You just wanted to be a ''Pdin'' of this world anyway. Trying to save everyone. Well done. Ah yes, what was it you said about the 1st Rule? "Show your skills, knowledge and qualities in a gradual and justified manner, otherwise armies of people wille marching after you based on the hymn ''Burn that Monster!!!" Well my dear, the armies are already marching, I hope you are ready, because I assure you this story will travel far and wide! ''BRAVO''! p! p! p!]. I almost copsed to the ground hearing those words. [You could have whispered a word of advice, asked the captain not to mention this to anyone. BUT NO LORD! No No! The little mister here wanted to strut his stuff, show everyone what a 5 year old can do!!! But the funniest thing is that now my dear ... YOU GOT A SUBSNAME COMPARED TO THE FUCKING ''THE RED KRAKER'' OF THE IRON ISLANDS!!!!! NO WHATSOEVER! YOU''VE ENDED UP LIKE GERALT OF RIVIA! YOU''VE BECOME THE GODDAMN ''BUTCHER OF BLAVIKEN''!!! DAMN IT DUNCAN!!! One little battle! One single victim! THREE GODDAMNED SWORD STROKES!!! And you get yourself nicknamed ''BLOODY SNOW!''...well my friend we''re on a roll now, we''re DANCING!"] Said Matthew throwing me a ''double critical hit'' and then he went for the final blow. [Oh, I almost forgot! Remember what Tyrion said about ''stories'' "There is nothing more powerful in this world than a good story. Nothing can stop it and no enemy can defeat it!" So unless you are willing or able to kill everyone, and I mean everyone, here, I wish you ''Good Luck!''. This is Matthew, over and out]. The voice and the vision disappeared. There was a final "BLOO-DY-SNOW!" followed by a final "YEAAAARGHH!!!" from the men before they rposed themselves. My hands were still shaking.... The omelette is done...'' I thought in despair. After a while I heard a voice calling out to me. "My Lord! My Lord! Are you alright my lord?" The captain asked visibly worried. "I''m fine! I''m fine Droberth, thank you. Just give me a moment please.....uff...It''s nothing I''ll get over it. It wasn''t your fault Captain...what''s done is done." I said seeing Droberth take a breath of relief. "Tell me something Droberth, honestly. Do you really have to report everything to my Uncle?" I asked holding out a fragile thread of hope. "I''m afraid so my ''BLO''...I WANTED TO SAY MY LORD. Your father has made it clear, he is in charge in his absence. I will have to make a detailed report of events when I return." The thread snapped... ''Seraphinus, my friend help me!'' I thought. ------------------- Five dayster... Torrhen''s Square. The group of wounded and prisoners, led by Captain Drobhert, had already arrived a dayter than that ''historic'' morning. I was riding my pony at the head of the group. We had managed to rescue all seven women. Two of them were in a pitiful condition, we needed a wagon to transport them. All the survivors from the vige travelled with us to find shelter near the castle. Some of them said they did not want to live in the vige where ''The Snow Mill Massacre'' took ce. Some of the vigers even swore they had heard the voices of ''spirits'' who would never find rest. The doors of the castle were already open. They had prepared an ''official wee'' for the victorious heroes. ''Cheer up Duncan...you''re almost there.'' I thought as I rode through the doors on my mount. I didn''t even have time to look around when I heard a loud voice echoing everywhere: "THERE HE IS, MY NEPHEW!!! THE HERO OF THE NORTH!!!!! I WONDER HOW... HOW TORRHEN''S SQUARE WILL WELCOME SUCH A HERO?!" Roared Leobald Tallhart, and immediately ''EVERYBODY'' in the castle responded loudly, "BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!! BLOO-DY-SNOW!!!" I had even managed to see Qyburn, who, in hisposure at my uncle''s side, was moving his lips to the rhythm of the chorus... ''O ''Great Father Almighty'', it''s worse than I thought...by now the voices will have reached Qarth!'' End POV. ------------------- POV Qyburn; A day after the return of a ''Hero''.... "I''m sorry Qyburn, I must express my disappointment...I didn''t expect even you...my most trusted knight, to go this far." Said a five year old boy. "My lord, it pains and saddens me to disappoint you...but your uncle had offered me double the funding for my ''research'' in exchange for the deed and, as you well know, we do not yet have a free hand on castle funds." Qyburn replied. "Never mind...let''s try to forget this chapter. Let''s get down to business. Any news during my absence?" Duncan. "Yes my lord, I am pleased to inform you that our friend in the far south has lit fires. Also thanks to the 10 ''gifts'', you so generously sent me, my research is making huge strides." Qyburn. "Our friend, has already sent us another signal, requesting further ''doses'' my lord." Qyburn. "Send them our usual way. We don''t have to show ourselves yet" Duncan. "Yes, my lord" Qyburn. "The condition of those poor women taken prisoner?" Duncan. "Physically they should all recover within no more than a month of care and rest, my lord, but...I fear that for at least 3 of them, the shock and mental trauma has been very high...even if the body heals, the mind will need much more time to return to a...better condition." Saying this Qyburn noticed his lord sping his small hands tightly. "Take ''ALL'' the time you need with those 10 ''gifts''...they need to be used to their fullest potential, and should you have a shortage of poppy milk supplies in the ''treatments'', try not to disturb my uncle too much." Said Duncan. "It will be done my lord." Qyburn. "The trident? Any news of my father?" Duncan. "The armies are deploying my lord, within a week at thetest they will sh. The Tallhart forces, as far as we can tell, have not suffered any major losses yet. Many northern lords are fighting side by side to best assist your father...but I''m afraid we have no direct word from Lord Helman...not yet at least." Qyburn was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Yes, Ronan?" Qyburn asked. The door opened and Ronan (Tom''s son about 14 years old) walked in. "Maester Qyburn, my lord ''Bloody Snow'', I am sorry to disturb you but Miss Syggha requires the presence of her ''hero pupil'' in the training rooms." Ronan replied politely as he bowed. " Tu Quoque Ronan!" replied Duncan instinctively. "I beg your pardon, my lord? I''m afraid I don''t understand." Ronan. "Never mind. Just let Lady Syggha know I''m on my way, thank you Ronan" Duncan said as he saw the boy politely exit by closing the door. A thought urred to Duncan. "''Maester, when will my mother and the twins return?" Duncan. "''A raven warning us of their departure arrived this morning my lord. Your uncle has already sent eighty men to meet them halfway. Within three days at most they should reach Torrhen''s Square." Qyburn. "Good, very good....it is time to answer Ser Qyburn!" Said Duncan with a devilish grin on his face. End POV ----------------------------- POV Leobald Tallhart; 3 days after a chat between a ''master'' and his knight... The casten of Torrhen''s Square and his nephew were awaiting the return of Lady Myra and her children. Leobald had stopped prodding his nephew since he had received the raven from ''Castle Cerwyn''. He had rehearsed and rehearsed his speech to his sister-inw about the recent events, even enlisting Master Zick''s help and support. Even though the master had not shied away from supporting him in their ''choices'' he still had problems with insomnia and anxiety. His nephew beside him showed no hint of malice, in fact he seemed eager to see his mother and the twins again. The castle doors opened and knights and a carriage arrived... As soon as the carriage doors opened Duncan rushed forward ted. ''Calm down Leobald....he''s just anxious to see his family again.'' Leobald thought as he wiped his brow. "''Mother!!! Eddara! Benfred!!! I missed you so much!" Rejoiced the nephew. "My little boy!!! Come here!!!" Replied Myra hugging her son. The twins were being held by Nanny Bicka but they were both ted to see their brother again. "DUNCAAANN!!! DUNCANN!!!" They both shouted for attention. "Here they are! My favourite bears! Bruaaaa!!!!" Duncan. "Ahahaha! Ow! No! No! Get off me! Away bad! Ghighighi!" Screamed the children inughter. A few minutes of various games and tickling Bicka took the twins to the rooms to sleep.... Lady Myra approached her brother-inw holding her son Duncan''s hand firmly. Leobald already noticed Lady Myra''s icy gaze, he understood that the events with Syggha had not yet fully passed. And then it happened... A few steps away from Leobald, Duncan knelt on the ground holding the grip of his hands on his mother''s robes and began to cry... "Ghu ghu!!! Sniff sniff!!! Forgive me mother! Sigh sigh sigh!! You don''t know how much I''ve missed you!! Thank the gods you''re back!!! GHUAAA!! Ghu, ghu, sniff sniff." Whimpered Duncan with a pitiful scene. Leobald''s blood froze at the scene.... ''No! No! The little monster has only been faking the whole time!!!'' Shouted the monster''s uncle inwardly. "What''s wrong my baby! Why are you crying?" Myra asked worriedly trying to calm the baby down. "I DIDN''T WANT TO MOTHER!!! Ghu ghu! Sigh sigh THEY ORDERED ME TO GO!!! and now....and now.....I AM A MONSTER!!! Uaarrghh ghu! Ghu! Now everyone.....everyone in the castle...is calling me that!!! Sigh sigh" the boy screamed between sobs. Lady Myra was confused, shocked and angry. "Calm down my little darling! Calm down! Everything will be alright I promise!" Lady Myra said, staring at her brother-inw with icy eyes that screamed ''WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?''.... Leobald panicked. He looked around desperately for his ''faithful ally'' Master Zick....had disappeared. Several hourster... Leobald stared at the door of his study, which was still vibrating from the strong impact that had just urred. Lady Myra had just stormed out of the room... ''Chaos'' and ''destruction''... these were the only words to describe her previously well-ordered study. Many objects had shattered, pages of undone books were everywhere. His ears were still ringing. He touched his sore red left cheek. Traces of blood covered his fingers that had just touched his lower lip. After regaining consciousness of time he said palely to himself.... "Good game nephew...A very well yed hand little Lord.....no...it would be better to say.....''Good Show'', ''Bloody Snow''! "... Chapter 16: Good news and... Chapter 16: '' Good news and...'' Hello everyone, just a little information to help you in understanding today''s chapter. Soon I will publish an additional chapter exining the skills and powers of the Pdin. If any of you would like to get more information in advance, go and search on the: [Rules yer Pdin 5e] and you will find everything you need. Thanks and good reading!!! ------------------------- POV Duncan; About 3 weeks after ''The Snow Mill Massacre''.... Torrhen''s Square. ''Sturdffh'' I fell to the ground for the umpteenth time. "Up, again!" Said Dywen Stone holding his two training long swords. I took back my shield and sword and advanced again with my guard up towards my opponent. This time I tried to start with a side sh to attempt a feint. Dywen stood there like a statue, as if he already knew what I was going to do. He anticipated my feint by parrying with the sword of his left hand and then went for a kick straight to my chest. I managed to parry it with my shield but my legs couldn''t keep me steady on the stance. I took two steps back and as soon as I looked up I could see a double shing down on me. I raised my shield again waiting for a strong impact...which didn''te. Dywen took advantage of my blind spots to spin around and deliver a blow to my exposed back. ''Sturdff!!!'' I was on the ground again.... "Up, again!"... ''Sturdffh!!!'' "Up, again!"... ''Sturdffh!!!'' "Again! Get up!"... ''Sturdffh!!!'' "Get up! On your guard!" ... ''Sturdffh!!!'' Forty minutester.... "That''s enough for today." Said Dywen. I was covered in sweat and bruises. I was sure I had left a fewyers of skin on the ground as well but I got back up.... "Hanf!....hanf!....one more time please...hanf!....hanf!...." I said panting. "Isn''t being defeated 83 times today enough for you?" Dywen. "85....hanf...piufff...ptui!...and I love the taste of earth!" I replied, catching my breath and spitting some dirt on the ground. "Hahaha! You''ve convinced me. Bring it on then!" Said Dywenughing. It was time, Syggha had stepped away for a moment and it was just me and Dywen...and maybe Zick somewhere watching. I covered part of my face with my shield and began to try my breathing technique again. ''Phew!''....''fuuufhh!''...time slowed down again. I stepped forward, each step seemed eternal and unnatural but by now I was used to it. I made the same move I''d tried dozens of times to try to get Dywen to unknowingly get used to it. Many times I had lost on purpose by falling back on the same mistake...I wanted to try to set a trap for him. I raised my shield, tried a right cleave but this time it was different...I could follow a more direct and fluid path. I had plenty of time to move my wrist and hand correctly. ''Stuck!'' Dywen parried it anyway, instinctively kicking back towards my chest and I raised my shield. ''stuund!'' I yed my part perfectly...Dywen slid behind me and I felt him swing his sword...IT WAS THE MOMENT! I rotated my body so that my shield could parry the sh that I now knew where it would hit me and I lunged. ''Studkh!'', ''Puth!''....the tip of my sword had touched his stomach! It was the first time I had ever been able to touch him! "Not bad, not bad at all really...but I''m afraid you should still look up little ''hero''!" I looked up hearing his words and there I saw a wooden spike less than 4 inches from my head.... "I was going to take you with me anyway!" I said not wanting to diminish my sess. "If I had fought naked, maybe...but in armor? No, I think you would have generated a spark at best! Ahah!" Said Dywen. I didn''t know how to respond so I chose an honest and honorable silence. "Starting tomorrow you will train with Recallio (Swordsman of Braavos Level 8), you are getting too used to my way of fighting. You''ll see you''ll have a lot of fun trying to hit him...it will also be good training to increase your calm and patience. Ahah!" Said Dywen. ''Aside from Ramas and Syggha, who I don''t think have ever cracked a smile in their lives, Zick has influenced everyone else with his giggles.'' I thought amused. "Thank you for your guidance Master Dywen!" I said making a small bow. "Ah how I will miss hearing that word ''master''. Thanks to you Duncan Tallhart, it was my honor to train the legendary ''Bloody Snow!" A story I could tell my future grandchildren! Ahaha," said Dywen. ''Yeah, I''m getting used to it by now....now I''m just squinting at the words ''Bloody Snow''....it''ll take time...but it''s doable.'' I thought confidently. The annoyance of hearing ''the nickname that shall not be named'' had gone from a loud scratching on a ckboard to a more eptable mosquito buzzing near my ear. I was slowly turning that knife pointed at my throat into a ruff. [Make that Subname your armor and no one can use it as a weapon against you!] said Peter Dinge''s voice again. ''Yes, thank you again Tyrion...but I tell you for the umpteenth time...IT''S NOT THAT EASY!!!'' I thought talking to the voices in my head. I sat on a bench wiping my body with a cloth. I drowned in my water bag for at least a minute, sucking up every liquid contained within. I had asked the kitchens to prepare those bags with a drink of my own invention (at least in this world). A mixture consisting of water, lemon juice and honey. I was trying to evaluate its beneficial effects with the help of Qyburn. The drink in the future might be a standard ration for the army. At that point I heard that ''call'' again.... ''The God''s Wood is calling me back again....but it''s still a contradictory feeling...the closer I get, the more danger I sense...it''s not time yet.'' I thought slightly frustrated. Since the day of my return to Torrhen''s Square I had felt a pull towards the God''s Wood, I realized that I had probably acquired the training and experience necessary to reach the first level of pdin, but I also understood that that power was still too dangerous for my body. Perhaps I had moved too fast and my body had not yet grown up enough. However, that feeling of danger was diminishing day by day, with little difference, but it was there. I went to bed early that night because I wanted to give my stressed body as much rest as possible. Like every night, I drank Qyburn''s restorative tonic that he had been testing for over five years prior to our meeting. Several hourster.....I woke up...suddenly.... I was totally covered in sweat, the bed was soaked. ''Do I have a fever? Could they have poisoned me? What the hell is happening to me'' I wondered non-stop trying to figure out what was happening to me. [Come....Come ''Traveler''...Come....The time hase...Come to ''Us''.....] Said a voice that I was sure was not of my mind. I stood up and felt that pull again, but this time it was stronger and also...sweeter. I walked out of my room and the guard at my door looked at me quite surprised. "It''s okay Jeff, I just need to take a walk. You don''t need to follow me." I said to Jeff, one of Tom''s handpicked guards. "But....Yes my lord....as you wish." He said bowing. I walked towards God''s Wood at a slow pace, I was eager to gain powers and abilities but I wanted to enjoy the old me for as long as possible. I reached the temple doors...two more guards watching the entrance let me through withoutint. Step by step, the feeling and the voices became more and more intense.... [COME.....COME....''THE TRAVELER OF OTHER WORLDS''.....COME TO BEGIN....BEGIN YOUR JOURNEY...] I approached the tree...I could see the carved face....his carvings were different than usual....same shape same face but it was more detailed. Red tears were dripping from his eyes. I tried to bring my hand closer slowly.... [TRIBUTE...SACRIFICE.....PRICE....] I knew what he wanted...intuition guided me like autopilot. I had no des on me...just a night robe...then I turned down and saw him...a dagger...crude....made of obsidian...it couldn''t be a coincidence. I picked up the dagger, it was hot....no....not so hot....it was as if it had the same body temperature as me, strange symbols were etched into the dagger. I made a cut on my right hand and strangely it didn''t hurt. A warm liquid oozed out and my wounded hand moved on its own...attracted like some kind of ma...no rather...like a silken thread that pulled me to itself gently. My hand and face were in contact, I could feel my blood being absorbed but it didn''t hurt no...it created a pleasant rxing effect...and then something entered. An energy, a warmth quickly went through my arm and enveloped mepletely. It wasn''t fast but it was intense, as if it didn''t want to be sure to permiate every millimeter of my body. The heat entered...and continued...I began to feel sticky...liquids were pouring out of my body but it was something more oily than sweat. The process continued....a horrible taste entered my mouth and made me want to vomit. I managed to resist...I held back the urge with all my might. It was almost unbearable I had to get rid of it...my stomach ached...ufortable itches all over my skin began to grow. It was no longer just the horrendous taste, the most horrendous I had ever experienced before, but now the smell....the stench was unbearable as well. My every neuron was screaming ''VOMITING DAMN!!! HOW MANY MORE SIGNS DO YOU WANT???!"....but then another voice entered. [...RESIST....] the voice came from the tree. It seemed like an eternity had passed....I began to use my breathing technique in full force. Every secondsted a minute for me...Einstein was right about the rtivity of time. And eventually the energy stopped.... "Bleaarghhh!!!!! Cought!!! Cought!!! BLEEEEARGHHH!!!"... A ck slime came out of my mouth...I finally understood what it was...it was ''impurities''....the impurities of my body. Not only the slime but also my body was covered with a sort of secondyer of dark skin....to the touch it felt like y. The stench I gave off was that of an old man''s breath who had fed for a lifetime on cabbage and rotten eggs without ever rinsing his mouth.....even the dead would get up and walk away. I desperately searched for the small pond and dove in without hesitation. The water was freezing cold but it didn''t matter. I rubbed hard everywhere, ripped up some moss nearby to create a sort of emergency sponge. I had never felt prouder in my life to have chosen ''soap'' as the first innovation to be introduced into this world. Half an hourter... After scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing repeatedly, I made the decision to create a bonfire to: burn the now unrecoverable clothes, BURN THE MALEFICIAL MELM and...not freeze to death. I ced stones around the slime while holding my breath, added small scattered twigs and used my ''Druidcraft'' trick spell. It wasn''t until a few minutester that I noticed that ''the heart-tree'' was giving off a strong light and glowing....more and more.....and then...a tremor....e. "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!", "PDDHUNG!""PDDHUNG!" "PDDHUNG!",....." PDDHHHUUUUNNNNGGG!" Thirteen energy pulses shot into the sky!....the noise was deafening, with each pulse I had to step back for pressure.....thest one sent me flying at least 5 feet. One was ''green'', two brown, two ''blue'', two ''rainbow'' colored, two ''ck'', two ''red'' and finally two ''white''.....thest one was way out of proportion. "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT????!!! I shouted, realizing only at that moment that the silence from before was now in force.... ''Why those pulses? Why those colors? What''s going on???'' I began to ask still in disbelief. I calmed down for a moment to think...but I had a more pressing thought on my mind. ''I''M OFFICIALLY A PALADIN!!!'' I thought excitedly. Well well first thing I should be able to see my stats! Once at each level up!!'' and as soon as I thought a green mist took the form of eight words with eight digits next to them, and they read: [LEVEL: 1] [Strength: 5] [Dexterity: 6] [Constitution: 6] [Intelligence: 18] [Perception: 11] [Will: 25] [Charisma: 10]* *Author''s note:[Go review ''Chapter 1'' if you are unclear on stat values]. ''Well that seems quite appropriate....Thanks Seraphinus! The 25 is all thanks to you my friend! Mmmm so Qyburn is smarter than me...I should have more knowledge than him....I wonder why?....Ah what a fool I am....After all, Odin''s two ravens weren''t called ''Thought'' and ''Memory'' for no reason. Ahaha!'' I carefully processed the numbers for a few minutes while thinking. After that, the numbers dissipated like smoke in the wind. "''Ah Geez!!!'' I had just realized that those lights would probably wake up the entire North...not to mention the fact that I was dressed ''like mom made me''. ''I need to heal the cut on my hand!'' I thought urgently. "Lay of Hands!" I said...nothing happened. "Huh?"..... "LAY OF HANDS!" again I tried....nothing happened. ''What''s going on? Why isn''t it working? Something is wrong! When I assimted the ability to use ''Druidcraft'' magic it was all so intuitive and natural...wait.....in fact I don''t feel any difference from before.....I should be able to use that skill and then proficiency in all weapons.....but.....no...NO.....I DON''T TELL ME....that it''s because I haven''t reached the minimum value of ''13'' in ''Strength'' and ''Charisma''... IS THAT WHY?'' I thought making myself panic. All my knowledge of ''D&D'' and various logical reasoning, led to that one and only answer.... "MALEDITION!!!!! ARRGHH!!!" I screamed bitterly and angrily. I stormed towards the tree. "YOU DAMN LYING SCUMBAG!!! GIVE ME WHAT I DESERVE!!! YOU LITERALLY MADE ME SPIT OUT SHIT!!! SUGNG! STOCK! I''LL WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE!!! STONK!" I screamed punching one of the most sacred and revered relics in the North.... ''I basically suffered that hell and caused ''only gods know what'' in the world.... FOR NOTHING???? ZERO! NADA! NO BENEFITS! NO ABILITY!!!'' I thought as Iy on the ground surrendered. Tears were starting to well up in my eyes. End POV ------------------ POV: Aspiring Maester; That same night... Old Town.... "Nothing won''t light, I''ve tried everything. It''s impossible to light these candles! This test is impossible!"* Said an aspiring Maester trying hard to light one of the 3 obsidian candles. Then all of a sudden..... "pfuff"... The totally dark room lit up slightly....different colors were changing between them. "I did it!!!" Yes I did it!!! NOW I''M A MAESTER!!!" The young man walked up to the closed door and hit it hard. "SDUH! SDUH! SDHU! HEY ARCHMAESTER! I PASSED THE TEST! I MANAGED TO LIGHT ONE!!!!!" Shouted the boy tedly. *Author''s note: [The night before an acolyte of the Citadel takes his vows, he must keep vigil in a crypt with nothing but the three ck candles and no other light allowed. He must spend the night in the dark unless he can light the candle. ording to the masters , this ritual serves to show that despite all the knowledge gained, there are still some things that are impossible]. End POV --------------------- POV: A Northern Guard; The two guards chosen to guard the entrance to the God''s Wood of Torrhen''s Square heard faint shouts and cursing from inside the temple. ... "Listen but ording to you we should enter for" said the second younger guard. "SHHH! Captain Tom was clear. Whatever bizarre or not happens inside the temple while the little lord is there is none of our business!" Replied the first guard. "Yes but..." He was interrupted again. "No buts! Just do your job and shut up! You''ll get us both hung if you don''t stop." The second guard did not respond and resumed his position. A few minutester.... A creak was heard from the doorway. A naked child came out. Even the first guard, who had seen it all over the years, was slightly shocked. The child even had blood on his hands. The child continued on as if nothing had happened and then looked around confused. "Edmund, Garrath...did you see or hear anything strange earlier?" The child asked cheekily. ''It must be a test! A test to prove our loyalty!!!'' They both thought in unison. "No my lord!" They replied in chorus with serious faces. "Nothing? No sound, noise or light in the sky?" The two guards crossed their eyes only a moment and then in a firm manner replied again: "No my lord!" Duncan looked bewildered by the answer. "I see...Thank you and good night then!" and ran off.... After a few seconds... A gust of light wind carried small traces of smoke in the air that hit the shoulders of the two guards. "Sniff ! Sniff! Puargh!.....Tell the truth.....you farted didn''t you ?" Asked the first guard staring disgustedly at the second. "WHAT? NO!!! I DIDN''T!!!" Replied the second with a confused and indignant look. "Please spare me this scene.....and for the love of the ''Old Gods'' next time, check your food before you eat!". End POV... --------------------------- POV Author: Two dayster. The air in the castle was tense. Everyone was waiting for news from the ''battle of the trident'' that would change the fate of the Seven Kingdoms. Even Lady Myra stopped annoying her brother-inw Leobald. Now, more than ever, the family needed to be united.... Before dawn, a ry reached Torrhen''s Square. Qyburn woke both Lord Leobald and his master Duncan. Half an hourter... The Tallhart family (except for the twins who were still asleep) stared at a soldier holding a sealed scroll in his hand. The man looked exhausted and tried from the long journey. Leobald stepped forward. " My lord Leobald, a message for you from Lord Helman himself." Said the soldier making a bow and handing over the document. Both Duncan, Myra and Leobald breathed a sigh of relief as they listened, picking up an undertone of the message that ''Helman was still alive!'' "Have this man properly refreshed and rewarded with 100 Silver Deer." Said Leobald authoritatively. "Thank you very much my lord!" The soldier replied happily and contentedly. Leobald wasted no time and read the message. Eternal seconds passed... He looked up for a moment and contemted with a sad look... He called Qyburn with a gesture and whispered something in a low voice. Qyburn remained impassive in everyone''s eyes... but only Duncan could perceive a trace of sadness in the face of his trusted knight. Qyburn, without further hesitation, made his way to the inner hall...in search of someone... "What''s going on uncle, speak up! Tell us what the message says!" Duncan. A few moments of silence passed... Myra and Duncan began to get seriously worried.... "Robert Baratheon defeated and killed Prince Rhaegar in battle. My brother is well and Ned Stark has given him permission to return. Helman is returning home with his army...." Leobald paused for a moment.... "That sounds like good news to me. Why are you reacting that way then?" Myra Tallhart asked, the woman was both relieved and confused. "The battle...was hard...the Tallhart forces suffered great losses...and..." Leobald sighed closing his eyes for a moment. Leobald opened his now zed eyes again and said: "Captain Tom....Tom has fallen in battle." Chapter 17: "32 golden dragons, 9 moons.....and...2 pennies" Chapter 17: "32 golden dragons, 9 moons.....and...2 pennies" POV: Captain Tom; 7 days before the delivery of a message.... Battle of the Trident... "RESIST!!! COMBAT!!! THEY MUST NOT ADVANCE!" Shouted Tommanding his 500 men vanguard to hold their ground. Tom and his garrison were facing the center-right wing of a Targaryen army led by the Barristan Selmy Royal Guard. The Tallharts'' army, along with those of the Mormonts, Dustins, and Boltons, served as the vanguard of that Legion of the Rebel army. Baratheons, Starks, Arryns, and Tullys had managed, in that short period, to muster some 35,000 men. Targaryens, Tyrells, Martells and other lesser houses about 40,000. The 5,000-strong legion led by Roose Bolton, in which the Tallharts were fighting, was holding back an 8,000-strong legion led by Ser Barristan Selmy. Their job was to hold them back as much as possible so that they would not be able to join the forces of Raeghar Targaryen who was facing Robert Baratheon. The battle had been raging for over two hours, neither side wanting to give ground. ''Where are those damned Boltons!!!'' thought the Captain as he pierced an inexperienced Targaryen soldier. ''At this rate we won''t evenst half an hour!!!'' Tom cursed inwardly as he continued to cleave his de. Severed limbs, blood, and various other body parts and secretions floated down this side of the river. The water was up to a foot high, it was difficult to move. Squeals, screams, and metallic screeches hovered everywhere. ''Where is Peter?! He thought urgently, looking for his son Peter who until 5 minutes before was at his side. "''WE MUST REACH THE PRINCE!!!! MEN ADVANCE!!! WE BREAK THROUGH THE LINE!!!! Shouted General Ser Barristan. "UUUAAARGHH!!!" Replied the men following him. The Royal Guard personally led about 1000 of his men, to attack a weak point in the Mormont-Tallhart-Dustin forces. Barristan was able to break through, personally mowing down the men he encountered without hesitation. The men didn''t even have time to realize how they had been hit that the knight was already on another opponent. Then they came... A volley of arrows from above, striking both allies and enemies. "ARGH!" , "NOARGH!", "HELP ME!", "SHIELDS!". Countless voices shrieked simr expressions simultaneously.... it was a carnage. It had to be said that the flow of arrows concentrated mainly on the enemy forces, but for every 3 enemies hit at least 1 ally was hit. Many generals would consider such an act ''a necessary price for victory'', others would not. Roose Bolton belonged to the first group. A few minutester... Enemy forces had managed to prate inside, and Tom and his men were on the verge of giving up. At that moment, the Bolton forces arrived and, slowly but surely, managed to surround the vanguard led by Barristan. The bait of Roose Bolton wasunched...and Ser Barristan Selmy took the bait. Now it would only be a matter of time. Roose Bolton had realized that the Royal Guard was in a hurry to get to the side of his sworn protg, and he used the opportunity. He had used the weak vanguard forces to entice him to break through before surrounding him. About twenty minutester... Ser Barristan continued to hold out as best he could...they were surrounded and of the 1000 men at his side, there were now barely 300 left. "PETER!!! PETERR!!!" Tom shouted as he finally got a glimpse of his son. ''No him no! Don''t do it! you''ll get yourself killed!!!'' Thought the father instinctively as he watched his son, less than 50 feet away from him, charge with a couple of men towards the tired and wounded General. "NOOOO PETEEERRRR NOT HIMMM!!!!" He screamed as loud as he could but his voice was muffled by dozens more screams. The boy had already started the fight. The only thing the desperate father could do was...''try to get to him with all the strength he had!'' Tom shoved both enemies and allies, some falling to the ground, others moving along with the flow of the fight. He even had to kill what looked like a poor, poorly armed Targaryen loyalist farmer from behind to finish thest stretch of road as quickly as possible. In the end he was only a few steps away from the fight, and what he feared most was about to happen. His son Peter was on his knees holding his injured armpit. He groaned in pain and was unarmed. Ser Barristan was about to deliver thest blow for the enemy who, along with hispanions, had dared to face him.... "STRIIINGHH!!!" a bastard sword stopped the sh. Barristan took a single step backwards to regain his bnce and stared at his new target. "Get him and get him out of here now!!!" Tom ordered to his loyal remaining men who would never leave their captain''s side. "Fath....Father! you can''t this..." Peter was interrupted. "SILENCE!!! TAKE HIM AWAY!!! NOOOWW!!!" He yelled and two men dragged the still stunned boy away. Ser Barristan was watching the scene. It was over for them now and he knew it. He might as well take his time for a more glorious end. "I beg your pardon Ser...it was your right to im his life and I interfered. I will repay the insult to you myself." Said Tom, bowing his head in apology. Not many dared to approach Ser Barristan...dozens of bodies surrounded him. He had at least 10-15 feet of clear radius around him. "No offense." Ser Barristan replied briefly, paying respect to the apology offered. He raised his guard in eptance of the requested duel. Tom went against his marked fate. He had dozens of years ofbat experience, and although the knight was visibly tired and wounded, he knew he would have little chance of making it out alive.....but he did not flinch....a debt of blood had to be paid... ''And I''ll be damned if I were to let another man pay that debt!'' He thought for a moment before charging in. The two men crossed the guards...a sh from above parried by Ser Barristan was deflected to one side. Tom was not surprised and changed the shot to his side.... "Stinghh" Barristan rotated his hip slightly to let the metal of his armor parry the blow. Shot....after shot....after shot.... The fight had been going on for over a minute, the flow of the des creating a cloud of steel sparks. Tom was giving it his all, sparing nothing. A few seconds earlier he had avoided a winning lunge by sheer luck, and he knew that Barristan was holding back. Not because he didn''t think he was up to it...but because he wanted his opponent to use up all the stamina he had before a significant opening. Tom''s instincts told him it was only a matter of time before his demise. None of his assaults, even one with a ''dirty'' move, had managed to find an opening in Ser Barristan''s seemingly perfect defense. The two men caught their breath for a few seconds, when they both heard.... "RHAEGAR HAS FALLEN!!! WE WON!!!" This and simr shouts echoed everywhere. Ser Barristan visibly frowned in silent pain....but turned his focus back to the fight. "You can still save yourself Ser, there is no need to die here. After you are done with me,y down your weapon and surrender. The battle is over now." Said Tom. "Thanks for the advice Ser...but no, I will follow the prince wherever he goes..." Ser Barristan. "I''m not a knight Ser, just Tom if it pleases you. I respect and honor your choice. I wish you both a glorious and honorable end." Tom. "I wish the same...Tom." The confrontation resumed, Barristan was no longer holding back any effort. Tom tried to resist, parrying every blow he could foresee...small wounds began to appear on the Captain''s body...and then came....a total lunge towards the man''s stomach... Barristan, whether from exhaustion or surprise, widened his eyes, realizing only a momentter what had just happened. Tom had voluntarily taken the lunge he could have dodged, to attempt a surprise blow towards Ser Barristan. The sword was blocked by the body and the right hand of the brave-crazy man...but a dagger entered the knight''s right side. "Urghh!" Barristan groaned and stepped back releasing the sword held by his opponent''s body...his vision was beginning to blur...he would still hold out but not for long. Tom was on his knees...a sword was running through him from side to side...with a huge effort he raised his head to look at the sky onest time....''A good life...and a good...death...'' He thought making onest bloody smile. He tried to express onest thought towards his loved ones but...everything went ck for him... End POV. ------------------------- POV Qyburn; Torrhen''s Square On the very evening of that day of mourning.... Qyburn stared at his young lord, the one to whom he had sworn eternal loyalty. Duncan stood on the balcony of the same attic where they spoke at their first meeting, staring out over theke illuminated by ast glow of twilight. Qyburn himself had first informed his poor trusted assistant, Ronan, Tom''s second son, of his father''s death on the battlefield. The boy had shown incredible restraint in holding back his emotions in front of the serving maester, and asked for permission for a short leave of absence, before resuming his duties... Qyburn ordered the boy not to return to his duties and studies for three days, and to concentrate on his own care and that of his younger brother Brywen (2 years younger than Ronan). The boy agreed and thanked the maester before taking his leave. The silence was broken by the little lord. "I could have stopped this from happening Qyburn....I could have prevented this war if I really wanted to...it''s my fault. Tom and hundreds of men who swore to follow us, died because of me..." Said Duncan with a deep sadness in his tone of voice. "You once asked me ''if I was able to bear the weight of the cmities I would inevitably bring''....well my friend, today I will answer you by saying that ''I don''t know if I will really be able to bear that weight.''" Said Duncan as he continued to stare at the horizon. Qyburn took a step forward to stand by his lord''s side. "No my lord, you are wrong.....'' You don''t know if WE, will really be able to bear that weight.'' "'' Qyburn replied searching the child''s eyes with his own. Only after hearing the reply did, Duncan, turn to meet the face of his fellow knight. Both individuals, exchanged a look of understanding apanied by slight nods of a smile. End POV --------------------------- POV Leobald Tallhart; The same evening an hourter.... ''''Tock! Tock! Your nephew my lord" I heard Leobald. The man quickly wiped his eyes erasing that memory of the past in his head. "Let hime in!" Leobald. The door opened and a little boy, with the same tired, reddened eyes that Leobald had, entered. He paused for a moment to stare at his uncle''s study. It had changed; many objects, which had previously furnished the study, were missing. "I''m sorry Uncle, I went too far by unleashing Mother on you. All the trouble you''ve had to endure in thest while is because of me." Said Duncan looking at his uncle with deep sincere sadness. Leobald stood up and walked over to his nephew putting both hands on his shoulders. "Don''t you dare!....don''t you do it, don''t you ruin our damn ''game''." Said Leobald staring at the boy with a small smile. Duncan hugged his uncle as hard as he could, Leobald returned the hug. A few seconds of silence passed...and then Duncan said: "I''m going to miss him...I''m going to miss Uncle! Sniff..." "I know, I''ll miss him too...Tom raised me too...he was the one who taught me how to fight...as much as he could ahah" Duncanughed a moment between small sobs. A couple of minutester... "Now that we''ve vented, back to business little leech! I know you came with the intent of asking me for something that will drain the castle''s coffers....spit it out!" Leobald. End POV ------------------- POV Author; 4 weekster... God''s Wood in Torrhen''s Square. Duncan was carving one of thest names on the huge marble b behind a statue of the same material that was also beingpleted. He had asked his uncle for a considerable sum of gold and the possibility of hiring jewelers and sculptors from Winter Town and White Harbor. The same family that had been responsible for the statues in the crypts of Winterfell for hundreds of years arrived a weekter. Luckily for them, a supply of fine marble from the Valley resided in the warehouses of White Harbor. During that week Duncan, with the help of Tom''s sons, spent every moment trying to draw and paint, as best he could, Tom''s features. In the meantime, Qyburn had the task of surveying and tracking down every possible attainable family of the fallen soldiers. Each family would be weed into the temple to witness the engraving of the name of their family member who had died in battle in the service of the Tallhart family, on the marble b attached to the walls surrounding the inside of God''s Wood. In addition, the families would receive a copper and steel pin forming the symbol of House Tallharh and the form of the trident or bells. Along with it was a reward (in gold and silver) worth 10 Golden Dragons and the possibility of a grant of 2 Golden Dragons year for the next ten years. A small coded number was concealed in each pin to reduce the possibility of future theft and fraud. Of the 712 fallen, over 600 families came for the awards. The remaining names were either orphans or none of their families were alive anymore. The unimed awards were put into a fund to help orphans on the Tallhartnds. Duncan, with the help of Peter, Ronan and Brywen, weed the families and gave out the award thanking the family for their service, then engraved each name himself. He had asked permission from his father and Master Zick to temporarily stop training so that he could fulfill this duty full time. Both agreed withoutint. Myrd and his son (the hired sculptors) had repeatedly tried to stop the little lord from doing the work that was theirs to do. "No, I have to do it. I don''t want to forget any of those names." He replied each time, thanking them for the thought. Many families touched the engravings of their loved one''s name repeatedly. Most of them could neither read nor write, they wanted to try by all means to remember those strange and iprehensible symbols that represented the person they had lost. Helman Tallhart gave the order to keep the doors, of the castle and of the temple, open day and night for the entire award ceremony. The men of the Torrhen''s Square garrison voluntarily took extra shifts to increase defenses and surveince from possible dangers. On the sixteenth day after the arrival of the artisans and families.... "My Lord the statue isplete...all that is missing is your carving." Warned the head sculptor Myrd. Duncan nodded and finished carving the rest of one of thest names on the wall. A short timeter... Duncan, with Tom''s sons assisting behind, took the small hammer and chisel and approached the six-foot-tall statue. It depicted Tom in armor (Studded Leather plus chaps, armbands and steel ruff) who was half hunched bent from the on one leg cleaving a sword stroke (his bastard sword) from bottom to top, his face bore incredible resemnce to the original subject. The expression expressedbative fury. The work was magnificent... Duncan began engraving the words on a b, rectangr 2 feet high and 3 feet long, at the bottom of the statue''s base. Each blow of the hammer was a pain for the boy, but he resisted with all the willpower he had to concentrate on the task that required extreme precision. Four hourster the inscription wasplete, and it read: [Here lies Captain Tom, First Guard in the service of Torrhen''s Square. An orphan from the North who served House Tallhart for over 36 years. A man who, over the course of his merit-filled career, refused knighthood three consecutive times, as he did not want to renounce his faith in the ''Old Gods'' in which he believed. Loving father and husband, faithful and loyal until hisst breath. He died fighting in the Battle of the Trident to defend the North, House Tallhart and his family. Here we thank him today andmemorate him for his service and sacrifice.] As Duncan worked, he was unaware that three individuals, on the walls surrounding the park, were watching him arguing with each other.... End POV. ---------------------- POV Helman Tallhart; Helman stood on the walls of God''s Wood, at his side were his brother Leobald and Qyburn. He watched his son Duncan with a look that expressed pride and concern. He had been back at his home for about ten days, after over a year of military campaigning. He had been shocked to learn of the events his son had aplished and his new nickname. After a week, he still had to be able to process the new facts. "So brother, do you finally want to exin to me why you organized that parade for your nephew? Why did you want the rumors about that nickname ''Bloody Snow'' to spread far and wide?" Helman asked. The poor man had been tortured by his Lady wife who demanded retribution against Leobald. "What did our father say about blizzards? ''If an enemy chases you and pushes you into a blizzard, you musty false tracks, follow the direction of the wind, and find shelter if you want to survive." Leobald. Helman stared at his brother for a moment reflecting on his words. "The spread of those rumors was inevitable...so you followed the wind to use them to our advantage." Helman continued, arriving at the key point himself. Leobald nodded making a small grin. "Maester Qyburn." Helman called to the maester who took a step forward in response. "Regarding that project to create an espionage and counterintelligence unit...you have my permission. You have free ess to the funds necessary to aplish it. I will personally thank Master Zick and his partner Ramas for their help in training the unit. Do whatever you must to protect my family." Said Helman in a low but authoritative tone. "It shall be done my Lord." Said Qyburn bowing. "Soon the great minds of Westeros and Essos will set their eyes on Duncan. Both for what happened at ''Snow Mill'' and what is happening here...we will need to be ready." Both Leobald and Qyburn nodded in response. That same evening..... Helman raised his head at the knock on the door. "Master Sculptor Myrd my Lord." Said a guard. "Show him in, thank you Ubett." The guard nodded and made way for the craftsman to enter. "Master Myrd please take a seat, you don''t know how grateful and honored we are for the magnificent work you have done to my House and Torrhen''s Square." He said to Myrd. "No my Lord, the honor has been ours. Your son and the sons of the hero Tom have helped us enormously in our humble task. This was the first time ever that we sculpted a statue of a person without noble titles." Said Myrd that a proud and respectful tone. "Here is the reward for the services of you, your son and your employees. Please ept it." Said Leobald opening a small casket. Inside were at least 150-200 gold coins. "No my Lord I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your reward but the only amount we can ept will be 32 golden dragons, 9 moons and 2 pennies." The master craftsman replied, bowing. Helman was quite surprised, he knew for sure that he would have to pay at least 50-60 g.d. ...he had tripled that sum because he was really satisfied with the work he had created and the future benefits his house would receive from it. "I don''t understand Master Myrd, why that amount?" Helman. "Yes my lord I will clear up your doubts at once. The 32 golden dragons and 9 moons will cover the cost of materials, transportation and pay for my employees. The two pennies arepensation for my service and that of my son." Chapter 18: "I hope it doesnt come today." Chapter 18: "I hope it doesn''te today." POV: Rhaenys Targaryen; About two weeks after the Battle of the Trident.... Screams of men and women echoed from all the windows of the Red Keep. Elia''s worried shrieks had frightened the little girl tremendously. The little girl had taken her ck kitten Balerion and gone to hide under her father Rhaegar''s bed in the room upstairs. She was shaking and scared, not knowing what was going on. She barely knew the world outside of Maegor''s fort. She held the kitten tighter and tighter in her arms. "Maao, miaaoo!" Balerion. "SHHT, shut up Balerion! Or they''ll find us!" Said the little girl, speaking under her breath. Louder than normal shrieks came from downstairs. First the little girl could hear screams of human distress, then her mother''s screams of fright. The cry of an infant who must have been her little brother. Then the screams subsided...and Rhaenys heard quick footstepsing up the stairs. The child tried to crawl as far as she could to the end of the bed. The footsteps were getting closer and closer. The man, who was looking around the room, approached the bed after a few seconds. Rhaenys put her small hands over her mouth, trying to hold her breath. The mysterious figure knelt down and the little girl couldn''t stop a small scream of fright.... End POV. --------------------- POV: Oberyn Martell; A few secondster a small scream.... Oberyn stared at a frightened little girl hiding under his father''s bed. He waspletely unarmed, and had covered his sleeve by wrapping a cloth around his arm. He didn''t want his niece to be scared. He knew she couldn''t remember him. She was only 1 1/2 years old the first time they met. Oberyn with all his efforts tried to appear calm and reassuring. "Here she is my favorite niece and there is also the legendary Balerion, the cutest and fiercest kitten in all the realm!" Said Oberyn with a smile. Rhaenys stared at her kitten for a moment, trying to think about the stranger''s words. Then getting some courage he said: "Who....are you? Where''s Mommy?" Rhaenys. "Don''t you know who I am! Oh little Rhaenys you''re going to make your uncle cry like that! Yet I hade all the way up here because my sister Elia, your mom, had said you were ying hide and seek. I wanted to y too but it seems you don''t want me.....So I''m going away....to y with my nephew Aegon and your mom." Said Oberyn making a sad face. He absolutely had to calm the little girl down. He shouldn''t have screamed and had him and his rescue party discovered. The fortress hadn''t fallen yet, hundreds of Targaryen guards were still vignt inside the castle, and he only had 12 spears with him. Oberyn stood up again, pretending to walk away. "NO! Wait! Wait uncle! Balerion and I want to y too!!.....but....don''t want to go out....I''m scared." Rhaenys. "But how? Your mom told me you were the bravest little girl in the kingdom!...so Elia lied. I thought with your kitten Balerion beside you no one could hurt you. I will go downstairs and tell Elia that she is a lying big sister! And that my niece Rhaenys is not the bravest child of them all! "'' Said Oberyn folding his knee, staring at the little girl with an indignant but funny look. "NO! NO! Don''t tell mother! I AM! I am brave! I am not afraid!.....I.....I am not afraid!" Said the little girl starting to crawl out towards the man. "Well if you are then...could you hold my hand? I am a little afraid of my sister...Will you help Uncle Oberyn?" Rhaenys hearing that name became more reassured. She didn''t remember it well, but it sounded familiar to her. Elia had mentioned the name a hundred times in front of the child, but since she could not associate a face with a name without seeing thetter, she did not remember it perfectly. "Yes Uncle Oberyn..." Little Rhaenys got out of bed and stood up, still holding Balerion in her arms. Oberyn offered his hand and the little girl didn''t know how to take it without leaving her cat. "I can hold him while we go down if you want...but only if you promise not to order him to breathe fire on me!" Oberyn. The little girl stared at the cat for a moment. "Yes...Balerion don''t hurt Uncle Oberyn!".... "Meow" she replied with a minute meow. Rhaenys offered the cat and Oberyn grabbed it with his right hand on his belly gently...but quickly. "Let''s go quickly! Or they''ll start without us!" Said Oberyn coaxing the little girl down the stairs quickly. When they reached downstairs they found Elia holding little Aegon asleep on his feet. Ten men were inside, and two were outside as sentries and lookouts. They all wore Targaryen uniforms. "Rhaenys little one! Come drink the juice." Elia said quickly in a worried tone. Oberyn red at her making her realize not to scare the little girl. Their situation was very delicate...they couldn''t afford a single mistake. "But....but mom uncle said we had to y..." Rhaenys. "Y...yes Rhaenys in a little while the game will start...but not before snack time! If you don''t drink the juice no game!" Elia said in a calmer but authoritative tone. The little girl thought about it for a moment...then she took the cup from her mother and drank all the juice. Only a couple of minutes passed and the little girl began to yawn. Oberyn didn''t think twice. "Take the cat and don''t lose it." He ordered his man handing him the cat in a hurry. "Yes my prince!" He obeyed without hesitation. Oberyn took his niece in his arms, who didn''t have the strength to rebel anymore...within a minute at most she would be asleep. "If something happens to her I...." Elia said but yes interrupted thinking it wasn''t the time. "Trust me I have carefully dosed the sleeping pill within 2 hours at most she will wake up." Said Oberyn in a confident tone picking up the spear with his free hand. "Now we should walk down this corridor for a hundred feet, calm but quick pace. You all know what to do." All the men and one woman nodded.... End POV. ----------------- POV Tywin Lannister; About 8 hourster.... "HOW?" the ''Old Lion'' asked with a roar, fixing the two knights, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch, with a murderous stare. Twenty trusted guards, were a few paces behind their Lord, and the two men were unarmed. Amory had a terrified look on his face, Gregor on the other hand looked as if he had just returned from an outburst of homicidal madness. The giant''s ck te armor was still stained with blood, small pieces of bodies were embedded in the cracks and joints of the metal gloves. Gregor did not respond...he was not yet in full control of himself and wisely managed to think not to open his mouth...to avoid further damage that would be irreparable. "My..My Lord Tywin.....we don''t really know yet. They weren''t there...they....must have escaped before we were able to enter the castle. They wouldn''t have had a chance to escape during the siege....the fortress was surrounded." Said Ser Amory sweating bullets, his throat drier than a desert. "So you''re telling me that, not only did you let them slip through your fingers, but you didn''t even question anyone or try to check the surroundings and the docks?" Tywin asked. Amory didn''t know how to answer....he didn''t have the strength and was afraid that anything he said would only make his situation worse. "We have questioned every handmaiden and guard still alive in the direct service of Princess Elia Martell..." Gregor replied, looking at hispanion with disgust. He had realized that Amory was now a useless being and that he would have to take matters into his own hands. "And?...." Tywin asked not at all perturbed by Gregor''s indirect messages ofpleted torture. "No one knows how they escaped...but some handmaidens swore that Elia had been seen with their children this morning. It also seems that some found bodies of Targaryen soldiers before we were able to invade the keep. This is safe information My Lord.....three women and two soldiers swore to death...and all of them reported almost identical versions of the events." Said Gregor and continued. "Shouldn''t this be an order given by King Aerys.....everyone imed that the King wanted to hold Elia and his grandchildren as hostages..." Finished the giant handing the few clues gathered to their feared and respected Lord. "Are you implying that someone had them on the run before...that they already had an escape n in case of a situation like this..." Tywin said loudly as he walked towards the balcony of the first knight''s tower. The city was still in mes. The protector of the west stared silently at the horizon for a few seconds... ".....Martell....." Said Tywin Lannister managing to keep a high control of his emotions, anger and frustration were exploding inside him. The fires of the city were reflected in his eyes.... End POV. -------------------- POV Helman Tallhart; Torrhen''s Square... Three weeks after thepletion of a statue.... Helman was inside his officete in the evening. His brother Leobald sat across from him. They were both returning from a confidential meeting that had taken ce about four hours ago. Four people attended that meeting requested by his son. He, Leobald, Qyburn, and Duncan himself. The two brothers had yet to recover and manage to break the silence inside the room. Neither of them could start the speech....no, they could only exchange nces with each other and continue to drink the Arbor red from their cups. The bottle was now almost empty. A few minutester Leobald took courage and started talking.... "Where did you put them brother? And that key...Tell me you hid them please...in fact I don''t want to know where they are...I..." Leobald didn''t know how to continue. "In the safest ces in the castle...I won''t take them out unless absolutely necessary...but especially not before Mr. Ramas finishes training the first counterintelligence units..." Helman replied, knowing what his brother meant. He felt the same anxiety and fear for the weight of that burden....no those burdens....those documents. ... another minute and another full cup passed.... "You believe...you believe the ''Old Gods''...in short yes...that Duncan" Helman interrupted his brother. "I do believe it Leobald...I have to believe it, otherwise I would never be able to sleep at night again...it can''t be a figment of his mind..." Helman continued. "And to think that almost two years ago we were anxious about soap production...ahahah" Helman began tough...something he hadn''t done in over a year...the wine was definitely helping. "Yeah...ahahahah!!! Now I think even Ned Stark mighte knocking on our door in person with an army behind him....ahahaha!" Leobald bent overughing and his brother apanied hisughter with vour. Another ten minutes of hrity passed.... "So you''ll give your consent to kick off the n?" Leobald asked now that both men were less tense. "....Yes..." Helman replied, staring at the empty bottom of his cup. End POV. ------------------ POV Author; About 5 hours earlier... "Father, Uncle thank you forplying with my request." Said Duncan making his immediate family sit on chairs ced around arge round table. On the table was ced arge map of Westerose and a casket (one very simr to one received from some men of Dorne). "So son, your uncle and I are curious. What did the ''Old Gods'' show you this time?" Helman asked with a smile trying to encourage his son to talk and open up to them. "One step at a time father. First take this key." Said Duncan handing over the carefully crafted piece of metal. Duncan briefly exined the security measures of the chest emphasizing its fragility to impacts. "Is this really necessary son?" Helman. "Yes father, in theing years I may not always be here in Torrhen''s Square...or something may happen to me and no one, for the time being, other than the four of us in this room will need to know what it holds." Said Duncan causing both his father and uncle to frown. The chest was opened... "I would say we start here...now that the war is over...the seven kingdoms will see at least five years of peace before another conflict is generated...or at least that is what the ''Old Gods'' have shown me. House Tallhart will have to make the most of every single day of peace and stability." Said Duncan pulling out some clear papers and handing them to the two men. At first nce the two did not realize what they were holding in their hands. "It''s not made from animal skin....but from trees....with a process at least 10 times cheaper than themon sheets used in the citadel, it''s called ''paper''." Leobald and Helman both took a sheet for one and scrutinized and touched it to understand its differences and simrities. "This....are you sure it''s made from trees ? The ink is also absorbed better than our sheets....and it dries sooner too." Leobald was experimenting and talking at the same time exining in detail to his brother what he could notice. "That''s right uncle, we can get the materials to make paper from trees of: pine, fir, cypress, redwood, por, beech, birch and eucalyptus...the first four are the ones that the wolf forest has in abundance. Although we have ess to a portion of the forest...we will have to make trade agreements with House Glover and Forrester...if we do well we will be the new main suppliers of papers, for documents and books throughout Westeros and Essos." Said the boy as he waited for his father and uncle to assimte the information and more importantly digest it. A minute passed Duncan resumed.... "As soon as production begins the first thing we should do is take a detailed census of all the Tallhartnds..." he waited for a response. "We already receive a report every year from all the vige heads and smallndowners...." Said Helman confused by his son''s request. "Yes father...I am not saying that ournd dwellers are stealing or cheating us...just that very few are educated enough to make a detailed report...it is very inurate data based on an approximate general number. No, what we will have to do is take the information of every inhabitant of ournds. Who they are, where they live, their gender, age, and what kind of upation they do. This data will be extremely useful to us in the future...not only for the annual tax levy but also so we can get a clear idea of how many men or women we have to be able to perform specific tasks. To give an example..if in the future we had to make ''another call to arms'' we would immediately already have an estimate of how many eligible men we would be able to call up. It will also have an incredible benefit for our security in the territory, we will be able in the future to draw up an identification document for every man, woman and child living in the Tallhartnds. This way we will easily be able to know who is not from thesends and greatly reduce the risks of infiltration of ''enemies''." Said Duncan. Leobald could immediately understand the benefits in his nephew''s speech and was already thinking of other possible uses. Helman nodded in satisfaction at his son''s exnation and motioned for him to continue. Secondly, books...in addition to paper, we have designed a device that will help us to create texts and documents with speed and low manpower...we have called it ''typographic machinery'' or printing...but we will have to find asting coboration with the citadel...they have a monopoly on the production and the printing.....If we can convince them to create this coboration we could not only earn a substantial sum of money but also get our hands on much of the knowledge held by the citadel itself....we could create the ''second''rgest library in Westeros.....the benefits that wille from this ''deal'' will be amazing." Both Leobald and Helman reflected at length on the various ''possibilities'' and ''repercussions''.... "For now I''d say let''s stop on these two points...we''ll borateter....now let''s move on to the other three projects...''increased food production''.....''development of crafts-increased mineral collection''....andstly there''s this text I''ve called....''The Art of War''..." Three hours passed... Helman and Leobald were mentally exhausted, shocked, thrilled, proud, anxious, scared and confused.... "To aplish all this...we would need at least to invest..." Leobald tried hard to calcte the hundreds of expenses required for these projects...he was helped by Duncan. "At least 500 thousand Golden Dragons (about $4.5 billions) uncle....though it would be better if we could borrow 600...but I already have in mind who to ask and how to get it, if you will give me permission to start negotiations..." Duncan exined in thest hour the n he had in mind to obtain the necessary funds.... End POV -------------------------------- POV Olenna Tyrell; The ''Queen of Thorns'' was in her study with her grandson Wis heir of Highgarden. She was helping her grandson as usual with his studies. She had failed her son Mace....he had spoiled him too much and unfortunately...the ''idiot'' son had never shown much aptitude in study...nor in anything else of consequence. Wis and the other grandchildren would be the future of the ''Tyrell'' household hoping to have the time to educate them properly and prepare them for ''the game''. She wasn''t going to make this mistake twice.... "Grandma why are you so agitated today?" Wis asked slightly concerned. "No use lying to the wittiest one in the family...Do you think you''re ready to stick your finger in this big ho''s nest?" Olenna asked, recovering from her anxiety and throwing a smirk at her grandson. "Of course! I want to help you if I can Grandma...you''re already doing so much for House Tyrell..." Wis frowned thinking of his poor father...loving sure...nice too...but even he couldn''t get the word ''idiot'' out of his mind. "Well the reason I''m so ''tense'' ,if we can say so, is that today is a particr day...shortly our House should receive a message for probable negotiations. I sincerely hope it doesn''te today..." He exined to his grandson Wis, was now 9 years old. He wasn''t very big but he had already shown himself to be more mature and responsible than many other ''noble'' children in Westeros. "You mean House Tallhart? Why don''t you want it received today?" Wis. "There is a new yer on the ''grand chessboard''...I don''t know who it is yet...in fact we can say I have suspicions about who it might be...but I hope I''m wrong." Olenna took a sip of wine and continued.... "You already know that we failed in that little ''expedition'' I mentioned to you a few days ago. Well now I am quite certain that this new ''yer'' will require us a ''me''... to start a negotiation. They now have all the cards out of their hand...a strong position to negotiate and they will not let it slip away, nor am I certain." Olenna finished the wine from her cup, set her ss down and concluded her speech. "So to conclude, before these old vocal cords give out, I don''t want that message to arrive today for one simple reason...We have ''wronged'' the North...and they responded to the insult with ferocity and elegance...the fact is that this ''wrong''sted exactly 1 year, 7 moons and 12 days. Do you know what this period represents?" Olenna asked, questioning the grandson. "The duration of thest winter that just passed..." replied Wis quickly. "That''s right..." Said Olenna with a slightly proud look on her face. "Today is exactly 1 year, 7 moons and 12 days since we received the ''gift'' from House Tallhart....if the message were to arrive today...it would mean that negotiations would be very tough. Our ''yer'' would send us a subtle and imperceptible message: ''I am not willing to give in or forget easily.'' So in conclusion our House will have to pay a high price to give relief to your poor grandmother''s huge headache." He concluded, smiling. Wis thought deeply on his grandmother''s words. Now he was beginning to understand.... *Tock!* , *Tock!*, *Tock!*... Olenna sighed closing her eyes. "Come in..." Lady Olenna''s assistant quickly entered...he was hurried. "Mydy Olenna, Young Lord Wis, a message has arrived! A message from House Tallhart!!!" Said the poor boy in an ted tone. Chapter 19: The two signatures Chapter 19: '' The two signatures '' POV: Robert Baratheon; King''s Landing. About a week after the sacking of ''King''s Landing''.... "They''re alive Ned!!! That man''s sons are still alive...I want them dead, his sons and his brothers! THE WHOLE FUCKING TARGARYEN PROGENY MUST DIE!!!" Said Robert turning to his ''brother''. "They''re just kids Robert! You can''t be serious...we fought for justice, not senseless ughter!" Ned replied. "Ahaha! ''Senseless ughter he says...'' Did you hear that Jon? What they did to your father RICKARD! YOUR BROTHER BRANDON AND WHAT THEY MIGHT STILL DO TO LAYNNA, IT''S A SENSELESS MASSACRE!!!" Robert screamed so loudly that the still unhealed wound on his right side began to throb again...he began to catch his breath. "Ned, I think what Robert meant to say is that we should, for the sake of the kingdom, try to avoid future tragedies. If Aegon and Rhaenys are still alive, more war will break out in the future. Thousands more dead..." Said Jon Arryn trying to findmon ground. "EXACTLY! How many more deaths do you want to see because of that fucking House? Will ''the honorable Ned Stark'' stop the next war? Will you go there and tell those soulless fools...''There''s no need to fight, we can live together holding hands and keep our honour intact!'' ahahah!.....no Ned, only blood will be the solution to our problems!" At Robert''s words, Jon lowered his eyes, thinking that the breaking point was inevitable...he knew his ''son'' Ned well. "...I will march to Storm''s End and rescue your castle and your ''true'' brother Stannis...after that I will go and rescue my sister...That is all the North will do for ''King Robert Baratheon First of His Name''...I will take no more part in your ns." Said Ned looking Robert straight in the eye. After a few moments of silence he turned and left without saying goodbye. Robert''s shouting and swearing could be heard throughout the Red Keep. Half an hourter... Jon stared at Robert as he filled his fourth cup of wine. The man had calmed down and was already beginning to show signs of repentance for how he had treated Ned a short time ago. "Martell, Dorne must surely be hiding Rhaegar''s heirs..." Robert said to Jon in a moment of rity. "The situation is very delicate Robert, the Martells are not only denying that they saved Elia and her children but they are also shamelessly using House Lannister of ughtering them and secretly disposing of the bodies..." Said Jon trying to think of a solution. "Ahaha nice song but if they think they''re fooling us they''re sadly mistaken. I''m going to march on Sunspear and knock down every stone in every building standing and then yes the two abominations will pop up!" Said Robert, rekindling a spark of fury. "There are many who believe in that ''song'' unfortunately. The sacking of the city and the massacre that took ce inside the Red Keep has dyed a crimson veil around the people''s eyes regarding House Lannister...Also I would remind you that either Aegon I or Daeron ''the Young Dragon'' failed in the subjugation of Dorne to the Seven Kingdoms. We have neither the evidence nor the men to invade Dorne..." Jon paused watching Robert clench his fists but luckily for him his ''protg'' seemed to be listening to the wiser man''s advice. "What do you think we should do?" Robert. "If this was a move nned by Prince Doran I must admit it was well yed. It is as if Dorne has ced a bet on the Lannisters'' actions...I will go to Sunspear myself to go deal with the prince." Said Jon Arryn. End POV; --------------------------- POV: Lady Barbrey Dustin; Barrowton. About 3 months after the quarrel between Ned and Robert; Lady Dustin (Protector of Barrowton and thends of House Dustin) was petting the stallion of herte husband, Lord William. Four days earlier, Lord Eddard Stark hade bearing the news of her husband''s passing. Ned Stark had the body of his sister Lyanna with him but had left William''s bones at the ''Tower of Joy''. After crying for two days and nights in a row, a cold, ruthless sense of hatred grew inside her. ''First Brandon disgraced me by fleeing into the arms of Catelyn Tully...and now I cannot even give my husband a proper burial. You Starks have taken everything from me...'' The young woman (about twenty years of age) thought. A servant came running into the stable. "''My Lady! My Lady! Men havee to the castle gates! They demand an audience! They say it concerns Lord William!" Said the young man. "What? Who are they?" Lady Dustin asked, focusing all her attention on the messenger. "They bear the crest of House Tallhart mydy...there are seven of them and they have brought arge wooden box with them!" The servant replied. Lady Dustin widened her eyes in disbelief and began to head as fast as she could towards the castle doors. About two minutester... "Lady Dustin I am Lieutenant Miggas in the service of House Tallhart, thank you for weing us here to Barrowton. We are here to deliver the remains of yourte husband, Lord William Dustin." The man said, bowing respectfully. After finishing the presentation he pointed with one arm leaving room, a fine chest, made of what looked like fine oak wood, with the crest of House Barrowton engraved on it. "I would like to check the remains Lieutenant..." Lady Dustin said as she continued to stare at the wooden coffin. She was approaching the body step by step with awe. "Of course my Lady. Open it!" Said Miggas receiving nods of approval from his men. The ''coffin'' was opened with care and attention. Lady Dustin approached and saw it there.... A dposing body, but definitely ''treated for preservation''. It had been carefully cleaned, embalmed and oiled. Even the damaged armour had been treated. Both hands (now shriveled) rested on the chest holding a long sword, and a shield with the symbols of House Dustin had been carefully ced over them. Barbery Dustin couldn''t keep her hands off the dead man''s face. It was him...her William. "Will...my love..." The woman said quietly. After a minute of caressing the man''s remains Lady Dustin stood up and asked the men to close the coffin. The men obeyed. "House Dustin thanks House Tallhart for this noble gesture. THAT EACH OF THESE BRAVE MEN BE REWARDED WITH 50 GOLD DRAGONS." Shemanded her attendant, who for a moment was shocked at the sum. "We are grateful and honoured, Lady Dustin, but we cannot ept...it is our duty and honour to help give a proper burial to a hero of the North. We could never ept a reward for that." Said the lieutenant as everyone bowed in appreciation for the gift offered. Lady Dustin was unarmed and caught off guard. She had never imagined that men could refuse such a sum. For ordinary people, fifty gold dragons meant a new life.... "Then let shelter and refreshment be offered. House Dustin will not allow you to leave without at least repaying the gesture with due hospitality." Lady Barbery said in an authoritative tone, making it clear to the men that she was not prepared to give in on this point. "We thank Barrowton and Dustin House for their hospitality and ept with pleasure my Lady. If possible we would like to be able to leave within three days at the most hoping that our request will not cause you offence." Said Miggas bowing his head. "No offence taken Lieutenant. Upon your return to Torrhen''s Square I would like you to extend my most sincere thanks to Lord Helman and his family in advance. When I have passed the mourning period (about two weeks by tradition) I wille to thank the Tallhart family myself." Lady Dustin replied. "Torrhen''s Square will be honoured to receive you my Lady." Miggas said as if he already knew what to expect. Other simr events were happening or had already happened in seven other locations. End POV; ------------------------------- POV Author; Torrhen''s Square. Three weeks before... The escort of 100 knights, apanying their Lady Olenna and Young Wis Tyrell, entered the gates of Torrhen''s Square. Leobald Tallhart had been charged with weing their guests. After half the armed escort entered, the carriage carrying the lords of House Tyrell arrived. Leobald had arranged a small parade with approximately 50 guards and a dozen servants. House Tallhart was to show courtesy and respect, but not of the right importance. The carriage was opened by an attendant in the service of the Tyrells. "Well? What are you waiting for to extend your hand in aid of this old woman? What do you want a bag of gold for the effort perhaps?" Said an old but energetic voice inside. "I beg your pardon my Lady!!!" The young man pounced like a cat upon hearing the rebuke. A woman, in her sixties, about 5 feet tall, wearing an exquisite green dress adorned with golden streaks, got out of the carriage. A boy of about 10-11 years of age followed soon after. The woman did not even look around and walked towards the man ready to greet her. "Lady Olenna, Young Lord Wis, Torrhen''s Square wees you. I am Leobald Tallhart." Leobald said, giving a small but polite bow. "I expected at least a wee from Lord Helman. Has my House offended yours to such an extent? I thought the hospitality here in the North was ''legendary''." Said Olenna Tyrell in a sarcastic tone. "My brother apologizes for not being able toe in person to greet our wee guests mydy. Unfortunately matters of the utmost urgency are holding him back. And yes my Lady, the people of the North revere thews of hospitality like no other in the South." Leobald replied courteously and in a tone slightly amused by the stinging tongue of the famous ''Queen of Thorns''. Olenna snorted as if to say ''Yeah, right''. "''Please take a seat we have arranged humble but pleasant refreshments inside. You must be tired from your long journey." Leobald. About three hourster... Lady Olenna was led into a room where there was a long rectangr table with two chairs. Leobald was leading the way. Qyburn had been instructed to show young Wis the castle library. "So then it is you I will have to ''dance'' with? You''re a bit young for my taste but looks and likability are two points in your favour boy." Said Olenna turning to Leobald. "Ahah! Unfortunately I am a married man my Lady, if you had asked me a few years ago I would have epted without any hesitation. The interlocutor will be arriving in a few minutes, would you like some wine during this wait?" Leobald. "No thank you, I prefer to have a clear head to best chastise the poor fellow who will be arriving." Olenna. "Then here''s wishing you goodbye and a future prosperous coboration between our two Houses." Leobald said, giving a bow before taking his leave. He was still smiling at the woman''s daring, but humorously appreciated, jokes. Lady Olenna sat down and waited. On the table were white parchments, a quill, ink and a bell. About three minutester, the door opened... An almost four foot tall boy entered the room and closed the door behind him. Olenna stared at him, feigning astonishment at first but continuing to watch carefully. He had steel-white hair, green eyes with silvery streaks, and a fine suit coloured with a mixture of white and crimson red. Olenna could already tell who was in front of her and why he was dressed in those extravagant clothes. The boy made a small effort to position himself properly in the high chair. "Lady Olenna it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Duncan Tallhart eldest son of Lord Helman and for today I will be the representative of my house for the negotiations toe." Said the boy in a formal but polite tone. "What is a bad joke perhaps? How old are you boy? Did you even make it to your sixth name day? Why is House Tallhart deliberately insulting House Tyrell?" Said Olenna pretending to be insulted. She wanted to test the waters to confirm or deny the rumours. "My Lady, House Tallhart has no intention of insulting the honourable House Tyrell. I was chosen simply because I am the best person to represent my family''s interests." Duncan replied. "You would be the best person? Pff don''t make meugh Young Lord I can smell the mother''s milk even from here. Either Lord Helman wille in person to deal with my House or we will leave." Said Olenna in an indignant tone. "I am very sorry for the smell of milk my Lady, but I assure you that it is top quality milk. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the milk used to feed Lord Mace Tyrell in the past...his choices are increasingly beginning to make me believe that ''milk'' was poisoned. Quite frankly, mydy, House Tyrell had the upper hand. You could have crushed Robert Baratheon and ended the rebellion. I believe Aerys II would have even given you ournds if you had requested it, and you would not be wasting your time with this ''immature'' child today." Said Duncan. "Cough! Cought!" She nearly choked on her spittle. Olenna Tyrell took a heavy blow...she had fired an arrow to test the enemy''s defences and in return a hundred spears came back. "Mydy all right? Can I offer you something to drink? Some wine, water or...milk by any chance?" Duncan yed a perfect scene of a loving grandson caring for his poor grandmother. Olenna recovered quickly after suffering another p. "Yes thank you...I do believe some wine to warm my throat would be appreciated, to help this poor dried up southern body to your less summery climate." Olenna said, conceding the point to the boy. Duncan rose, and like a perfect page at his Lady''s service, carefully poured the wine taking the jug and cup on the small table beside him. "Thank you my dear." Olenna downed a big gulp. She really had to calm the nerves bouncing back and forth inside her head. ''Bloody Snow'' thought the older woman. "So mydy...now that thend has been verified and assessed...Can we talk business?" Duncan asked showing a colder, less innocent look. Olenna was shocked by the intimidating presence disyed by that unnatural being. "Yes, I''d say we can start..." Olenna. "Then, please. Ladies first," Duncan said, nodding his hand. "Is it true what the rumours say about Bloody Snow? Did you really devise and lead the battle n in the ''Snow Mill Massacre''? It is also said that you shot down dozens of knights with your own hands..." Olenna asked with sincere curiosity. "Ahahaha, I''m afraid my Lady that the song sung in the south was a little too overblown and stuffed. Only one knight and he was already half dead...as for the n...well let''s just say Ser Vane Westbrook led his cavalry with valour but...I''m afraid he wasn''t very familiar with thend or its inhabitants." Duncan replied amused, he had remained very elusive in thest part. "We''ve never been good at fighting...but as far as trade goes, House Tyrell has no equal. So boy what does your house want to end this once and for all?" Olenna asked impatiently. "We would like House Tyrell to lend our House 2 million gold dragons, with a total interest of 3% to be repaid in unspecified instalments noter than a period of 20 years..." Duncan pulled the tongue-less hand grenade. "Are you out of your mind? You think you have a kingdom to run? What on earth is House Tallhart supposed to do with all that money? Hire every mercenarypany in Essos and march off to conquer the seven kingdoms?!" Olenna replied, knocking the device back before it exploded. "Our House does not wish to wage war against anyone. We love peace and prosperity. We crave many whims and pleasures that we cannot satisfy here in the North...we would like to sample some pleasant ''Southernforts''." Duncan replied quietly. "We''ll never lend you that much money... with your ''soaps'' you''ll pocket a maximum of 10,000 gold coins a month. I don''t see how you can pay it back. Not to mention that ridiculous number 3 you cited. We''d barely cover the transportation costs of safely delivering the money to you halfway." Olenna took her time and then proposed a counteroffer. "200,000 within 10 years with a measly 15% is what my House can lend." Olenna "1,800,000 within 18 years at 5%," Duncan. "250,000 within 12 years at 13%" Olenna. An hour and several figurester... "Uffff, all right old grumpy woman with a poisonous tongue, House Tallhart epts the proposal of 630,000 G.D. at 8% within no more than 10 years. However, the transport and security of the gold will be on House Tyrell''s shoulders." Said Duncan simting a nervous breakdown. "Gone." Olenna replied quickly, not wanting to get to her third cup of wine. "Now if you don''t mind we would appreciate the loads of ''soap'' being sold to House Tyrell. Should I receive another raven or ry with aint from Melessa Tarly, I swear I will burn both Tarly and Florent houses to the ground with my own hands." Olenna. "Oh mydy I fear I have been misunderstood...I thought it was clear that the loan given by you was the pledge to repay my House from the ''attempted kidnapping'' of me or one of my loved ones. I assure you, Lady Olenna, that both my father and I did not at all appreciate the ''trick'' thrown at us...But I am sure we can find apromise that will be of enormous benefit to both our Houses." Said the boy removing the mask of weariness he had been wearing until recently. "..... listen to you kid, but always keep in mind that the North has suffered quite a few losses from thisst conflict and that the Reach has remained safe, well fed and supplied." Olenna replied, pulling out a look a Lady should never have... "We would like to propose a long-term business partnership with House Tyrell. We will sell you batches of soap on the same terms as the Northern Lords. In return we would like House Tyrell to repay the loads with, livestock, quality seeds, cheese, honey and essences for perfumes. Obviously the cost will have to beparable with the profit ratio that my house has with soap. However House Tyrell will have an advantage that no one in Westeros or Essos has so far..." Duncan increased the suspense. "....you have my attention Bloody Snow" Olenna. "Currently House Tallhart has released 5 varieties of soap fragrances; Pine, Berries, Lavender, Lemon and Strawberry. If House Tyrell were to provide us with a wider variety of fragrances, they would get batches of soap with a variety of scents that no other house would have...we will also provide your house with a new method of extracting fragrance essences. A tried and tested method that will increase your yield rate by at least 3 times using half the raw material you normally use. Andst but not least, this..." Duncan finished his speech by pulling a small bottle out of his pocket. Olenna guessed what it might be, she had seen many of them in her life. She took the bottle and popped the ss cap. For a moment Olenna''s gaze wavered, but she recovered a secondter. Never before had she smelled such a delicate and intoxicating perfume. Comparing it to the perfumes made in the Reach or Lys, it was pure rose essencepared to horse piss...This was a weapon and a powerful one at that. "Yes Lady Olenna, there is no need to feignck of interest. Both you and I know what you have in hand and my House is capable of producing gallons of it and other varieties of equal value. We will sell these scents exclusively to the House of Tyrell, on the same terms as the soaps." Duncan gave a friendly smile. "So, do we have a deal?" He asked feigning expectation. "We have a deal." Olenna replied without any hesitation whatsoever. "Well then!", "Ding, Ding!", "Ding, Ding!" Duncan rang the bell resting beside him. A few secondster, a tall man wearing a smart uniform in which the symbol of the ''Iron Bank'' was embroidered entered. "Young Lord Duncan, Lady Olenna it is a pleasure and an honour for the Iron Bank to be able to perform consultancy services to these two great houses of Westeros." Tycho Nestorys said with a smile. "Thank you and all the employees of the ''Iron Bank'' for giving some of your time to ensure prosperity and trade in ournds Mr. Tycho Nestorys." Duncan reciprocated. Olenna was petrified. She might as well have insulted the new King to his face and still felt less difort and anxiety she was feeling right now. If there was one entity Olenna Tyrell would not mess with, it was the ''Iron Bank''. "Mr. Tycho we only have a small two-digit variance to change on the contracts that have already been filled out." Olenna stood in religious silence at the utterance of those words. Tycho handed the papers to the boy. Duncan used his pen to make the necessary changes on the three sheets of paper already filled out. Tycho showed the finished document to Lady Olenna who scrutinised it very carefully. Everything, everything they had discussed was there. Even the quantities of the lots were as Lady Olenna had hoped, there were only two small spots...Duncan had estimated that he would only be able to get a 600,000 G.D. loan instead of 630, and the percentage had changed from 10% to the agreed 8%... In all this time, the boy had dragged the woman where he wanted her... "Then my lord anddy I would say that if the parties have reached an agreement, we can proceed with the proper signatures." Tycho approached Lady Olenna first. The ''Queen of Thorns'' remained silent for almost a minute. Finally she pulled a stamp from her sleeve and prepared to sign and stamp the three documents. One copy of the contract for House Tallhart, one for House Tyrell and one for the ''Iron Bank''. The signature read: ''Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Protector of the Reach''. Tycho paid no attention to the written name and walked towards the young lord. Duncan pulled a stamp from his breast pocket and prepared to sign and stamp the same documents. The signature read: ''Ser Helman Tallhart, Master and Protector of Torrhen''s Square''. Chapter 20: “ The Most Powerful Woman In Westeros ” Part I Chapter 20: The Most Powerful Woman In Westeros Part I POV Olenna Tyrell: In a carriage a few miles from Torrhen''s Square. Four days after a grueling negotiation.... "Granny, you were amazing!" Said Wis reading the signed documents again. After signing the first document sealing the trade routes and agreements between House Tallhart and Tyrell, Olenna had to sign eleven more documents containing all the uses and specifics of those agreements. Wis Tyrell was rereading those documents for the third time in a row. "You were convinced that House Tyrell would be damaged and have to pay a heavy price, but we''re going toe out of this stronger than ever." Said the almost 10 year old boy showing enthusiasm and recognition towards his grandmother. "No sweetheart, it wasn''t me...I entered that room with the intention of destroying my opponent, but instead I was beaten and humiliated for good...What you hold in your hand is just a balm to soothe the wounds that were inflicted on me. A gesture of peace granted to us by a fearsome adversary who prefers us as allies instead of enemies." Olenna exined sincerely to the future heir of Highgarden. Wis was shocked... it was the first time his Grandmother had shown him such a sign of weakness and yielding. The Queen of Thorns had been pruned of her poisoned quills. "In any case, you still remain the most powerful weapon in The Reach. The benefits we will gain in theing years from the soap and perfume trade will etch our House''s name more strongly in the stone of history. Not to mention this method of extracting essences. ''The Art of Enfleurage'' will reduce our processing costs and, at the very least, triple our production output!" Said Wis trying to cheer up his grandmother. "Ahaha! Yes I''ll give you that, we can say that in the next few years ''roses will smell like never before''. Something good in life I must have done to deserve a grandson like you." Olenna said, shing a loving smile at Wis. Wis was embarrassed for a moment but epted thepliment smiling. "So...since you have read those cards several times, can you tell me what is the point that troubles me the most in that agreement? It''s very difficult to guess. If you can answer me, as soon as we get to Highgarden I''ll throw your fat ass father off the ''throne'' and you''ll be in charge." Olenna said, urging the boy to concentrate with all his mental strength. Wis was flipping through all the documents again to find the correct answer... He made three attempts... but failed them all. Olenna showed no disappointment at the failure, she had expected it. Her grandson wasn''t ready yet...'' The Rose had yet to grow up''. "Here." She pointed to a spot on a parchment. "I don''t understand, Granny...Why does it bother you? It''s advantageous for us if the loan instalment payments are made through the Iron Bank''s ounts." Wis was confused, he could not see the possible threat. "Without a doubt, my dear...but if you reread this use properly, you will note that the Tyrells are responsible for the security of all transports, all goods both export and import and of course, the delivery of the loaned amount. That ''yer'' could easily have added the payment of the loan instalments to that list as well, and I would have had no objection. And this is where it gets rough...The ''Iron Bank'' is the safest ce known to man to store his wealth. Not even Braavosi ountants and consultants will be able to easily notice that stain and imperfection. It''s only more obvious to me because I''ve been confronted directly with that sort of ''Nordic Tywin''.....That single use begs the question that will surely give me another big headache..." Olenna waited a few seconds to give her grandson a chance to answer the question on his own. ".....Why does House Tallhart want to empty their ount in the Iron Bank?" Wis Tyrell asked. Olenna Tyrell gave a smirk as she showed her heir some worthy recognition. End POV; --------------------- POV Catelyn Stark; Winterfell. Nearly three months after an important question was voiced.... The newdy of Winterfell was in her son Robb''s nursery. She was nursing her son in person. As long as she could, no wet nurse would steal her mother-child moment from her hands. She kept staring at the newborn in her arms as he fed from her breast. She would not or could not look up, if she did she would be forced to watch that abomination sleeping just a few steps away from the future heir of Winterfell. She would inevitably feel hatred, anger, and gods only know what other bad thoughts, and that might have soured her own breast milk. Today Catelyn Stark was in a worse mood than usual. Only a few hours earlier she had heard a ''song'' by a so called ''Bloody Snow''...an alleged bastard from the North who was considered ''a hero''. The 5-year-old was said to have single-handedly led 60 Tallhart men against 100 armed bandits to a crushing victory. Not only that, others im he fought on the front line killing dozens of armed men and was soaked in the blood of his defeated enemies. The most annoying rumor was that some thought that said ''Hero of the North'' had been blessed at birth by the ''Old Gods'' themselves. All lies... Catelyn Stark was convinced that the ''rumours'' had been started by House Tallhart itself just to gain more goodwill and fame in the North... ''One bastard who dishonours me every minute of my life and even sleeps next to my Robb and another who gains fame and honour with tantly false deeds''. Catelyn could not erase these thoughts. The abomination called ''Jon Snow'', as if he had read the woman''s thoughts, began to cry. He was hungry... After a few seconds a wet nurse answered the call by entering the room. "Get out." Catelyn said coldly to the poor servant of the castle. "Mydy... he is hungry..." the young woman tried to say. "I said get out. This is an order. You will note in until your future lord has finished eating. He can wait..." Said the Lady of Winterfell. "Yes mydy..." the servant replied, giving a bow before leaving. Catelyn Stark continued to feed her son, oblivious to the constant screaming and moaning of the starving infant a few feet away... End POV. ----------------------- POV Cercei Lannister; Year 284, 1st day of the first moon. King''s Landing. Same day a newborn baby was nursed.... Cercei was looking in the mirror onest time before her big debut. Today was the day she would finally be ''The Queen''. A couple of handmaidens were helping her with the final touches. "My Queen, would you like Highgarden''s new perfume?" The handmaiden asked, handing over a small ss bottle with the rose symbol engraved in the centre. "Mmm, Yes I would say it is an opportune time to try this so called ''Essence of the Maiden''. Pff, what a silly name... But I have to hand it to you, those ''flower pickers'' did produce something decent after all." Said Cercei giving her approval for the scent. The handmaiden poured a few drops of the solution onto a silk handkerchief and began to shake the piece of cloth around the bride. A very pleasant smell pervaded the area. It was like walking past a feast of freshly baked cakes in the middle of a meadow full of roses, that scent would have made even a ''sister of silence'' ptable. It was the most expensive and rare of the seven new perfumes just released by the House of Tyrell. Needless to say, a new ''war'' had broken out among all the nobledies of Westeros. Cercei inhaled air through her nose wanting to savour the feeling of strength and power growing within her. She had never felt this good before...everything was perfect. Only one jarring note rang out within her...a name. ''Elia Martell...that filthy bitch, who ripped Prince Rhaegar from my arms, is still alive. Hiding somewhere. But now I will be Queen...and you my dear will be hunted for the rest of your days by my father''s hounds...You will see, I will convince my ''new beloved'' Robert to move heaven and earth to get me your head and that of your children as a wedding gift." Cercei thought roaring inwardly. She looked in the mirror onest time, smiling. ''Everyone will bow down to the Lioness sooner orter.'' End POV; ----------------------- POV Elia Martell; Naath. The same day the wedding was celebrated.... Elia stared at her daughter Rhaenys ying ''chasing butterflies'' with her cat Balerion. A small structure, for now mainly made of wood, was rising in the centre of the ind. It was ording to his brother Oberyn, the safest and most hidden ce. It also enjoyed a good defensive position that would be fully exploited in the course of time. For now, 300 armed men, carefully chosen Targaryen and Dornian loyalists, were the personal escort of Elia and her children. Doran had also organised a small naval fleet of ''pirates'' to patrol the ind''s shores. The threat of possible attacks by vers and other marauders would be greatly reduced. A small vige of inders was less than a mile from the refuge. The poption was lovely and peaceful, after the Dornians managed tomunicate and negotiate with the respective vige heads of the main viges on the ind, they had offered withoutint to help the ''refugees'' and to consider them as ''part of their people''. Dorne in return would protect the ind in the shadows from all potential threats. No great army would ever dare to march on Naath. The disease would strike the outsiders within a week at thetest. It had certainly be the safest ce in the known world to hide. "Elia, I would like you to meet someone." Oberyn said in a calm tone. A little girl barely three years old was holding her brother''s hand. "Yes? Who is this beautiful youngdy?" Elia asked, trying to calm the still slightly frightened and unsure child. "This is Missandei. A lovely and brilliant little girl. She learned ournguage in just two months. Her parents have agreed to let this ''gift from the gods'' assist us as an interpreter between us and the inders. On Missandei do not be afraid say hello." Oberyn encouraged the little girl toe forward. "Pleased to meet you, my- my name is Missandei and I will be at your service princess. I-" The little girl was interrupted by someone. "Hello!!! What''s your name? Do you want to y with me and Balerion? We''re trying to catch butterflies!" Said little Rhaenys turning a friendly smile to Missandei. "I....I... " Missandei. "Of course she does! Missandei go y and have fun before lunch is ready. You will eat with us." Elia said. Both she and her brother encouraged the little girl to join Rhaenys. "Y-Yes!" Missandei began to smile and ran with Rhaenys to the beautiful flower garden that had just been worked. The twins gave themselves a few minutes to silently observe the two little girls ying andughing. "So brother, you know what I want to know." Elia. "No need..." Oberyn. Elia stared at Oberyn with an icy gaze. The man sighed after a few seconds and told the truth.... "Yes, the rumors say that Tywin Lannister tasked a massacre at the Red Keep... His ''dog'' tortured and raped your handmaidens trying to find out where you were hiding..." Oberyn said reluctantly. Elia frowned for a moment but a look that screamed ''Revenge'' was etched on her face. "That mysterious ''ally'' you mentioned...Will forever be Dorne''s friend. " Elia said, looking into her brother''s eyes. "Always." Oberyn replied, gently cing his hands on his beloved sister''s cheeks. A few seconds passed... "You''ll have to leave soon won''t you?" Elia asked. "Yes, unfortunately. I have to go around Essos ying my part of ''Desperate Brother, searching for his sister and nephews." Oberyn rested. Elia nodded sadly and then hugged her brother, trying to thank him again for all he had done and would continue to do for the sake of his family. End POV ------------------------ POV Rhae Targaryen; Dragonstone. On the same day that a brother and sister. Queen Rhae was lying on her bed holding her swollen belly in pain with her hands. ''No, it''s not time yet. Calm down my little one.'' The Queen thought as she tried to resist the pain of the tiny contractions that were urring in her belly. She was certain that the new baby would be a girl. She had dreamed. She had already decided what her name would be. ''Daenerys.... Daenerys of House Targaryen.'' Thought Rhae smiling. The queen was also aware that this would be herst task. Thest effort she would make for the sake of her children. Her dreams and her body were warning her. She would have to wait...wait for the arrival of a great storm. "Mother! When will my future bride be born?" A spoiled and impetuous child asked. "Your ''Sister'' will be born soon, Viserys...It will be your job to protect her, from then on. Do you remember the promise you made to me?" Rhae asked. "Yes, mother....Don''t worry, everyone will kneel to the ''Dragon''. I will protect my future bride and avenge my brother and father!" Viserys said in a confident tone. "Uff....You will follow Ser Willem Darry''s valuable advice when I am gone. You will obey his orders and listen to his advice. You are not yet old enough, Viserys." Said Rhae for the umpteenth time. She was really starting to lose hope with that boy. Aerys had giarized and poisoned him, she knew it. Perhaps it really was toote to get him back on the right path. "Yes, mother...but I am the ''king'' and Ser Willem is ''my'' knight!" Reposed the almost eight year old arrogantly. ''If it is true that Aegon and Rhaenys are dead, you my little one, you must be the future of House Targaryen...'' Thought a woman with deep sadness... End of Part I Chapter 21: The Most Powerful Woman In Westeros Part II Chapter 21: '' The Most Powerful Woman In Westeros '' Part II POV of ''A Lady Widow''; Torrhen''s Square. On the same day a mother lost hope on her son... "Lady Barbrey Dustin, Torrhen''s Square and the Tallhart family wee you." Helman Tallhart said loudly, giving a slight but respectful bow. "Lord Helman Tallhart, I am honoured and grateful for the wee that Torrhen''s Square has extended to me and my retinue. I again offer my sincerest apologies for the dy in my arrival." rested Lady Dustin making a more pronounced bow. "Please, my Lady, there is no need to apologise. We all know of the harassing attacks by those marauding Iron Inders. I wish our two Houses future prosperous cooperation in defending the North from such ''raiding pirates''. "'' Said Helman trying to reassure thedy. "''Certainly, Lord Helman. House Dustin and House Ryswell will forever fight alongside House Tallhart and the rest of the North in this fight." Said Lady Barbrey. "Meet my family mydy. This is my Lady wife Myra, and the twins Benfred and Eddara, my brother Leobald and his wife Berena and finally here we have my son and heir Duncan." All the family members, even the twins, bowed in unison. Lady Dustin felt honoured and amazed at the gesture. She was being orded a wee on a par with a ''royal visit''. Her gaze rested on each member of the family. One note was out of ce among the several main members with dark brown hair of House Tallhart. A child barely four feet tall with Steel-White hair. "Please, mydy, the rooms are ready and a banquet has been set up to refresh you from your long journey." Said Lord Helman showing the way to the main hall of the castle. "Thank you, my Lord." Lady Dustin replied politely, she and all her retinue bowed as a sign of thanks for the hospitality offered. *** Several hourster.... "My Lord, the dinner was delicious. We do not deserve such a reception. Please, tell me what House Dustin can do to repay the kindness and wee you have extended to us." Lady Dustin asked, speaking to the Master of Torrhen''s Square who was at the side of her guest of honour. "Nothing, mydy. I fought alongside yourte husband, Lord William Dustin, in two battles. He was an honourable man and will forever be remembered as a hero here in Torrhen Square." Lord Helman replied graciously. "At the risk of sounding rude for the disrespect I am about to show. I insist on knowing how I may repay the debt to your house, my lord." Said Lady Dustin beginning to show a slightly more serious look. A clear message of {No meal is free in this world} had just been issued by the woman. Helman looked at the woman for a moment, showing no signs of displeasure or offense taken by her words. "If you insist, mydy... I would like, if it is no trouble, for you to meet my son Duncan tomorrow morning. To discuss possible future coborations." Lady Barbrey looked again for the boy who was currently dancing with his younger sister on the dance floor... "No bother, my Lord...it will be my honour to speak with your ''Hero Heir''." Lady Barbrey said calmly and quietly. Helman nodded in satisfaction at the reply... **** The next morning... "Lady Dustin, I''m honoured that you agreed to this meeting. Again, mydy, I am saddened by your tragic loss and offer you my sincere condolences." Said Duncan making a deep bow as Lady Dustin entered. "I thank you for your condolences, Young Lord...now, if House Tallhart doesn''t mind, I would like to know what game you are ying." Lady Dustin said, staring again into the eyes that had given her a repeated gaze challenge the night before. "Please, forgive me for the little y the other night, my Lady, it was not my intention to cause you any offence. I just wanted you to be clear on who I was and whether I was worthy of interacting with you. Please, mydy, take a seat." The boy replied politely, pulling back the chair on the round table in the study on the castle''s attic. Lady Dustin sat down epting the chivalrous gesture but thinking carefully about the ''unspoken'' words his message expressed. "If you agree, my Lady, we can begin to speak freely, leaving behind the formalities and various puns." Duncan proposed. "As you wish, ''Bloody Snow''." The woman raised all the defences she possessed and prepared for the fight. "Please,dies first." Duncan. "Did you arrange this? William''s body and the ''royal'' reception? A whole n orchestrated by you to have me here today nicely set at your table?" Lady Dustin departed with a charge of heavy cavalry. The tension in the air was palpable. "Yes, mydy, I assure you that I would still have returned the bodies of all the fallen heroes at the Tower of Joy to their respective families...but yes, I have taken the opportunity that has presented itself to have you here today," Duncan replied sincerely. "Why? What do you want from my House or me?" Coldly replied the Lady slightly annoyed by the answer. "An ally. House Dustin is a noble and powerful House of the North...but I am more interested in the Lady who currently rules it." Duncan. "What do you mean by that? If it is not the power or influence of my House you seek, then what could this woman possibly do for you?" Barbrey. "Very...very much indeed. I would have you by my side for times toe. Not as my subordinate but as an ally. An alliance of equal value to face a revolution and a war that will change the history of the known world." Duncan. "The victory at Snow Mill got you a little too excited I see...What revolution? What war are you talking about?" Barbrey. "One step at a time, mydy. I would like you to answer me first ording to your point of view on three subjects: The current state of the image and consideration shown of ''woman'', what do you think of the maesters and the citadel that leads them andstly who do you think is the person or organisation that holds the most power in Westeros and Essos. Please indulge me if you can. All will be clearerter if you answer me." Duncan. Lady Dustin paused for a moment, pondering carefully what answer to give. Almost a minute passed and then the Lady said: "Women are seen by you men only as an instrument of libido and an apparatus of reproduction that rightfully belonged to them. Maesters are not to be trusted...they are slippery and maniptive and most of all is the tower that houses and instructs them. And to answer yourst request sinctly: ''The Iron Bank''." Reposed the woman without hesitation. "Exactly what I expected as an answer." Said the child with a nod of approval. "That is the great revolution I want to bring to the world. A world where the women of Westeros and Essos are given their due respect and recognition of their true worth and abilities, that is not held back in progress and education by a bunch of ''grey rats'' and is not moved by the strings of its true puppet master." Duncan. "What world do you live in boy? Do you even know what you''re talking about? The vessel you are trying to open will unleash a gue so great it will wipe you, your loved ones and any fools you manage to convince from history." Said Lady Dustin mocking Duncan. "Waking the sleeping giant is a sure thing, facing him and winning the fight is an uncertain thing....but erasing me and those who follow me from history, WILL BE IMPOSSIBLE! Not with what I will unleash against him in response. The song will be sung, I assure you, my Lady, and even if I fail, generations toe will hear it and use it as inspiration to raise their heads again and confront the evil that rules them. THE STORM THAT WILL SHAKE SEAS AND MOUNTAINS WILL COME WHETHER THE WORLD WANTS IT OR NOT!" Duncan replied, pulling out every ounce of intimidating presence he had. Lady Dustin trembled in the presence of that overwhelming, imcable, inhuman will. That was no longer a six-year-old child in the eyes of the Lady.....He was a monster!... A monster disguised in a suit of human flesh. Now she was certain that the creature''s words were not only true but that nothing... ''nothing'' known to her could have changed the decision that the ''child'' in front of her had made. Duncan realised, only as he saw the woman in front of him trembling, that he had gone too far. He returned to his former state and rose from his chair. "I beg your pardon, mydy...I have gone too far. May I offer you something to drink to try and calm the heated tempers?" Said the boy heading towards a small table with several full jugs and two cups. "Urmm emm....Yes, thank you, my lord." Lady Dustin replied, clearing her throat and trying to remain calm. "Here, please taste. A drink of my own invention that I personally enjoy and use to help keep my mind clear and my throat moist." Said the boy handing over a full cup. Lady Dustin tasted it, and was amazed at the sweetness and fresh, unique taste of the concoction. She could taste honey, lemon, a hint of ginger and cinnamon. "Very pleasant and well appreciated." Lady Dustin said. Duncan nodded in response to thepliment. A minute of silence passed to recharge his batteries and resume the ''game''. "Returning to the speech earlier Lady Dustin...I can assure you that I will have the means and be prepared enough to make theing conflict more fair and bnced. Should you decide to stand with me I am convinced we would have a better chance of sess. I am not asking for your help without getting anything in return....you will have my full support and I will provide you with the means to achieve greater power than you ever dreamed of. I assure you that I will keep my end of the bargain." Said the boy in a quiet but serious tone. "I don''t mean to sound disinterested by your generous offer...but I have to ask. Why me?" Barbery asked, not hiding the tone of curiosity that his voice conveyed. "Because you are brilliant, capable, reckless, cunning and patient.....History teaches us time and again something that many miss.....''War is not won by men...it is won by those who are able to wait and know when and where to strike.'' And no one does that better than you women...you mydy, are the one the ''Old Gods'' pointed out to me when I asked them for the most suitable woman in the North, with the qualities I was looking for." Duncan. Lady Dustin was shocked for a moment by the answer. ''That those rumours are true too? Is he really blessed by the ''Old Gods''?'' She thought, reasoning ordingly. "''Let''s say for the sake of argument that I believe your words, and also in the fact that you actually have the ability to obtain the means and armies necessary to deal with a war of such magnitude. You would leave ''such power'' in my hands without any conditions?" Lady Dustin. "Indeed no my Lady....there would be certain conditions and demands I would want you toply with. I warn you in advance that such demands might, especially at this time, be offensive to you..." Said Duncan beginning for the first time to show Lady Dustin a hint of difort. "Let''s hear it...you have my undivided attention." Lady Dustin replied making a small grin. "First, I would like you to prepare yourself as well as possible for your ''possible'' future roles. The power you wield must be handled with the utmost skill and expertise....the second condition I would like you to respect...is that you settle, over time, your personal grudges with House Stark..." Duncan said, trying to be as careful as possible with his words. Lady Dustin jumped up from her chair. She didn''t know what to think.... she was totally confused, angry and shocked. "YOU!" ....YOU! How do you know that?! How dare you ask me that!" Lady Dustin asks, trying hard not to pounce on the child and push him off the tower. "Please calm down mydy...it is not my intention to insult or provoke you." Said Duncan trying to cool the boiling spirits of the recently injured Lady. "Do you know what they did to me? House Stark took everything from me! EVERYTHING!!!" Roared Lady Barbery.... was trying to catch her breath to keep control. "I know what they did to you...I saw it...Brandon...Lord Rickard, Catelyn Tully and even Ned Stark." Duncan replied quickly. Hearing those words he began pacing back and forth in the room no longer caring about decorum or formalities to be shown. After a couple of minutes and a few sips of the drink Lady Dustin regained herposure. "Why? Why you need House Stark?...if what you told me earlier is true you may very well be the new protector of the North or maybe even its King!" Lady Dustin said, trying to get ''Bloody Snow'' on her side. "I''m not doing all this because I want to be King mydy, but to gain the power necessary to change the world in the way I personally deem ''best''. Helping my loved ones and the people my family is sworn to defend...the gold, the titles...the armies....are only ''means'' that will help me reach that dream of a better future faster...The North will have to stay united and strong for the times toe ''The whole North''. Even if House Stark has caused you outrage and pain beyond measure, I ask you to let it go for the sake of the people, who have suffered more than anyone else in the history of the Seven Kingdoms...Those people, mydy, have a right to a better future. A future where tens of thousands of men, women, and children do not starve or freeze to death just so the personal grievances of a few can be satisfied...The Starks are part of that people and have sacrificed so much for the good of that people. Do not let the mistake of a few erase thousands of years of noble deeds. Please." Said the child trying to speak from the heart. Lady Dustin didn''t know how to counter that answer....not without going to the wrong side. After this speech she would look like a ''spoiled princess exacting her revenge''. "Ned Stark..." She was interrupted. "He''s an honorable man. One of the few left here in Westeros....Yes has done wrong but, you must understand mydy that he too has lost much during thest two years. He is not the smartest or most astute person, there is I must give you that, but he would give his own for the good of the North." Duncan replied anticipating Lady Dustin''s words. Another minute of silence passed.... "IF, and I mean IF by ''hypothesis'', I should be able to make this effort in the future....that would be it? No other conditions?" Lady Dustin asked with an attentive look. "Well there would be onest one...but perhaps it would be worth mentioning at another time...let''s say it would be rted to the second one..." said Duncan feeling genuinely fearful for the immediate future. "No, no, no, let''s hear it...you won''t get off that cheaply you brat. Spit it out, I''m all ears." Lady Dustin said, widening her eyes. Duncan took a sip from his cup and for a moment double-checked that there were no blunt objects in the room that could have fatally injured him. Lady Dustin waited impatiently, she looked ready to pounce again but this time for a reaction that was more physical than verbal. "Well here it is yes in the near future....not immediately of course...to make the bond of our alliance more solid...and in the hope that you may once again find the serenity and peace that every man, woman or child deserves....I would ask you for the chance to give real hope to a man who has suffered throughout history suffering simr to yours....I am not asking for a forced marriage, let that be clear! Just a real and concrete possibility of courtship, in the hope that it can unite two people who deserve happiness and love....." Duncan was ready for anything, he had already devised a contingency n to escape the room, without Lady Dustin''s nails ripping through his throat. The woman managed to keep control. After another dozen breaths she asked a question. "And who willingly should get this favour?" If the boy had said a man''s name apanied by the letters ''S'',''T'',''A'',''R'',''K''....Lady Dustin would have tried to kill the boy and then fled back to Essos. "No one from House Stark, I assure you. He''ll be an honorable man too worthy of your title and person!!! I''d rather not say the name now my Lady....you mightter be swayed by prejudices that would undermine the man''s chances. What I am asking, is just a chance to get to know you, if you are ever out of sync or your differences are irreconcble, I will not continue on this path, I swear to my family and the ''Old Gods''!" Duncan replied quickly. ''Ten'' minutes of fierce stares from the woman and total silenceter.... "I won''t meet anyone until at least...three years have passed...and I still want that position you offered me, even if I don''t have to marry after meeting him..." said Lady Dustin. "DEAL!" Duncan replied as he stood up. Lady Dustin nodded her head slightly in response....still keeping her gaze cold. "So...do you finally want to specify what kind of position and what kind of power we''re talking about?" Lady Dustin asked. "Well if we move at the right times, making the right moves, with the right precautions..." Duncan ducked reaching for a closed roll at his feet. "The Most Powerful Woman in Westeros." Duncan said handing the scroll to Lady Barbery Dustin. The woman did not react to those words and concentrated on the document...She opened the scroll and at that moment her eyes widened... "Never Winter Bank?" Chapter 22: Frost Blades Chapter 22: '' Frost des '' POV Tycho Nestorys; Torrhen''s Square Two days after Lady Olenna Tyrell''s departure... The representative of the Iron Bank, was waiting for the final preparations to be made for the departure to White Harbor. The Tallhart family (the male members minus Benfred) were arranged in a line along with some servants and guards to pay their respects. "Mr Nestoris, the Tallhart family would like to thank the Iron Bank for its excellent services to us. We wish you a safe journey. Please take care of Ronan. We consider him part of this family. It would be a great pain for us if we were to learn that something bad hase to happen to our boy." Said Helman while still maintaining a respectful tone, but rifying the point on the issue of Tom''s son''s safety. "The honour was ours, the ''Iron Bank'', wishes the Tallhart family all the best both personally andmercially. Have no fear. Ronan will be our honoured guest until the conclusion of his apprenticeship. If anything were to happen to him, it would be a serious stain on the image of all of Braavos." Tycho said, bowing slightly. Ronan was, ording to Maester Qyburn, a whiz with numbers and all matters rting to economics and finance. Duncan had asked Ronan to go to the Iron Bank to learn as much as he could over the course of three years. The boy agreed without question, not only because he was genuinely interested but because he could be more useful to his House and his Lord. "Our House, thanks again for the favour the ''Iron Bank'' is offering us, and it will not be forgotten. The shipment of soap for Braavos should have arrived in White Harbor by now. I wish you a safe and peaceful journey." Said Helman bowing his head. "No trouble at all, my Lord. Thanks to you, the ''Iron Bank'' has also struck a good deal with House Tyrell. We owe you much. It will be our honour and pleasure. I will give your regards to my staff and superiors, my Lord." Tycho began to make his way to the carriage. Ronan''s two brothers had just finished saying their farewells to the ''future ountant'' of House Tallhart. He greeted the Tallhart family and Maester Qyburnst, then hurried after Nestoris. As they walked towards the carriage, Tycho reassessed his ''would-be ountant'' for a moment. ''No...too loyal to House Tallhart. No chance with this guy.'' Tycho thought as he remembered the statue of [Tom] and the names in the memorial he had seen in person the day before. The man had been impressed by the work done tomemorate the fallen in Torrhen''s Square''s service, and he considered carefully what events it might cause in the future. Climbing into the carriage, he looked onest time at the ''future possible threat'' to the Iron Bank. That child was dangerous and Tycho knew it. As soon as Tycho''s gaze became slightly more intense, a thin man in his fifties emerged behind Duncan''s back. He was staring intently into Tycho''s eyes with a serious face. Tycho winced for a moment within himself and immediately lowered his gaze as he entered the interior of the transport. ''''The Watcher...that look...'''' thought Tycho trying to calm himself down. ''No, as long as [he] continues to train the boy, it will be Untouchable.....no...House Tallhart will be untouchable...'' Tycho thought, dismissing that possibility. The Iron Bank had dly agreed to send a consultant not only for business, but also to take the opportunity to finally meet the legendary ''The Watcher'' in person and be able to confirm or deny the rumours about ''Bloody Snow''. The Bank asionally sold information about ''The Watcher'' and his organisation. However...they jealously guarded ''one'', which they had paid for at a steep price.... ''NO ONE was to seek trouble with the direct pupils still in the training of The Watcher''. From their ounts, they had discovered that every (living) acquaintance of the ''madman'' who had attempted such a feat, had been traumatised for life. The House of ck and White might have epted an assignment for a simr target, but in return for the ''gift'', the applicant would have to pay a ridiculously obscene ''price'', and there was no guarantee that the ''job'' would bepleted. ''The threat is growing fast...'' thought the Braavosian as he gave a warm smile to Ronan who was sitting opposite him. A carriage and fifty escorting mounted men began to move. End POV ------------------- POV: ''The Watcher''; Torrhen''s Square. A few minutes after a carriage and its retinue departed.... "Duncan, Syggha is waiting for you in the training room." Said Zick turning to the boy who was still near the castle gates. "Yes, Master Zick!" The boy replied, bowing. Duncan walked towards the path of his daily training. The frail built man walked towards his rooms. After confirming there was no one around, he said: "Ramas." Just two seconds after the call, a hooded man emerged from a shadow behind Zick. "Yes, Master." Ramas. "I''d like you to do me a favor, ask the others to start intensifying the boy''s training." Zick. "You don''t have to ask for favors, Master, you just have to order." Said a rough voice. "Stop with this ''ordering'' and manding'' nonsense. How many times do I have to tell you?" Zick asked in an annoyed tone. "I apologise, Master." Replied the man. "How is the training of those poor wretches under your care going?" Zick asked curiously. "A bunch of spoiled brats, Master. Of the 200 selected there are only seven left who didn''t cry like babies. I think only about fifty of them will be standing at the end of the first session." Ramas replied in a tone that expressed disgust. "Starting tomorrow, I will personally help you train those boys." Zick. "But, Master, you-" Ramas stopped the words as soon as Zick sought his gaze. "Yes master, I will go and warn the others and make those ''whiny little girls'' understand the meaning of the word ''privilege''." Said Ramas bowing and disappearing a few momentster. Zick sighed, he had long since given up on that boy''s attitude. He was the only one, whom he had never managed to make smile at least once. He was definitely the person who had suffered the most out of all of Zick''s students. Only the words ''Sadness'' and ''Tragedy'' could represent that man''s past... Zick resumed his walk thinking about the past and the future. ''I''m finally about to find ''that peace''...and there''s already someone trying to take it away from me....again.'' Zick thought. End POV ------------------- POV: Helman Tallhart; In a wood three miles away from Torrhen''s Square; About 9 months after the thoughts of a worried Master... Helman was staring at the array of men and women who had made proper preparations to receive their Lord. He already knew the exact number, ''139''. Individuals he could no longer recognise. Some of them he had never met directly, but many he had. Helman had originally known personally about seventy of the original two hundred candidates selected for this training programme. Now he no longer knew who or where those people were. *Snock!* Ramas snapped his fingers once. "GREETINGS, LORD HELMAN! ''FROST BLADES'' ARE IN THE SERVICE OF THE GREAT HOUSE OF TALLHART, MY LORD!" Shouted in unison the ''Frost des''. Helman was visibly startled by the reactivity and synchronicity of the group. "...What...How....What have they be?" Finally Helman could find the right words. " ''Useful Tools''....well ...at least most of them." Ramas replied. "Duncan....my son....him." Helman tried to say, thinking of his poor child. "No, he''s going through a different ''program''...and anyway I think he would have made it out in one piece." Ramas. "What do you mean by ''I think''? But more importantly...by ''one piece''?!" The man asked, widening his eyes. "Some have failed the ''final test''...." Ramas answered sincerely without fear of repercussions. "What test? What happened? How many?" Helman panicked for a moment. He thought back to those poor people who hade before him on their knees a few months ago, begging and pleading for a different assignment....''any other assignment''. All 34 retreatants had also sworn on their lives that they would never, ever mention ''NOTHING'' about that period of their lives to a soul. Helman was beginning to think that maybe...he didn''t want to hear Ramas'' answer to his earlier questions. "Twenty-two candidates, fell in the field, two voluntarily joined the ''Night''s Watch'' and three attempted to take advantage of the ''trial'' to try to escape to Essos in search of fortune....thetter were dealt with." Helman lost a beat hearing that answer. He was about to reply something but Ramas anticipated him. "They knew the risks, and the possible consequences of the attempted ''betrayal''." Said Ramas shushing Lord Helman. "Besides, you told me there was ''urgency'' and ''necessity'' for them to be ready within a year. The Master and I had to squeeze them in a bit..." Said Ramas, thus justifying once and for all any unnecessary discussions about his ''methods''. Helman remained silent for a good minute. Feelings of guilt and sadness were beginning to grow within him. *Snock!* *Snock!* Ramas snapped his fingers twice in a row. The 139 individuals divided, in a swift and orderly fashion, into four groups of different numbers. "Those 14, will be the shields and shadows of each member of the Tallhart family. Those 41 will be in charge of setting up spy cells in the various territories you deem appropriate. Those 77 will be in charge of protecting key points in your territory. Finally, those 7 will be the ones best suited to train future recruits. Each of those groups has already established a hierarchy ofmand.... You''re wee." Ramas went on his way without waiting for Lord Helman Tallhart''s reply.... Helman didn''t really know how to act. After a few minutes, a man, in his early thirties, muscr and stone-faced, emerged from the orderly group of ''77''s and approached Helman, kneeling at his feet. "My Lord, I ask permission to give an urgent report." Said the man. "On your feet, soldier. What is your name?" Helman. "de 81, my lord." Replied the man. As if the answer was a certainty from birth. "de 81?!.....What is your real name, soldier?" Helman asked shocked at the first answer. "... Bernard, my Lord. I had the honour and privilege of fighting alongside you in thest war, my Lord." de 81 replied, slightly annoyed at the pronunciation of ''that name''. "Bernard....on behalf of House Tallhart, I apologise to you and all yourrades for the hell you have had to go through over thest year! And I thank you for your service in the war and for your future service and sacrifices that you will have to make." Replied Helman in an authoritative and sorry tone. "We are not worthy of such words, my Lord! We will only ever be ''Frost des'' in the service of the noble House Tallhart!" de 81 replied. "... What did you mean to refer to me, Bernard?" Helman asked, trying to hide his difort. "During our ''final test'', some of us detected a and potential threat, my Lord. I ask your permission and authority to nip the probable threat in the bud." de 81 replied. "What threat? Has someone discovered the method of producing paper, fertiliser or other methods?!" Helman asked urgently. "No, my Lord. The ''threat'' concerns information about your son, young Lord Duncan, my lord. It seems that during the time of the Fallen Ceremony, which took ce about a year ago, a little girl from a nearby vige spied on the young Lord as he prayed to the ''Old Gods''. The rumours started to spread to other viges as well. Currently also in two viges belonging to House Cerwyn and Glover. We know for certain that at least 1200 targets are aware of this information. We ask your permission to intervene, now that the current situation is still manageable." de 81 replied. "WHAT???! NO! ''Absolutely'' NO!!! You do not have my permission!!! I repeat, You-Have-Not-My-Permission!!! THIS IS AN ORDER, BLADE 81!!!" Shouted Helman, panicking over the current foiled massacre that might have urred. End POV ------------------------- POV ''a little girl from a vige''; Torrhen Lake Vige. About 4 months before a Lord shouted out an order. Dalia re-entered her little house at the call of her mother Laret. "Here I am, mother!" Dalia said, stopping her run. Her mouth was already watering at the smell of her mother''s chicken soup. "Did you wash your dirty hands? Remember what Tallhart''s house says...''Always wash your hands well before eating''. Su goes to get the bar of soap and the basin. "Phew....yes mommy..." Little Dalia (7 years old) got up against her will to go and obey her mother''s order. A few minutester.... Laret and Dalia were eating when they heard a noise at the door. *Tock!* *Tock!* "Laret! It''s Jorin, can I talk to you?" "One moment! I''ming!" Laret started towards the door at her neighbour''s call. A few secondster she opened the door. "Yes, Jorin? What can I do for you?" Laret asked the old farmer. "Sorry to disturb you at this hour, Laret....I''d like to ask you a favour. In fact, I''d like to ask a favour of little Dalia..." The old man asked with some difort and shame. "If it''s about that story again, I''m sorry but no! I already told you, Jorin, my daughter doesn''t really know what she heard. I don''t want this story toe up any more than necessary. It could create problems that we don''t want here!" Said Laret in a firm tone. "Please, Laret! We all know that the rumours about the ''Old Gods'' turned out to be true! I mean look at those fields....everyone who started praying is getting incredible crops..." Jorin. "I''ve already exined it to you! It''s thanks to House Tallhart for the new ''fertilizers'' and tools to plow the field! That ''prayer'' has nothing to do with it!!!" Larat replied for the hundredth time. " Pff,e on! It can''t be down to a bit of dung and some tools, Laret...and I''m not alone in thinking so. Lord Helman''s son is blessed by the gods! Everyone knows about the ''Snow Mill Massacre''. How could a five year old have done what he did ording to you?" Jorin. Laret put her hands in her hair in frustration. After sighing she said: "But you''re not going to tell anyone else...you''re not going to say that we''re the ones who told you." Said Laret throwing in the towel. "Yes, yes, of course! I won''t tell anyone else I swear!" Jorin replied quickly. "Dalia, can youe here for a moment please?" Called Laret. "Yes, mum!" The girl came a few secondster. "Old Jorin would like you to repeat that prayer again...do you still remember it?" Laret. "Of course, mama. I and my other friends go to the woods every day to pray!" Dalia as soon as she finished answering realised the mistake she had just made. "You and I are going to have to have a nice talkter, youngdy..." Said Laret looking at the little girl with a serious look. "...Aey, mama" Dalia lowered her head feigning displeasure and remorse. "Now, tell to Jorin that strange prayer." Said Laret trying to cheer up her daughter. "YES!...The young lord had bowed at the foot of the Heart Tree and said... {''Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!''} {''Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!''} {''Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!''} {Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!''} {Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!''} ...... Little Dahlia continued to sing the nursery rhyme without stopping. She even sang it as if it were a catchy song. After a few minutes Jorat stopped the little girl.... "Yes! Yes! Now I remember it, thank you, Dalia! Thank you!" The child stopped. "Do you know how many times he repeated that? Do you know the numbers?" Jorat asked, hoping the little girl could count. The little girl shook her head. "And do you happen to know how long the young lord prayed for?" Jorat. "A long, long time! ''Sooo loong!'' It seemed so long!" Said the little girl innocently. **** End Chapter. Author''s note: [The English trantion of the prayer would be ''Seraphinus, may faith flow through you. I thank you for your divine services, son and servant of the Great Father!''. I would also like you to consider the fact that in the eyes of the peasants, the nobles of Westeros are considered ''stars'' where every word isw. Especially the little girl was a big fan of the Hero of the North ''Bloody Snow''.] Chapter 23: WHY DO YOU WANT TO PUNISH ME? Chapter 23: ''WHY DO YOU WANT TO PUNISH ME?'' Hello everyone, and happy first of November to all of you. Forgive me for the dy, yesterday, I just couldn''t write. Due to personal problems... I hope to make up for it with this chapter. Thank you, everyone. Happy reading! ----------------------------------- POV: Helman; Torrhen''s Square. On the same evening, when Helman met Frost des... "So, son. How bad is the situation?" Helman asked. He, Leobald, Qyburn and Duncan discussed recent events that might change their ns. Henceforth, the room they had chosen would be the ''Small Council Chamber'' of House Tallhart. The stone walls were lined with ayer of wood and padding made of leather and feathers. No one would be able to eavesdrop on the words spoken within this room. From now on, four members of the Frost des would guard, day and night, the only ess to the room. "I can''t urately answer that question. The effects could be good, bad or non-existent in the future. However, I do not believe that the North or House Tallhart will be directly affected by such events. "'' Replied with sincerity the child who by now had reached the height of 4 feet in stature. ''Oh, Seraphinus... I hope I haven''t caused you any trouble...'' Thought the boy, closing his eyes for a moment. "Needless to despair, the spread of that information can only be slowed down, but it will be impossible to stop it from spreading." Leobald. "I agree, my Lord," Qyburn said, turning his head towards Lord Helman. Helman nodded, looking thoughtfully at the table where the map of Westeros and Essos was engraved by hand. "Maester, any news from the citadel?" Leobald asked, trying to change the subject. "Yes, my Lord. Paul warns us that negotiations are still ongoing. However, he is confident that he can reach an agreement. We have Lord Hightower''s favour now that we have established rtions with House Tyrell. Also, House Hightower seems to have appreciated the fact that we have delivered the remains of Ser Gerold intact. The Lord of Old Town has considerable influence in the ''council of masters'', my Lords." Qyburn said, expressing a tone of hopeful expectation. He resumed his speech: "I fear that we have begun to attract too much of the Citadel''s attention... Now that soap has be standard procedure in many operations, which previously required the use of alcoholic solutions, we have proposed our ''possible coboration'' in the copying and supply of books. The Citadel secretly contacted me to get me to ''get active''. In the same manner as our ''old friend'', Maester Golbarth..." Said Qyburn with a cold tone remembering with pleasure the ''good times'' spent in his medical-scientific research. To all four, it was now clear, ''the method of operation'' of the Citadel. Each time a new maester entered the service of a noble family. They would wait for two or three years before activating the espionage services of their man on the inside. In this way, the maester who advised, instructed and healed had the time to establish a rtionship of trust and obtain more influence within the House. But, of course, they made exceptions should there be: events or situations... more relevant. "How should we act?" Helman asked, seeking the gaze of his three fellow council members. "Father, me and Maester Qyburn have already worked out a possible countermeasure." Duncan stepped forward first. "I am listening." Helman. Duncan, let Qyburn speak. "Yes, my Lord. We have deemed it ''convenient'' that the Citadel continue not to doubt my blind loyalty to their order. We suggest sending monthly reports that secrete ''little'' relevant or reliable information. Report a growth ratio: in business, trade, military and naval innovations and expansions, about two-thirds less than our current performance. I might be able to make the Citadel believe that House Tallhart does not haveplete confidence in me and that key information is well guarded and secret. I could ask them for help. Financial help: ''relevant'' information and of interest." Qyburn paused for a moment. "That seems like the wisest move. That way, we could get: part of the Citadel''s riches, consume their funds, send inurate and iplete reports, send parts of the ''inurate or wrong'' recipes about our products, make them focus their attention where we want it, and above all, make them waste their time and manpower." Replied Leobald in a euphoric tone. "Precisely, my Lord. That and much more." Said Qyburn, nodding with a slight smile. "I second the motion. Carry on, Maester." Qyburn nodded at Lord Helman''s words. "Uncle, how is it going with: the census, the paper project, and the food production?" Duncan. "Pretty well...So far, we''ve gathered the information we were looking for on about 312,000 inhabitants of ournds. We are about 4/5 of the way topletion. Of course, there''s always a few left that: we''ve missed or haven''t been able to track down." Said Leobald, sifting through a report. "The fifty scribes and ountants, whom we procured at Essos, have done an egregious job. All their families have already been settled in their new dwellings near the castle. Under Qyburn''s supervision and guidance, they are also instructing another 200 new future employees." Leobald concluded. On hearing the news, both Duncan and Helman showed a sign ofcency. "The deal with House Glover and House Forrester is getting more involved." Leobald took another report. "We are selling each lot, of 10,000 sheets each, at 20 silver stags. Making a profit of about 13 stags. They can easily resell the paper at four times the price and, in any case, all the lords of Westeros would buy back those lots with joy." Said Leobald in a confident tone. He went on to say: "Rents of livestock and farm implements are going strong. As a result, we''re increasing food production by 300%. House Cerwyn continues to send us gifts, crows and emissaries. To thank us for the new methods of fertilization and cultivation." Leobald smiled. "We continue to respond, to Lord Cerwyn, that ''House Tallhart, REMEMBERS, the help that, THEY, provided us during thest winter.'' In summary, excluding the Forrester payments, in Ironwood lots and their respective products and goods: in food and livestock, paid for by the Tyrells... Currently, the estimated profits are: Soap sales = 14,520 G.D. month. Sale of paper = 1,950 G.D. month. Agricultural tool rentals and fertilizer sales = 6,200 G.D. month. Increased yield of taxes collected = 720 G.D. month. For a total of...23,390 Golden Dragons per month. Oh, I almost forgot that the taxes to be paid have already been subtracted from this amount. Ahah!" Said Leobald excitedly. Everyone in the room knew that Leobald was best suited for logistics, negotiation and control. He had innate natural talent. * *Author''s note: [Inhabitants andndowners, under the protection of House Tallhart, pay a tribute, of about 40%-45%, on their crops or goods. House Tallhart pays a tribute of 25% to House Stark. House Stark pays a tribute, of all taxes collected, in their domain, of 10% to the kingdom]. EndNote. "Sounds good to me, Uncle." Both Helman and Qyburn nodded, confirming thepliments offered by Duncan. "Father, I''d say it''s time to select candidates to explore and research possible mineral deposits." Said Duncan, turning his gaze to his father. "If we could find the minerals that I am looking for, as well as: iron, pig iron, copper, silver, gold and precious, we could begin a prosperous partnership with House Ryswell and Dustin." Duncan took a moment, pointing to a spot on the map. "That way, every House, except for the Whitehills, who border us, will unhesitatingly jump down the throat of any possible enemy who, in the future, even tries to point the finger at us." Duncan. "Yes, Son. Your philosophy: ''No use getting rich while your neighbours starve,'' is paying off. Soon, we''ll have the favour of the entire North...Leobald, let''s start selecting candidates: scouts and miners, and kick off the ''Minerals'' phase." He ordered Helman. "With pleasure, my Lords," Leobald replied, giving a small jovial bow, addressing his brother and nephew. "Father, as to the military situation? Do we have Lord Stark''s permission?" Duncan asked. "Lord Stark has given us his consent. We can increase the number of fixed duty soldiers to 3,000: 800 cavalrymen, 1,200 pikes and swordsmen, and 1,000 archers and crossbowmen. The physical and martial training programs have already been underway for two weeks... But, of course, the new ''Frost des'' unit will remain secret...Are you sure that we can''t still practice the new military tactics?" Finished Helman, asking his son. "No, father. It''s not time yet...For now, let''s focus on economic stability and productivity. Those forces are enough to keep us safe in this time of peace. So let us still keep the ''de'' and the ''whetstone'' well concealed." Duncan. "I see...We will wait." Helman. "As for ''Frost des''...I propose that the ''monitoring and exploration'' unit be given to Maester Qyburn. The ''control and verification'' unit to Uncle Leobald. And finally, father, you will manage the remaining two. If you all agree." He proposed to Duncan. No objection was made. All present nodded. "I would say, that is all. We will reconvene next moon. Barring any urgent matters. Thank you, all of you." Said Helman, giving the council members permission to take their leave. End POV. ---------------------- POV Qyburn; Torrhen Square. Five minutes into the meeting... Qyburn stood, strolling, near his ''true lord''. A momentter, the silence of footsteps alone was interrupted. "So, Ser Qyburn...As for, ''Our Friend''...were we able to find ''the one''?" He asked Duncan. He continued walking, turning his gaze straight towards his goal. "I have finally seeded in my endeavour, my Lord. I tell you with joy that we have also managed to strike a good deal...His family has already been found, and she will be given a safe ce to live, as we promised... It seems that he does not want to require anything else...for his arduous task." Said Qyburn. Then he continued... "I assure you, my Lord...he is the best in his field. I have been amazed and in disbelief by his studies and research." "Well...it''s time to start preparing. The man, sooner orter, will make another move. If he had the resources in hand,parable to Tywin''s, he would be the greatest threat in the Seven Kingdoms." Duncan. "Speaking of which...for that matter, in the Western Lands...the time should be upon us by now," Duncan asked, intrigued. "Two of the women you have saved in the past, my Lord, are already in ce and waiting...They have volunteered among the seven. So now that I will be able to avail myself of the ''Frost des'' services, I will send them and the group that escorts them a strong hand." Replied Qyburn in a satisfied tone. "Excellent...indeed, a good job Ser." Duncan. "I thank you, my Lord." Qyburn. "My Lord...if I may say so. I note, with regret, that the matter of ''prayer disclosure'' has troubled you greatly..." Qyburn asked in a concerned tone. "Indeed...it is as you say, Ser..." Duncan finally admitted: "I''m worried about a friend." End POV. --------------------------- POV Metatron; Somewhere in a sky far away. At an undefined time... Metatron was guarding the doors of the entrance, which led to the reception rooms of the ''Great Father''. He was waiting; he had to wait for all the guests to arrive before opening the doors and weing his brothers inside. There were present, excluding him, 7 Archangels: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Raguel, Remiel and Zerachiel. "Why are we still waiting, Brother Metatron?" Asked, Remiel. "One is missing, unfortunately." Replied Metatron. "I heard you, my loving and sunny Brother...I missed you...no...I missed you so much!" Said an Angel with a particr pair of ck wings. "LUCIFER!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?" Screamed Micheal. He pointed furiously his finger at the neer. "Calm down, everyone...Our ''Father'' has requested his presence as well. He is here at his personal invitation." Said Metatron unwillingly. "Ahaha! Hear that? Father gave me permission! Come on, Micheal. Why don''t you try throwing me back downstairs? Ahahah... Excuse me... uff... excuse me. You don''t know how d I am to be here. I wouldn''t have missed ''this moment'' for anything in the entire heavenly realm! Ahahah!" Said Lucifer,ughing and joking. "GRRR!!!", "I HATE YOU!", "AH-AH", "IDIOT!", "SHUT UP!" "YOU''RE NO FUN.", "Shut up!" and "IF WE''RE HERE, IT''S ONLY BECAUSE OF YOU!" Screamed,st, Micheal. "ME?! How could it be my fault? Let''s hear it." Lucifer asked, feigning indignation. "If you had done your job decently, Lilith would not have escaped to earth! And this whole mess would never have happened." Micheal. "Ah, O mighty and magnificent one, Micheal...I beg you for forgiveness. After all, you manage, how many?.... 3 million angels.... and 30 billion good guys. I, on the other hand....about 1,900 billions ''CRAZY'', ''HOMICIDE'', ''MASOCHISTS''...But yes, why not? Let''s me every misfortune on Lucifer..." Replicated Lucifer. "Don''t you dare try to justify your ipetence!!!" Micheal. "Well...Brother, I could say the same about you. If you had used a little more power and put some precautions in your pocket, that boy would still be alive. Was that my fault too?" Lucifer asked with a sarcastic tone. Micheal didn''t reply...he just stood there, silently grunting. "By the way, is it true what they say about him? That he shattered the records of Gandhi? AHAHHAHA! What''s he up to?" Lucifer. "No one knows; only the ''Great Father'' and Seraphinus know the answer. Our twelve younger brothers ceased counting after the 9th year..." Raphael replied, thinking, terrified of the possible future that awaits one of them. "NINE YEARS IN A ROW?! AHAHAH!!! I love it! He''s a hero!!!" Lucifer. "Quiet, all of you. This is it." Said Metatron. Lucifer also fell silent. The eight angels approached the doors. "What ''theme'' havs he chosen, Brother Metatron?" Lucifer asked with honest curiosity. "...Elf-Chinese." Then Metatron opened the doors. A glow, red, gold, green and silver, dominated the eyes of all present. Without logic, a room with hundreds of decorations adorned the main hall. It could see a staircase of shrubs at the end of the hall, leading to arge throne of horrible taste, made of gold and silver... It was one of the favourite hobbies of the Great Father. In the beginning, he simply wanted to try every possible carnal form of all the beings he had generated. Anybination...no one knew the ''true'' state of the ''Great Father''. He wanted to try any sensation, weakness, on his own skin, the peculiarity of every form of life. He thought that, in this way, he would better understand all his children. Not long after, things degenerated. It had be, for centuries, his new favourite hobby. Mixing any race with any culture...some worked...others were unsightly. Metatron approached the side of the throne. He was the number one advisor to the ''Great Father'', the only one who could stand the power of his voice without repercussions. After a minute, a side door near the ''throne'' opened. A child, moon elf, with pink hair, eyes: one yellow and one ck, less than 4 feet tall, wearing an obscene Chinese imperial ceremonial robe, too big for his size. The child advanced confidently toward the throne. He had difficulty moving, stepping continuously on his robes. Suddenly, he stumbled, hitting his face on the ground. Everyone stared at the scene without making a sound or ament. Finally, the child rolled over, clutching his nose in pain...after a few seconds, he got up. He began to breathe, closing his eyes... "Sniff", "Sniff"...he was trying to hold back a sneeze. All the angels instinctively covered their ears for protection. "Phew" ....seemed like a false rm...and then... "ETTCHIUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!", *SKABOMMMMMMMUUUUMMMM* A sneeze, apanied by an energetic roar, flooded the room. The child-elf turned to his children, scratching his nose. [I beg your pardon!] Somunicated the child moving his hands and making strange expressions. It was his way ofmunicating, with all his other children, except Metatron. The other angels would not have been destroyed by his voice, but they would have been wounded. The Great Father did not want this to happen. So he could limit all his other infinite powers, except for the ''Voice''. The child resumed, immediately after the apology, his path. He began to climb, step by step, all 23 of them. The throne was too high for his body. He was trying to climb on it as if he was climbing over a bit of wall, a foot taller than him. After a minute of failure, Metatron offered to give him a hand. [No, no. Thanks, son, I can do it!]. After another couple of attempts, the ''Great Father'' used part of his long ceremonial robe as a grappling hook towards the arm of the throne....finally managed to climb up. [Well, my children. Forgive the wait.] Said the young figure on a throne gesticting. [Thank you, everyone, for being here. I would like your honest opinion regarding the over gathering power of faith of your Brother Seraphinus.] All the angels bowed. All but one, Micheal, stepped forward offering a less formal but still respectful greeting. "Great Father, I have been appointed by my other Brothers as their spokesman." Micheal. [Go ahead, son. I''m listening.] "The event that is happening, in that world, is unprecedented...Seraphinus has risen in rank ''Higher Angel'', Great Father. We estimate that soon, with the exponential growth of prayers received...he may rise to the rank of ''Great Angel'' within a brief period... All of us are absolutely convinced that our Brother Seraphinus is deserving of such ''unexpected'' umted power.....However, we are also concerned that perhaps he is not yet ready, not so soon, for such responsibilities." Micheal was interrupted by augh behind his back. "Pfff!!! Hihi!...Oops! I beg your pardon, Father." Said Lucifer, unable to hold back augh. Micheal turned around, ring at ''the Fallen Angel''. [Go ahead, son!] So encouraged the great father, pretending not to have heard Lucifer. "Yes, Father. I think that we, ''Archangels,'' think that perhaps some of that power could be held back to... emm...''slow down'' the growth process. So that Seraphinus has more time. Time to learn and know the various responsibilities and knowledge that every Angel should first acquire...That''s all, Great Father." Micheal bent a knee as soon as he finished speaking. [Mmmmm...Yes...I agree.] All the Angels, Metatron included, looked up, with eyes full of expectation sensing those words. [I agree that it is an unprecedented event... You might as well call it...mmmm yes ''an ident'' let''s say....''But''] All the angels in the room, except Lucifer, held their breath. [If I remember correctly, to two of you, here present, whose names I will not mention, had experienced a simr event in the past...and I let it go.] All of the angels, even Lucifer, began to cast dirty looks at each other, looking for those responsible...From that moment, everyone distrusted everyone. [I don''t want that this "problem" to be exaggerated because ording to the regtion proposed by one of you and approved by me. All new Great Angels have to spend an apprenticeship period of one eon at the side of an Archangel ... It would be very sad, my children, if this were the case that one or more of you did not want to give this chance to your Brother Seraphinus for personal reasons]. At those words, all seven Archangels lowered their heads to the floor. Then, Lucifer seized the opportunity and shouted: "BUT THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS, MY BROTHERS!!! I AM PERSONALLY DISAPPOINTED IN EACH ONE OF YOU!!! SHAME ON YOU! TRY TO PREVENT THE DESERVED RECOGNITION OF YOUR OWN BROTHER AND SON OF THE GREAT FATHER!!!! I REMAIN WITHOUT WORDS!... I apologize for the outburst, father...I could not resist." Said Lucifer, without any shame. All the angels shouted the word ''Revenge'' towards the ''ck Sheep'' in their hearts. Metatron, at the side, of the ''Great Father'', remained impassive to the events. The matter, which did not concern him directly, bore him. However, he understood his other seven Brothers. One of them, in all likelihood, would be given...a ''HARD TASK''. [Before making a decision, I would like to talk with the person concerned. SERAPHINUSSS!!!] *CLAP CLAP!* Called to the child-elf, pping his hands. An angel appeared suddenly, kneeling with both hands and knees. "GREAT FATHER!!!" Seraphinus. [Wee, my son, stand up and speak freely.] "Great Father! It''s all my fault!!! It''s not Matthew''s fault!!! It is only the fault of my ipetence and inability! I take full responsibility for the trouble I caused you and everyone here! I will return immediately every ounce of power collected which is not mine!!!!" Said Seraphinus concisely and directly. The ''Great Father'' was the only being with whom Seraphinus exposed himself precisely and quickly. After that, he did not deem himself worthy to say a word more than necessary to him. [Calm down, son, no disturbance has been caused. On the contrary, today, you have allowed us to practice and improve in the future. I called you here, not to punish you or punish that boy, but just to ask you a question]. "Anything, Great Father!!!" Seraphinus. [Do you feel ready, son? Are you prepared to take on the responsibilities and duties that that power brings?] "I...I don''t know, Great Father... I''m scared, confused and indecisive. I''m afraid...I''m afraid I''m not worthy." Said Seraphinus sincerely, with sadness in his voice. The child-elf showed a warm smile upon hearing those words. [I have decided! You will be left with that power, son!] It was the moment of truth. The tension for 7 Archangels was palpable. Even Metatron was intrigued by the ''Great Father''s choice''. [However...this is an unprecedented event...'' extreme situations'' require ''extreme measures''...] The child turned his gaze to the figure at his side. [Metatron, you my son, will be Seraphinus'' new guardian from this moment on! Seraphinus, listen to the advice and teachings of your older Brother]. "YES, GREAT FATHER! I will be the shadow of Metatron from this moment on! I SWEAR! THANK YOU, GREAT FATHER! THANK YOU, BROTHER METATRON!!!" Shouted Seraphinus, starting to cry from happiness. [AHAH! You''re wee, son! You''ve earned it. Thank you, all of you. You are dismissed. I love you, my sons!] He gestured onest time to the child. "YES, FATHER!!!! THANK YOU!!! WE LOVE YOU TOO!" Then, screamed in chorus, 9 angels fled the room. ....silence returned to the hall. Despite his power and abilities, Metatron still couldn''t quite understand, ''What had just happened.'' Trying, with all his might, to find the right words. Finally, he turned towards the figure at his side, who was currently fiddling with the sleeves of his dress. "Father....." The child stared at the Angel at his call. "I just wish that you would answer two questions for me..." "Where did I go wrong?" "And why..." "WHY DO YOU WANT TO PUNISH ME?" Chapter 24: Alliances Chapter 24: '' Alliances '' POV: Archmaester Zarabelo, the ''Seneschal''; Citadel, Oldtown. Year 284, 12th day, seventh moon. The conve had been assembled. Today, the twenty-one Archmasters, would vote on the motion of business partnership with House Tallhart. The chief attendant Paul, had been waiting for an answer for two months now. Lord Hightower, seeing the dy as disrespectful towards House Tallhart, forced the Citadel''s hand to decide, noter than, the next two days. Zarabelo, the Siniscalco chosen for this year, shared Archmaester Haradone''s idea: ''Let us wait. Qyburn, he might be able to discover the method of making paper''. Unfortunately, a raven from Qyburn, had arrived just yesterday.... From what he said, the Tallharts trusted no one and kept all the secrets of the new ''innovations'' well guarded. They had no reason to doubt the Maester''s words...Qyburn was not well liked in the citadel...but everyone knew he was loyal to the order. He had even asked for financial ''help'' to finance his own small cell of spies. He knew where to turn...but the price would be high. The ''secret council'' of the ''GreatArch Maester'', had met the night before to discuss possible future actions against House Tallhart. They had begun to lose contact with their ''spies'' in thends of Torrhen''s Square. For now, Qyburn would be the only option. They had agreed, to send (secretly) to Qyburn about 1,000 G.D. per month. If, the Maester got ''decent results'', they would be willing to go up to 5,000. "What does the report say?" asked one of the Archmasters. "Analyzing all the Pros and Cons...The Citadel would be well advised to enter into this ''business alliance''." Said another Archmaester, finishing reading the report. "What are the advantages?" "Many...mmm...the Citadel, would be able to save about 9,000 G.D. per month. Also, we could use thousands of saved hours, of our acolytes, and use them to perform other tasks and increase study hours. Also, House Tallhart should not gain much from this deal...Yes, I see no reason to refuse." Archmaester Marwyn concluded. ''No reason at all? Idiots...they can''t see beyond an inch from their noses...'' Zarabelo thought. "Don''t you find this business proposal strange?" Zarabelo asked. "What do you mean?" Another of the 21 Archmasters asked. "We are about to deliver, into the hands of House Tallhart, invaluable texts. Knowledge, which should not be easily divulged...in the future it could..." He was interrupted. "AHAHAH!!! And what do you think they would do with a few more books? Found a ''Second Citadel''?" Marwyn. "AHAHA!", "Those Northern barbarians!", "Ridiculous. Aha!" other Archmaestersughed heartily at Marwyn''s joke. Only Zarabelo, Embrose, and Harodone did notugh. "So? Are we voting yes or no? I have to go teach a ss in an hour!" Said an Archmaester. ''Marwyn...'' Gritted his teeth, Zarabelo thought. "Those against the proposal?"...Four hands were raised. "Those in favor?"...the remaining 17 hands were raised. "So it is decided. Archmaest Zarabelo, as the current Seneschal of the citadel, you will be in charge of sealing and signing the contract with the Tallhart emissaries. Remember to show respect and courtesy. We don''t want any friction, with the Tallharts, Lord Hightower or the Iron Bank." Said Marwyn. Several colleagues nodded. "Well..." Zarabelo stood up furiously, he kept throwing dirty looks at Archmaester Marwyn. Then he left the room... End POV. ------------------------- POV: Tywin Lannister; Casterly Rock. Year 284, 19th day of the seventh moon. Tywin, sat, straight and steady as a statue, at the head of the meeting table in his study. Every decoration in the room, marked crimson and gold colors, gorgeous tapestries adorned the walls. The main chair at the table was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Gilded oak wood iid with soft red leather. The knobs of the bracelets, were carved in the shape of a Lion''s head, in pure solid gold. His two brothers: Gerion Lannister ''The Laughing Lion'' and Ser Kevan Lannister, were the only ones who attended this meeting. "Well?" Tywin asked, turning his gaze to Kevan. "I do not understand, my lord. What are we supposed to notice from these messages?" Kevan asked looking for Tywin''s gaze. "Gerion?" He attempted with his other brother. "...The Charter...Every document in this table is made of paper." Gerion replied, feeling each paper with his fingertips. Tywin nodded, keeping a serious face but also showing a very slight nod of approval. "All of these papers, theye from other Houses of Westeros. Everyone, including us, is buying paper from House Glover and Forrester." Tywin, stood up from his chair heading towards a banquet with the wine jugs and cups. At this gathering, he had not allowed anyone besides his brothers to attend, pages included. "Those two, lesser houses, are making a fortune from this trade. And why shouldn''t they? Paper costs half as much,pared to the skins we normally use, the ink dries sooner, it saves us time when we write..." "Do you know who makes the paper?" Tywin asked, pouring himself a cup of wine. "House Tallhart..." This time, it was Kevan who answered. Tywin nodded before sipping the wine from the cup. "What do our sources say in theirnds?" Kevan. "Nothing, absolutely nothing. Contact with our spies, in thends of the Tallhart, was ''broken'' a month ago..." Gerion replied. ".....pff...HAHAHA!...sorry.... it urred to me that this ''paper'' cuts more than steel...AHAHAH!" Said Gerion roaring a thunderousugh. Tywin, remained impassive in front of the ''inappropriate'' joke of his brother. Kevan pretended not to have heard. "First soap, now paper, and it seems they are also increasing food production..." said Tywin, he returned to his seat and resumed his initial stone form. Ser Kevan, looked to his brother Gerion for rification, regarding the Lord Protector''sst statement. "Our sources, in thends of the Cerwyn, warn us that House Cerwyn, is implementing new methods of cultivation...They are purchasing from the Tallhart, a so called, ''fertilizer'', which seems to aid in the growth of crops. In addition, they are renting ''new farming tools'' and livestock that increase, the process of plowing thend...They are achieving remarkable results in crop production." Exined Gerion. Kevan, hearing those words, began to think, carefully, about the new situation. "All of this, is happening in the same short period..." said Tywin in a rough and iron tone. "Don''t you think, that those ''rumors'' about the boy are true?" Kevan. Tywin, shifted, his stone gaze, to Kevan. "The soap went on the market, about three years ago. The Tyrells, visited the Tallharts, about a year ago. Two monthster, they put ''new fragrances'' on the market that everyone, the nobles of Westeros and Essos, wanted to buy, and finally, in thest six months, paper and new cultivation techniques popped up...Do you think it''s a coincidence Kevan?" Exined Tywin, as if he was lecturing his children. Kevan lowered his gaze. "Our cousin Golbarth, warned us that the boy, nicknamed ''Bloody Snow'', had shown incredible results in his studies at a young age...I''m beginning to think that those rumors, about the ''Snow Mill Massacre'', are not so exaggerated." Said Tywin, as if the matter was now ''a fact''. "Our focus, on the Martells, has distracted us far too much. The Tallharts, they''re growing at a dizzying pace. All the Northern Houses have their favor. The Glovers, Forrester and Cerwyn, would side with them without hesitation. If they were to gain an alliance, even with the Dustins and Ryswells, theirnds would be surrounded, by allies willing to do anything to defend them. Even the ''Quiet Wolf'', would be forced to act, should ''anyone'' move against House Tallhart..." Tywin. A few seconds of silence passed. "So, any ideas?" Tywin. "Threats wouldn''t work. Not with the Iron Bank on their side...Robert wouldn''t go against a Ned Stark standard bearer. The Tallharts, have distinguished themselves well in the Battle of the Trident...and our spies can''t get anything meaningful. I don''t see how we could act, without ''drastic'' action..." Said Kevan, stroking his eyebrow with his thumb. "Alliance...an alliance with House Tallhart, would be the best move. A marriage. I''d propose myself, but I''m afraid I''m a bit too old. HAHAHA!" Said the ''Laughing Lion''. Tywin, listened in silence to his two advisors. He always preferred to listen, ''everyone'', at his meeting table. That way, he could both evaluate, each member, by the proposals and statements said and be inspired by some idea. If an idea was ''discreet'', he would improve it. Rarely, would someone express a suggestion, which he, would follow through on. "Who should we propose? Tyrion, with Lord Helman''s daughter?" Kevan. "As much as I love my nephew, I fear that, with this proposal, the emissary woulde back headless. HAHAHA!" Gerion. Tywin, red at his brother. Signaling, that Gerion, had crossed the line. Gerion grasped the message andplied ordingly. "No, Lancel would be more suitable, brother. They should only be two or three years apart, if I remember correctly." Gerion. "Lancel?! But he has yet to turn three! That seems like an exaggerated proposal." Kevan replied, in a slightly altered tone. "Many marriages, have been agreed upon before. And then who knows, maybe by the time they reach marriageable age, the Tallharts might have be even richer than we are. AHAHAHAH! SORRY...sorry brothers. I couldn''t resist...." Gerion caught his breath, then continued: "I should go negotiate. I met Helman''s brother Leobald in person. Nice guy, witty and affable...kind of like me! We got drunk together at a Walder Frey wedding...I drank so much, I don''t even remember who the bride was! AHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Gerion and Kevan Lannister, stood by. Tywin was pondering the best course of action. The two younger brothers, knew when it was time to remain quiet. A minute passed, Tywin made a decision. "Gerion, you will go to Torrhen''s Square to negotiate in person. You will propose an engagement between: Lancel Lannister and Eddara Tallhart. You will begin moving in no less than two months." Gerion nodded, waiting curiously for the follow up. "Kevan, you will go to parliament with the Magisters of ''Lys'' and ''Myr''. Remind them, ''Whose fault is it,'' if their affairs are falling apart. Should, the Tallharts refuse the proposal, we will use them as a vanguard to move against them." "Yes, my Lord." Kevan replied, nodding. "Gerion, you will have the means and authority of House Lannister to propose a deal. If it is gold they want, grant it to them. In the meantime, we will contact Genna, Pycelle, and Cercei...The Freys, will have to raise the tax for passage, on any goods that enter or leave the Tallhartnds. Let''s see if her no-good husband can help us. Cercei and Pycelle will pull strings to convince Robert to increase the customs duties on House Manderly''s goods. We will not go, to the negotiating table, without first having a ''favorable position''." Now Tywin, focused his gaze, only on Gerion. Although Tywin found Gerion''sughter annoying, he knew his brother was a true Lannister. Gerion, used his ability as a ''Smiling Lion'' to his advantage and that of his House. "Don''te back, without squeezing the Tallharts for good. Our House will have to get, ''advantages'', better granted to the Tyrells. But more importantly, find out ''how much'', Bloody Snow could be a threat, to our House." "Yes, my Lord." Gerion replied. His gaze had changed. He now looked like ''Tywin''s true brother''. The Protector of the West nodded. End POV. ---------------------------- POV: Duncan; Year 284, 3rd day of the 9th moon. (About a month and a half after the meeting at Casterly Rock). In a carriage, in the vicinity of Barrowton. "Well, my Lady? How do you feel about this travel experience? I asked Lady Barbery Dustin. I hade to Barrowton, at Lady Dustin''s invitation, a day before. I had brought ''Gifts'' with me: 1,000 Dothraki horses, 400 from the Valley of Arryn, all thoroughbreds between, Stallions and Mares under 5 years old, paid at a ''high'' price and three ''prototype'' carriages. Of level:mon, mercantile and noble. "Comfortable. I must admit, that these ''shock absorbers'', as you call them, attenuate the jolts of the carriage in an excellent way...What wood did you use, for the construction?" Lady Barbery asked, with curiosity. "For this type of carriage, only the best. Ironwood, reinforced in steel tes. The leather for the seats is of the best quality, the decorations can be safely ordered upon request. All of course equipped with ''shock absorbers'' always made of steel. The doors are armored. Here, [srrrllh], you lower and raise the windows, also reinforced. It will be the safest way to travel ovend, should ''bandits'' attack the carriages." I exined, adding my fair share of emphasis. "The other two types of carriages, are less focused on quality and production, but are still far more solid than themon carriages. Their biggest advantage, is speed. They could sustain twice the normal gait, without running the risk, that some bump or stone, would break a wheel spoke or damage the load." I concluded. "And you would like to grant, a monopoly on the sale of carriages, to House Ryswell?" Barbery. "Of course! With these new types of carriages, which will go fast, and the new breeding of horses. The Ryswells will have no equal, in ovend transportation. What we''re asking for is just, a priority on the sale, in buying the new breeds of horses they''re going to breed." I said. "That and the Ryswellnds, in Sea Dragon Point." Lady Dustin. "The Ryswells, barely guarding or profiting, from thosends. 100,000 golden dragons, sounds like a nice way to ''sweeten the deal'' to me." I said, staring into the eyes of the witty woman. "Do you think you can convince your father, my Lady?" I asked. "Of course. But the question is, what will House Dustin get out of this deal?" I stared at Barbery, as I listened to his question. "I note with pleasure, my Lady, that you are properly studying the texts provided by Ser Qyburn...I thought my proposal to run a bank was sufficient." I said, giving a slight teasing smile. "If and when it happens, my Lord. I won''t see the shadow of a penny from your impressive ''Never Winter Bank'', for at least another four years. In the meantime, House: Glover, Forrester, Cerwyn and in the future Ryswell, will see gold rain down over their heads." Said Lady Dustin. I waited a good minute epting, the staring contest, that had just been thrown at me. Finally I gave in... "Salt." I said. "Salt?" Barbery asked, frowning. "Spices if we want to be more specific, but in the immediate...Yes..You will be thergest producer of salt in all of Westeros. The salt, will be of enormous benefit to the North, during the winter. Yournds overlook the ''Salt Lance''...the spot with the highest concentration of salt in all of the North. With the ore and methods we provide, you can produce 4 different qualities of salt. You will have no equal in quality and price, I guarantee it. If you follow our directions, you''ll be able to make, at minimum, 25-30 thousand G.D. per month, just from this deal." I said as I saw, glistening, Lady Dustin''s eyes. "I could also get these 30,000 Gold Dragons...but ''Enemy Dorne'' is also included in the package. They''ve been thergest producer of Salt for...well, EVER." "If you will give us, your permission to mine in the ''Saltpeter'' mine we found on the borders of our twonds, my Lady, as soon as we find good experienced miners, we will also create a partnership with Dorne. I assure you, we will make them forget, any possible past or future disagreements, with the entire North." I said in a confident tone. "Before you be, ''the most powerful woman in Westeros'', you will be known as the ''Spice Queen of the North''. As soon as we have ess to ss as well, you will grow: ck pepper, cumin, cinnamon, chilies, and ginger, all of the finest quality." I concluded. "You know how to entice a woman, greedy and power-hungry. I''ll give you that." Said Lady Dustin with a grin. "Ahaha. Thank you, mydy. I''ll certainly take that as apliment." I saidughing. "Those two men and the woman, why should I take them in?" Lady Dustin asked. " ''de 1,'' ''de 2,'' and ''de 3''? I thought you had a good eye for talent, my Lady. They will help you train your new special unit. It will take at least two years. Look for at least, 300 good recruits you trust, and in a short period House Dustin will have a lot less problems. Guaranteed. That unit, will also be the base point, for the forces that will guard and protect the future ''Never Winter Bank''." I said. "We''ll see how efficient these so called ''Frost des'' are. You''re leaving me holding, quite a bit of power...Aren''t you afraid I might turn my back on you?" Lady Dustin asked. "No, my Lady. There''s no use trying again...you won''t know who the ''suitor candidate'' will be. Please stop these despicable means and puns." I said putting a period. Lady Dustin had tried and tried again to tease me, all to force me to reveal the ''name'' of the future candidate. "Mpufft!" Lady Dustin huffed, bored with my response. "By the way, it seems Lady Catelyn Stark, doesn''t like him already. The word, came to me a few days ago from my Uncle. He tried to convince poor Ned not to sign the approval documents for the possible transfer of Sea Dragon Point. She seems to hate all the bastards in Westeros..." I said, trying to raise interest. "Ahaha! I''d like to see this. All the North, rumors of the Honorable Ned Stark''s act of infidelity. So, you are confirming the rumors that question your legitimacy as heir?" Lady Dustin snapped back. "I am neither confirming nor denying anything. Let them speak for themselves. I assure you, soon, no one will give a damn if I am or am not ''a bastard''." Then I remembered an important fact. "Ah, I almost forgot my Lady. Tomorrow I must set out again for Torrhen''s Square. I am very sorry, to give up your hospitality, in such an inelegant manner." I said, seeking an apology from Lady Dustin. "But how? I thought you wanted to meet my nephew Domeric. He will arrive within three days at most to begin his service as a page." Lady Dustin replied, in a tone that expressed slight offense. "I beg your pardon, my Lady. A ry arrived from my Fatherst night. It seems the Lannisters have begun to ''move''. I will need to get to Torrhen''s Square before Gerion Lannister arrives to visit. I promise I will remedy the matter of your nephew as soon as possible." I said, bowing my head. "As you wish...but I warn you..." Lady Dustin, fixed me with an icy stare, before resuming. "I don''t want, to have '' the Laughing Lion'' as my future candidate." Chapter 25: This number…cannot be right. Chapter 25: '' This numbercannot be right.'' Hello everyone, I would like to celebrate the fact that I have recently reached 500,000 views ... I assure you that without your continued support and help I would never have reached these numbers ... So Thank you. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart!!! Today to celebrate I have published a ''particrly'' long chapter. I hope you enjoy it. ----------------------- POV: Leobald Tallhart; Torrhen''s Square. Year 284, Fourth Day of the Tenth Moon (Two dayster, the arrival of the white raven from the citadel. The fall season officially began). Leobald was waiting. Soon he would arrive, the emissary of Casterly Rock, Gerion Lannister with a retinue of 300 knights. The Lannisters had probably learned that Olenna Tyrell had a retinue of 100 knights with her. They wanted to mark the fact that they were 3 times richer and more powerful than House Tyrell. Leobald Tallhart was anxious, but also happy to see Gerion again. He remembered well the three days of the tournament, at the Frey wedding. He and Gerion had spent a lot of time drinking, joking and betting. One of them was apetition to see who could remember the most names of Walder Frey''s (legitimate and natural) offspring. Leobald, had won by a margin of 3 sons and 7 more grandchildren than Gerion. The horns sounded and the gate began to open. A horseman, at the head of the group, galloped in, a beautiful ck thoroughbred. The man, wearing exquisite red and gold te armor. A cloak of wool and silk enveloped his body. Gerion Lannister, a man in his early thirties, blond-amber hair, a well-groomed beard with a deep, highlighted mustache, stopped his horse and dismounted, approaching Leobald. The two men stared at each other in silence, both keeping a serious look, as if they were ready to bite each other at any moment. Leobald spoke first. "I''m still waiting for that golden dragon. I thought the Lannisters ''paid their debts''..." Leobald said, in a tone that expressed contempt. "I don''t owe you a damn thing, you filthy cheat. My sister Genna, she told me that, thest ten names, you made them up from scratch!" Hearing the reply, Leobald sneered and said in reply: "Then you were pretending to be drunk!...I wonder, how you would have brought those names back to your sister, if the next morning you told me you couldn''t remember anything!" Leobald, at this point, could not hold back hisughter. Gerion''s face was beginning to turn purple as well. "PHUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Gerion roared with a thunderousugh. "Ahahahahaha! Wee, my friend. Torrhen''s Square, wees you and your men." Leobald said, offering an arm which Gerion immediately epted. "Thank you, ''Lord'' Leobald. I didn''t think you had ousted your brother from his seat. HAHAHAHAH!" Gerion. "I forced my brother, the ''Lord'', and my family to stay inside. You know, I had to first verify that you were spreading ''lies'' here and there." Leobald. "Ah! Is there any particr ''lie'' you don''t want me to tell? HAHA!" Gerion. "Stop it ande inside, we have prepared you the best rooms that Torrhen''s Square, has to offer. There will be a feast this evening." Leobald. "Well my friend, lead the way then!" Gerion. End POV. ---------------------- POV: Gerion Lannister; That same evening. Gerion, sat in the chair at the high table reserved for the guests of honor. Sumptuous food and drink, was being served to all the castle guests. There was white bread, stuffed roast suckling pigs, tender pigeon meat baked in almond flour, spiced baked potatoes, several varieties of sds, cooked vegetables caramelized with honey, Arbor wine, Dorne red, candied pears and apples, and as a final touch: a cake, shaped like a lion''s head, 4 feet high made of red fruits and cream. The Tallharts had spared no expense for the reception. Apany of guitti, apanied by bards entertained the guests. Nearly all the men sang to the rhythm of the entertainers. Gerion also believed that several of the ''maids'' were actually prostitutes paid to seduce his men. An evening on par with a wedding party of a great nobleman. The Lannisters sent a subtle demonstration of power with their cavalry escort, and the Tallharts responded by showing pomp, wealth and hospitality. Gerion, had admitted within himself, that even a Lannister, would be impressed by so much wealth spent on one evening. "I hope the evening is to your taste, my lord." Myra Tallhart said. "Stunning, mydy. We are grateful to Torrhen''s Square for this royal reception. Indeed, I feel ufortable that I did not bring gifts up to par, that would repay such generosity shown to my House." Gerion replied, like a perfect gentleman. "That is simply not true, my Lord. The jewels of Lannisport are magnificent. I am almost afraid to wear them for the risk of losing them." Myra. "AHAHAH! A trivial stone, with a few gold chains is not worthy of the candid beauty of thedies and dames of the North." Gerion. "I have already scolded you for ''ttering'' too much, mydy wife and now you force me to intervene for my sister-inw as well?" Said Leobald, intervening in the discussion. "It''s not my fault! House Tallhart is surrounding me with ''Snow Queens'' and also expects me to resist and maintain a demeanor in front of such beauty!" Gerion replied pretending to be offended and indignant. "Ahahahah! Stop exaggerating, my Lord!" Myra replied,ughing and blushing at Gerion''s antics. Helman was at his wife''s side, holding hisdy''s hand and was pleased that Myra was enjoying herself. Gerion then turned toward the Master of Torrhen''s Square. "Lord Helman, Casterly Rock will be indebted to you for your hospitality. The Lannisters always pay their debts." Gerion said, causing the others to hear as well. "We are honored, to wee within our humble walls, the noble House Lannister." Helman replied good-naturedly. "You have a beautiful family, my lord. A somewhat entric brother, but a beautiful family nheless! AHAHAH!" Leobald stood up trying to retort to the jovial insult thrown by Gerion. "Thank you, Lord Gerion. My brother has always spoken well of you to me. We thank you, for making this evening, unforgettable. Few can make mydy wifeugh." Myra looked, for a moment, very badly at her husband, but maintained the decorum due her guests. "I have seen, your splendid twins my lord, if I may ask, where is the legendary hero of the North? I wish I could meet your heir if possible." Said Gerion making a small bow. "Ah. I beg your pardon, lord Gerion. My son is not currently at the castle...but he should be joining uste tomorrow, if you don''t mind waiting." Helman. "No problem at all, my lord. I wish I could hear for myself, the infamous bad of ''Snow Mill''. I shall look forward to the meeting." Gerion. End POV. --------------------------------------- POV: Author; Just outside Torrhen''s Square. Next morning. Gerion and Leobald, were at the foot of theke waiting for ''Bloody Snow''. "Why do we have to wait here, Leobald?" Smiling Lion asked his former drinkingpanion. He was wearing a crimson silk suit with a golden wool cloak, to protect himself from the morning chill of the North. "Why do you want to spoil the surprise, Gerion?" Replied Leobald. "Because I might freeze to death, before I meet ''Bloody Snow''...You know, I had just added him to my list of: ''things to do, before meeting the Seven''. AHAHAH!" Gerion. "haha! Idiot!" Leobald. After theughter of both men they fell silent. It was time for the ''less joking'' matters. "So, your brother has finally turned his gaze towards my nephew..." Leobald said in a serious tone. "Yes...and honestly, I can''t me him. You guys have grown up way too fast, Leobald. Always remember, that I am and always will be in service to House Lannister." Gerion replied, throwing off his mask. "As I am and will always be in service to my family, Torrhen''s Square and the North, Gerion." The two looked at each other nodding in agreement. "Do you confirm, that you are giving me the possibility to speak ''freely'' with your nephew?" Gerion. "You have my blessing, and may ''the Seven assist you'' Gerion. That''s what you Southerners say, right?" Leobald. "Yes..." Gerion replied mentally preparing himself. After a couple of minutes... "There he is!" Leobald. "Where?" Gerion asked as he looked around. "There, toward theke. Do you see the ship?" Leobald, pointed to a distant dot. "We''re going to negotiate on a ship?" Gerion asked, confused. "Not ''a ship'' but ''the ship''...your ''new ship'' to be precise." Leobald. Gerion, was quite taken aback by Leobald''s words, this, was one of those situations he would never have thought of. After a few minutes, the ship became more and more visible...the veils were red...with a golden head in the center...a lion. "That...but..." Gerion. "Do you like it? Beautiful isn''t it? Our shipwrights, worked on it day and night, to finish the job before you arrived. Duncan himself, oversaw its construction." Exined Leobald. About fifteen minutester, a lifeboat reached the two men. "Please, my lords." Said one of the four rowers. Leobald and Gerion, climbed up to join the ship. When Gerion got on board, he was really impressed. He kept staring at all the details of this ship: ''one of a kind''. "The keel..." Gerion was interrupted. "Coated in ayer of copper tes, Lord Gerion. I am Duncan Tallhart, and I officially wee you aboard the ''Seeker of Brightroar''." A childish voice replied. Gerion froze in ce. If the sight of the ship had disarmed him before, he was nowpletely unseated by the horsending face-first on the hard, rough ground... That name...''Seeker of Brightroar''...rang loud and clear on repeat, like a bell inside his head. "How...I meant to say, Thank you. Thank you, young Lord Duncan." Gerion managed to pull himself together by making an extreme effort. He had to maintain control at all costs. At that point Gerion saw a few steps away from him a child, slightly taller for the age he should be, dressed in a white leather doublet and red pants, green eyes with silver streaks and steel-white hair that reflected the morning light. "If I may, what is that name?" As much as Gerion tried to maintain control, he couldn''t help but ask...He had to know. Very few, were aware of his dream of adventure in search: of the ancestral, lost, family Valyrian steel sword. "What do you mean, my Lord? I had hoped you would like the name. My Uncle Leobald suggested it. He said this was your dream, my lord. Uncle did you lie to me?" Duncan replied, feigning a state of confusion and anger at his uncle. "No, no nephew. I remember Gerion''s words perfectly that night. He had said that one day, he would leave for the ancient ruins of Valyria and bring Brightroar back...Gerion don''t tell me you don''t remember that?" Yes Leobald justified, looking at Gerion. The ''Smiling Lion'' was certain that no matter how drunk he had been at that wedding, that he would never tell a stranger, just met, about that trip.....but he had to y along. "Ah, gods, I must have really let myself go that night Leobald! Ahahahhahah...The name is to my liking young Lord. Thank you." Said Gerion, now he had really started to raise his guard. He felt at a total disadvantage at the moment. The ''Smiling Lion'' was going to have to get his ws out. "If it''s all right with you, my Lord. Why don''t we try this beauty on the water?" Duncan. "I see no reason to refuse...''Bloody Snow''." Gerion replied, shing a smile. About an hourter... Gerion felt the wind flowing through his hair, he kept staring at the horizon as if hypnotized. Every now and then, he would catch himself hearing the ship''s captain''s shouts addressed to his crew. "Loosen that knot!", "Spread thatst sail!", "Yes, Captain!".... "How fast are we going?" Gerion asked Leobald and Duncan. "Good question, Lord Gerion. Captain what is the current speed?" Duncan. "About ten knots, my lord! If we can keep up the wind we should be able to reach eleven to twelve knots!" The captain. "ELEVEN-TWELVE?!!!" Gerion blurted, unable to resist. Gerion knew the sea well, in recent years he had studied navigation as a septon ''the seven-pointed star''. Normally normal merchant ships, reached five or six knots. A war galley seven or at most eight. It was rumored that the fastest ship in Westeros was Captain Victarion Greyjoy''s Iron Victory. The ''Iron Victory'', is supposed to rival in speed the famous ''Swan Ships'' of Summer Ind. It was said that those ships, if the wind was right, could reach even ''eleven knots'' of speed...and now Gerion had heard a ''twelve'' as if it were a normal goal.... Now that he thought about it, the ''Brightroar Seeker'' bore a strong resemnce to the ''Swan Ships'' of the Summer Inds...both in shape and size. However he could sense that the keel, stern and bow were more stable and solid. "How did you manage to create this ship?" Gerion asked, wanting to satisfy his curiosity. "I''d say it''s time to stop and talk infort, ''Smiling Lion''. What do you say?" Duncan. "Absolutely agree, ''Bloody Snow''!" Gerion. About forty minutester... Three individuals, sat at a rectangr table inside the captain''s cabin. "So Lord Gerion, how do you like this three-masted carrack?" Duncan asked as he sat across from Gerion. This symbolized, that he was Bloody Snow, the representative of the Tallhart family and that his Uncle Leobald, who sat at the side, was his advisor. "A magnificent gift, I must admit...It would be even more wee if the Lannister family could have more..." Gerion said smiling. "I fear my Lord...that the cost of construction and thebor involved...are a tad expensive." Said Duncan keeping a polite tone. "We have no shortage of gold. The Lannisters don''t look for convenience, they look for quality." Gerion. "Well said, my lord. Let us speak of this ''quality'' you seek from the Tallhart family...all ''quality''." The dances were open... "House Lannister, would like to form an alliance with House Tallhart. Prosperous andsting, so that, between our two Houses, a rtionship of peace and prosperity may be established." Gerion. "So is it a marriage you seek? If so, ''who'', my Lord, should marry whom?" Duncan. Gerion, raised an eyebrow at the boy''s anticipation at the point he wanted to get to. "I haven''t said the words ''marriage'' yet, young Lord. Ahah. Why did you so confidently assume such a topic?" Gerion asked, trying to test the waters. " I''m not sure, that you want to know ''Why'', I assume it''s a marriage, my Lord." Duncan. "AHAHA! No, no, you''ve already piqued my curiosity ''Bloody Snow''. Please, I insist." Gerion, had activated his sharp, calcting eyes. "Well....''If you insist''...House Lannister already tried three years ago to threaten us, unsessfully, regarding the soap trade. Back then, we barely had 1/5 the political-economic influence that my House currently has. You are aware that ''we'', are the true drivers of House Tyrell''smercial sess. If House Lannister does not act now, you could have the Tyrells catching up in wealth in less than 10 years. For now 90% of your ie is from silver and gold mining, which will not be infinite. You do not have significantmercial business. The Iron Inds, prevent you from prospering through naval trade. However, you are ahead of other Houses in craftsmanship, especially in goldsmithing and jewelry, but in wartime it is a sector that yields little or no ie. Now that our House, has shown all the Seven Kingdoms, that in a few years we will be a new trading power, on par with the richest and most powerful Houses in the Seven Kingdoms, you want to move ahead. Currently you cannot stop us from prospering. Slow us down perhaps...but you would not wage war against House Tallhart. You have no motive or political support. Robert would not allow you to march on thends of his friend Ned Stark. Small reprisals are out of the question, House: Glover, Forrester, Cerwyn and now Ryswell and Dustin would act as our trenches and shield. Besides, your spies have failed time and time again and will continue to do so...all that remains is ''marriage'' my Lord." Concluded Duncan... Gerion had already stopped smiling by the third sentence...now the look was more serious than ever. "I hope I have beenprehensive enough in my answer. And that I have fully satisfied your curiosity, my Lord." Said Duncan in a polite tone. "Without a doubt...I believe you have forgotten the support of the ''Iron Bank''..." Gerion. "It wasn''t forgotten, my Lord...I just didn''t want to sin in ''arrogance and confidence''." Said Duncan giving a small smile. A few seconds of silence passed...and then.... "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! I LIKE YOU BOY! AHAHAH! YOUR UNCLE''S WORTHY NEPHEW!" Duncan and Leobald joined in with a lightugh. As much as Duncan disliked the ''ways'' or ''methods'' of the Lannisters, he had to admit that he found ''The Smiling Lion'' to be a nice and pleasant person. "Alright then, let''s not waste any unnecessary time. House Lannister, would like to propose an engagement between my nephew Lancel and your sister Eddara. We would like Eddara to be our wee guest as soon as she reaches the age of seven." Gerion. "I am very fond of ''my sister'', my lord. That Eddara be ''hosted'' as the daughter of Ser Harys Swyft is out of the question. However House Tallhart does not rule out the ''possibility'' of an engagement...It will depend on your nephew and Eddara." Duncan. "What do you mean?" Gerion asked, showing slight confusion. "What we can ept, at best, is a rapprochement between the two young people, when they are the right age. Should the courtship be sessful, then we will give our blessing. I will not force my sister into a forced marriage, my lord. Even if I have to face every knight in Westeros." Said Duncan in a firm tone. Gerion, hearing those words, searched for Leobald''s gaze. The boy''s uncle seemed to fully support his nephew. "If, we were to ept the proposal, we would at least want a guarantee that Eddara would not be promised or be courted by others." Gerion. "That we can grant...as for the bride price?" Duncan. "...We offer 300,000 G.D...with a guarantee that you will not go back on your previous statements. As for the dowry?" Gerion. "A good sum...more than fair. However we would like something different...We propose a higher value exchange, which will bring excellent returns to both of us.." Duncan. "...Let''s hear it..." Gerion. "We would like, that House Lannister, instead of giving us a sum of 300,000 G.D. provide us with a loan...of...2,000,000 golden dragons to be repaid within no more than 10 years without interest. In addition we would like you to assign to us the services of: 2,000 miners, 30 goldsmiths and jewelers, 100 leather and garment craftsmen, 100 scribes and ountants, 100 carpenters and 1,000 construction workers. All with at least 10 years of on-the-job experience and skilled in service for at least another 10 years. The Tallhart family, will provide for their wages and to wee to ournds, all their respective families." Duncan. "You ask a lot...In exchange for such generosity offered by my House, what would we get in return." Gerion asked, pondering the numbers. "The exclusive sale of: Caracas, Merchantmen, and Galleys. All ships of unparalleled speed, endurance and stability. Future ess to a port, which we will build in Sea Dragon Point, within the next two years and then the ability to deal with the entire North on all the products we will supply. New navigation techniques that will ensure you slip through the fingers of the ''Iron Fleet'', andst but not least...Valyrian Steel..." Duncan. Hearing thest words, Gerion''s eyes sparkled. "I don''t think the Tallhart family has ess to the lost ancient techniques of Valyrian steel...or do you?" Gerion asked. "No my Lord, but we are very confident that we can undertake a sessful journey to the ancient ruins of that lost empire. What we propose is a partnership with House Lannister on an expedition to the ancient ruins. We already have the necessary tools to solve the problem of toxic volcanic gases, a good route and many methods that will significantly increase our chances in the endeavor. If you would decide to cooperate with us. We would split the profits 50/50 on everything we find." Duncan. Gerion pondered for a moment then said: "What would these new ''navigation methods'' be?" Gerion. Duncan, pulled out of his pocket, what looked like a small white box. "This, my Lord, is a pass''...an instrument that anywhere in the world will always point in the North direction...Our house will provide you and you alone with the right to sell such an item...We will only provide this instrument to our ships and those of House Manderly, but no one besides you will be allowed to resell it..." Duncan. Gerion grabbed and studied the object for a few minutes. He saw the needle always pointing in one direction. Inside, under the needle, was a circle of bone in which was engraved ''the wind rose'', all floating in a liquid that looked like water. He had realized the potential of that instrument in a single minute. "We will provide you with the men you ask for, but 2,000,000, that''s too many..." Gerion. "But how my lord? The Tyrells lent us a third of that amount. I thought the Lannisters were at least 3 times richer than that humble House...wasn''t that what you wanted to tell us by bringing your 300 men?" Duncan asked, showing innocence on his face. "...." Gerion was silent for a moment...not knowing how to respond. "We want House Tallhart to provide us with at least 4 caracas, 2 galleys and 5 merchantmen each year for the next 3 years. Double that from there on out. We will agree to all other conditions." Gerion. "Done." Duncan stood up to join Gerion and shake his hand. "We would also appreciate, that the ''nuisances'' recently created by the Frey and the King''s council, cease. If you could do anything about it we would be most grateful, my Lord." Duncan concluded. Gerion shook his hand, staring at the boy. "If my House can help yours, I see no reason why we shouldn''t..." Gerion. Duncan smiled at that answer. "I wish House Tallhart and House Lannister, a deep, long and prosperous future partnership." Duncan said. "We wish the same." Gerion replied. End POV. -------------------- POV: Gerion Lannister; Casterly Rock. About three weekster. Gerion had just entered his brother Tywin''s study. He had already sent a raven and a ry, to report in advance to the Lord Protector the agreement reached. In the report he had also reported (not in detail) the ''level'' of danger of ''Bloody Snow''. Now Gerion had arrived, to detail the specifics of the agreement. The Smiling Lion found Tywin Lannister staring at the horizon in his balcony, which overlooked the West Sea. "Brother, I havee as quickly as I can." Said Gerion bowing. Tywin, allowed him and Kevan, to drop the formalities when they were alone. "You made a good deal." Said Tywin turning a cold gaze on him. "What''s the matter with you? Did something happen?" Gerion knew, that when his brother Tywin was restless, he preferred to reflect and reason by staring at vistas. "A message from Kevan from Braavos." He said, pointing to the scroll on the table. Gerion didn''t let him say it twice, he walked over to the table and grabbed the piece of paper. "I thought it was in Lys...why Braavos?" Gerion asked as he opened the scroll. "Kevan has failed in negotiations with the two free cities...Neither wants to move against House Tallhart...we know they are afraid of someone but not ''who'' exactly." Gerion as he listened to his brother was able to read the contents of the message. Within the message it read: [No guarantee on the fulfillment of the assignment. The price is...]. Gerion looked at his brother with a confused look. "Kevan has visited the temple of the ''faceless men'' and requested the ''price'' of their services for the boy Tallhart...what you see written is the sum they require." Tywin. "But...wait..." Gerion was still confused. "GOLD." Said Tywin anticipating the question. Gerion''s eyes widened, he recounted the zeros of that figure a second time. A minute passed and Gerion said: "This number...cannot be right." Chapter 26: The Norths Greatest Threat. Chapter 26: ''The North''s Greatest Threat.'' POV: Of a Squire: New Castle, White Harbor. Two weeks after a Lannister left Torrhen''s Square.... Lord Wyman Manderly''s poor 14-year-old squire, Jerha Ged, was waiting in front of the Lord of White Harbor''s personal privy. Usually, Lord Wyman needed to use the privy, to empty his bowels, at least twice a day. Each time, the wait was at least half an hour...most of the time an hour. The young squire, had learned to his detriment that, Lord Wyman, did NOT want, at all, to be disturbed during those ''SACRED'' moments of the day...but he had to risk it. "Tock! Tock! My Lord...it''s Jerha..." Said, the poor boy. "Jerha...what happened thest time you disturbed me, when I was at the privy?" Wyman. "...I cleaned thetrine from top to bottom, my Lord..." replied Jerha remembering the horrible times he had. "That''s right! Hopefully you won''t have to do it...urgh...a second time!" Lord Wyman replied. "But my Lord..." the squire. "No buts! Go away!!!" Manderly ordered sternly. Jerna, waited another five minutes of visceral noises and moaning.....dared second time. "Tock! Tock! My lord, it''s still me....it''s an important matter, my lord." Said Jerha pulling out every ounce of courage he possessed. "FOR THE SEVEN HELLS!!! I HOPE SO FOR YOU BOY! OR THAT''S WHERE YOU''LL BE GOING WHEN YOU HAVE TO CLEAN THIS PLACE UP!" Grumbled angrily, Lord Wyman. After a few creaks, a groan of physical exertion, the crack of the door opened.... "WHAT?!" Said Wyman holding up his breeches with one hand. "An unexpected emissary, my lord. Lord Leobald Tallhart, requests an audience with you himself! He is waiting in the waiting room, my lord..." Said the squire trying to be, as clear and direct as possible. "WHAT?! TALLHART??? AND YOU WAITED ALL THIS TIME TO TELL ME?!!!! WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN THAT PUNCTURED SKULL?!!! QUICK HELP ME...ARGHH!!!! HOLD ON TO ME I''M FALLING!!!...HOLD ON TO ME!!!"... "SDRHUSH!! CRACK!!! SQUOSSHH!!!" Lord Wyman, fell backwards stumbling through his breeches. The poor little guy, tried in vain to hold his lord, weighing almost two quintals. The woodentrine cracked...broken wood and sewage, sshed everywhere.... " HURRY! HELP ME YOU IMBECILE! USE THOSE HANDS TO PULL ME UP INSTEAD OF COVERING YOUR NOSE!!!" End POV ---------------------- POV: Of a page; Karhold. About three days after atrine split.... Young Eliot Flint, ran with all the strength he had. He had to find his Lord Rickard no matter what. "MY LORD RICKARD!!! MY LORD, WHERE ARE YOU???" Shouted Eliot. "AH! Thank the gods! Young Lord Harrion!" "Eliot what on earth are you shouting about? It''s barely past dawn! Do you need a p on the ears boy?" Reprimanded Harrion still in his night clothes. "No time my Lord!!! Where is the Lord your father?!" Eliot. "Are you out of your mind? You know very well he was supposed to leave at dawn with Eddard, for his first hunt. What''s going on?" Harrion. "OH NO! This is a disaster...A REAL DISASTER! HOW LONG HAS HE BEEN GONE, MY LORD?!!! Shrieked Eliot panicking. "An hour or so....calm down boy and tell me what''s going on!" Said Harrion grasping the shoulders of the page in his father''s service with his hands. "Now, take a deep breath and ''without waking up the whole castle'', calmly exin to me why you are looking for my father." Said Harrion trying to be less rude. One day, it would be his turn to rule. He had to learn how to handle critical situations.... "Yes, my Lord....uff...phew...Thank you, my lord! I am calm now." Harrion nodded, satisfied by those words. "...Lord Helman...Lord Helman Tallhart is at the castle gates, my lord...he requests an audience with your father!" Eliot said, trying to express it clearly, concisely, but above all without showing a state of panic. "...." "LORD HELMAN TALLHART??!!! IS HE PRESENTLY IN THE CASTLE??!!! ARRIVED SO SUDDENLY??!!! HURRY UP ELIOT! WAKE UP MY MOTHER AND ALL THE SERVANTS! GET MY HORSE SADDLED! TELL THE KENNEL MASTER TO GET THE BEST HOUNDS READY!!! RUN!!!!!!" Harrion, screamed putting his all into it, nearly fainted from the lung strain. End POV. ------------------------- POV: A future warrior of the North; Last Hearth. One day before a page''s eardrums burst.... The young Garoan (13 years old), was staring at the carnage taking ce in the banquet hall.... It was not umon at Last Hearth, fights were amon urrence.... Now that his father had died fighting alongside GreatJon, Lord of Last Hearth, he had been granted ''the honor'' of serving and growing up alongside thetter. It was his job, to help the Lord with any task, serving ale mostly...but also: taking care of his weapon and armor, clothing, bandaging and dressing him, dragging him safely to bed after a hangover, serving him food and...delivering important messages to GreatJon himself... In addition to a warm bed, food, clothes and a (scrappy) paycheck, GreatJon Umber taught the boy, one hour a day every day, to ''fight''... Now it was time to apply all of GreatJon''s teachings. He and his Uncle Mors Umber were in the middle of the fight, surrounded by a hundred furious, screaming men. Garoan had tried again and again to shout the message to his Lord...the screaming and confusion was too much. He had to get to the center. Garoan, stared at a cup less than a foot from him, one of the few still intact. It was filled with what looked like, cheap warm beer. He grabbed the cup and sent its contents down his throat in one go. He grabbed an ornamental oak shield, with the symbol of a chained giant attached to the wall...and shouted: "FOR MY LORD! FOR UMBER HOUSE! FOR THE NORTH! UUUAAARRGHH!!!!" The messenger charged toward the center of the storm: of punches, kicks, headbutts, ps, pushes, bites, eye-fingers, and pitchers and cups thrown. Ten minutester... A Garoan: more battered, bloodied, with a couple of cracked ribs, minus strands of hair and a shield more worn and chipped than before, reached two men. GreatJon, was currently standing over his Uncle Mors Umber, repeatedly punching him in the face...while Mors wasughing like a madman. "AHAHA!!! YOU FIGHT LIKE A LADY IN HEAT!!! GO AHEAD HIT BOY!!!" Mors. "DAMN YOU OLD MAN!!!! I''M GONNA MAKE YOU SPIT OUT THAT DAMN CROW YOU ATE!!!", "SDUGH!", "HARDER!!!", "SDUGH!", "I SAID HARDER KID!!!"... "SDUGH!" "BY THE GODS BRING OUT THE GRIT KID!!!!" Garoan, with onest effort, leapt towards GreatJon''s arm. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING BOY! YOU DARE TO STOP YOUR LORD''S HAND?!" GreatJon shouted, staring at Garoan with a murderous look. Mors, too, was astonished at the young man''s unusual gesture. "MY LORD!!! BLOODY SNOW!!! BLOODY SNOW HAS JUST ENTERED LAST HEARTH!!! HE DEMANDS AN AUDIENCE WITH YOU!!!" Shouted Garoan using all the strength he had to hold back GreatJon''s mighty arm. "EH?! WHAT''S A JOKE MAYBE?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME BOY??!!" Lord Umber. "NO MY LORD!!! I SWEAR IT! I SWEAR BY MY HONOR AND THE ANCIENT GODS!" Garoan. GreatJon leapt to his feet, helping Uncle up. Then he jumped onto therge table. The man stood 7 feet tall and 3 1/2 feet wide, the most powerful and massive figure in all of the North, then thundered these words: "STOP!!!! STOP ALL!!! BY ORDER OF YOUR LORD!!!!" All the men, stared at GreatJon letting go of the men they were restraining or striking. "GENTAGLY! THE LEGENDARY BLOODY SNOW IS PAYING US A VISIT!!! THROW AWAY THAT HORSE PISS YOU''RE DRINKING AND GET OUT THE GOOD STUFF!!! TONIGHT WE CELEBRATE!!!!AHAHAAHAHA!!!!" Screamed GreatJonughing like a maniac. "YHEEAAAAAARGH!!!!" Shouted a hundred men in unison. They all started hugging and cheering togetherughing. It was at that point that Garoan, fell to the ground and lost consciousness.... End POV; ------------------------------- POV: A leech expert; Dreadfort. Five days before a boy lost consciousness.... Adoamros Kru R''had, was a former nobleman of Vntis. His family had been trafficking in very for generations. As the first of 4 children, he was supposed to inherit the family business...He chose to give up the business. He had always developed a passion in the science of healing. In his youth, he left for the Old City in order to study all medical and rted arts. He forged three rings before being forced to go back after the death of his father. He had always loved a little ve girl, serving his family...When his brothers learned that he wanted to sell the family business and free all the ves in their possession, they betrayed him. They captured and hid his beloved and newborn son. The brothers, not being able, to act directly against Adoamros, chose ckmail. Finally, he was forced to legally surrender all of his family property in exchange for his family. After handing over the papers, he was unable to recover his family. The brothers, held them captive as coteral and bait, to try to remove the threat of the rightful heir once and for all. Escaping, first to Meeren, then Qhart, Braavos, Pentos and even Sothoryus, he finally came to thends of House Reed, in North Westeros. The Reeds, offered the fugitive hospitality and protection from his pursuers. After two years, in which Adoamros had tried by all means, to find a way to save his wife and son held prisoner, he received a message. He met a maester in the service of another northern family. He said he had been fascinated by his research: on methods of healing through rare animals and insects. He offered him a chance of salvation for his family, in exchange for a very dangerous mission. Adoamros replied that if it meant the salvation and protection of his wife and son, he would dly give up his life. A pact was made...Adoamros'' family was safe in thends of the Tallhart. He even managed to spend 3 months with his wife and son before fulfilling his part of the bargain. Those months were by far the happiest and most beautiful of his entire existence. He was going to repay that debt, no matter what.... About 2 monthster, he was serving in House Bolton. He was an expert in bloodletting and knew over 200 types of leeches. Some, personally bred by him in the swampynds of the glue. Roose Bolton, who loved bloodletting, weed the Essos healer into his manor. Adoamros had met thousands of people over the course of his life and travels. However, never before had he met a person more: cold, calcting, apathetic and cautious than Roose Bolton. The man trusted NO ONE. Not even his wife or his son. Only two men, out of the thousands in his employ, were allowed to shave him and there were some rumors that those men were missing a piece of skin somewhere on their bodies. Whenever, Adoamros performed a bloodletting with his own leeches, he was thoroughly searched, and the leeches he carried in his ss cases, were first tested on the servants. "Proceed Adoamros," said Roose Bolton, naked and lying on his bathtub filled with hot water. "Yes, my Lord." Adoamros. "What benefit did you say they should provide, this variety of leech?" The ''Leech Lord'' asked, staring with pale eyes at the stranger. "They are supposed to stimte the blood vessels, my Lord. The effects, after an hour of bloodletting, should be: increased cognitive ability, potential stimtion of the linguine and increase, for a short period, the pulmonary capacity, my Lord." Said Adoamros bowing. He had begun to get used to Roose Bolton''s scrutinizing nces. However he always felt a slight tension and fear staring into his icy gaze. "We shall see." The Leech Lord, nodded his hand, starting the proceedings. He kept his eyes half-closed at all times, not lowering his gaze on the ''healer'' for a moment. "Tock!", "Tock!", "My Lord." Roose Bolton stopped Adoamros'' hand with a gesture as he was about toy the first leech down with a pair of tweezers. "Come in, Locke." The door opened, and one of Roose Bolton''s most trusted men entered the bathing rooms of the Lord of Dreadfort. "My Lord, an emissary from House Tallhart, named Ramas requests an interview with you." Locke. "Ramas? Never heard of him...how many men did he bring with him?" Roose. "Twelve my Lord, the fellow looks dangerous..." Roose Bolton carefully considered his watchdog''s words. "Send them in, and offer them refreshment and hospitality. Have only this Ramas pass through the waiting room. Disarm him, and prepare six men for escort to the interview. I wille in a little while." Said Roose Bolton. Locke bowed and prepared to carry out his orders. Many simr visits to various castles in the North were taking ce in the same week. End POV. -------------------------- POV: Author; Torrhen''s Square. One day after Gerion Lannister left the castle.... "This isn''t a joke is it?" Helman asked as he looked at his brother Leobald. "You tell him, Maester Qyburn." Leobald replied as he looked at one of the four people present, in the halls of the restricted council of the Tallhart family. "It is confirmed, my lord. Lady Berena is expecting. For almost two moons to be exact." Qyburn replied, with a gentle tone and a slight smile on his face. "I''m going to have a cousin!!!ahahah!" Blurted Duncan as he approached to hug his Uncle. "We''re going to have a party! The biggest one of all! Let all of Torrhen Square celebrate with us!" Helman ordered, still in disbelief at the news. The reason for so much skepticism, was because of the couple''s countless attempts at pregnancy. After three years of failure...they had begun to lose hope. Qyburn had been helping the couple for almost a year now. Between various tonics, physical exercises, medicinal infusions and treatments, eventually Leobald and Berena were sessful. "No way! We''re behind schedule. I know you brother. You''d be able to do three days of partying. We just emptied the cers and warehouses to amodate the Lannisters. Something small and discreet will suffice." Leobald replied as he continued to hug his nephew. "Nonsense! Maester Qyburn, warn Paul after the meeting. Within three days I want a memorable party to be set up. Let the whole North talk about it!...In fact, let''s invite all the great houses of the North! Top priority to the Hornwood House." Said Helman pondering what was best to do. "No brother every day is precious! WINTER IS COMING!" Said Leobald in a slightly furious tone. "Father, may I suggest a middle ground?" Said Duncan interposing himself between the two men''s argument. "....let''s hear it." Said both Helman and Leobald simultaneously. "We should take advantage of this gift from the gods, father. We should still go and speak to all the lords of the North. Let us celebrate and squander money...but for the benefit of Torrhen''s Square and the entire North. We could still start our campaign of visiting the various lords, but instead of sealing the trade agreement...invite them in person to the party. That way, we would show everyone the respect they are due. We would pay a surprise visit to all the great families..." Duncan caught his breath for a moment and his Uncle continued for him. "If we postponed the feast in two months or so...we might have time to invite all the families of the North to our table...We''d seal all the due agreements there, and we might even bring forward the road project. Even Lord Stark woulde. If we whispered the idea of the ''roads throughout the North'' project, when we made the proposal to Ned Stark it would be impossible for him to refuse....Genius!" Said Leobald, smiling. "...we''ll do it this way. Who''s going to visit who?" Helman. "We should visit the most important Houses in person...Manderly, Hornwood, Umber, Karstark and Stark. The Starksst, so we can tell them that the whole North will be there." Duncan. "We''ll take advantage of the trip to reach the barrier and have our 300 recruits trained by the Night''s Watch Rangers." Helman. "You forget the Boltons nephew...I thought you were unmatched in history! Ahahahah." Said Leobald. "I haven''t forgotten...I won''t let any of my family into Dreadfort ...not if Roose Bolton is the Lord in charge." Said Duncan showing a hint of anger and ruthlessness. "What do you mean son? Roose Bolton is certainly a creepy guy but he''s a Northman...he wouldn''t dare vite thews of hospitality." Said Helman...Leobald did not intervene and silently appraised. "No father, you are mistaken...Roose Bolton would be capable of this and more...but he would take the proper precautions so that no finger would be pointed at him. Like in the Battle of the Trident..." Said Duncan. Helman''s eyes widened and he began to think seriously...but he couldn''t find a reason to give any credence to those words. "Exin yourself, nephew." Said Leobald showing a hard, unforgiving look. The man had a couple of guesses...but they were only guesses. Duncan grabbed a sheet of paper and some wooden checkers. "During the battle, our legion consisted of men: Boltons, Mormonts, Dustins, and Tallharts. Respectively: 2,500 men, 400, 800 and 1,300 against Ser Barristan''s 8,000..." Everyone nodded following the exnation. "Roose Bolton implemented a good strategy of decoying and encircling the enemy head.....however he used the ''wrong'' men in the ''wrong'' ces...but it was a calcted mistake. He knew very well that the Mormonts and Tallharts were the fiercest and best prepared units...and knowing this anyway he used us as an expendable vanguard. Barristan would have been able to break through the center sooner if the Bolton units had been part of it. Half of Roose Bolton''s army, was made up of peasants who could barely use a pike. Why not use those peasants instead of men well trained to fight? I assure you the answer is not ''Because he cared about those innocents, forced to fight instead of plowing the fields''...." Duncan paused to give his father and Uncle time to absorb the information. "...THAT BASTARD!!! IN FACT HIS LOSSES AMOUNTED TO LESS THAN 300 MEN!!! HE USED US AS A SHIELD!!!!" Shrieked Helman furiously. "...He won the battle, showing himself as a ''conquering hero of the North'' taking few losses and at the same time, weakened the other Northern Houses....and no one could have med him...he could justify that move in many ways..." Leobald maintained more control and continued the reasoning behind his nephew''s exnation. "Probably, Tom and hundreds of other Tallhart men would still be alive if the general of the legion had been someone else." Said Duncan in a vindictive tone. "Roose Bolton...is surely one of the most dangerous people in the North. If he had wealth and military power on par with the Lannisters or the Tyrells...he would be the greatest threat in Westeros and Essos." Chapter 27: A United North Part I Chapter 27: '' A United North '' Part I POV Duncan; Torrhen''s Square. The day after discussing Roose Bolton. "So, are we all in agreement? Any objections, on how to act against House Bolton?" I asked. My father, Uncle Leobald and Ser Qyburn, looked at each other for a moment. They all nodded a few secondster. "Well, I''d say let''s get down to business: Night''s Watch. Father?" I said, turning to Helman. "We already have the shipment of grain, medicine, weapons, nkets, woolen clothing, enough for at least a year. There should be about 1500 men at the barrier at the moment. The Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, has already epted our request. Three hundred of our soldiers will be trained by the best Rangers they have, for the duration of the Fall." My father said. "Good. Maester can you tell us the estimates for the duration of this Fall?" Uncle Leobald asked. "Comparing myself to the citadel and studying the various historical ounts, a conservative estimate would be a year and a half, my Lord. Winter shouldst two years, at the very least..." Qyburn. "We make preparations for at least four years with a year to spare." I said. "How much will cost us, Leobald?" Helman. "Oh Ancients help me! I can''t stand reading numbers any longer. I''d rather start sword training all over again. When will Ronan return from Braavos?!" Leobald. "Not for another two years, Uncle... Sorry to torture you like this, but we still don''t have an ountant with unquestioning loyalty..." I tried to console my Uncle. The poor man spent at least 6 hours a day among papers full of numbers. "Uff...so...with that standard of living...about 100,000 golden dragons... .200,000 if we want to have the reserves to help at least three big houses in the North." Said Uncle. Then he asked: "Any ideas for the tournament we''re going to set up?" "Yes Uncle. I think we should set up fourpetitions..." I took a sheet of paper with a list I had sketched out earlier and read: "Jousting: For first ce, 6 Dothraki Thoroughbreds, 1 Deluxe Chariot and 5,000 G.D. 2nd 1 thoroughbred and 2,000. G.D. 3RD 800. G.D. Melee: For 1st ce: 5 vouchers forplete custom-made te armour sets, to be collected as soon as weunch them on the market. + 2,000 G.D. 2nd 1 set of armour and 800 G.D. 3RD 300 G.D. Archery: First prize = 5 GoldenHeart Bows + 2000 G.D. Second prize = 1 GoldenHeart and 800 G.D. Third prize = 300 G.D. Josua of Jh, was kind enough to give us her contact details for the bows...but I''m afraid she did it more for her own purposes. She wants to participate in the tournament... Tug of war: The 10-man team representing each house will win: 1st 100 barrels of Vodka and Whisky + 20 barrels of ''Taileys'' and 5 barrels of Absinthe. 2nd 20 barrels of Vodka and Whisky + 5 barrels of ''Taileys'' and 1 barrel of Absinthe. 3 10 barrels of Vodka and Whisky. For the preparations of our guests including: banquets, bards, fittings and gifts, Paul has estimated about 10,000 G.D. of expenditure. Obviously, the sum is estimated on the basis of ''if all the nobles of the North were to turn up''. We could set up a betting centre, to get back a few Golden Dragons, set up markets of: jewellery, sweets, clothing and armourers ." "Queen Cercei, will demand the head of my future child, should Robert arrange a minor celebration for the birth of the first prince..." Said Uncle, in a worried tone massaging his forehead. "Not to mention Catelyn Stark, Uncle! AHAHAHAH!.....I beg your pardon...Master Zick is infecting me." I stopped theughter as soon as Uncle glowered at me. "I''d say preparations are going well. Maester Qyburn how are you getting on with collecting the healers to train?" Helman. "It is proceeding well, my Lord. Thanks to the census, nowpleted, throughout the territory, we have found about 400 candidates, with knowledge: basic and intermediate. I am confident that we will be able to instruct everyone to learn to read and write within 3 months. From there, we will start with the training for essential healing and medication processes. The process of copying and printing the citadel texts has already started. I should also be able to write, in time, an ''easier to understand''pendium of all the medical arts to be applied. Every vige in House Tallhart''s territory will have a petent'' healer before winteres." Qyburn said. "Good work, Maester. House Tallhart owes you a great deal." Qyburn bowed and smiled at the praise he had just received. "House Dustin and House Ryswell?" Helman. "Lady Barbery have already begun to gather reliable workers. We will be sending batches of coal for the refining process shortly. The Ryswells have promised us that, within three years, they will be able to sell us the promised new hybrid breeds. We have increased the production of coaches and transport wagons by 50%. In addition, we are already fitting the new ''snow chains'' for the wagon wheels. If we seed in the project of building roads all over the north, transport will no longer be a problem. He finished the report seeing my father nodding with satisfaction. "So tomorrow we will leave and send emissaries to all the castles. We''re all agreed, on the trade deals to propose to the House: Manderly, Karstark, Umber...and Bolton?" My father asked, making a final check before dismissing the council. Both myself, Uncle and Qyburn nodded in response. "Good...Then let''s get on with it." Said Ser Helman Tallhart, Master and Protector of Torrhen''s Square. End POV; -------------------------- POV: Lord Wyman Manderly. White Harbor, New Castle. One hour after the disaster... The Lord of White Harbor, Warden of White Knife, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Marshal of the Manderly, Knight of the Order of the Green Hand, was sitting in his huge bathtub shouting orders left and right. "Quick with that soap!", "Yes, my Lord." "Brush harder boy!", "Yes, my Lord." "Go on! Throw another bucket!", *Squoshh!!!* " Done, my lord." "Are the towels ready?" "They are here, my Lord!" "WHERE ARE MY CLEANED DRESSES?!", "They''reing right away, my Lord!" "FAST! OUR GUEST IS WAITING!!!", "YES, MY LORD!!!" Shouted in reply, the ten attendants, tasked with rectifying...the ''unpleasant incident'' that had urred about an hour earlier. About another hourter... The Lord '' Too Fat to Ride'', came running towards the doors of the hall. A few steps from the door, he took a deep breath and resumed the demeanor that any Lord should disy. The Knight in the service of Manderly, opened the doors after receiving the consent of his Lord. Lord Wyman entered the hall, greeted by a man, well dressed, with the symbol of House Tallhart sewn on his chest, hair and beard neatly trimmed and a smile on his face. "Lord Leobald, I offer my sincerest apologies for theck of respect my House has shown our guest." Wyman said, giving a half bow, due to the impediment of his huge belly. "No offense taken, my lord. I thank you, for receiving me unannounced... I hope I have not caused trouble with my unexpected visit." Said Leobald, bowing deeply. "No trouble caused, my lord. I was merely engaged in a minor customs mishap at the port. My dy was only caused by the return journey. I hope my castle provided you with refreshment and entertainment, Lord Leobald." Said Wyman while maintaining perfect etiquette. "The wait was pleasant and rxing. The legendary reputation of House Manderly''s hospitality is well deserved." Leobald. "Ah, I am heartened to hear it. Please, my lord. Have a seat." Wyman said, pointing to a table set with various drinks and food items. "Thank you, Lord Wyman." Leobald bowed and walked to his chair. Twenty minutes of: etiquette, formality, banter, various praises and drinkster... "So, my Lord. May I ask the reason for youring to my humble manor?" Wyman. "Of course, Lord Wyman. I am here primarily to invite you and your House to a tournament hosted by House Tallhart, to celebrate the future birth of my son or daughter. " Leobald. "What wee news, my Lord. I offer you my sincere congrattions. My house is not worthy of such a formal invitation. House Manderly will be present! What could I possibly give you and your future unborn child, to thank you for the respect and honour shown to our House?" Lord Manderly. "What you could bestow, my lord, is peace and prosperity for all the North. So that our future generation does not have to suffer as we do. I have alsoe here to propose to you and your House a possible future trade partnership. If you agree, Lord Wyman." When Lord Manderly heard the words mercial coboration'', his eyes lit up. White Harbor was filling his coffers with gold and silver through the soap and paper trade. He had recently received a raven from House Ryswell, for the sale of new revolutionary trade wagons, also made by House Tallhart. So far, any House of Westeros that created such a trading partnership prospered beyond measure. "House Manderly is certainly interested in your proposal. Please, Lord Leobald, continue." Wyman. "Just a moment, my Lord." Leobald rose to make his way to a small chest. He opened the chest and walked towards Lord Wyman with four items with him. "These three scrolls that look like paper, my Lord, will be in greater demand and sought after than soap...I give you my word. After Torrhen''s Square...cough cough...has experienced its benefits, he can no longer do without it... We call it ''Toilet Paper''." Leobald exined all the features and benefits of this new product, giving House Manderly a monopoly on sales. Three different qualities: mon paper'' (cost = 3 pennies), ''ss paper'' (cost = 3 copper stars) and ''imperial paper'' (cost = 5 silver stags). "I assure you, my Lord, that after trying it, you won''t even want to wipe yourself with silk. You will be able to resell each batch of the product even, at four times the price we charge and be able to sell the product in any House in Westeros or town in Essos." Leobald finished. "I am certain of it, my Lord. House Manderly epts the deal." Manderly couldn''t wait to try out the new product.... "A second deal we propose...is this..." Leobald opened the cards to show ns for new ''innovative'' toilets and methods of distributing running water. After 30 minutes of exnation and repetition (Manderly at first did not believe it possible that such ''services'' could be created). "Again, my Lord, my House offers you a monopoly on construction work, only you will have these projects...what we require is only a 5% on the profits you will make from them and that House Manderly buys the necessary construction materials from us." Leobald concluded. Manderly was still shocked. ''The incident'', which he had had a few hours ago, seemed like a message from the gods.... "Manderly House, ept. We thank Tallhart House, for honoring us with your offer. Please, my Lord. Tell me if there is anything else our House can do for you!" Manderly. "Indeed, Lord Wyman...there is something..." End POV. -------------------------- POV Rickard Karstark; Karhold. About three hours after a deaf pageboy woke hisdy... Rickard Karstark rode into the clearing with four of his escort men. It was at least half an hour before he reached Karhold. Only the fastest knights followed him. His son Harrion (18 years) had taken care of Eddard (7 years), along with the rest of his escort. They spurred the horses to the limit of their abilities. Rickard kept whipping his horse fiercely... His horse, ''Ebony'', which had served him faithfully for fifteen years and had survived three battles in a row: against a group of wildlings, the Battle of the Bells and at the Trident. "FASTEST DAMN HORSE!! I SWEAR WHEN WE GET THERE I WILL HAVE YOU SLAUGHTERED AND SERVED AS STEW!!!" Shouted Rickard, trying to increase his speed again. "HIIIIIII, HIIIIIII!!!" Nitrated the horse feeling another whip. It had taken Harrion two hours to reach him and warn him... That meant Ser Helman Tallhart had been waiting for him to arrive for at least three hours. Rickard looked in the direction of the woods. He knew hisnd like the back of his hand. Every stone, every tree within ten miles of Karhold was firmly etched in his mind. "LET''S CUT THROUGH THE WOODS!!!" Lord Karstark ordered, pointing in the direction with his right hand. "YES, MY LORD!!!" The four escorting men replied in unison. The five knights rode into the wooded clearing. They continued to maintain a dangerous speed... They were no longer following a well-trodden path. After a few minutes, a shout was heard. "UAARGHH!" "HIIIIII!!!" *SDRUSH!*.... "HELP ME!"..... "MY LORD! WILLIS..." a soldier tried to say. "LEAVE HIM BEHIND! COME BACK FOR HIM LATER! MOVE ON!" Shouted Karstark, not even looking back. "But... Yes, my lord..." Willis''s brother replied. About an hourter... Rickard Karstark was settling in as best he could. He didn''t have time to change his clothes. A servant from the castle, was dusting him off from top to bottom as he kept a quick pace to reach the waiting room. Arriving inside the hall, he found Helman Tallhart talking in a heated discussion with his wife, pregnant with their fourth child, Tasha Flint-Karstark. "Yes, my Lady. It has been a joy for us, just thinking that I will soon have a nephew or a niece always brightens my day." Said Helman, they were standing next to two straw mannequins. "Ah, there''s my Lord husband! Rickard darling look who hase to visit us. Lord Helman Tallhart himself. He is soon to have an unexpected addition among his family. Isn''t that wonderful?" Tasha. "It is my beloved. Lord Helman, I beg your forgiveness for the long wait. All of Karhold wees you, my Lord." Said Karstark, giving a hearty bow. "No, my Lord. It is I who must ask your forgiveness. Only my rudeness in not having warned you sooner must be reprimanded. The wait was practically nonexistent. Your Lady wife, she graced me with herpany and hospitality, worthy of one of the greatest families in the North." Said Helman, bowing. Tasha, felt relieved and happy to hear those words. She had feared she had bored Lord Helman too much, in these, almost four hours of talk. "You honour me, my wife and my House, my Lord." Rickard said in a respectful and cordial tone. "I hope, Lord Rickard, that I have not caused you any difort or trouble by this sudden visit of mine." Said Helman showing a slight tone of concern. "No trouble at all, my lord. My son Eddard and I were just returning from our first hunt. Your visit can only be considered a happy coincidence." Rickard. "I am heartened to hear it, my lord. I would never have forgiven myself for disturbing such an important moment between a father and son." Helman. "That was not the case, my Lord. Please be seated. My beloved, would you have them bring us something to eat and drink, if you don''t mind?" "Of course, they wille as soon as possible. I will leave you alone now, my lords. Lord Helman, it has been a real pleasure to make your acquaintance." Said Tasha bowing like a perfect Lady. "No, my Lady. The pleasure and honour has been mine. I wish you my sincerest congrattions and may your future unborn child be a girl. To close our previous discourse...Yes, Alys, that''s a wonderful name. I may steal your idea, my Lady, if I ever have a niece." Helman. "Thank you, my Lord." Tasha walked out of the room. 30 minutester of: drinking, war stories, praise, courtesies, and jokes. "So, Lord Karstark, you must be wondering why I have visited you." Helman. "I admit, the thought has crossed my mind a few times, Lord Helman." Rickard. "Originally, my lord. I was supposed to go to Castle ck...but since my brother did me the courtesy of donating another member to my House. I could not resist and wanted and needed to be able to celebrate the event. Before Winteres, we should all be able to have some good times to remember. At least, that''s what I think." Helman. "I agree wholeheartedly, my Lord." Rickard. "That is why I am organizing a tournament in mynds. I am inviting every family in the North to such an event. I would like us all to benefit from some fun. Especially after the past few years... I havee here to personally invite you and all those you choose to bring, Lord Rickard." Helman. "Lord Helman, you honour me with such an invitation. I assure you that this visit of yours was unnecessary. You should not have bothered for so little. I would still have epted even if a raven had brought the invitation." Rickard. "Nonsense. For so little, stretching the road for such a short distance, is not in the least considered in the word ''disturbance''. Truly, my lord. Since I would have liked to speak to you in person anyway, in the months toe, I took the opportunity to anticipate such an event." Helman. "In what connection, if I may ask." Rickard focused all attention on the next words that were about to be spoken.... "I would like, if possible, to see asting business rtionship established between my House and yours. A business rtionship that I believe will benefit us both greatly in the future." Said Helman, taking another sip of the double malt ale. Rickard nearly burst into tears... He had to force himself to keep control. For months he had been talking to his wife about the possibility of having a girl. In his heart he hoped that the next child would be a girl, because that would give him a better chance of bringing the Tallharts and the Karstarks together in marriage... Lord Helman''s son, Bloody Snow, was bing the most sought after party in all of the Seven Kingdoms with each passing day. House Karstark, like many other Northern Houses, had increased its trade revenue by at least a third over the past three years through the soap trade alone... and now Lord Helman Tallhart himself hade to his castle to ask for another trade partnership. For about three weeks, a rumour had been circting in Karhold. ording to which, ''Bloody Snow'' was blessed by the Old Gods and prayed daily in a lost ancientnguage. Rickard had managed to find out what the words were. That ''Seraphine'', was probably the name of one of the Old Gods....it had to be, he thought...because he had personally started secretly praying every night before going to sleep.....And now ''Seraphine'', had answered his prayers... All his efforts were being repaid. "The possibility exists, my Lord. Please continue..." Rickard. "Thank you, my Lord. My family and I, have recently found a new method of treating leather...I think I should show you first, sometimes sight and deed, are worth a thousand words. You will forgive me, Lord Karstark, if I have ventured to arrange a small demonstration in advance." Said Helman pointing to the two dummies less than 30 feet away from them. "There''s nothing to forgive, in fact I''m d you did. Please show me." Rickard stood up signalling the Lord to lead the way. "Thank you, my Lord. Yes, here we have two mannequins, this is the one covered with five shrouds of leather that yourdy wife kindly provided for me, and here a mannequin with leather produced in mynds. I would ask you to strike with your sword both, with a sh of the same intensity if possible." Helman. "Of course, my Lord... However, I must warn you that I sharpen my sword most mornings. I fear I may damage your leather perpetually." Rickard. "No problem, my Lord. These, are only demonstrationyers of leather. They are meant to be damaged. Strike without hesitation." Helman. "I will do as you say." Karstark moved into position and drew his sword from its scabbard. The de was well cared for oiled and sharp. Karstark struck the first dummy sideways. The de passed easily through the first threeyers and locked onto the fourth. Drawing the sword, both men noticed the mark left on the fourthyer, another millimetre and it would have touched the fifth. Rickard struck the second dummy with an almost identical blow....Rickard pulled the sword out...only twoyers had been cut...and the third was barely damaged...he was speechless... "As you can see, my Lord. This treated leather is stronger than the first. I assure you that it too is made from cowhide and if you notice the thickness is almost identical. Touch it, my Lord, and tell me what you see. Helman said, removing one of the fiveyers. "It''s softer than ordinary leather... more mouldable..." Karstark said. "Exactly, my Lord! This is absolutely the finest cowhide you will ever find in Westeros and Essos...and if you wish, my lord, your House will gain a monopoly on its trade. "Helman. "Please, Lord Helman. Tell me, what could I do to reciprocate such an opportunity?...What does your House require?" Rickard. "House Tallhart, would like House Karstark, to sell us all the hides you can hunt: deer, elk, cattle, boar, seals, bears and others too...we will buy it all without hesitation. The price for this disturbance will be 10% higher than the market price. In return, my Lord, we will provide you with lots of treated leather and furs that are stronger, warmer and more sumptuous than the average. You will be the ''Lord of Leather'' from now on, guaranteed. If you resell the unmolded treated leather, you can safely resell it at three times the market price and ''everyone'', my Lord, will be happy to buy. However..." Helman, paused for a moment to catch his breath. "However?! Please, my Lord, finish your speech." Helman Tallhart''s every word seemed tost seasons for Rickard. He was focused to the max, to: analyse, scrutinise, absorb, savour and process, every word of Helman''s... "However...coghu cough...I beg your pardon, my lord...I must have a sip of water.....shuurpll...yes...now that''s better...I was saying, my lord. However, we would like you to work that leather, to give it more value..." Helman, approached Rickard again, handing over some drawings. "These, my lord. They are new designs, for: basic leather armour, studded armour, boots, leggings, belts, sword scabbards and quivers. I have brought illustrative samples below. My lord, we would like you to mass produce theseponents...and if possible you will pay us a tribute of 5% of the profits you make from them...you will of course have, in addition to the designs, our leather masters who wille to instruct your workers, so as to exin the various operations in detail. You alone, my Lord, will be given the right to sell such articles...What do you think, my Lord?" Helman. "Lord Rickard? Are you feeling well, my Lord? Shall I send for someone?".... "I AM WELL, MY LORD! NO PLEASE!...No there is no need, thank you...I beg your pardon Lord Helman....just a little fainting...nothing more." Chapter 28: A United North Part II Chapter 28: ''A United North'' Part II Hello everyone, sorry for the dy in the release of this chapter. Unfortunately a letter on my keyboard, which I won''t name, decided not to work today. Small technical problems already solved! Thank you all for your support and Happy Reading!!! POV: GreatJon Umber; Last Hearth. Two hours after a brave boy lost consciousness.... GreatJon Umber, Lord of Last Hearth, was drinking his fifth pint of fine ale of the evening. Next to him sat a seven year old boy dressed in fine clothes, a red leather doublet, white silk and wool trousers, small ck leather boots, white hair, green eyes with silver streaks on the eyes...Duncan Tallhart, nicknamed Bloody Snow. "Lord Umber, I thank you again for the warm hospitality you have extended to me. The party is magnificent, my Lord," said the boy bowing his head. "Nonsense boy! The honour is ours. Not every young man from the North has the bones and spine to make it this far! AHAHAH!" Said GreatJon as he drank another tankard. Almost two hundred guests at the banquet wereughing and drinking. The tone of the evening was certainly not low. Every person in the room almost had to shout to be heard. GreatJon, looked at the young Tallhart heir''s fellow escorts for a while. "Your men look fierce to the point boy! AHAHAH! What is their name?" GreatJon. "Ah, forgive my rudeness, Lord Umber. These are not my men, my lord. They are my masters of arms. I present to you, Baragh No Dau of Norvos. Here we have, Josua of Jh, Narbo andst but not least Will." He introduced Duncan, each man or woman called, bowed their heads politely to offer their thanks. "ARGH! YOU LET FOREIGNERS TRAIN YOU BRAT! NORTHERN MEN, LEARN TO FIGHT FROM NORTHERN WARRIORS!" Shouted Mors Umber, who was at GreatJon''s side. "SHUT UP OLD MAN!!! YOU WILL NOT INSULT MY GUESTS AT MY TABLE!" GreatJon "MMPHF" Mors. "Lord Mors Umber, you are free to insult me all you want, my Lord, but I will never allow the honour of my House, my Family or... OF MY MASTERS!" Said the boy, standing up in his chair to reach Mors'' gaze. The eyes of ''Bloody Snow'' and the remaining eye of ''Crow''s Food'' looked at each other in silence for a few seconds. "NO ONE IN THE NORTH IS BETTER THAN THESE GREAT WARRIORS!..." Bloody Snow. "Words are wind boy, only actions determine the man! PROVE WHAT YOU CLAIM IF YOU DON''T WANT TO BE CALLED A LIAR!" Crowfood. GreatJon knew that his Uncle was only testing the boy''s temper. He, of all people, even if a brute was under his table, would never sully thews of hospitality. Everyone in the room began to turn towards the big table. A hundred Umber men and a hundred Tallhart men stood listening to the developments. Duncan turned, seeking approval from one of his fourpanions. Baragh No Dau answered the call with a smile. "Alright great Lord...let''s see what these Umbers men are made of. I, BARAGH NO DAU, ACCEPT YOUR CHALLENGE! I WILL FACE WHOEVER YOU PROPOSE." Said the massive Norvos man with a very slight foreign ent. "AHAHAHAHA!!! LET THE SHOW BEGIN THEN! MAKE WAY FOR THE CENTRE!!!" Shouted GreatJon. Immediately, about fifty men stood up and made room between the tables. Food and drink were thrown on the floor in the confusion, but no one cared. "WHO AMONG THE BRAVE MEN OF THE UMBERS IS UP TO FACING THE PRIEST OF NORVOS?" GreatJon. More than ten men stepped forward...but then a taller man made room by shoving a couple of men aside. "AHAHAH WELL! THAT WILL BE OUR CHAMPION UWELL THEN!!! AHAHAH" GreatJon. A man, with raven ck beard and hair, over 6 feet tall (about 2 meters) powerful arms and legs, scars all over his face and a toothless smile, advanced towards the centre of the arena set up. "UWELL! UWELL! UWELL! UWELL!" Cheered the Umber men in unison. Immediately afterwards, Duncan Tallhart climbed onto the big table, snapped two fingers signalling to a couple of his men who looked like scribes or ountants and shouted: "HOUSE TALLHART WILL ACCEPT ANY BET FROM ANYONE IN THIS ROOM!".... "UAAARRRGHHHRR!!!", "5 STAGS ON UWELL!", "2 MOONS ON BARAGH!" "UWELL! 3 STAGS!", "1 MOON ON UWELL!", "1 GOLDEN DRAGON!", "4 STAGS ON THE PRIEST!", "20 STAGS THAT THE PRIEST WON''T TAKE A MINUTE"....the two scribes were overwhelmed by more than 50 men at once, trying with all their might to get each bet scored on time...it was like the Wall Street scene in ''An Armchair For Two.'' After a few minutes, Duncan continued: "LORD MORS, HOW ABOUT A LITTLE FRIENDLY WAGER BETWEEN US?" The challenge was issued for all to hear. Mors Umber was, just for a moment, taken aback by the words... He was well aware that only the Old Gods knew how rich House Tallhart was at the moment. But the man, nearly sixty years old, stood up in response. "HOUSE UMBER CERTAINLY WON''T BACK DOWN!" He shouted confidently. "UWAAAARGHHH!!!" All the men, both Umbers and Tallharts, shouted in unison. For them, this was the best night possible...food, beer, fights and betting...if they ended the night with a woman in their bed, some of them might even die with a smile on their faces the next day. "I WILL WAGER A NUMBER OF GOLDEN DRAGONS, EQUAL TO THE NUMBER OF EACH MAN OR WOMAN UMBER, PRESENTLY PRESENT AT LAST HEARTH." Duncan. Mors thought for a moment about the number of the current garrison and servants...around 1300 men and women at the moment... "SO BE IT BOY!" GreatJon nearly choked on his ale upon hearing his Uncle''s reply. House Umber, had never been very wealthy...1300 Gold Dragons, was a sum that could make a difference in the Winter toe...but the honor of the House had been put on the line. "Old man, what are you doing?" GreatJon said quietly to Mors. "I''m getting yed like a bagpipe by that little devil, boy...enjoy the show toe!" Mors was sensing the boy''s intentions...he had a good eye for warriors and that Baragh, he seemed to have a tough hide. After ten minutes of preparations, the two men were shirtless in the middle of the room... GreatJon stepped forward to be the judge.... "SO, THE RULES ARE: NO KILLING, STOP IN CASE OF SURRENDER OR KNOCKOUT AND...NO OTHER RULES!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! LET THE FIGHT BEGIN!!!" GreatJon stepped back. "UAAAARGGH!!!", "COME ON ULWER!!!", "COME ON PRIEST!!!". Ulwer, charged forward like a bull towards the figure 3 inches shorter than him... Baragh, simply, moved sideways in the opposite direction and with his left arm, unleashed: a mighty, sweeping, bone-shattering, breath-breaking, single ''LARIAT''...into the full throat of the fearless and confident Ulwer. "SDUGH!"... "STUFTH".....Ulwer, a man of almost 100 kg of muscle, veteran of at least ten battles and a hundred fights, was on the ground unconscious... "..." Silence swept through the room in a sh. Baragh picked up his shirt a few steps away. When he had finished putting it on, he walked over to Greatjon who was still in shock... "The big guy, he''s supposed to wake up in the morning. Try not to let him do too much heavy lifting over the next....mmm...10 days." Then Baragh walked back towards the big table. Mors Umber, stood up from the table with the mug in his hand. He raised his arm high and shouted with all the dignity and respect he could muster: "TO THE GREAT WARRIOR BARAGH NO DUA!!! AND TO BLOODY SNOW!" "TO BARAGH!!!!! TO BLOODY SNOW!!! UAAAAAAHHGHH!!!" All the men shrieked in response. Wailing, cursing, cheering and various other voices followed afterwards. When GreatJon saw, that his host wanted to make another announcement, he pounded his fist on the table and shouted: "SILENCE!!! SDUGH! SILENCE!!!"...the men found a hint of control and quiet. Some were still staring open-mouthed at poor Ulmer on the ground. Bloody Snow announced: "NOW THAT THE SHOW IS OVER! I WOULD LIKE TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT....A TOAST... TO LORD MORS UMBER! FOR GENEROUSLY DONATING A GOLDEN DRAGON, TO EVERY SINGLE MAN OR WOMAN IN SERVICE OF THE LAST HEARTH!!!! TO MORS!!!" It took a few seconds for some men to understand the meaning of those words, others (more awake and less drunk) understood on the fly. "TO MORS!!!! YEEEAAARGHH!!!!!"," TO BLOODY SNOW!", "AT TALLHARTS!", "AT UMBER HOUSE!"... All the men celebrated in unison. Duncan sat back down beside Lord Mors. "You groomed me good boy!!! ARGHHAHAHA!!!" Mors, began tough with relish, now that he had tested the name ''Bloody Snow'', he was able to return to his jovial and hospitable state. "No, my Lord...you allowed me to give you an earful...you knew Baragh would win. Oh am I wrong?" Duncan. "AHAHAH!!! Of course I knew! Do you know how many times I''ve seen death in my face boy? Every survival instinct I still have left is ''screaming'' at me to get as far away from your men as possible! GURAHAHA!" Mors. GreatJon joined the duo at the table. "Damn it Young Lord! If that ''monster'' participated in the tournament melee...the Umbers would go home empty handed!!! AHAHAHAH!" GreatJonughed heartily at his joke, Duncanughed for a while as well. "My lords, House Umber, has shown me: hospitality, respect, show and honours...grant me the opportunity to repay this debt. p! p!" Some of the servants of the Tallharts, took in their Lord''s signal. "If I have your blessing GreatJon, I would like your House and mine to cooperate in the future." Duncan. "House Umber, will always stand by those who help the North!!! We will never forget the help your father and your House has given us in the past. The Tallharts do not need my blessing!" Said GreatJorn in a more serious and respectful tone. The doors of the gatehouse opened and 50 incredibly beautiful women entered carrying full goblets. There were beauties from the North, from Dorne, from Lys, from Braavos and even from the Summer Isle, and all of them were ''too scantily d for this harsh Northern climate''. "WOW!", "I FELL IN LOVE!", "FIIIIIUU!!! PHEW!!!", "SERVE ME A DRINK BABY!!!", "NO SERVE ME!!". The ravenous men ranted and screamed at the 50 beauties gathered from all seven kingdoms and Essos. Duncan stood up one more time to announce: "MY LORDS, MEN OF THE NORTH! LET ME INTRODUCE YOU TO THESE PROFESSIONAL ASSOCIATES OF MINE, WHO HAVE GRACIOUSLY ACCEPTED THE INVITATION OF HOUSE TALLHART! THIS EVENING THEY WILL GIVE US THE HONOUR OF SERVING YOU DRINKS! PLEASE GENTLEMEN, EVERYONE SHOW THE HOSPITALITY, FRIENDLINESS AND RESPECT THAT EVERY LADY DESERVES....AND....YOU WILL BE REWARDED!!!" "YEEEEEEESSSSS!!!!!", "LONG LIFE TO BLOODY SNOW!!!", "TO THE TALLHARTS!" At that moment, at least a dozen men in the room, could have died as ''happy men with no regrets''. "Damn it boy! Is this your gift? To make half the men in Last Hearth, betray and swear allegiance to House Tallhart?" GreatJon asked in an amused and ironic tone. "No my lords...the gift is contained in those jugs...Miss Talisha please pour drinks for the two Lords here." Said Duncan to a girl in her early twenties less than ten feet from the table. "Right away, my Lord. Would the Lords like Whisky or Vodka?" Talisha. "Both please, thank you Talisha." Duncan. Talisha, poured the two drinks into four cups. She then left the jugs on the table and took her leave with a bow. "Please my lords, taste. I must warn you that the drink is... slightly strong. Made especially for true Northmen." Duncan. "AHAHAH! Boy, you may have defeated my best man in the fight...but A UMBER WILL NEVER BE KILLED BY AN ALCOHOLIC DRINK!" GreatJon, drained the entire cup in one go. ..... "SPRRRUUZZZ!!! COUGH! COUGH! COARGHHH!!! May the strangers curse you boy!!...COUGH! ANFH!....this stuff...IT''S WILDFIRE!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" GreatJon poured himself another ss. Mors, first sending ''the idiot nephew'' as a vanguard, tasted with more moderate sips. He was stunned by the intensity and alcoholic strength of the drink...he felt hot shes throughout his throat and mouth. "House Tallhart, would like to create a future and prosperous business partnership with House Umber...an alcohol trade with these two new drinks...for starters. The first drink you are tasting is called ''Whisky'', it will be produced on mynds and sold to you and you alone. The second....aim.....needs a great deal of potatoes to be produced...which House Umber has in abundance fortunately for you. As for the whisky, I guarantee that you will make a profit of at least 300% on the purchase price...and that it will be very...very much in demand. We will sell you the Whisky for 3 deer a gallon...for the Vodka you will produce, our House will charge a 5% tax on the profits..." as Duncan finished speaking, many men in the room praised the taste and alcoholic intensity of the new drinks being served. "...Young Lord Duncan Tallhart...Why? Why does House Tallhart want to give up so much wealth? This deal could make you as rich as House Redwine if not Tyrell....Why do you want to give up this deal to House Umber?" GreatJon asked, showing for the first time ever a moved, confused and incredulous look. "You ask me why, Lord GreatJon Umber? Because the Tallharts already have enough business to line their pockets. Because we want the entire North to prosper. Because you are our brother First Men andrades from the North. Because House Umber has suffered more winter than any other House in the Seven Kingdoms. Because you have never been ''rich'', and people who have lived in poverty know how to give ''respect and value'' to wealth. Because ''WINTER IS COMING!'' and the North will need the help of the House that knows it best...now more than ever...''THE NORTH MUST BE UNITED!''..." Duncan replied with all the sincerity he could muster. END POV. POV: Roose Bolton; Dreadfort. An hour after a servant attempted to bleed his Lord.... Roose Bolton, was in his study along with seven of his men and the Tallhart emissary sitting across from him. "Lord Bolton, thank you for receiving me unannounced, my Lord. House Tallhart sends his respects to all of Dreadfort." Said a slightly hoarse but polite voice. "Dreadfort wees all emissaries of House Tallhart, Ser..." replied an icy but friendly voice. The two men, had been scrutinising each other in silence for two minutes before Ramas spoke. "What can House Bolton do for your House?" Roose. "Leobald Tallhart and his wife Lady Berena, after three years of failure, are finally going to have an heir. House Tallhart ns to celebrate the happy event with a tournament. All the Houses of the North have been invited and we extend the same invitation to you, Lord Roose Bolton and your family." Ramas. "House Bolton is delighted with such happy news Ser...We thank the Tallhart family for the invitation and dly ept. We are honoured by your consideration." Roose Bolton, using a very light tone of mockery and irony in hisst sentence. "House Tallhart, will be honoured to receive you and host you under its table...we thank you Lord Bolton and your House for epting our invitation, my Lord." Ramas used the exact same slight tone of irony and mockery in thest sentence. Roose, didn''t seem to be bothered by it, but a twinkle in his eyes appeared and Ramas didn''t miss it. "May I ask you Ser Ramas, if it doesn''t bother you, how long have you been in the service of House Tallhart?" Roose asked in a curious tone. "Unfortunately, my Lord...I fear I have lost track of time." Ramas replied in a slight tone of apology, as false as a Golden Dragon made of iron. "Mmmm...I understand...you will forgive me Ser, if my men distrust you so much...they will do anything to protect their Lord...if by any chance...I were to make ''inappropriate'' gestures...that...just by any chance...could be considered as ''threat to their Lord''s safety''...I fear thews of the North are clear on that. Of course Ser, I only say this because I sense you are not from thesends. As protector of thesends, it is my job to remind all strangers from who knows where of ''the customs of the North''." Roose said in a subtle tone of menace, thrown to test the waters and test the man in front of him. "I''m afraid I do not understand, my Lord. Why should I be troubled by the ''hypothetical'' actions of your loyal men?" Ramas asked in a confused tone. "Well...Ser, there are seven experienced soldiers in this room and you...are alone and unarmed." Roose. "I''m afraid I still don''t understand, my Lord...I see seven weapons here at my fingertips, a sharp pen that I could use, ''only if hypothetically'' the man behind me were to use his knife that he clutches with a stiff, cold hand. I can see a man on your left resting his weight on your right leg. Two men who do not have enough room to draw their long des in this narrow room. And one man too caught up in his killer instincts to be clear on the proper way to react.....we think that ''7'' should be reced with a lean and mean ''2'', my Lord." Exined Ramas as if he was trying to exin the obvious. All the men stiffened at those words, they were ready to act at the first sign of their Lord. Roose Bolton, remained calm and cool, he showed a slight amused smirk. "Well Ser Ramas...I''d say let''s stop wasting time with spection. When is the tournament?" Roose. "I apologise for not telling you sooner, my lord. The tournament will be held in two moons. You are of course free to bring anyone you wish with you. My lord I also came here to offer you a possible business partnership with the Tallhart family." Ramas. "I hear you, Ser Ramas...What partnership does your House seek with mine?" Roose. "Here, my Lord. You own many mines of iron and cast iron. House Tallhart, would need those ores. If you are willing to give us some of them, House Tallhart will dly pay a price 50% higher than its market value. I''ve already brought 2,000 G.D. with me... we were hoping you could deliver its mineral value to us at the end of those two moons. Of course, we will dly purchase all the iron and cast iron you propose." Ramas. ".....House Bolton, will be more than happy to meet the needs of House Tallhart....afterhall have already done so much for the North and the Boltonnds that we cannot refuse such a request." Roose. "Thank you very much, my lord. On behalf of myself and the House I represent. Also my lord..." Ramas took a moment. "Yes? Is there anything else my House can do for you, Ser?" Roose. "Indeed there is, my Lord. A rumor has reached us in ournds...it is rumored that House Bolton harbors an expert healer skilled in exotic cures...my lord Lord Helman would like, when you have arrived in Torrhen''s Square of course...to request an interview with you in private for a possible business partnership with you." Ramas. Roose Bolton, gave, in an instant, immediately a different value to the instrument called ''Adoamros'' in his possession...reasoning for a few seconds he replied: "I do not see why it is a problem in the future to be able to discuss such a matter with your Lord, Ser." Chapter 29: Silence... Chapter 29: '' Silence...'' POV: Eddard Stark. Winterfell. Year 284, 13th day, of the twelfth moon. The Lord of Winterfell was exhausted. His eyes burned and were red. He had workedte into the evening on dozens of documents. Now it was finally time to go to bed. His wife, his Cat, was already waiting for him in their rooms. Ned came in after saying goodnight to his guards. He had tried to close the door carefully by being quiet. "Gnnniigh!" The wooden door creaked.... "...mmu...Ned is that you?" Catelyn asked, half asleep in her furs. "Yes, Cat...I''m sorry, I didn''t mean to wake you." Ned. "...Never mind e to bed and hold me in your arms" Cat. "I''ll change my clothes and be right with you, my wife." Ned. About an hourter... The Lord Protector of the North stared into the mes of the still-burning brazier by the bed. He was undressed and sweating, holding his young Lady between his arm and chest. Ned continued to think, and as he did so he stroked his bride Tully''s beautiful red hair... "Ned, what''s the matter? You''re restless tonight..." Catelyn asked, seeking the gaze of her young husband. "It''s nothing Cat...a raven came from Castle ck this morning. Lord Helman Tallhart and his son Duncan, will be visiting us in about three weeks...They will want to invite us to that tournament...I''m not much in the mood for tournaments but we''ll have to attend anyway." Said Ned, in an exhausted tone. Catelyn broke free from her husband''s loving embrace. She straightened to find stability in the bed. "You are the Lord Protector of the North. You do not have to do anything. The Tallharts are your bannermen, if you do not wish to participate then just refuse." Said Catelyn trying to motivate her husband. "...You don''t understand Cat...Do you know why they are arriving here in three weeks instead of ten days? Because they are crossing the mountain n strait. They will invite the n of: Wull, Burleys, Harys, Liddles and Knott....all the North will be at that tournament and the Starks won''t be outdone. "Ned. "I told you so, Ned. You shouldn''t have given them the Sea Dragon Pointnds!" Catelyn snapped. "Thosends were nearly uninhabited, Cat. Unattended for decades, given over to plunder by bandits, wildlings, and iron men. It was the right choice." Ned replied defensively. "What happened to the Harrenhall tournament? It was Rheagar who financed the tournament, who wanted to gather all the nobles to oust Aerys II. And now the same thing is happening..." Ned pretended he hadn''t heard those words...he was reaching his limit. "The Tallharts are growing too big! I told you they''d be a threat...and now look...Look what they''re doing...they''re seeking the favor of every House in the North and then..." Catelyn was interrupted. "And then what, Cat? What do you think they''re going to do?...Listen to me carefully Cat, this is thest time I''m going to tell you. The ''Tallharts'' have helped the North in its time of need sincest Winter...The ''Tallharts'' have spilled a great deal of blood to follow me to the South...The ''Tallharts'' are providing food for the entire North...The ''Tallharts'' are enriching half the North...The ''Tallharts'' are increasing our tax revenues like never before...but most of all, The ''Tallharts'' have been loyal to House Starks for hundreds of years!..." Said Ned in a polite but serious tone. Catelyn remained silent, not knowing how to respond... "You are from the South, Cat...you cannot understand. Here in the North, we don''t turn our backs on each other for political intrigue, we are more united than any other Kingdom, we suffer together and celebrate feast together. We are loyal and sincere, we don''t have the luxury of being bored and gossiping about someone else. The North is united." Ned. "When Lord Helmanes to the castle, you must behave like a true Lady of Winterfell AND....I don''t want to hear you say those words again...you will not address Helman''s son by that epithet. Yes, I know how you feel about that child. He''s only seven years old Cat...I expect you to be as weing and hospitable as a true Northern Lady." Catelyn, got out of bed looking for her night robe. "Where are you going?" Ned asked. "I have fulfilled my duty as my Lord husband''s wife, now with your permission, my lord. I would like to go and sleep in our son''s chambers...forgive me my lord for marrying a dirty, gossipy, double-crossing southerner." End POV. -------------------------------------- POV Duncan; About three days'' march from Winterfell. About twenty dayster... I entered the armoured carriage. We were about to resume our journey afterst night''s stop. My father was inside. He liked to ride mostly on horseback, but since he wanted to keep mepany, he also joined in the nobleforts. "Father, it seems that the gifts for the Starks have arrived tonight. Now we can march at a brisk pace without dy." I said. "Excellent, I wouldn''t want to give the Starks cause for insult....tell me son...are you really sure you want to do this? Is this really necessary?" Helman asked for the fifteenth time in thest three days. The closer we got the more he thought about it. "Trust me father...it''s a lost cause...Lady Catelyn, she already detests me. I must strike while the iron is hot. At least I could direct that hatred towards myself instead of that poor child...I don''t think she''s a bad person...but she''s certainly prejudiced." I replied to my father trying to justify my actions. "Alright, but try not to exaggerate...your Uncle exined to me well ''what you are capable of doing''..." Helman. "Trust me, father. I will be gentle and invisible as a pin...our hands will stay clean." I answered confidently. "I wonder how much she would pay, Lady Dustin, to be able to watch the show. Ahahahah!" I couldn''t help but imagine Lady Dustin snickering around a corner. "Let''s go over the scenario one more time father. You''ll have to be perfect too." "Phew...May the ''Ancients'' save us from your plots..." End POV. ---------------------------------- POV: Catelyn Stark; Winterfell. Year 285, fifth day of the first moon. It was Autumn and this was the first snowfall in the North for Catelyn Stark, Lady of Winterfell. Large, distinct kes fell softly everywhere. The castle walls were damp and wet. The hot baths that warmed all of Winterfell helped their residents weather the frigid North. It was morning, she, her husband Ned, her son....and Jon Snow were in the square waiting for their ''esteemed guests''. Ned had decided that his bastard son Jon would also attend. The almost two-year-old boy was standing next to his father and holding his hand. Robb was at his side holding his own. "Robb, Jon, so what do we tell our guests when they arrive?" Said Ned slowly, punctuating his words well. "Wee Tallharts!", "Winterfell!"... "Ahahah!....yes...sort of. Come on let''s try repeating it again...we''ll say, ''Winterfell wees you Tallhart family.''" I''ll try Ned again. "Winterfell...wees...you TALLHARTS!" Jon. "Winterfell welco....wee you...emm.." Robb. "Ahahah! Yeah great." Nedughed in delight at the scene. He knew they were both too small for thebel. Especially Robb, he was at least four months younger than Jon. Catelyn was slightly annoyed by Jon''s presence. The fact that he was better than her son, in this little performance, bumped her even more...but she would let it slide, she was happy to see Ned smiling again. They hadn''t been on good terms in thest while since that night. They''d grown closer of course...but it stillcked the level of spontaneity and lightness that a couple should have. A horn sounded and the gates opened. A brown stallion and a ck pony rode in at the head of a group. Catelyn Stark had already met Helman Tallhart at her wedding, but this was the first time she had seen his son, ''Bloody Snow''. The two individuals, dismounted from their respective mounts, a pair of castle attendants took the reins. "Thank you." Said the boy politely to the horse master''s son, Harwin, giving a warm smile. "What is your name?" He continued. "Ah....Har... Harwin, milord!" Replied the thirteen-year-old surprised by the question. "So. Thank you Harwin!" The child. "Yo...Your wee, my lord!" Harwin quickly walked away after a bow, embarrassed by the embarrassment he had just made. Catelyn, saw her husband smiling slightly at the bizarre scene that had just urred. The two figures stepped forward. Even Catelyn, had to admit to herself that the child was very cute in appearance. He had unique hair and eyes. His clothes were fine, neat and clean. His face expressed naivety and innocence. "My Lord." "My Lord." Father and son, they knelt at Lord Stark''s feet in sync staining their knee with mud and snow. "Wee, to Winterfell my Lords...Winterfell wees you Tallhart family.", "Wee Tallharts!", "Winterfell!".... "Ahah. I beg your pardon my lords, please stand up." Said Eddard, extending a hand to Helman. "Thank you, my lord. My son Duncan and I, we are honoured by your wee...My Lady!" Helman curtsied and Catelyn offered her hand for the customary ceremonial kiss. "Wee, my Lord, it is a pleasure to receive your visit." Catelyn said in a cordial and polite tone. "My Lady Catelyn!" Duncan bowed, trying to imitate his father''s gestures. Again Catelyn offered her hand. With the ceremonial greeting over...Catelyn noticed that something was off...the back of her hand was slightly damp...a tiny drop of drool had stained it. The child''s ceremonial kiss had been...''too ungentlemanly''....but pretended not to. "These are my sons, Robb and Jon." Ned. "It is an honour my young lord, to make your acquaintance." Helman said making a small bow to the confused boy. "Hello!" Robb. "Nice to meet you little Jon." Helman. "Wee, Lord Tallhats!" Jon only missed one letter but you could tell he was trying hard to answer correctly. "Ahaha! Astonishing little one. I thank you for your wee." Helman repliedughing along with Eddard. "My Lord Robb!" Duncan replied the greetings. "Hello!" Robb. "My Lord Jon!" Said the boy bowing towards Jon. ''YOU LITTLE BRAT BASTARD!!! HE IS NOT YOUR LORD!!!...NO....No....calm down Catelyn...he must have been mistaken...it was just a mistake...'' Catelyn thought taking a small breath to keep control. "Ermm, emm!" Helman immediately scolded his son for the ''mistake'' he had just made. "Huh? AH!...I BEG YOUR PARDON MY LORD EDDARD!" The boy knelt on the ground in front of Lord Stark, seeking his forgiveness for addressing his bastard son by the wrong appetion. "No, no, never mind! Come now, nothing serious has happened. Get up young lord." Said Eddard with a smile on his face. "Thank you, my Lord. It won''t happen again I promise. I beg your pardon Father." Duncan. "No matter son, it can happen. Try to be careful though." Said Helman in a calm and gentle tone. ''See Cat? Get a grip on yourself too...you''re the Lady of Winterfell to the Seven Gods!...'' Even as Catelyn kept her wits about her, a tiny drape of uncertainty, grew within her...she regarded her hand for a moment...but then quickly erased that thought. "Come, my honoured guests. We have prepared a banquet for you and your entourage. You must be tired after your long journey." Ned. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Stark. We ept your invitation with pleasure." Helman. "Thank you my Lord and Lady..." the boy said. A few hourster... Catelyn was at her husband''s left side. Next to her sat her son Robb. Duncan sat between Jon and Robb. The boy had asked Lord Stark if he could have the honour of sitting next to his future Lord. Eddard epted without even thinking about it. The dinner was delicious. The men of the Tallharts and the Starks drank and joked with each other. "I swear to you, my Lord. The Wull n, had sent a spy into thends of the Knott n to see what level of hospitality they had offered us. During the evening of their banquet there were three times as many: courses served, drinks, musicians, tribal performances and all their courses were three times as big!" Helman recounted in a jovial and joking tone. "Ahahaha!!! Typical, my lord! The rivalry of hospitality offered by the ns is well known!" Ned. "At one point, I had to use my son Duncan as a scapegoat... I told them ''Sorry, my lord! My son is too tired from his long journey!''...still ashamed...but what could I have done? Another crumb of food or another sip of beer and my belly would have burst!" Helman. "Ahahahah!! STOP, stop my lord! Please! Ahah! I can''t my hold back!" Ned held his forehead with one hand as heughed out loud. For Catelyn, this was the first time ever that she had seen her, calm, honourable, respectful, gentle ''Quiet Wolf'', let loose like that. She had to admit that she also found the story very funny. Desserts had just been served. A gorgeous bowl of cream covered in ckberries. "Robb, eat slowly!" Catelyn. "MM but it''s good!" Robb. "Don''t hold the cup in your hand! It''s too heavy for...ahhrg!!! Robb!!!" The boy had just unbnced himself by turning the whole cup of cream on Lady Catelyn.... "Cat?", "Are you all right, mydy?" The two men at the side asked in unison. "It is nothing, my lords! Just a minor ident, nothing more." Said Catelyn, unable to cover the huge yellow stain on her gorgeous silver gown.... "It happened to me in the past too, my Lady, same situation but with wine, when Lord Hornwood visited us. Those little devils of my children...they almost did it ''on purpose''." Said Helman trying to calm the embarrassed woman. "My Lady, let me help you!" Said Helman''s son approaching with a handkerchief. The boy slowly lowered his gaze to the spot...and there Catelyn saw him...for a moment...a hint...perhaps she was mistaken...but she was fairly certain she had caught a glimpse of a small grin from the boy... Then something inside her clicked...a memory...the words of her uncle... [Remember little Cat, once is chance, twice is coincidence...but three times...it''s a freaking pattern!] ''The saliva, the ''my lord'' to Jon...and now this...make that Three....Little Bastard is doing this on purpose! The question is...''Is this his pattern? Or is it his father''s?'' Catelyn, stood still for a couple of seconds thinking. "My Lady? My Lady, are you all right?" The child asked with a face that expressed, innocence, panic and confusion. "Cat? Are you all right ?" Ned joined in as well, seeing his wife standing still for a moment, as if she were a statue. "NO! It''s nothing! Forgive me! Forgive me, young lord...thank you for your gesture...but I''m afraid I really must go to my chambers for a moment to change. With your permission, my lords." Catelyn. "Of course." Ned, "Of course, mydy." Helman, "As you wish, mydy..." the Devil. About half an hourter. Lunch almost over, Catelyn was able to change her clothes quickly. From now on, she wouldn''t take her eyes off ''Bloody Snow'' for a second. Her instincts were screaming at her that she was right...the ''child'' was pping and insulting her, invisibly, directed only at her...it might as well have been him, with his elbow, who had thrown her off bnce just enough for her son to stagger with the cup in his hand. Now holding Robb in his arms, the ''demon in human flesh'', he was entertaining Jon with little shows of ''magic''. "Ghihihihi! Again!" Jon. "The coin''s there! The coin''s there! Oops... it''s gone! Where is it? Oh... look what''s behind your ear! Tadaan! Magic!" Duncan showed the Silver Moon to Jon. "Yihihihihihi!!! Again!!! Again!" Jon. "No little Lor....meant to say Little Jon! That''s enough, otherwise I''d give away the secret! But this is yours, here, I give it to you!" Duncan. "WOW! Nice!!! It shines!" Jon. ''There he is!....he was about tough ''Lord''....he did it on purpose...he knows I''m staring at him...now I''m sure!'' Cat thought as she shed a murderous look at ''Bloody Snow''. Then the child, turned around sporting a cheeky smile. ''''Father! I''d say it''s time to hand out our gifts. What do you think?" Duncan said, turning to his father but staring into Lady Catelyn''s eyes for a couple of seconds. Catelyn almost shuddered at the sight of that predatory stare... ''IT''S A MONSTER!''.... "Sounds like a good idea to me, son." Helman replied, breaking off the discussion with Lord Stark. "My Lord, you really shouldn''t have. It should be us instead.." Eddard. "Nonsense, Lord Stark. You''ve already shown us so much hospitality, this is the least of it. SNAPHT! SNAPHT!" Said Helman immediately, interrupting his Lord and sending a signal to his servants to fetch the crates. "Father, may I do the honours?" Duncan. "Of course, my son. The stage is yours! Ahah." Helman. Duncan, rose from his chair with celerity. He made his way to the crate brought to the centre of the room. The two servants opened it. Duncan picked up a small chest and walked over to therge table. "My Lord. This is a small gift made especially for you. A sharpening kit designed by our House. We believe it may help you in the future to keep the edge of your sword in use and the legendary ''Ice''." Duncan, showed the contents. Inside were: sks of oils, a pair of leather gloves studded with small metal tes, and a buckskin cloth embroidered with the Metal Wolf of the Starks. Eddard was very pleased with the gift. "Thank you, my Lords. A most wee gift." Ned. "That is not all, my Lords....A Legendary sword, deserves a case worthy of the metal it holds." Duncan let a pair of servants pass and they set down a wooden case at least five feet long...they opened it. Inside was a scabbard of the finest wolfskin leather, soft to the touch but not too soft, it had a silver dye, metal wolf heads made of tinum adorned several ces in the case...and not only that....glittering snowkes assembled from what looked like small diamonds...''Stunning''....there were no other words to describe it. "Stunning my lords... I truly have no words to express my gratitude..." Said Eddard, he was slightly ufortable with the gift he had received...he was beginning to feel like a fool, for not having prepared something to give in return. "We are d it pleases you, my Lord." Helman said, giving a slight bow. "For Lady Catelyn... here, mydy, please..." Duncan ced a small open casket on the table. "Inside this little bottle, my Lady...is a new fragrance that we would like to market...specifically we would like to try and sell it in the Rivends...it was designed specifically for their Ladies." Duncan. Catelyn took the bottle and opened it...she sniffed the contents...the fragrance wasn''t bad...but it wasn''t great either. After she had gotten used to the Tyrells'' new scents....this one could only be ssified as ''mediocre''....after a second sniff...Catelyn picked up a faint scent of what seemed to be...mud...and fish...roast fish! "Charmed... Thank you, my Lords..." Catelyn said, trying to feign as much gratitude as she could. "What do you think, my Lady? Might the Ladies of your father''snds like it?" The child asked with a look full of expectation. "....Without a doubt, young lord. Thank you for the wee gift." Catelyn. "You are wee my Lady. It is not finished here. Here for you, mydy, made by our jewelers themselves." Duncan opened a small box...inside was a ne made from a gold chain with a pendant charm....a circle with two symbols inside...A Metal Wolf and a Fish... Catelyn took the ne...and looked for the nitpick...and found it...the Stark Metal Wolf was made of enameled tinum...the Fish ofmon silver...also, with a closer eye, it could be seen that the Stark symbol was more defined than the Tully one...it was a tant insult to mark the inferiority of her native House!!!! ''You''ll pay for this Bastard!...No House Tallhart will pay for this!'' She swore to herself. ''What''s the matter mydy? Do you by any chance not like it? We could always look for something else...or maybe..." Duncan was interrupted by Lord Stark. "Catelyn?!" Lord Stark said in a higher tone of voice, to wake his wife from her thoughts, and he seeded. Catelyn recovered a secondter. "No! No! It''s beautiful! I like it very much. Thank you, Lord Helman....Thank you, Lord Duncan..." Said Catelyn. "Phew...thank goodness, my Lady, I was scared for a moment there. Well, it''s the children''s turn. Presents for Jon and Robb." Said the boy running towards the trunk. Catelyn didn''t miss that ''JON'' before ''ROBB''... "Who wants presents?" Duncan asked hiding items behind his back. "ME! ME! GIFTS!" Robb. "ME TOO! GIFTS!" Jon. "As you wish...Ser! Ahah! Here they are, made especially for two fearless warrior-leaders!" Duncan shows two small toy swords. "Yeaahh!!! Sword! Sword!" Jon. "My sword!!!" Robb. "Don''t worry, my Lord and my Lady. They''re made of leather and wood padding...they''ve been tested to be ident proof. They won''t be able to hurt themselves with those things, guaranteed." Said Helman immediately. "A wonderful gift, my Lords. Robb, Jon...what do you say when someone gives us a gift?" Eddard. "Thank you!" They both replied in unison. "Would you like to try them on by any chance?" Duncan. "Yeeaa!!!", "Yesss!!", "Ahahah!" both Eddard, Helman and Duncanughed in unison at the enthusiasm shown by the children. Catelyn didn''tugh...she held her son tighter in her arms....she didn''t want to let him go. "Catelyn, let Robb go." Ned. "But....Yes Ned....Robb stay where he can see you." Catelyn. "Yes, Mommy!" Robb looked ready to spring to join Jon at any moment. He let his son go... "Don''t worry, my Lord and my Lady...I''ll keep an eye on the children. Carry on with your discussions." Duncan said, making a deep, vish bow. "Thank you, young lord." Ned smiled as he heard those words. Catelyn remained silent. The children chased each other and began to swat at each otherughing and ying. Some of the men began to cheer as they watched the children y at sword fighting. Catelyn''s eyes were on Duncan, she couldn''t even blink. Then the real show began...Duncan started cheering the children on...saying: "WAY TO GO, JON! A STARK HOUSE HIT!" to Jon. "NOT BAD ROBB!" to Robb. "INCREDIBLE JON! You''re a born leader!" to Jon. "NICE MOVE ROBB!" to Robb. "A MASTERSTROKE JON! It''s in your blood!" to Jon. "BEWARE ROBB, RAISE YOUR GUARD...IT''S SO GOOD!" to Robb. "A TRUE DEFENDER AND PROTECTOR OF WINTERFELL JON! COMPLIMENTS!" to Jon. ..... To Catelyn Stark...those were the most annoying noises she could ever hear...she would rather have heard the cries of an infant for hours than a single second of that agony.... ''HE''S BELITTLING ROBB IN FRONT OF EVERYONE! HOW DARE HE! DAMN YOU! YOU''RE GOING TO PAY DAMN YOU!!!'' Catelyn clenched her fists as hard as she could...she even began to tremble. It got worse when she heard from other Starks men as well: ''FORCE JON! AHAHAH! YES GOOD!" A Stark soldier. "HOLD ON YOUNG LORD!" Another soldier. So many others joined in the encouragement. ''STOP! STOP! STOP IT ALL! STOP IT!'' Catelyn kept shouting in her head... meanwhile Ned and Helman were in the middle of the discussion, distracted by events... Duncan delivered the final blow...a smile...a single evil toothy grin, aimed at Lady Catelyn...who noticed him... "SILENCE!!! STOP!!! EVERYONE STOP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!!!!" Shouted Catelyn as she stood up. "AND YOU!!! MEN, GET THAT DEMON BASTARD AWAY FROM MY SON! PROTECT YOUR LORD! BY ORDER OF YOUR LADY!!!!".... ''.....'' Silence spread throughout the hall... Chapter 30: He will be able to do it. Chapter 30: ''He will be able to do it.'' POV: Eddard Stark; Winterfell. About two hours after the shriek of an enraged Lady... The young Lord of Winterfell, walked briskly to his rooms. He was fresh from over two hundred apologies to his guests for the outrageous behaviour of his Lady wife... Helman Tallhart was shocked and confused within the first few minutes of the tragic event...as was everyone in that room. Ned had, quite literally, dragged his wife from the halls...he had publicly apologised more than once. Helman Tallhart seemed furious...as he should be, after a father was forced to calm a traumatised son by the unjust abuse he had suffered. Although Helman was entitled by all thews of man and the Seven Kingdoms to respond to the insult to his House, his loyal bannerman showed a demeanour and understanding worthy of a true Lord. Eddard had tried to exin that Catelyn, had not yet be ustomed to the ways of the North...and that she had probably not been feeling well on this day. ''As if that could justify her behaviour...and then...she used ''those words'', called a child, barely seven years old, in ''that way''. DAMN CAT! IN THE NAMES OF THE ANCIENT GODS, WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?!'' Thought Eddard Stark furiously. Arriving at the corridor of the Lord''s tower, Ned met Luwin. The new Maester of Wintefell, he looked tired and confused. "Maester Luwin, how is my wife?" Eddard asked in a serious and terse tone. "My lord...she...is very angry and confused, my lord. It could be, a case of stress-induced exhaustion, my lord. Lady Catelyn...seems determined to justify her actions...well, I tried to offer her some warm milk with a drop of essence of nightshade...but she refused, my lord. She wants to talk to you Lord Stark." Luwin said, trying to leave out the part about the shrieking and nonsense he was forced to listen to. "Catelyn will, maester. She will answer for her behaviour, I swear it on the name of my House...Good evening, Maester Luwin." Said Ned as he passed the older man. "Good evening, my Lord" Luwin. About two minutester... "Sduffh!" Ned closed the door to his bedrooms again. "NED! YOU MUST LISTEN TO ME! I KNOW, I WAS WRONG! BUT I HAD A GOOD REASON..." "SILENCE CAT!!!" Eddard interrupted his young wife abruptly. "You will not speak until I say you may. This is an order Catelyn...Do I make myself clear?" Ned ordered in a tone of voice that Eddard Stark had only used once before...at Kings Landing in front of Robert and Jon Arryn. Catelyn promptly fell silent...then nodded her head. She was visibly frightened by her husband''s new attitude. Never before had her sweet and honourable Ned, addressed her in this way...even when they were discussing Jon... Eddard Stark nodded, then rxed for a moment and headed for the firece. He stared at the dancing mes for more than a minute. The man wanted to try and regain the calm andposure he needed, to face this difficult conversation. Then, the Lord of Winterfell and Protector of the North turned to seek out Catelyn Stark''s gaze. "Now I''m going to ask you some questions Cat...I want you to answer me clearly and concisely. Do not try to take advantage of our rtionship or that rtionship will be lost forever from then on. Is that clear to you?" Ned asked in a calm tone. "Yes...yes Ned..." Catelyn. "I have spent the previous hours apologising and trying to heal the tear you have just caused to the honour of House Stark...I want to know why it hase to this. Why did you do it Catelyn?" Ned. "I...That boy the bast....the son of Lord Helman, has been insulting me all day, taunting me in many ways. He''s a monster Ned! He is dangerous and should note anywhere near our son Robb!" Said Catelyn truthfully. "....exin yourself Cat...In what way would he have offended and provoked you, that child of just seven years old?" If he hadn''t been living together with Catelyn for the past year, no doubt, Ned, would think the woman in front of her was crazy. He was making an enormous effort to meet his wife''s needs.... "It''s hard to exin...that guy is smart Ned, he provoked me so that only I would notice him! No one but me could have noticed, he provoked me and I fell into his trap. He tricked me!" Catelyn. "I repeat. In what way, would that boy have ''insulted'' and ''provoked'' you?" Eddard. "He...at first he was slippery in his greeting, he purposely wet my hand with saliva, then he called your bastard by the appetion ''Lord'', he knew that in this way he would primarily offend me. Afterwards he was definitely the one who got Robb to stain my dress with cake...I didn''t see it directly...but I''m sure of it! And then during the presents Ned...you didn''t see him....you didn''t see the way he looked at me...a terrifying, defiant, intentional look...it was scary Ned...and then they insulted me with the presents..." Cat was stopped for a moment. "The presents? What was wrong with the presents?" Ned asked more confused than ever. "See for yourself! I had a handmaiden bring them here! Look Ned! Do you see it? Look at the pendulum!" Catelyn handed over, the pendant she held in her hand, one of her ''two'', the only evidence she had to prove her usation. "...I don''t see anything..." Ned said, peering at the pendant for a few seconds. "No there is, the Werewolf is made of tinum, whereas the trout in my House is made of silver! A lesser alloy you see? Another insult to belittle my House...and then look, look closely...you see these features...they are more defined on this side of the pendant..." Catelyn. ".....Cat...the symbol of House Tully is a ''silver'' Trout on a blue and red background..." Said Ned as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "That''s not the point Ned!!! No, wait listen to this! The perfume, smell it yourself and tell me what you smell!" Catelyn hastily uncorked the bottle and handed it to her husband. "Cat..." Ned tried to sniff... but he really couldn''t tell the difference between that and the other fragrance... he''d lived his whole life in the smells of the North... he appreciated the true smell of a woman, instead of false smells that hid her own from you... "No! Wait! It smells like mud and fish, Ned! Fish! That was meant to insult me!" Catelyn tried to speak faster and with more conviction in her voice. "Cat..." Ned. "No, Ned there''s more to it than that! When that ''monster'' offered to look after Robb and Jon, he did nothing but belittle Robb! He praised ''bastard Jon'' as if he was the rightful heir and he gave Robb meagerpliments! He did it on purpose because he knew I''d lose it seeing him!"....that was the final stab in poor Ned''s heart....now something about that whole thing made sense... '' She lost control when Helman''s son praised Jon...'' Thought the man with a deep sadness and disappointment inside him. His wife continued to speak...but the man could no longer hear a single word... "Stop it Cat! Stop your words...I don''t need to hear any more." Ned. "Trust me, Ned. That boy is a threat to our family! He...." Catelyn interrupted as she saw Ned''s raised hand and his angry gaze. Ned, stared silently at the Lady of Winterfell for a few seconds and then said: "I had hoped that this Jon thing would settle down in time...but today...today I realised that day will nevere...I''ll have to raise that boy alone." Ned sighed for a moment and then continued: "As long as the Tallharts are guests here in Winterfell, you will not be allowed to leave these rooms. The handmaids will see to everything you need. From this point forward, until Imand otherwise, you will have no authority over the political and managerial affairs of the castle or the people who inhabit it. You shall be called ''The Lady of Winterfell'' and you may order your servants to do what concerns your care and well-being... but NOTHING ELSE. And above all... you will never again have any authority or say over Jon. If you do not enjoy hispany in a particr ce, YOU and only YOU will have to leave that ce from now on. You are henceforth ''forbidden'' to address anyone in the Seven Kingdoms as ''Bastard''. If I ever hear you say that word again...may the gods forgive me...I swear, I will respond the way the man I promised myself I would never be would respond..." At that moment, Catelyn Stark felt herself being swallowed up by a huge chasm...the world beneath her feet copsed. She was silent in front of those words... she felt feelings of fear, confusion, anxiety, disbelief and despair... she couldn''t move, let alone speak. "I will have a raven delivered to Benjen... When I leave for Torrhen''s Square, he will be in charge during my absence. I will take both Robb and Jon with me. That is all..." Eddard turned and headed for the door. ''Now if you will excuse me, mydy wife. I must go and find a way to undo the damage you have caused to the honour of my house." Ned concluded as he left the room. End POV. ------------------------------------- POV: Helman Tallhart; Winterfell. That same evening... It waste in the evening when Helman emerged from his room. He had asked a couple of Starks guards for instructions to visit Lord Stark. On the way, he thought back to the events of that afternoon... My son was right, things have gone as he predicted...'' Thought the father of the boy seer. Helman had been anxious for more than two weeks, ever since his son had exined to him, how he wanted to act towards the Starks... Even after hearing his reasons regarding the ''dangerousness of the Lady of Wintelfell'', he was extremely reluctant to go ahead with the n...but after seeing Catelyn Stark''s reaction to his son''s ''hidden provocations'', even he was convinced that this was the best course of action. ''Catelyn Stark is a threat, she must have no influence on the decisions of the North...for the good of all.'' Helman concluded inwardly. The two guards escorted him in front of the doors to his private study. Fortunately Lord Stark was still awake and in full activity. The young captain of the guards, Jory Cassel, knocked on his lord''s door. "Yes, Jory?" Ned. "Lord Helman Tallhart, my lord." Jory. "COME IN!" Ned. "Please, my lord." Jory opened the door to let the visitor in. "Thank you, Captain." Helman entered. "Lord Stark, I apologize for thete hour. I wanted to ask you, if you could have a word with me, my lord." Helman asked, giving a polite bow, towards the man in front of him already standing to receive him. "Please, Lord Helman, have a seat. You are more than wee, go ahead and speak, my lord. I really cannot apologise enough for the events of today. I hope your son Duncan is feeling better." Said Ned hastily. "Thank you, my lord. My son is better, thank you for asking. Truly, my lord, I havee here specifically because of my son...well, since the boy thinks he has done wrong in some way...well, he would like to offer his apologies to you and to Lady Catelyn...but I would...I would rather have your opinion first, my lord. My son...is a little confused about the subject and frankly, I wouldn''t know what answer to give him." Said Helman showing a slight tone of embarrassment. "Lord Helman, I assure you that you and your son have nothing, and I mean nothing to apologize for. The fault is ours alone, my Lord. It is I who should go to the boy to bow at his feet and beg his forgiveness. House Stark has broken thews of hospitality, insulted the name of your house and even threatened you at his table... I only hope that we can find a way to make amends and forget this ugly affair. Said Ned in a humble, contrite tone. "I assure you, my lord, that we too only want to pretend that this ''affair'' never happened. I have already personally gone and spoken to every man or woman in my service present in the castle. I swear to you this will never be spoken of outside this castle, my lord. Not from House Tallhart." Helman. "I....I do not know how to thank you, Lord Helman, I mean it. Know, my lord, that I personally punished my wife''s unworthy behaviour only a short time ago. Never again will such an event ur. I swear it by the name of my ancestors, may the Old Gods bear witness." Said Eddard as he stood, giving a deep bow to thank his bannerman for his noble gesture. "Please, my lord. There is no need to go to such lengths, it is already water under the bridge by now, let us move forward and not look back on this matter." Helman concluded. "Thank you, my Lord. Please tell me what House Stark could do to repay such generosity. Before you can refuse, Lord Helman, know that I insist." Ned. "....I understand...in that case, my lord, there would be something I would like to discuss with you. It is still a rough idea, but still an idea." Helman. End POV. ------------------------------------- POV: Master Zick; Torrhen''s Square. Ten days after a Lady was stripped of her authority and influence. Zick stood outside the gate, near the pavilions that were still being set up. The arena, for the horse joust, was the first to bepleted. Both the wooden pavilions for the nobility and the stands for themon people were alreadypleted. For about a month and a half, Zick had been training the son of histe first representative Tom. Peter was training in tournament jousting under his supervision. His ''protg'' hade some time ago with Peter. They both knelt at his feet to ask for his help... Zick epted without thinking. Now, he also considered Peter as ''''his pupil''''... ''''No, no! How many times do I have to tell you? The horse is part of you and you are part of the horse. You are one being!" Said Cohollo, the Dothraki and Zick''s travellingpanion. "I beg your pardon, Master Cohollo!" Peter replied, getting up from the ground. He had just been unhorsed, for the 300th time in a row, by Gadon Sand, Zick''s fellow spear master. "Still keep your arm stiff when you grip the spear, Peter. Remember, tighten your grip on your hand as if you were holding a sparrow. ''Not too hard to hurt it, nor too weak to let it slip away'', just a second before impact, you''ll need to grip it with your full grip." Exined Gadon trotting to the twenty year old boy''s side. "YES, MASTER GALLADON! Thank you for your guidance masters!" The sand covered boy bowed for the umpteenth time. ''Ahahaha!....''He staggers but doesn''t give up''.....he should be able to be ready in time...'' At one point, a white-haired child reached Zick''s side. "Master, Zick!" Said Duncan as he bowed. ''Good morning, young lord. What can this frail old man do for you?" Zick asked with a smile on his face. "I wanted to know, how the training of our ''Champion'' was progressing. Will he make it to the final confrontation?" Duncan asked, staring at Tom''s son less than 50 feet away from him. "I would say so. Peter is still raw in many ways...but he''s tempering himself well. If the level ofpetition in the jousting isn''t too high, I''m confident the boy can pull it off." Zick. "Phew!! Thank goodness, Master. Perhaps, the fate of the North, will depend on it..." Duncan said, sighing a breath of relief. "Ahahahah! I can''t wait to find out, the ''why you want the boy to make it to the final confrontation''. I must admit, here in Torrhen''s Square, it''s never boring! Hahahahaha!" Zick. "Thanks again for your help, Master Zick! We will always be in your debt. Now if you''ll excuse me, master. I''ll go give our ''Champion'' a couple of cheers." Said Duncan bowing. "Of course, go ahead boy." Zick. Zick, carefully watched the movements of the boy''s body as he made his way towards Peter. ''No...it''s not time yet...his body isn''t developed enough. Not long now...the fruit will soon be ripe. At that moment we will start the final phase...'' Zick thought with a great expectation inside himself. Every part of his body, was bursting with happiness and joy. ''I''m sure of it...He will be able to make it!'' After thinking that, Zick couldn''t stop himself from saying.... "I finally found him, father." Chapter 31: The Bear and the Maiden Fair. Chapter 31: '' The Bear and the Maiden Fair. '' POV: Duncan; Torrhen''s Square. Year 285, 16th day of the first moon. "Tell me again, please." Lady Dustin implored. She and her nephew Domeric Bolton, a page in her service and son of Roose Bolton, had arrived at Torrhen''s Square two days ago. "All right, my Lady. But this will be thest time....Catelyn Stark, was staring at me with a suspicious, murderous look. At that point I began to y hard to get...I said, ''A TRUE DEFENDER AND PROTECTOR OF WINTERFELL JON! KUDOS!''...''KEEP YOUR GUARD UP ROBB''...''WAY TO GO JON. IT''S IN YOUR BLOOD!''...''NOT BAD ROBB!''....when the Stark men joined in the cheering, I saw Catelyn trembling...she had a murderous twitch in her eye. I knew it was time to strike thest blow...so I gave her this smile...she went crazy, stood up and shouted in front of over three hundred people, with her husband next to her: ''STOP!!! EVERYONE STOP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!!!! AND YOU!!! MEN, GET THAT DEMON BASTARD AWAY FROM MY SON! PROTECT YOUR LORD! BY ORDER OF YOUR LADY!!!!''....the whole room fell silent and stopped staring at Catelyn who looked ready to stab me with her own hands, when more or less everyone turned their gaze to me...I made this face...in the eyes of the others, I looked scared and confused. My father''s men jumped up to shield me...at which point Ned Stark got up from the table and shouted: ''CATELYN!!! ARE YOU CRAZY?! GET AWAY FROM OUR GUEST NOW! DO NOT DARE TO OBJECT TO MY WIFE''S ORDER OR YOU WILL BE HANGED!''...he grabbed Lady Tully by the arm and dragged her forcibly towards the door behind the big table, while Catelyn shouted: ''NO NED, LEAVE ME! WE CAN''T LEAVE THAT MONSTER NEAR ROBB! IT''S A DEMON NED! I TELL YOU IT''S A DEMON!''....." I recounted the same scene, four times in a row...Lady Dustin was insatiable. I tried as hard as I could to imitate Catelyn and Ned Stark''s voices. "AHAHAHAAHAHA!!! OK!...STOP...let''s stop here...you win Duncan Tallhart...I admit, I would have paid 100,000 Golden Dragons to see this scene. Ahahahah! You''re a genius, a true genius." Said Barbery Dustin wiping away a tear. "Thank you, mydy. So, do we have a deal? Will you wear that dress to help us spread the word about fashion? What about the new perfume?" I asked, asking for my part of the deal. "I''ll keep my end of the bargain...I hope you''re not doing this to make me more ptable to ''someone''. Your ''candidate'', will he be at the tournament?" Lady Dustin asked, trying again, for the millionth time, to ask me about her prospect. "No, I''m not going to tell you who he is or whether or not he will be attending. You were the one who suggested ''three years of waiting,'' and I''m a man of my word." I replied, then changed the subject.... "My Lady, how is the production of coarse and fine salt going?" "I''d say fine, we''re on schedule. Nine thousand tons of the former is already ready, I''m building more warehouses. We''re starting to have space issues, the ce needs to be dry after all." Barbery. "Excellent...you''ll see my Lady, all the lords of the North, will buy that salt at a price of at least 5 pennies per kg and 3 copper stars per kg for fine salt." I said activating my ''merchant-bargainer'' mode. "We''ll see...first, we''ll have to build the roadwork. A big ''IF'', my Lord." Barbery. "Not so big, my Lady...Now, with your permission, mydy. I must join my trusty knight, for a final breefing, before all the guests arrive. Tomorrow morning, I will y with your nephew again." I said as I rose from my chair. "Don''t you dare infect my nephew with your devilry. He''s a good boy...Act like a normal seven-year-old!" Lady Dustin. "Yes, my Lady. I will be the perfectpanion for a child my age. I promise you that. Have a good evening, my Lady." I replied. "Good evening, my Lord." Lady Dustin. About half an hourter. "So, Ser Qyburn. Is everything ready?" I asked Qyburn in our penthouse study. "Yes, my lord. Both the stimnts, and the tonic, are ready." Qyburn. "So it will react as intended? Will it only affect him?" I asked for further confirmation. "It should, my lord. The tests have yielded positive responses, I cannot guarantee it 100%...but we have a good chance." Qyburn. "That''s good enough for me. I hope all goes well...Gods only know, how many seas and mountains I had to move for this n." I said with a sigh, then asked: "As for our main goal?" I asked curiously. "He should be here within two days, my lord. He has an escort of fifty men, he and his cousin, should encounter no problems or dys." Qyburn. "Well..." End POV. ------------------------ POV: Dacey Mormont; Little Dacey, was riding alongside her cousin, Lord Jorah Mormont. Now almost 8 years old, her mother Maege, had recently given her permission to ride the new colt. One of House Tallhart''s gifts, brought by their emissaries to invite them to the tournament. "Cousin, how much longer?" Dacey asked, to the man at his side. "We should be almost there by now, the flow of peopleing and going is proof of that, little Dacey." Replied Jorah continuing to look ahead as he rode. Jorah by now, had be familiar with his new red Dothraky stallion. Another gift from House Tallhart. "You promised that when we got here, you would never call me ''little Dacey'' again!" Said the little girl giving a sullen look. "Ahaha! You''re right cousin. I won''t call you that in front of others, I promise...but will youply with your poor favorite cousin''s request?" Jorah asked, trying for a tender look. "NO! NO and NO!...I am a Mormont, cousin Jorah! I don''t wear ''whinydy'' outfits...I am a warrior and I will always be a warrior! If the other ''prince lords'' don''t like me, that''s their problem!" Said Dacey in a proud tone. "Phew...I won''t force you Dacey...but will you at least promise me that you will be polite to Lord Helman''s son? Please, at least do that for your Lord..." Jorah asked in an almost desperate tone. "Who? That ''Bloody Snow?''.... I''ll try...but if I find out that the ''legends of his great deeds'', are just hype from singing bards and that he is nothing but a blowhard, NO! I will treat him as thieves and scoundrels should be treated!" Said Dacey with conviction. "May the Old Gods, protect the Mormonts...You look just like your mother...No! That was not apliment. Don''t look at me with that smirk littledy!" Reprimanded Jorah. "Cousin Jorah, then are you sure you want to participate in the jousting instead of the melee?" Dacey asked trying to change the subject. Several times his the Lord of Bear Ind, had scolded her for her masculine manner of dress. Dacey, to spite him, even cut her hair down to her chin to appear less feminine. "I would say yes, I have a better chance of winning in the jousting than in the melee...and then the melee is held the day before. I could get hurt and jeopardize the jousting...the prizes are even better and to tell you the truth, we Northern men, we''re not very good at jousting." Exined Jorah. "Alright, but if you win, will you buy me a suit of armor? I want one like yours!!!" Dacey asked with stars in his eyes. "I don''t think your mother would agree...we''ll see how you do." Said Jorah, satisfied that he had at least found a way to entice his cousin to not embarrass his House. About ten minutester... "Look cousin! There she is, it''s Torrhen''s Square!" Dacey. "I see it Dacey, I see it. Nice castle isn''t it?" Jorah. "Mmm...yeah not bad...but ours is nicer!" Dacey. "Ahahaha! Mormont to the core." Jorah. "ALWAYS!...''HERE WE STAND!" Dacey yelled, raising his fists. "HERE WE STAND!", "YEEEAAARH!" "Ahahah!", "Long live Lady Dacey!" the 50 men of House Mormont, answered the call. An hourter... "Lord Jorah. Thank you for responding to our invitation. Torrhen''s Square wees you." Lord Helman Tallhart announced. "Thank you, Lord Helman. House Mormont, is honored by your invitation. We thank you for your splendid gifts, my Lord." Jorah replied in a formal and respectful tone. "Do not even speak of it, my Lord. That was the least House Tallhart could do to make up for our discourtesy. We have visited many Northern Houses in person, but not House Mormont. Such discourtesy, it had to be remedied, my Lord." Helman. "You were right not toe at this season, my Lord. The risks of attack by marauders from the Iron Inds are high, and my House could not have guaranteed you safe passage. House Tallhart, you have nothing to reproach yourself with." Jorah. "One day we will help House Mormont defend itself against these vile attacks, my lord. I promise you, the Tallharts ''Do not forget'' who they fought alongside in the Trident, it is to House Mormont''s credit that we have managed to hold out this long." Helman. "As House Mormont ''Won''t Forget'' who came to their rescue after thest harsh Winter, my Lord." Jorah. "Now enough of these ceremonial formalities, Lord Jorah. You must be tired after your long journey...Come take a seat. May I introduce you to my son Duncan?" Helman pointed to a four foot tall boy in a smart and well groomed suit. ''Tsz!...I knew it...Another little prince from the North who has never gotten his hands dirty before...'' Dacey thought as he made a small grimace. "It is an honor young Lord, to make your acquaintance." Said Jorah making a formal bow. "The honor is mine, Lord Jorah. I have been looking forward to meeting, a warrior of your renown. My father has told me dozens of times of your exploits on the battlefield." The white-haired boy replied. "Thank you, young lord. May I introduce you to my cousin, Lady Dacey Mormont?" The child answered her cousin Jorah''s call and stepped forward. "Lady Dacey, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Said the child making a etiquette bow...Dacey hesitated to respond to the bow...she should have bowed like ady and offered her hand to be kissed... "Emm...pleasure, my Lord." Said the little girl remaining with her back straight. "I beg your pardon, my Lords. Lady Dacey, you have not yet learned etiquette well..." Said Jorah with a resigned tone as he gave a uon reproachful look to little Dacey. "Ahahaha, don''t worry, my Lord, it''s more than normal. No offense taken. Duncan could you apany Lady Dacey to her chambers while I offer refreshments to our guest?" Helman asked in an amused tone. "Of course, father. Lord Jorah has been an honor. Come mydy, I will lead the way." Said the boy in a polite tone. "My pleasure, young lord. Dacey....does not...follow Lord Duncan please." Said Jorah making a little inner prayer within himself. "Yes, my Lord!" Dacey. About two minutester of silent walking.... "So...is it true what the rumors say?" Dacey asked, unable to resist. "What rumors, my Lady?" Duncan asked with a confused look on his face. "Don''t y dumb...I mean the rumors about the exploits of the ''Notorious Bloody Snow''..." Said Dacey with a wry tone. "I wouldn''t know, my Lady. There are rumors and rumors, I can''t tell you what ''rumors'' you''ve heard." Duncan. "They say you defeated 200 bandits with less than 50 men, led the cavalry and killed dozens of men with your own hands toasting with their blood!" Dacey. "No, my Lady. Those rumors are not true." Duncan. "I KNEW IT! It was all humbug! I knew you were just one of the many little princes of the North! You must not have even seen a drop of blood in your life, let alone the appetion ''Bloody Snow!''" Said Dacey in an angry and offended tone. "Why such usations, my Lady? I do not believe I have offended you in any way." Duncan. "Because you are not true Northmen!!! You and all the others who only fight for fun! You hold Tournaments, you go hunting, you boast of your ''great deeds'' but when ites to real war, you only call the peasants back to fight and stay behind your high walls in safety. You are not true warriors!" Dacey. "...You say that as if we paid a bard to spread lies." Duncan. "Then you admit it! That''s how you did it! You asked your father to open his heavy purse, full of gold and let you write a bad!" used Dacey pointing his finger. " I''m not admitting to anything, my Lady...You''re putting on this little show all by yourself." Duncan. "But you haven''t even denied it! If you truly are the warrior you im to be, then prove it! I challenge you!" Dacey. "I don''t think that''s the case, my Lady...I don''t want to fight you." Duncan replied in an uneasy tone. "Why not? You''re afraid aren''t you? Or do you not want to face me because I am a female? Do you think Mormonts women can''t fight? Is that what you im?!" Dacey. "....I affirm and deny nothing, my Lady. Here we are at your room. I wish you a pleasant stay and a good time here in Torrhen''s Square." The child turned away quickly, before the situation escted. "Run away then! COWARD! THE MORMONTS WILL NOT BE FOOLED BY YOU CHEATING SOAP-MAKERS! GET YOUR HANDS DIRTY INSTEAD OF THINKING ABOUT CLEANING THEM!" End POV. ----------------------- POV: Jorah Mormont; Torrhen''s Square. That same evening... Jorah looked with concern at the table set up for the children. All the sons, daughters, and various grandchildren of the Northern Lords already present were there. By now only House Bolton and House Stark were missing. By tomorrow they would be there. The main tables had been set up in a circle, so that all the Northern Houses could look towards each other. In the center of the horseshoe-shaped arch were the two main tables. House Tallhart''s table and House Stark''s table. A bishop always had to show the respect due to his Lord Protector. Jorah, still couldn''t believe that all the Northern Houses had answered the call. This was a historic event, there were: the Glovers, Forresters, Ryswells, Dustins, Cerwyns, Manderlys, Umbers, Karstarks, Reeds, Hornwoods, Woldfieds, Flint of Flint''s Finger, Flint of Widows Watch, Lockes, Whitehills, the ns of the mountains and even House Magnar...of Skagos Ind.... The Mormonts sat alongside the Forresters and the Glovers. Rtions, between the three Northern Houses, were very good. Across from Jorah, less than 15 feet away sat Lady Dustin. The woman, only 23 years old, stood out among them all, even Lady Myra Tallhart or Lady Berena were eclipsed by thedy from Barrawtown. She wore a beautiful, one-of-a-kind, custom-made silk gown with wool doublets, showing traits of her native House, Ryswell and traits of House Dustyn. Even Jorah, who had no taste in women''s clothing, found the dress really pretty. Many lesser lords buzzed around her like bees on a flower. All the men, showed gestures of courtesy and gantry and tried in every way to approach Lady Barbery, who seemed ''subtly annoyed'', but always showed courtesy and elegance worthy of a true Lady. Her husband William died in the Battle of the Tower of Joy, and I pity the poor woman...she hadn''t been married for a year...and it is also said that she was abandoned by Brandon Stark, who did not return her love...'' Lord Mormont thought. "Lord Jorah, my Lord, are you all right?" Jorah immediately interrupted the line of sight upon hearing Lord Galbart Glover''s call. "Yes, my Lord. I beg your pardon, I was just lost in my foolish thoughts, you were saying my Lord?" Said Jorah refocusing his thoughts. "No problem Lord Jorah, I was saying it''s amazing that even the Magnars of Skagos were invited." Galbart. "Surprising in fact, I heard from Lord Helman himself that they were also nning to invite the Stanes and Crowls...but that the emissaries had to decline because of the inhabitants of thosends...the danger was too great." Jorah. "I should like to see, they are just cannibals on par with the Thenn, it doesn''t seem very appropriate to invite them to this tournament...what do you think my Lord?" Galbart. "I must admit that I appreciate House Tallhart''s gesture of showing respect and consideration to all the people of the North...it has been hundreds of years since the people of Skagos have been left to their own devices. Trying to establish a rtionship with them could lead to positive results in the future...Lord Helman is constantly sending aid, with food and furs towards the ind...the Magnars hate us Northern Lords...yet they seem to have appreciated the gesture of House Tallhart. My father told me that no one in the North revered the Old Gods more than the people of Skagos. They would not break thews of hospitality if that is what you are wondering, my lord." Jorah. "Mmm...yes perhaps I am exaggerating a bit...but the fact still remains undeniable..." Galbart was interrupted by an announcement.... "My Lords, my Ladys, I can''t thank you enough foring all this way to celebrate my Wife''s pregnancy. I hope the stay will be to your taste and that we can all forget for a while the sufferings past and those toe. Thank you all Noble Gentlemen, House Tallhart will remember this gesture." Said Leobald Tallhart politely as he stood, holding Lady Berena''s hand. "AYEE!!!", "TO TALLHARTS!", "GO LORD LEOBALD!"....various voices and cackles followed Leobal''s words. "My Ladies, my Lord...now that the dishes have been served and the drinking has been ''drained''..." "ahahah!", "we want more!!!", "Who wants to challenge House Umber?!", "haha!".... " Ahaha...My Lords please...as I was saying: now that we''re all warmed up and refreshed...it''s time for the ''Dances!''....p...p...grab your Ladies, and apany me and my wife to the dance floor....please my Lords help me...I''m not a great dancer and I need your support! ahah!" Said Leobald in a jovial tone. "ahahahahaha!", "To Lord Leobald!!!", "Invite your bride and show us what you can do!", "Phew!!!" The voices were muffled by the musicians as they entered the halls. Instruments began to be groomed and blown, musical notes zed throughout the hall. Many Lords and Ladies stood up, many young men and children wanted to join in as well. "I beg your pardon, Lord Jorah...I absolutely must answer my Lady wife''s call, or I will go through the pains of hellter! hahaha" Glover. "Ahaha, no problem, my lord. Don''t keep yourdy waiting." Mormont.. Twenty minutester... "Some Red of Arbor, my Lord?" A maid asked Lord Jorah. "Yes, thank you." The maid poured the wine into the Lord''s cup, then walked away making a short bow. Jorah enjoyed with pleasure the rare and expensive drink famous all over Westeros. He continued to observe the dance floor. Little Dacey, had refused more than 5 children...Jorah had put one of his men to watch her closely...in case of ''trouble''...poor Ted, serving the Mormonts for over 20 years, had had to stop his cousin more than once. "You dare make fun of my House?!" or "The Mormonts never back down from a fight! Tryughing it off if you dare!"....many fights were foiled by the heroic Ted. Jorah trying to think of something else observed Lady Dustin again...the poor thing had been invited by dozens of men. Not once had she refused.... I lost my Gisly not even two years ago...and I''m already having strange thoughts about another woman...'' Jorah thought as he remembered his poor wife who died during thest delivery...Gisly Glover cousin of Galbart Glover had been pregnant three times...and each time the newborn was stillborn...thest delivery caused the poor woman to hemorrhage badly... Few men in thesends, had suffered as Jorah Mormont had. His father Jeor Mormont, in an effort to lift his son''s broken spirit, joined the Night''s Watch, to leave him in charge. After a few minutes of sad thoughts, thoughts of reproach and regret...Jorah gathered his courage and got up from the table. He headed for the dance floor...he wanted to try and invite the most coveteddy of the evening. He had even donned the elegant gowns donated by House Tallhart. The man wore a dark brown bearskin doublet decorated with various branching silver streaks. Too expensive a suit for his taste...but he meant no disrespect to House Tallhart.... Jorah pulled over to one side of the dance floor, waiting for the bad to conclude. At the moment, Lady Dustin was dancing with Lord Lutt Whitehill, a rough-looking, slightly fat man in his thirties. A few minutester the song ended.... "I beg your pardon, my Lord. I need to freshen up a bit, it''s been a real pleasure dancing with you." Lady Dustin. "The pleasure was mine, my Lady." Lord Ludd. Lady Dustin approached just in Lord Jorah''s direction. At that moment a sweet fragrance hit the man''s nose...it smelled like caramel, ckberries, woody pines...Jorah was totally stunned, he felt like he was drunk. Dizziness, confusion, drunkenness, light-heartedness...he was swept away as if he had been charged by a hundred men on horseback. He had to smile with all his might, trying to maintain some semnce of control. He couldn''t take his eyes off of Lady Dustin.... After a few seconds, the woman noticed the intense gaze scanning her from the tips of her toes up. "...Is there anything I can do for you, Lord Jorah?" Lady Dustin asked in a gentle tone. The woman was annoyed by that look but maintained the armor that every Lady should possess. "...I...I beg your pardon, my Lady! It must be because of the wine, I was lost in my thoughts...I have shown you rudeness and given offense, Lady Barbery, I apologize." Said Jorah managing to regain control. "...No offense taken, my Lord. Did you want to ask me something?" Barbery. "I...actually my Lady, I was going to ask you for a dance...but since you have been so annoyed all evening by so many other men...I would prefer to postpone the invitation for another time. You must be tired after all." Said Jorah offering an apologetic bow. ".....In fact I am, Lord Mormont...but, it seems they are beginning to y the bad: '' The Bear and the Maiden Fair''...it will be a pleasure to ept your invitation, my Lord." Chapter 32: "Ser Haymitch The Drunk " Chapter 32: "Ser Haymitch ''The Drunk'' " POV: Roose Bolton; Torrhen''s Square. One day before the start of the Tournament.... "Lord Bolton, we are honored that you have responded to our invitation. Torrhen Square, wees you, my Lord." Said Helman Tallhart with a respectful tone and a friendly look. "The honor is mine, Lord Helman. House Bolton thanks House Tallhart for his hospitality." He replied, Roose Bolton giving a small smile and a bow. "Come, my lord. You and your men, you must be tired after such a long journey...ah, I note that Lady Bethany is not present...a regret." Said Helman. "Regrettably so, my lord. Mydy wife did not feel very well just before my departure...that is the reason for my dy." Roose. "I hope it is nothing serious, my Lord...My wife Lady Myra, was hoping to meet her in person...after all, my son Duncan and your son Domeric, are bonding so well...is there anything we can do to help?" Helman asked, showing a concerned face. "I thank you, my Lord, for your help and consideration for my family...I don''t think there will be any problems. In addition to Maester Wolkan, I have also left my faithful healer, Adoamros, in his care...I don''t think there will be any problems, my Lord." Bolton. "I see...that heartens me, my Lord. Please be seated, my Lord. Let me offer you the refreshment and hospitality you deserve." Said Helman showing a warm smile. "Thank you, my Lord..." End POV; ----------------------------- POV: The Protector of the North; Torrhen''s Square. A few hours after the Boltons arrived... Ned Stark, walked, slowly holding with each hand, his son Robb and Jon, towards what seemed, the entire Tallhart family. "Wee to Torrhen''s Square, Lord Stark." Said Helman bowing, all members of the family following suit. "Thank you, my Lord. House Stark, thanks you and all the Tallhart family, for your warm wee. Please rise, the ceremonial formalities are no longer necessary." Said Ned offering a cordial and polite smile. "My Lord, may I present my wife, Lady Myra?" Helman pointed to Myra, who immediately took a step forward upon hearing her husband''s call. "Lord Stark." Myra curtsied like a true Lady. "A true honor, to make your acquaintance, my Lady." Said Eddard Stark responding to the bow. "HELLO!!!" Jon. "LADY!!!" Robb. "Ahaha! And who are these beautiful little Lords?!" Said Lady Myra, bowing to the height of the children. "Robb, Jon...about how we rehearsed earlier." Said Ned, encouraging the children. "My..my Lady.", "My Lady!" Said the children, taking an awkward bow. "Ahahah, Thank you my Lords...They are lovely, my Lord Stark...May I ask, will I have the pleasure of meeting Lady Stark?" Myra asked politely, offering a caress to the two smiling children. Eddard Stark, hearing that question, instinctively looked for Helman''s gaze, in order to understand ''what'' he should have answered... Both Helman and Duncan, responded promptly to their Lord''s request for help. Both quickly shook their heads with a terrified look...it was a clear message: [She doesn''t know and she ABSOLUTELY must never find out.] Ned Stark replied with a look of understanding andplete cooperation. "My wife, she hasn''t been feeling welltely...mydy. She would have liked toe too...I apologize to you and your family on her behalf, Lady Myra." Said Ned trying to be as elusive as possible. "Ah, such a shame, my Lord. I hope it''s nothing serious, I would have liked to talk to her..." Myra was interrupted by her husband. "My beloved, why don''t we introduce the remaining members of the family to Lord Stark. So that our guests, can avail of refreshments as soon as possible." Said Helman offering her wife a hand to help her up. "Ah, I beg your pardon, my lord. Duncan, Benfred, Eddara,e forward my dears." Said Myra. "You should already know Duncan, my Lord. These here, however, are little Benfred and little Eddara." I introduce Myra, pointing to each of the three children. "My Lord Stark.", "An honor to meet you, my lord", "Honored to make your acquaintance, my Lord." They replied, one after the other the children making a synchronized bow. Myra was pleased and proud, of the perfect tags shown by her three most important treasures to her. "A beautiful family, my Lady. Honored to see you again young Duncan and a pleasure to make your acquaintance, young lord and young Lady Tallhart." Lord Stark replied kindly, making a bow. "The pleasure and honor is ours, my lord." The three children replied in unison. "My Lord, thank you for attending the celebration in honor of my future unborn child and my wife." Said Leobald, bowing. "Thank you, my Lord." Said Berena Tallhart soon after. "A pleasure to be invited, my Lord and my Lady." "Well, I would say it is time to offer bread, salt and refreshments to our honored guests. Come my Lords, all in Torrhen''s Square are eager to meet you." Said Helman showing the entrance to the hall and then concluded by saying: "Now that the entire North is gathered, the real celebrations can begin." "Thank you, Lord Helman. Let us begin this long-awaited tournament." End POV. ---------------------------- POV: Domeric Bolton; Torrhen''s Square. Two days after the arrival of his father and Lord Stark... Domeric Bolton (8 years old), only son of Roose Bolton and heir of Dreadfort, was sitting on the stands for the nobility, together with his new friends andpanions: Duncan Tallhart (7 years old), Eddard Karstark ( 7 years old), Daryn Hornwood (9 years old), SmallJon Umber (10 years old) , Rodrick Forrester (9 years old) and Dacey Mormont (8 years old). All of them were watching yet another tug-of-warpetition. Each of them was fiercely cheering on the 10-man team chosen by their House. The Tallhart and Bolton teams, along with the Hornwoods and Karstark, had already been eliminated. They were now in the fourth round. There were 4 houses left in the game: Starks, Magnars, Umbers and Wulls. At least one Lord or Heir, who was able topete, was a team leader of the group. "Duncan, who do you think will win between the Starks and Magnars?" Domeric asked. "Magnars, without a doubt...I mean, look at them! They were born specifically for thispetition!" Replied the boy pointing to the 10 monster-men who were picking up the rope. "Mmm yeah, maybe you''re right...they did, practically fly my dad''s men into the ditch." Said Domeric. "They won''t be able to beat the Umbers!!!" Smalljon interjected. "This race proves nothing! The Mormonts would beat the Umbers in a meleepetition!" Dacey. "The Wulls n doesn''t mess around either, Smalljon...after sampling the new prize drinks, they took this contest with ''great seriousness andmitment''." Duncan. "Ahahah, that''s right! Hugo Wull is a demon gone mad. Look at him, he''s bandaged his injured hands and he''s intent on continuing the race." Said Daryn Hornwood. "I''m telling you, the Umbers will not lose! My father, he''s the strongest man in the North!!!" Smalljon. "They''re about to start!" Domeric. "COME ON, LORD STARK!" Rodrick. Both the nobles in the stands and the popce around the arena began to cheer and encourage the two teams. "LADIES AND LORDS...AND ALL OF YOU WHO DON''T SIT ON VELVET CUSHIONS TOO!!!" Proimed Leobald Tallhart, charged with acting as both herald and entertainer. "YEEEAAAA!!!", "COME ON!!!", "LORD LEOBALD!". The crowd was crazy about Leobald and his oratorical skills. "TODAY...WE WILL ALL HAVE THE PRIVILEGE...NO THE HONOR, OF WITNESSING THE GREATEST CONTEST OF STRENGTH AND TENACITY THE NORTH HAS WITNESSED...I WONDER WHO BETWEEN THESE TWO TEAMS WILL PREVAIL...THE STARKS OF WINTERFELL? LED BY OUR PROTECTOR HIMSELF, LORD EDDARD STARK?...." Leobald, gave the crowd time to show their enthusiasm and approval for their Lord Protector. "YESSS!!!", " STARKKS!!!!", " COME ON LORD EDDARD, YOU CAN DO THIS!!!", "TO THE STARKS!!". "OR...OR THE VALUABLE WARRIORS OF SKAGOS ISLAND, LEADED BY THE POSSIBLE LORD MAGNAR?!...WHO WILL PREVENT...UNITY AND TENACY OR FEROCY AND BURNED STRENGTH?!....THERE''S ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT..... MEN...." Leobald sought the approval of the two leaders, and found it. "....LET THE RACE BEGIN!!!!!" "PULL!!!" Shouted Lord Eddard, to his 9panions. "UUAAARGGGH!!!" Roared Lord Ruber Magnar. The fight, for the first 20 seconds, was very heated. The Starks, even managed to force their opponents to take a step towards the moat....but then, Lord Magnar shouted: "NOW!!! PULL WITH ALL YOUR MIGHT!" "RUUAAAARRGHH!!!" Screamed the 9 savages in unison , all over six feet tall and with roaring muscles. "DO NOT YIELD!" Eddard, "FOR YOUR LORD, PULL!!!" Jory Cassel. The Starks, managed to hold on for another six seconds...but as the first man fell into the pit filled with straw and feather mattresses...the unit crumbled. "Duncan, did you see that? You were right!!! Again!!! But how do you always guess?!" Domeric asked, curious about his new friend''s almost ''seer'' abilities. "The Magnars are not only strong...they also have a good strategy...at the beginning they try to tire their opponent more and more by concentrating their strength on their legs and using their massive weight backwards to strain them as little as possible. After that, when the opponent is exhausted, they use their ''real'' strength. All you have to do is observe them carefully Domeric. Bodynguage, it reveals a lot." Answered calmly, Duncan. "WOW!!! You are amazing!!! Look, so who do you think is going to win the melee?! I have two Silver Moons I can bet!!! Please tell me!" Domeric asked begging his peer. Domeric, noticed that Duncan was continuing to look at the pit and a smile broke out on his lips. Intrigued, he turned around as well. He saw that the Magnar''s men, were helping the Starks out of the 5 foot deep pit. When Lord Ruber Magnar himself helped Eddard Stark out, the Protector of the North, with a gesture ofplete sportsmanship, raised the man''s arm to the crowd. Leobald, jumped at the opportunity. "Ladies and Lords...THE WINNERS!!!!" Tallhart proimed, pointing to Lord Magnar. "YEEEAAAHHH!!!"," CLAP, CLAP,CLAP", "PHEW!!!", "AMAZING!!!". Replied the crowd. "Well, Domeric, if you insist on knowing...I do believe, that man will be the one to win tomorrow''s scrimmage." Said Duncan pointing to a man a hundred feet away. Even from that distance, it could be seen that the man in question was not very big or tall, he also had a scruffy and tipsy appearance. The man, was currently drinking from a sk and watching the spectacle with a bored look on his face. "EH?! HIM?!....Are you sure? .....aspect, but isn''t that Ser Haymitch by any chance? ....You really think Ser Haymitch ''The Drunk'' will prevail?!!" End POV. -------------------------------- POV: Ser Haymitch, known as ''The Drunk''; Torrhen''s Square. The day after the Magnars won their challenge against House Umber.... The drunken knight, was at one end of the melee arena. He watched on the sidelines as over forty steel-d men gave each other a hard time. The man, nearly forty years old, had chosen topete without a helmet....he wore only steel leggings and armbands. The rest of the armor was made of leather and padding. He was armed with a long sword (blunt) and a short cksmith''s hammer.... For now, he had chosen to remain invisible to the eyes of the others...Most of thepetitors, wore a helmet that covered almost the entire view...Haymitch, was taking advantage of this by moving quickly, when needed, to stay in the blind side of his closest opponent. The trick, worked for another ten minutes, then Ser Haymitch noticed a man with House Karstark symbols, charging at him.... "YOU ARE MINE!!!!!" Shouted young Harrion Karstark, heir to Karhold. Haymitch lightly tapped a man behind him on his helmet, just enough to get his attention. Then he squirmed away from the inevitable confrontation.... The stricken man, a Knight of House Manderly, turned and noticed the Karstark less than 5 feet from him...and prepared to face him. "Thank you, Ser." Said Haymitch to the man who could now no longer hear him, due to the shing of steel between the two men. Ser Haymitch, seeded in the same trick 2 more times...probably the remaining 12petitors were still unaware of his presence. "Damn coward!!! I found you atst!" Intimated a Harrion Karstark, more exhausted and bruised than before. "Have mercy Ser! I''m just a poor Country Knight trying to get by!" Replied Ser Haymitch, trying to simte a desperate and frightened tone....false as a Brass Dragon... "YOU DARE TO MOCK ME! NOW YOU''RE GONNA LEARN SOME MANNERS SER!!! HAAARRGHH!!!" The crazed bull charged towards the red cape. Haymitch, kicked a shield to the ground that went to crash on Harrion''s foot unbncing his furious charge. The knight took advantage of the opening to slide to the side of the young man covered in steel. He struck, a loud, rounding, smith hammer blow, on the side of the back of Harrion''s Karstark helmet. "SDOOONG!!!".....Harrion, remained unconscious on the ground.... "FACE ME SER!!!" Shouted, immediately followed by another man...Jory Cassel. "If I must, Ser." Haymitch, parried the high sh and kicked a foot over Jory''s knee. Jory was knocked off bnce to the side...The knight spun around and cleaved, a sword strike, across the young captain''s right hand. Jory was disarmed, and didn''t have time to pick up his weapon from the ground that a de point was already aimed at his throat. "I surrender, Ser...congrattions." Said Jory as he stood up again. "...I''ll buy you a drinkter, Ser." Responded Haymitch sliding off somewhere else. Fifteen minutester... Haymitch, was waiting for Lord Greajon Umber to finish his fight with Theo Knott. He took advantage of the break, to take a shot of liquor from his sk.... ''Ummm that behemoth Umber seems tireless...how do Ind him?'' Haymitch pondered carefully.... After another minute of wild blows.... "I give up..." Said Theo Knott with one knee on the ground...the poor warrior, he had at least two cracked ribs and a fractured corbone, he could no longer lift his weapon, both from fatigue and pain. "AHAHA!!! Anf! Anf! Well done Theo! But an Umber won''te second for...UARG!", "STIINGH", Greatjon parried a sudden dirty sh from thest and rested opponent. The errant Knight didn''t give him a moment''s respite. A blow to the left, a blow to the right, a kick on the shin, a hammer on the forearm.... "URARGHH! BASTARD!!! I''LL SHOW YOU!" Greatjon charged forward...now it was his turn to attack. Ser Haymitch, concentrated on dodging rather than parrying. "SWISSHH!!!", "SWOOFHH!", "COWARD! FACE ME LIKE A MAN!" Shouted Greatjon cleaving blows, left and right empty with his two-handed broadsword. Haymitch took advantage of the proximity, to spit out the liquid he held in his mouth.... "SPRUZZTHH!" A flush of alcohol, hit Greatjon''s eyes. "UAARGHH!!!" The giant had suddenly gone blind. Out of anger, he cleaved four more blows hitting absolute nothingness. "I''m here!" "UUAAARGHH!!! SWOOSHH!" "No sorry, I meant there!" "YOU DAMN CHEATER!!! SWOOSH!!! "Watch your hand!" "SNOOKK!!! CRACCKH! " The knight firmly struck the giant''s bearing hand with his 10-pound hammer. "UUAAHRRGH!!! THE HAND!!!" "SDINGH!!!" Another shpletely disarmed Greatjon. "....I won, Lord Umber....." Said Haymitch showing everyone that Greatjon was unarmed and with his de in a deadly spot. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN....OUR CHAMPION!!!!!!!" Proimed Leobald Tallhart loudly. END POV. ------------------------ POV: Helman Tallhart; Torrhen''s Square. One minute after Lord Umber was disarmed. Helman, sat in the grandstand beside Lord Stark. "I didn''t think he could beat Greatjon...Lord Helman, do you know who that Knight is?" Eddard Stark asked curiously. "Yes, my Lord. That knight errant is Ser Haymitch...he is not from the North...but I invited him personally to thank him for his services to my House." Said Helman. "I see...do you know anything about his past?" Ned. "Well, my lord...I believe he has a tragic past full of suffering...though I don''t know precisely, ''what'' happened to him. He...doesn''t talk about it...we believe my lord, that he lost his wife and child. He has no fixed abode, we know his Home was in a vige in the Rivends...which now, no longer exists..." Said Helman in a sad tone. "...War?..." Ned. "In part, my Lord...Bandits who took advantage of the war. He fought in the Trident under the ckwood banner...when he returned home...the vige was in mes, my lord." Helman. "...I see." Said Ned, showing a moment''s respect for the poor man. "I tried to offer him a home...especially, after he saved a dozen vigers near my manors...He wouldn''t even ept the reward. He has a sharp tongue, my Lord. He says what he thinks without apologizing to anyone...but his actions, express more than a thousand words...I sincerely hope that one day he can find a purpose and a home where he can find peace." Helman. Ned pondered hearing those words for a long time.... "Lord Helman...would it offend you if I tried to recruit that man?" Eddard Stark asked. "Certainly not, Lord Stark. In fact, I would be more than happy for Ser Haymitch to remain in the North and help protect thends of our forefathers, my Lord." Chapter 33: Bets Chapter 33: ''Bets'' POV: Barbrey Dustin; Torrhen''s Square. Twenty minutes before Ser Haymitch won the fight. Lady Dustin, was in the stands of nobility. The woman was forced to change seats repeatedly over the course of thest two hours.... At least six lesser lords and eight knights tried to seduce her in every way that noble etiquette allowed. She cursed inwardly, Duncan Tallhart, at least twenty times over thest two days. Ever since he had persuaded her to wear that dress and that perfume, she had not only been in the eye of the storm of: bachelor suitors looking for beauty, money and titles, but also of women.... They all wanted to know where she got that dress. Finally, she caught a glimpse of possibility... Lord Jorah Mormont, the only man she found ''tolerable''. Not only had Jorah been: ''the most gentlemanly'' of the previous evening, but even after dancing with Lady Dustin, he did not return a second time to annoy her. It wasn''t out of self-interest...Lady Barbrey, she could still feel his hidden nces...but it didn''t bother her. Barbrey approached the stand where Lord Jorah was seated and called to him: "Lord Jorah." Said Barbery as he bowed. The man, was dressed in a dark brown wool tunic, with the symbols of his House embroidered on it. "My Lady, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you again!"Lord Jorah said, springing to his feet to pay a bow. "Lord Jorah...may I ask a favor of you?" Lady Dustin. "Anything, my Lady." Jorah said as he began to focus all his attention on his next request. "Could I...sit by your side...and pretend for a while that you are...yes in short that you are courting me, my Lord...I need some respite from the twenty noble lords seeking wives..." Lady Dustin said, a little embarrassed at the request she had just made. "Ah...but of course, mydy...no problem...Do you want me to go talk to these lords in person, my Lady? I am afraid, that no matter how convincing I may be...the problem wille up again in short order." Said Jorah, ncing at the twenty straws of eyes aimed at the poor woman. "No, my Lord. I thank you for offering, I know how to deal with these situations...it''s just that I could use some ''air'' for a few minutes before I lose my ''perfect noblewoman'' armour." Said Barbery with a slight smile. "Please! Have a seat, mydy. I promise to be as quiet as possible for as long as you need." Lord Jorah. "Ahah, thank you my lord." Barbrey sat down. Indeed, the man in his early thirties and the 23-year-old woman remained silent for over five minutes as they watched the fray unfold. "Of the remaining sixteen contestants, who do you think will win, Lord Jorah?" Barbrey asked spontaneously. "Mmm, hard to guess, my Lady...If you had asked me 10 minutes ago, I would have said Lord Greajon Umber...but now I think there are two other very worthy contestants." Said Jorah, rubbing his chin lightly as he pondered. "Who are the other two? I can''t see anyone who particrly stood out...even I would have bet on Greatjon. The man has already defeated six men in a row." Barbrey asked curiously. "Theo Knott, brother of Lord Knul Knott, is a very capable warrior. He doesn''t waste his breath with unnecessary attacks and has a very good fighting style...fierce and unpredictable if I wanted to use adjectives to describe him." Jorah exined, pointing at the warrior. "And the second one?" Barbrey asked, with an interested tone. "That knight...unfortunately, I don''t know his name, my Lady...but I think he has an even better chance than Theo." Jorah. "That knight?...are you sure, Lord Jorah?...yes it should be Ser Haymitch...Ser Haymitch aka ''The Drunk''...putting aside the obvious prejudices due to his ''fame'', he doesn''t seem to have stood out much so far...in fact he''s been hiding from his opponents all along." Said Lady Dustin, in a confused and incredulous tone. Lady Barbery had many talents but did not understand much about fighting and fencing. However, at first nce, she would not have bet a penny on the man. "...I think he has a real chance, my Lady...Might I propose a wager between us?" Jorah asked with a small yful smile. "Mmm...and what would you like to bet, my Lord?" Lady Barbrey asked curiously. "What would you like, my Lady?" Jorah. "...I have a great passion for thoroughbred horses, after all I am a Ryswell...your Red Stallion, my lord." He tried to propose, Lady Dustin not believing the man could ept. "Mmmm...all right, my Lady. I will bet my horse, that Ser Haymitch will at least make the top three winners." Jorah replied, thinking for a moment about the type of bet. "...And in return? What would you like, my Lord?" Barbrey asked with curiosity. "...The chance to dance with you again, my Lady." End POV. ------------------------------- POV: An ountant in the service of House Tallhart. Torrhen''s Square. One hour after the end of the melee... Zeugh, a former Vntis ve of nearly forty years, had been in the service of House Tallhart for almost a year. He had been purchased along with his family and taken to the northernnds. As soon as he, his wife and two children boarded the ship for White Harbor, they were stripped of their cors and given the choice of either joining House Tallhart, with benefits, protection and the chance to work under more than fair pay, or going their separate ways with a purse of 10 gold dragons... Zeugh epted the first offer. By now, all the members of his family were living in a more than livable residence near Torrhen''s Square. The man, who could read, write, speak 3nguages fluently and was familiar with numbers, was offered a sry of 9 gold dragons a year...plus production bonuses if he met or exceeded work targets... Today, it was one of those days when the man would receive a raise.... He had been put in charge of running, along with other staff and guards, the tournament betting centre. Since most of the bettors had ced their bets on the favourites of the melee, House Tallhart had earned over 900 gold dragons in that singlepetition... The goal of the day was to achieve a profit of 800 golden dragons...and currently 909 golden dragons, 13 silver moons and 5 silvel stags were present. The 10% of the surplus earned would be shared equally to Zeugh and his other four coborators. They were all enthusiastic about the goal achieved. All of them would bring home at least 2 gold dragons, and they had earned them in a single day! No one had bet on Ser Haymitch... no one except an eight-year-old boy, Young Lord Domeric Bolton, who had ced two silver moons on the underdog... and now the lucky boy hade to collect his winnings. "Here you are, young lord. Thirty-six Silver Moons, congrattions on your winnings and your courage in betting your money on the underdog in thepetition. Would you like us to exchange thirty silver for a gold dragon?" Zeugh asked, handing a bag to the pale child. "No thanks, I''d like to put my winnings on tomorrow''spetition instead." He said in a confident tone, Domeric Bolton. "Ah...I see, my Lord. Who would you like to bet on? Tomorrow''s favourite is Ser Hulrick Green, vassal of Lord Manderly. The knight is the captain of the archers in Lord Wyman''s army...it is said that he has won four tournaments in the past and has shot down with his bow, over 30 men in the Trident...he is odds of 1.5 to 1." Exined Zeugh trying to steer the boy towards a less risky bet...he didn''t want a child to lose all his possessions, after all he was still young and couldn''t know the ''risks'' of gambling. "Mmmm, no thanks. I''d like to bet all 36 silvers on...yes this contestant." Said Domeric pointing his finger at a name on the ck granite board. "...My Lord...are you sure of your choice? Lady Josua of Jh is given 13 to 1....might be a gamble, my lord." Said Zeugh trying to make the child understand that, betting everything on the underdog was too big a gamble. "I''m sure. I''m betting it all on Josua of Jh...could I have the receipt please?" Said Domeric cing the bag on the wooden table and holding out an open hand in anticipation of the piece of paper. "...Of course, my Lord..." Zeugh replied, in a resigned tone... Ten minutester... Five more noble children arrived at the betting centre: Eddard Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, Smalljon Umber, Rodrick Forrester and Dayce Mormont. They all wanted to bet on Josua of Jh ... Rodrick Forrester, even bet on a golden dragon.... After those five more bets, Zeugh and the other ountants were forced to lower the archer''s odds to 10/1... End POV. ------------------------------- POV: Ser Hulrick Green; Torrhen''s Square. The day after an ountant epted 6 odd bets.... Ser Hulrick Green, was staring down his three remaining rivals in the race: a young captain named Henry in the service of the Tallharts, a senior archer of the Cerwyns named Dus, and a woman...Josua of Jh... To the knight, it was an outrageous scandal that a woman should participate in an all-malepetition...a woman was not supposed to fight or hold a weapon...she was supposed to remain in the hearth of the House caring for her children and warming a man''s bed... Ser Hulrick did notin publicly...after all, the foreign contestant had been invited by the Tallhart family itself... The thing that angered him most...was the bow in his possession...a GoldenHeart Bow from Summer Ind...it was the second best bow around, very rare to find or buy. Only a bow made of dragon bone could exceed the range of the GoldenHeart Bow... Josua of jh, had barely reached the target range needed to participate in the next round. Now that Ser Hulrick had seen the capabilities of eachpetitor, was certain he would at least be able to finish third... The only thing he feared was that boy in histe twenties, Henry. The knight had to admit that the young captain had an innate talent for bows and arrows... In the previous round: Shooting at 90 feet, he had hit the target three times in a row... Ser Hulrick had also seeded, but he couldn''t shoot arrows as fast as Henry. Ser Hulrick wanted that bow as a prize, the GoldenHeart. He had to make sure he could get as many as possible... he could even sell one in excess at a price of at least 300 Golden Dragons... "Lady Josua, congrattions on the previous round." Ser Ulrich said as he approached the woman''s side. "Thank you." It was a cold and concise reply... "...I hope you are not anxious about the next round...after all, 120 feet is a very long distance." Ulrick. "It is." Josua. "...My Lady...how about a little friendly bet?"... tried to ask Ser Ulrick, trying to express all the friendliness and kindness he was capable of. "What would you like to bet, Ser?" Josua asked, turning for the first time towards the man''s face. She had a look that expressed anxiety and concern.... ''I have to go slow, she looks scared...I have to draw her gently towards the web...'' Ulrick thought. ''Well, mydy...your archery skills are incredible...I''m sure you''ll be able to achieve at least second ce. I on the other hand, will certainly have difficulty in the nextpetition... my eyesight fogs up after a hundred feet, unfortunately. Age is the greatest of enemies. How would you like to bet your bow? Whoever among us gets the best result out of the three shots will be the winner...or the winner...in return I''m willing to bet 60..." Ulrick was interrupted. "900 golden dragons. Are you in?" shot out Josua suddenly. Ulrick was taken aback for a moment...900 Golden Dragons was quite a sum! He was at a loss on all fronts...over the course of his previous victories inpetitions, he had managed to set aside about 1,100 Golden Dragons...but he also had a small manor to run. Pondering carefully for a good minute, Ulrick thought back over the archer''s previous shots... he hadn''t noticed anything exceptional, he even thought that 2 of the 9 targets the woman had hit were due to pure luck... "Agreed, Lady Josua. I ept." End POV. -------------------------------- POV: A concerned ountant... Torrhen''s Square. Three hours after the end of the archerypetition... Zeugh and the other four ountants had spent thest three hours trying to calm down dozens of disgruntled and angry bettors... The five managers of the betting centre had strongly rmended Ser Hulrick Green...but inexplicably the knight of renown came fourth in thest round of thepetition... After Josua of Jh, had hit all three shots and even managed to split an arrow perfectly in the middle, in half, Ser Ulrick panicked ... and could not concentrate properly on the race ... of the three arrows shot only one hit the target two inches away from the centre ... Many nobles and country squires used poor Zeugh that thispetition had been aplete cheat.... Lord Leobald Tallhart himself, had toe to calm the angry crowd... "Zeugh, the five young nobles who had bet on Josua have already withdrawn their winnings... only the child ''kissed by the goddess of fortune'' is missing. Berogh, the assistant manager under Zeugh, warned. Zeugh''s greatest concern was not the angry crowd...but that child...the young lord, Domeric Bolton... The chief bookmaker had promised himself that if the child chose to bet his entire winnings on tomorrow''s jousting champion again, he would be as elusive as possible... He would try to gather as little information as possible about the jousting candidates... If the ''third miracle'' in a row happened, the bookmaker might even miss tomorrow''s target and not make the profit he had hoped for... Five minutester, a pale child entered the betting centre... Domeric Bolton, approached Zeugh with a confident step and ced a piece of paper on the wooden counter... "My Lord Domeric, congrattions on your winnings... Yes, here it is...15 gold dragons and 18 silver moons (about 140,000 USD)... That''s quite a sum, my Lord!" Zeugh said, trying to exalt the value of the money as much as possible. He had just ced on the counter, a leather bag with almost Zeugh''s two-year basic paycheck inside... "Thank you...I would like to see the odds of tomorrow''s jousting contestants, please." Said Domeric, almost uncaring of Zeugh''s words. The boy had a determined look on his face. Zeugh, hearing that sentence, visibly began to break out in a cold sweat.... "My lord...don''t you think you should first...''discuss this with your father'', Lord Roose Bolton?" Zeugh tried to ask, trying not to cross too much of the threshold allowed for a non-noble. "No. Thank you for the advice, Mr Zeugh. I have full autonomy over the money I have earned personally." The boy replied politely...but he began to scan the man in front of him with a different gaze. He seemed colder and more calcting.... "Of course, my Lord...I apologise for my unsolicited ''advice''..." Zeugh, began to get scared seeing the face of the ''child'' in front of him.... "Here it is, my lord...The list of tomorrow''s contestants..." Zeugh, handed a sheet of paper with a list of names to the child, who promptly grabbed it and began to read... "I would like an updated list with also the odds of the respective contestants, please..." Said Domeric handing the useless paper on the counter... "...Of course, my lord.....here it is..." Zeugh. "Thank you..." Domeric. After about a minute, the young lord spoke up and said: "I would like to make a double bet." Domeric. For a moment Zeugh''s heart resumed beating.... ''Good thing, he wants to differentiate the bet...'' He thought taking a breath of relief.... ''Of course, my Lord. How much would you like to wager on each of these bets?" Zeugh asked with a friendly smile on his face. "No, Mr. Zeugh...I would like to bet all my winnings on a double event. I''m betting 15 gold dragons and 18 silver moons that this contestant wille first in the joust and that this other wille second." Said Domeric, in a firm and determined tone. Zeugh stared at the two names of the underdogpetitors for about 30 seconds... "My....my lord...I must warn you...that...that...this bet is very, very, risky...and that it''s listed at 50 to 1." Said Zeugh stammering. "I know, I''m all in. I''d like a receipt, please." Chapter 34: Spear, Heart and Crown Chapter 34: '' Spear, Heart and Crown '' Hello everyone, I would just like to make a brief announcement: With this chapter I have marked the milestone of 100,000 words written.... Thank you all very much for your continued support and encouragement! I assure you that a me 6 months younger would be in disbelief and amazement at this milestone. I''d just like to take a moment tomemorate a faithfulpanion of mine...''Thank you Asus Notebook!''...you''ve served me for 6 honorable years of service...you''ve dropped 98,804 written words...but I know you''ve done everything you could to hold on to this milestone! Sorry to interrupt, and happy reading!!!!! --------------------------------------- POV: Leobald Tallhart; Torrhen''s Square. One day after a certain receipt was delivered.... Leobald Tallhart was facing the crowd, in the middle of the jousting track set up in a few months. "Lords and Ladies, people of the North... Atst, thepetition we have all been waiting for will begin... The Seven Kingdoms have been mocking us for ourck of jousting skills... I think it is time to change their minds... What do you think?" Leobald asked, giving the crowd time to respond. "YEEEAAAA!!!", "THE NORTH IS NO DIFFERENT!!!", "YAY FOR THE TALLHARTS!", "GET STARTED!", "WE WANT TO SEE THE MERRY-GO-ROUND!"... "CALM DOWN, CALM DOWN... THE CHALLENGE WILL SOON BEGIN... BUT BEFORE INTRODUCING OUR FIRST TWO WORTHY COMPETITORS... LET ALL THE LADIES OF THE NORTH ADMIRE THE ''CROWN'', WHICH WILL GO AS A PRIZE TO THE LUCKY LADY CHOSEN BY THE CHAMPION...''QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY''!" Leobald, gave the signal to the two assistants to uncover the freshly forged jewel.... An exquisite crown, which at first nce seemed to be made of flowers... appeared... The jewel, shining in the soft sunlight of that half-cloudy day. "MADE BY THE BEST JEWELLERS IN TORRHEN''S SQUARE!" Leobald said, first showing the cushion, with the crown on it, to the nobles. A few female cries of excitement were heard... even some: "I WANT IT!!", "WYLIS, YOU MUST WIN!". Somewhere... Leobald, was still skeptical of his nephew''s request to create such an artifact...Just of material costs alone: tinum, gold, silver, sapphires and emeralds, they had spent 1,500 G.D...the goldsmiths and jewelers had worked non-stop for an entire month, to make the artifact. "WHO WILL BE THE CHAMPION?...AND WHO WILL BE THE LUCKY WOMAN TO BE UNCONCERNED...SHALL WE FIND OUT?!!!" End POV. -------------------------- POV: Jory Cassel Torrhen''s Square. Five minutes after some crazed Ladies screamed.... Jory Cassel, the young, new captain of the Winterfell guards, in direct service to Lord Eddard Stark, mounted his horse. He had just donned his father''s armour, forged and adapted by Mikken, the master smith of Winterfell. He was ready to joust... His young squire, Harwyn, handed him the jousting spear made of wood. Immediately, Jory galloped briskly towards the centre with his opponent... a boy not much older than himself, named Peter. Lord Leobald Tallhart had just announced the names of thepetitors, and was about to start... but first, the two riders would have to pay their respects and greetings. A strange rule set by the Tallhart family...Normally, the twopetitors in a tournament would only have to pay their respects to the organisers and guests of honour...but since the joust was not very famous in the North, no one gave it any importance. "Good luck, Captain Jory Cassel. I wish you both an honest and hard-fought challenge." Peter said, lifting the slit in his helmet to show his face. "You can just call me Jory, if it pleases you, Captain Peter. I wish the same and may the best man win." Replied Jory "I will call you Jory, only when you cut that unnecessary and pompous ''Captain'', from my appetion." Peter said, pounding his fist on his chest and raising his hand immediately afterwards. A sign of greeting and respect shown between knights. "Ahah. As you wish...Peter." Jory replied, giving a slight smile. He then returned the greeting and after a nce of understanding, they both, prepared to their respective positions. Jory reached the starting position and grabbed the shield offered by Harwyn. He lowered the slit in his helmet and raised his spear upwards first. Peter returned the gesture 200 feet away... both riders spurred their respective horses... The jousting officially began. Four broken spearster... ''Urgh...His defence is tight and tight! He hits like a hammer on an anvil...yet he has a simr physique to me...how does he unleash that force of impact?!'' Jory thought, trying to move his sore left shoulder. His opponent had already broken four spears in his favour... Jory, had barely broken one on his shield. ''I can''t keep this up...another couple of impacts and I won''t be able to hold the shield anymore...If I want to win, I have to risk it all and try to unhorse him!'' Thought Jory Cassel with determination. Jory and Peter were ready for their fifth charge... The Captain of Winterfell, spurred the horse with more determination...he had to pick up more speed, if he wanted to get the force needed to move that centaur-shaped rock... 200 feet... 150... 70... When the two opponents reached 20 feet, he leaned forward as far as he could, giving up the defensepletely... "SDRUUSHTT!!!"... Time slowed down...Jory, managed to catch a glimpse, for a moment, of a yellow sphere covered in clouds...it had to be the sun...then, the vision was blurry and shaky, until a strong impact brought time back to its normalcy. "NIIIII!!! HIIIII!!!", "WOOOHAA!!!", "YEEAAHH!!!"... Nitrites, verses of astonishment and jubtion, managed to distract Jory from the annoying sand in his eyes and the excruciating pain that pervaded almost his entire body... After a few seconds, he was able to hear: "JORY! JORY, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?! CAN YOU STAND UP?" Shouted a voice, which he identified as Peter''s. "I think so...argh!...you''ve torn me apart Peter...good shot!...hahaha!" Responded with difficulty, the newly unhorsed knight. First, Peter unfastened Jory''s helmet to give the poor man some air. Then he helped him up. "HE''S OK! HE''S ALL RIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, DON''T WORRY!...A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR OUR TWO HEROES!" Shouted Leobald promptly, reassuring the people in the stands and the crowd. "YEEAAAH!", "BRAVO!!", "CLAP! CLAP!, CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!", "PETER WON!!!". Jory, gathering every ounce of strength he had left, grabbed Peter''s arm and whispered in his ear: "Peter, try to hold on to me when I lift your arm." End POV. ------------------------ POV: Jorah Mormont; Torrhen''s Square. Two days after the start of the joust... "Do not wish me ill, Lord Jorah...my Lady wife demands that I win! I will not go easy on you, my lord." Said Ser Wylis Manderly, first son of Lord Wyman Manderly and heir to White Harbor. The young knight, not too fat but certainly sturdy, tried to intimidate and distract Jorah with those words. "No hard feelings whatsoever Ser Wylis...I too will not hold back, may the best man win, Ser." Jorah replied with a look and a voice that expressed ''iron determination'' in every way. Wylis was slightly shaken by the Hellbear who was craving a slice of Wylis... but he tried not to let it show. Jorah quickly trotted over to his assigned position.... ''One more win and then I''ll face that Peter in the final...I MUST WIN!'' Jorah thought as he closed the steel grip of his hand on the spear... The Lord of Bear Ind managed to hear a voice from the noble stands. "COURAGE COUSIN! YOU CAN DO IT! KNOCK THAT FAT, CONCEITED MAN OFF HIS HORSE!" Shouted a young female voice, unafraid of the repercussions of such words. "WYLIS! MY LOVE! WIN FOR ME! TEAR THAT MAN APART!" She roared, in response to the offence she had just suffered, at her husband, Lady Leona Woodfield squaring with an enraged look, the child with no demeanour. Jorah smiled inwardly as he heard the words of his most ardent supporter...though he had hoped the voice was another. Despite everything. Jorah had never felt so strong and determined as he did before... every part of his body was bursting with energy, ready to explode at any moment. Even his red stallion seemed ready to charge and leap at any obstacle or danger. Jorah Mormont no longer cared about the winner''s prize... he only had eyes on that ''Crown''... ''I must win it at all costs!'' He thought before charging forward. Time slowed down...Jorah, was focused on the ''here'' and ''now''...nothing mattered to him anymore...only his spear and his target. He could hear his breath echoing inside his beautiful bear-shaped helmet. All his concentration focused on his right arm and his target, which was getting closer and closer... He was waiting for the right moment... The moment to unleash the immense force that was raging inside him... 100 feet...80...40...20... ''NOOWW!!!!'' He thought, before roaring with all the breath in his lungs. ''UUUAAARGHHH!!!'' "SKABOOHUSSH!SCRECHH!!!!!", "WHOOOAAARRGH!!!" "NOOO!!!!! WYLISSS!!!!".... "YEEEESSSSS!!! AHAHAH!!!" Ser Wylis Manderly was not only unhorsed...but the man, weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds, was sent flying through the air at least ten feet long beforending on the ground... Hundreds of arrow splinters red up from the explosion of Jorah''s spear. The crowd in the stands cheered on their feet, apuding the incredible spectacle they had just disyed. The horrified shriek, of Lady Leona Woolfield, had frightened some of the spectators...but no one could tell if it was due to concern for her poor husband''s health, or the fact that she had lost the opportunity to be crowned. On the other hand, it took two Mormont men to calm the excitement and euphoria of little Dacey Mormont. Jorah, looked for one among the stands full of Lords and Ladies... and found her. An extreme feeling of pride and hope grew within him as he caught a glimpse of a smile on the woman''s face. End POV. ------------------------ POV: The hope of the North; Torrhen''s Square. Half an hour after Ser Wylis Manderly was dragged off the field by three men.... Peter, one of the two finalists in the tournament, was inside his tent, sitting in a chair staring at a handkerchief embroidered by the Soapmaster''s daughter, Betty. Betty, approached him, right after winning the firstpetition against Jory Cassel. Peter had been trying to woo her for almost four years. Peter had always been brave like his father, Tom, not afraid to face danger. He would dly give his life in service to his house. His only real weakness was, and always had been, ''talking to a girl''... Several times during his life, he had made embarrassing gibberish and stutters in front of all the girls who had had the misfortune to meet him. Today he was finally going to shine... he was going to prove his worth to everyone. Although Lord Jorah Mormont was a hard man, and perhaps even more dangerous than his master Gadon Sand, he felt confident about the next contest. Within minutes he would be called. He had already donned his splendid armour, forged by Will himself. A gift from Lord Helman Tallhart, to encourage and reward him for working so hard to represent his House in this Tournament. He was even given the honour of having the young Lord, Duncan Tallhart, as his squire. This was undoubtedly the most important day of his life. ''I must win! For my Lord, for the House I serve, for Betty and for my Masters, I absolutely CANNOT LOSE!'' Peter thought determinedly as he clutched the pledge of his beloved Betty. A few secondster, a four foot tall figure with white hair and green eyes entered the tent and approached Peter. "My Lord!" Said Peter as he stood up and gave a bow. "Peter...this is the fourth time I have told you...I am your ''SQUIRE.''...you need not bow and call me, ''my lord''...it is I who must serve you." Said the boy in a slightly exasperated tone. "I beg your pardon, my lord...I meant...my squire." Peter. "Never mind...Peter, in less than ten minutes the final will take ce. I need you to listen to me carefully. House Tallhart, needs you, now more than ever..." Said Duncan in a serious tone. "Anything, my...squire. I promise to give my all to win the final. I will bring honour and glory to House Tallhart and Master Zich!" Peter. "Peter...you must lose the final." Duncan. "..." "B- but my Lord. Why must I lose?! Why?! I can do it! I can feel it! I''ve been training hard for this moment!!! You can''t ask me that, my lord! Even if I don''t seed, I can never lose voluntarily! There is no honour in such actions!" Peter replied, trying to speak as fast as he could. The boy was more confused than ever. "Peter...the reason why, I personally begged Maester Zich to help us, was so that you would ''make it to the final confrontation''. Now House Tallhart is asking you to make this final sacrifice for us and for the good of the North!" Duncan tried to exin, clearly and calmly. "But...my Lord...I..." Peter. "There is not much time, Peter listen to me...You will have to joust and resist trying to make a convincing fight in the eyes of all...when you get to the fifth spear...you will have to let Lord Jorah Mormont unseat you. Do I make myself clear?" The boy asked, grabbing Peter''s face. The boy was shocked, disappointed and confused. "I''m sorry, my Lord...I...I CANNOT!" Peter replied, staring for a moment at the handkerchief tied to his wrist. Duncan noticed the handkerchief and sighed a sad sigh.... "Peter...it''s for that girl isn''t it? Are you thinking about Betty?" Duncan. "....Yes, my lord. I beg your pardon for my selfishness...but I absolutely cannot miss this opportunity...I love Betty, my lord...I have always loved her! Since I was ten years old!" Peter replied with a desperate and indecisive look. "Peter...I really...I really didn''t want to tell you...Not like this, not in this moment..." Duncan took a moment staring at his loyal Captain with a sad and sorry look. "By now...almost everyone in Torrhen''s Square knows...and you will soon find out as well..." "What are you talking about, my lord? Know what?" Peter. "Betty...Betty was never really interested in you, Peter. She''s just ying you and exploiting you as much as she can..." Duncan admitted. "NO! That''s not true, my lord! She even gave me her token! SEE FOR YOURSELF, MY LORD!!!" Blurted Peter in a state of shock handing the handkerchief into the boy''s hands. "Yes Peter, she did...but when exactly?" Duncan asked trying to get Peter to the crucial point. "You...after I won the first fight, my Lord...Why do you ask?" Peter asked unable toe to a conclusion. "That''s not quite right Peter...Betty gave you her token, ''AFTER'' she saw the ''Crown of the Beauty Queen'' and only ''AFTER'' you won the first fight..." Duncan. "I...I don''t understand...Betty...She..." Peter was in total shock...his mind refused to understand, for the sake of the entire organism he was running. "Peter...forgive me for what I''m about to say...but trust me it''s for your own good...Betty is already officially engaged to Ragnar Beywoolf...first son of Lord Morgar Beywoolf, our vassal.... Betty''s father and Lord Beywoolf asked my father''s blessing and permission...about two moons ago...She''s using you Peter...she just wants that jewel...I''m sorry, Peter...I really didn''t want to be the one to tell you this..." Duncan exined in a sincere and sad tone. Peter remained silent for at least three minutes. His gaze stared nkly...as if it had gone nk. In the meantime Duncan, who really didn''t know what to do in this difficult situation, continued to lightly pat the poor boy''s armoured shoulder... Time was running out and Duncan couldn''t wait any longer...even though he thought the job was pretty much done by now...he had to be sure...there was always the chance that Peter would go mad with rage and take out all that negative energy on Jorah Mormont. "Peter, listen to me. I''m sure you''ll find the right woman one day. I will personally help you look for her, I promise my friend...but now is not the time to think about that...the next confrontation could determine the fate of the entire North." Said Duncan, trying to pull the distraught boy to his feet. "MY LORD, IT IS TIME! PETER MUST APPEAR FOR THE FINAL MATCH!" A herald warned from outside the tent... Peter gave no sign of reaction... Duncan was forced to use heavy weapons... "SLAP!!!" "SCHIAFF!!!" "PETER GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!", "CAN YOU HEAR ME!", "SLAP!", "DAMN IT PETER!". Three loud and painful ps, hit the young Knight''s face. Before the fourth came, Peter recovered and said.... "Yes, my Lord. I will, for the sake of House Tallhart... I will lose!" Said Peter in a mechanical voice. Probably his survival instinct drove him into a ''voluntary apathetic'' state, to momentarily cut ties with all those negative emotions that were torturing him inside. "You are our hope Peter! YOU ARE THE HOPE OF THE ENTIRE NORTH!!!" End POV. --------------------------------- POV: An undecideddy; Torrhen''s Square. Five minutes after a boy''s heart was broken.... Lady Barbrey Dustin, was sitting in the second row, in the stands set aside for the nobility, next to her sat her brother-inw, Lord Roose Bolton and his son Domeric. She was looking forward to this final.... Inside, she had secretly been rooting for Lord Jorah Mormont.... The woman, having lost their little wager, had danced with the man again that evening. To repay the debt to the man...but then the evening digressed into pleasant chit-chat with thetter, for over two hours straight. They had continued to joke around yfully and make other small bets. They were trying to guess, the order of ''who'', of the clinging wife-seeking suitors, would ask for yet another dance with the poor Lady of Barrowton... The evening was pleasant and amusing, the best she had spent in this week of suffering and annoyance. Lady Barbrey, she had secretly made a pledge for Lord Jorah...but she didn''t have the courage to give it to him. She had been keeping it in her sleeve for two days...but at least she had bet 20 gold dragons on the underdog Jorah Mormont, odds of 10/1. The woman, besides being hesitant to open her heart to another man, could not have given Lord Jorah false hope anyway...she had made a deal with a demon...and she had set the most annoying use of all. Lady Dustin, would have to wait another two years, before she could meet Duncan Tallhart''s ''candidate''. After that time, she would again be free to act as she saw fit...she could not go back on her word, so as to appear weak, fickle and indecisive...Not with what was at stake...she was to be ''The most powerful, influential and wealthy woman in Westeros''...and such power inevitably dragged with it responsibilities and duties. ''Two more years, Barbrey.'' Thought the woman for the umpteenth time. ''LADIES AND LORDS...THE LONG-AWAITED MOMENT HAS FINALLY ARRIVED...WHO WILL WIN THIS FINAL? WHO WILL BE THE CHAMPION OF THE JOUST? WHICH LADY WILL BE CROWNED ''BEAUTY QUEEN''?... LET THE SPEARS DECIDE! LET THE TWO FINALISTS DRAW NEAR! OVER HERE, WE HAVE THE YOUNG CAPTAIN OF TORRHEN''S SQUARE....PETER!" The announcer paused for a moment for apuse.... Strangely, the Knight did not follow normal etiquette, and walked towards a group of young women on the front row of the fence... "AH, OUR CHAMPION WILL PROBABLY WANT TO ACCEPT A PAWN OF LOVE...NO...IT SEEMS NOT...I MEANT TO SAY THAT HE WANTED TO, ''RETURN'' A PAWN, EVIDENTUALLY NOT VERY GRADUATEFUL...LET''S GIVE HIM A HEAVENLY APPLAUSE LADIES AND LADIES." Leobald announced, a little taken aback by the strange actions of Tom''s son. Barbery noticed that one of the girls in the group walked away embarrassed and red as a pepper from the wooden fence to the audience. She also noticed that one man, who looked familiar, in the audience, was shouting more than others... "COME ON PETER!!! YOU MUST WIN AT ALL COSTS!!! FOR THE SAKE OF THE TALLHART HOUSE!!! WIN DAMMIT!!!" Shouted a man with foreign features...he looked like a scribe.... ''That...isn''t that Zeugh? The bookies'' manager?'' Lady Barbrey thought as she recognised the man who hesitantly epted her bet two days ago. "OVER HERE, WE HAVE, OUR SECOND FINALIST, THE PROTECTOR OF BEAR ISLAND....A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR LORD JORAH MORMONT!!!" Cheered Leobald, pointing to a knight d in a splendid te armor of forged steel, in the likeness of a bear, enameled in dark brown, riding a gorgeous red stallion. "YEEAA!!", "LORD JORAH!!", "WIN COUSIN!!! YOU CAN DO IT!!", "CLAP! CLAP!", "CLAP CLAP!"... "LET THE FINAL BEGIN!" Leobald retreated, bowing to the crowd. Peter and Jorah Mormont, approached to offer their good wishes and respects to each other. After a minute, before the two knights, began to joust, Barbrey was certain that for a moment...just for a moment...The Bear Knight turned in her direction.... Then the challenge began... "SDRUUS!", " CRARKSHH!!" "WHOOAAA!!!" Both knights managed to break the first spear by hitting each other. It was a draw... The second charge... "CRARKSHH!!!", "SDRUUSSHH!!". The result was almost identical except that Peter seemed slightly more shaken by the second impact... Third charge... "SDRUSSHH!!" Jorah was ahead 3 spears to 2... Fourth charge... "SCRASHH!" Peter hit the target by deflecting Jorah''s spear with his shield...but Jorah resisted. ''Come on, Jorah! Hang on!'' Barbery thought instinctively as he saw the man shaken for a moment.... Fifth charge... ''SCARADHUSSSS!!!'', ''NIIII!!! HIIIII!!!" "WOOOOOAAAA!!!" Thundered the crowd, surprised by the scene. ''HE DID IT!!! HE WON!!!!'' Barbrey clenched her fist, unable to hold back a smile.... Jorah''s opponent, Peter, waspletely unhorsed... his horse lost control, crashing into the wooden railing... luckily the boy had flown away from the beast... and even managed to break his fall by spinning deftly on himself... "GREAT!!!", "CLAP, CLAP!", "CLAP, CLAP!" "LORD JORAH!!!", "YESSS!! HE WON!!! HE WON!!! SEE?! WHAT DID I TELL YOU?! NO ONE CAN BEAT A MORMONT!!!". Confusion was everywhere, hundreds of people continued to cheer... there was even a man who lost consciousness and fell to the ground... "You look very happy, son..." Said Roose Bolton seeing the abnormally euphoric state of his son Domeric. "Yes father, I do apologise...This challenge has been...very exciting, I will try to control myself more." Domeric replied as he sat back down andposed himself. "Mm...I understand...Never mind. Just try not to imitate Lady Dacey Mormont. I''m d you''re amused." Lord Bolton. "Yes, Father." Domeric. "MY LADIES, THE MOMENT YOU HAVE SO LONG AWAITED HAS COME...LORD JORAH, CHOOSE YOUR ''QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY''..." Jorah Mormont, wielding a new spear, gripped the tinum headband decorated with gems and jewels with the tip... Silence hung over the square... Jorah, rode slowly towards the noble stands... ''Oh NO!...No my lord!...not here...don''t do this...please don''t do this...'' Thought a hesitant woman... A spear, reached out towards a woman sitting in the second row, between a man and a pale faced child... More than ten thousand pairs of eyes stared at Lady Barbrey Dustin, moniker ''The Widow of Barrowton''. Chapter 35: ...THE NORTH WILL BE READY... Chapter 35: ''...THE NORTH WILL BE READY...'' POV: Dacey Mormont; Torrhen''s Square. On the night of the celebration of the ''Champion of the Tournament''... Dacey, had tried hard to convince, her cousin, that she too could drink the alcoholic beverages served at the banquet... The answer was always ''NO''. The banquet had yet to begin, many Lords and Ladies had yet to take their seats. Lady Dustin had not yet arrived... Even though, Dacey, was only 8 years old, even she understood that her cousin, Lord Jorah Mormont, was sad because of love problems... Currently, the little girl and Jorah, were standing near the ''Winners'' Table''. Dacey, couldn''t resist and asked her cousin: "Cousin Jorah, Lady Dustin, has rejected your proposal of engagement? Is that why you are sad?" "...Not really, Dacey. I don''t think you''re old enough to understand..." Jorah replied, frowning slightly. "I AM!!!...I am a woman, after all!" Said Dacey, in an angry tone. "...I was not ''rejected'', if we can call it that...Lady Barbrey asked me to wait...She gave me this token as a promise." Said Jorah showing Dacey, a yellow silk handkerchief, with a brown bear embroidered on it. "Huh? Wait? And why? For how long?" Dacey asked sharply, taking the handkerchief. "I''m not sure ''why'' exactly...but the wait is two years. I think she still needs time to grieve for her husband William...I was a fool not to think of it sooner...I forced her hand and put her in an ''ufortable'' position...that''s why I''m sad and worried, Dacey." Exined Jorah. "How strange these ''Northern Ladies'' are...I mean if she wants to be called ''The Widow of Barrowton'' again...that''s her choice...But, cousin Jorah, what are you going to do? Are you really going to wait for her for two years?" Dacey asked curiously. "...Yes, Dacey. I will wait." Jorah replied, with a firm tone. "....mmm...Yes...you''re right. Maybe I''m not ''Lady'' enough to understand." Said Dacey rubbing her chin, with a confused and thoughtful look. "Ahahaha!...Dacey...if tonight, ''you behave''...tomorrow we will order that armor you so desire." Said Jorah managing to get his first smile of the night. "REALLY???! I''ll even be able to get a club made??! " Dacey snapped like a spring and tried to ride the wave. "Sure!...But only if you don''t overdo it...Are we agreed?" Jorah asked. "YES, YES! PROMISE!!!" Immediately replied Dacey jumping up and down. "Now go, find your friends and have fun." Jorah. "Thank you! Thank you cousin!!! I mean, Thank you my Lord." Dacey corrected herself by pulling back from the impetuous embrace. About two hourster... Dacey, was sweating at the table with a dozen other young Northern scions. "Get it?! Tomorrow my cousin, he''s going to make me some new armor!!! Can''t wait!!!" Said Dacey for the fifth time to Duncan Tallhart and Domeric Bolton, seated opposite her. "Yes Dacey, we are amazed, ted and impressed..." Domeric. "Domeric!" Duncan, rehearsed his peer''s sarcastic response. "Ah, of course...I do apologise, my Lord. After all, I''m just a ''poor Mormont'' who wasn''t washed in vats of gold and fed with silver spoons until I was seven!..CRHASJSB NKLNbkdsbkjbsdkujs sjkbsdkjb skjbdkjs kjjsbkjb....." Dacey, continued an endless scolding.... "Did you see that?!...Now who''s stopping her?" Whispered Duncan towards Domeric''s ear. "It was going to happen sooner orter anyway! "Domeric justified himself. The two boys, over thest week, had been bombarded by Dacey''s constant reprimands and countless challenges thrown their way... "Look! Your uncle''s up." Hearing those words, Dacey stopped and turned around intrigued by Leobald Tallhart''s likely announcement. End POV. ------------------------------ POV: Leobald Tallhart; Torrhen''s Square. Two minutes before two new friends berated each other.... Leobald, was sitting next to his wife Berena, now in her fourth month of pregnancy. He looked around the room carefully. All the Lords and Ladies had eaten and drunk. The banquet was the best ever prepared. House Tallhart had sought out the best cooks avable from all over the Seven Kingdoms. Even two cooks from Bravoos and Dorne came... The wines were the best of thetest vintages. The ale selected from the finest casks in the Stornds. The spirits produced, by House Tallhart and now Umber, were the most popr of all... Now that everyone in the room was full, drunk, carefree and amused, Leobald decided it was time to act. He sought out the gaze of his brother, Helman, for onest confirmation. As soon as Helman nodded in agreement, Leobald rose from his chair and walked to the centre of the room. "My Lords!...My Ladies!" The hubbub of the room, subsided and all eyes were on the man who caught their attention. "I would like to thank you all again for responding to our invitation and gracing us with your presence." Leobald. "Aye!!!", "Sdung! Sdung! Sdung!" Voices of agreement and banging of fists on tables apanied Leobald Tallhart''s thanks. "Thank you all!...For emptying our pantries and coffers before Winter!" Said Leobald ironically. "Ahahaha!!!", "Bring more barrels!!", "Aye!!", "Gurahahaha!". "But now...my Lord...I would like to answer many of you... Answer your question ''Why can''t we bring gifts?'' Some of you already know the reason, to others it is not yet clear..." Leobald. "Yeaaa?", "Tell us what you want boy!", "How can we repay House Tallhart?", "What can we donate?"...Many Lords answered in curiosity. "Lord Eddard Stark. Do we have your blessing? Can House Tallhart, make this request to the North, my Lord?" Leobald asked in a respectful tone, looking at the Protector of the North, seated on the table of the ''Guests of Honour''. Eddard Stark, rose from the table and replied: "If House Tallhart, thinks the time is suitable, proceed, Lord Leobald." "Thank you, my lord." Said Leobald bowing to his lord. "My Lords...now that my House, has had permission from House Stark. I call upon you! My wife and I would like one thing from all of you as a gift for our unborn child... ''A United North'', my Lords." Leobald. "AYEEE!!", "YEAAAA!!", "FOR THE NORTH!!", "FOR TALLHART HOME!"... Shouts and cheers of approval echoed through the room. When the situation calmed down, Leobald resumed speaking in a louder voice. "ME, MY WIFE AND MY FAMILY... WE WANT THE NORTH TO NEVER AGAIN SUFFER HUNGER, POVERTY... AND COLD!" "YEEEAAAARRR!!!" All the men in the hall cheered in unison. "THAT THE OLD MEN, NO LONGER HAVE TO SACRIFICE THEMSELVES AND LEAVE THEIR HOMES NEVER TO RETURN! JUST BECAUSE THEIR GRAIN IS NOT ENOUGH TO FEED THEIR FAMILIES!" "AAAAYEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" "LET A MOTHER BE FREE TO GIVE BIRTH TO HER CHILD! WITHOUT FEARING THAT THE FROST WILL TAKE IT AWAY!" "YEEESSSS!!!" In addition to the men, manydies also joined the chorus. "BUT MOST OF ALL... WHAT I WANT MOST OF ALL IS THAT WHEN THE DAY COMES, WHEN MY SONS OR DAUGHTERS, ON A STORMY NIGHT, WITH THE ICY WINDS BLOWING AND THE SNOW REACHING THE TOP OF THE WALLS OF MY MANOR, WILL ASK ME: ''FATHER, CAN WE HELP THEM? CAN WE HELP THE PEOPLE WE HAVE SWORN TO PROTECT FROM THE EVIL OF WINTER?''... Leobal paused for a moment... the anticipation of Lord Tallhart''s words was great... "TO BE ABLE TO ANSWER...''YES, WE CAN!...WE CAN HELP OUR PEOPLE!''..." ".....YEEEAAAAAAAAARRRHHHGHHH!!!! ", "AAAAYYYEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!", "SDUH! SDUH! SDUH! SDUH! SDUH! SDUH!" Everyone in the room cheered or mmed their cups and mugs down on the table in assent. The echo roared loudly throughout Torren''s Square.... Only one man in the room kept hisposure and did not respond to the chorus of assent... End POV. -------------------------- POV: Roose Bolton; Torrhen''s Square. During the echo of assent from all the Northern lords... Lord of Dredfort, he turned his sight around him. Everywhere he turned, he saw shing cups and men shouting in jubtion. The morale in the hall was at an all-time high. ''They are gaining the approval of every noble in the North...'' Roose Bolton thought with concealed concern. After a minute or so, the tone and confusion diminished. The man took the opportunity and stood up from his chair. "My lords...Lord Leobald, I am sorry to interrupt this moment of mutual joy and union... I would like, if possible, for you to remove some of the doubts that I believe are on the minds of many in this room..." Roose Bolton said in a polite but firm tone. He tried in every way to appear, ''less cold'' and more sympathetic to others. "Of course Lord Bolton, I will be happy to answer any questions you may have, my Lord." Replied in a simr tone, Leobald. All the people in the room calmed down and lowered their tones to be able to hear the debate between the two lords. "I would like to ask, if I may...''how?'' How can we give you what you are asking for? Many of our forefathers have promised themselves the same thing, my Lord, with every good intention and word... Yet, it is thousands of years since the first men suffered winter and were helpless by its fury and ruthlessness... So, Lord Leobald, what does House Tallhart ask of us, in return for the majestic hospitality and entertainment it has given us?" Bolton. "A most opportune question, my Lord. I thank you on behalf of my House for asking it...", "Snock", "Snock". Leobald, gave a signal to some thirty waiting servants. Men and women, reached out to the various Northern gentlemen and handed them papers.... Roose Bolton grabbed his own and scrutinised it carefully. Inside the papers were ns and drawings. They depicted, from what seemed at first nce, the n to build a huge roadwork... They were well prepared for this moment... they organized this Tournament on purpose... Everyone is hanging on their every word... and they have Ned Stark''s support...'' Roose Bolton thought quickly, connecting the dots. The man''s thoughts were interrupted by Leobald''s voice. ''What is our greatest difficulty during the winter, my Lords? The cold?...Food? .....No, my Lords... ismunication between us! We cannot easilye to the aid of viges or castles of Lords looking for help...The paths are covered with snow. Men, beasts and wagons cannot move through tens of feet of snow...We lose more scouts and rescuers during the winter than soldiers in the war, my Lords..." Then, Leobald turned again to Roose Bolton, who was still reading the charts.... "What you see, my Lords, is an innovative new road design...A tested road, to endure and endure over time...Currently in the North, only the ''King''s Road'', which runs from Kings Landing to Castle ck, is the only ''passable'' road during the Winter...but even that is limited... What House Tallhart proposes, my lords...is that the King''s road in ournds be restored and widened with our new designs...and not only that...we want to build new roads, all of which will connect to each other! EVERY CASTLE OR TOWN IN THE NORTH WILL BE CONNECTED WITH A PASSABLE ROAD... FROM ''WINTERFELL'' TO ''WHITE HARBOUR'', FROM ''LAST HEARTH'' TO DEEPWOOD MOTTE, FROM ''BARROWTON'' TO ''KARHOLD'', FROM ''WIDOW''S HEAD'' TO ''CASTLE CERWYN''... AND OF COURSE FROM ''TORREN'' SQUARE'' TO ''DREADFORT''... EVERYONE, EVEN BEAR ISLAND OR SKAGOS WILL BENEFIT... HARBOURS WILL ALSO BE BUILT ALONG SEA DRAGON POINT, OCTOPUS CAPE, SEAL BAY AND GLUEING... WE CAN ALL SEND AID, COMMUNICATE AND EVEN TRADE DURING THE WINTER... MY LORDS... I ASSURE YOU... IF THIS IS DONE... THE NORTH WILL NO LONGER HAVE TO ASK ANYONE FOR HELP... NOT THE HIGHLANDS OR THE TRIDENT... WE WILL PREVAIL AND REMAIN AS STRONG AS EVER... TOGETHER!" Leobald. Roose Bolton, looked for another opening.... "These ns are incredible, my Lord...but here I see that they should be built...some 4,000 miles of road..." "4,412, to be exact, my Lord..." Leobald. "Yes...and how are we going to build them in time? Winter ising, my lord." Roose asked, still keeping a polite tone...but with a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. "It can be built in time, my Lords...We have the manpower and the materials. If we all contribute in the work, the roads and ports will be built." He retorts, Leobald. "Forgive my insistence, my lord...but what amount ofbour and materials are we talking about?" Roose. Leobald raised his voice, so that ''everyone'' in the great hall could hear him. "100,000 WORKERS WILL BE NEEDED... BOTH MEN AND WOMEN. WE HAVE THE BLUEPRINTS AND THE BUILDERS TO TRAIN THE INEXPERIENCED PERSONNEL... BUT WE WILL NEED THE MEN... 20,000 OF THEM WILL BE CONCENTRATED IN THE EXTRACTION AND TRANSPORT OF MATERIALS... THE REMAINING 80,000 IN CONSTRUCTION. IF WE CAN COLLECT THEM, MY LORDS... THIS NETWORK CAN BE BUILT WITHIN 11 MOONS AT THE LATEST!" Leobald. "...A considerable sum, my Lord...You are asking us to build and ''pay'' for a project that we unfortunate lords of the North cannot afford...How much will it cost to build this road? How much will it cost to keep the roads passable during the winter?..." Roose glimpsed many of the greediest or poorest Northern gentlemen nodding at his words. "Road maintenance will be very expensive, my Lord, I admit... IF WE WANT THE ROADS TO STAY AGABLE AND SAFE... ...OUTPOSTS WILL HAVE TO BE BUILT WHERE MEN-AT-ARMS, ROAD-MAINTENANCE WORKERS AND COMMON LABORERS CAN REST AND SHELTER FROM THE COLD WINTER WINDS... ...FORTUNATELY FOR US... LADY BARBREY DUSTIN... ...WILL PROVIDE US WITH THE COARSE SALT TO MELT THE ICE AND SNOW THAT WILL CLOG OUR ROADS...IT WILL TAKE AT LEAST 8,000 MEN-AT-ARMS AND 7,000 LABORERS TO MAINTAIN AN OUTPOST EVERY TEN MILES... PLUS AT LEAST 600 TONS OF SALT PER DAY TO KEEP THEM CLEAN'' Immediately after being quoted, Lady Dustyn, who was at the side of ''her brother-inw'', Roose Bolton, rose to affirm Leobald''s words. Helman Tallhart''s brother, nodded at that gesture of support and then resumed speaking: "....IN ALL...WE HAVE ESTIMATED THAT IT WILL COST US...ABOUT 1,100 GOLDEN DRAGONS A DAY IN EXPENSES...TO BE DIVIDED BETWEEN ALL OF US...I KNOW...I KNOW, MY LORDS...IT''S A HEFTY FIGURE..." Murmurs of dissent and shock spread through the hall at the mention of those figures... "You are forgetting something, my Lord... The cost of building roads, outposts and harbours...We are not as fortunate as you, my Lord... Unfortunately, this so-called ''Seraphine''... does not answer our prayers..." Said Roose, with an ironic tone. A few voices and smallughs of derision spread... Leobald, hearing those words, gave a small smile... Roose Bolton, felt disturbed for a moment... it was as if he had just fallen into a trap and that his opponent was waiting for this moment... "YOU ARE RIGHT, MY LORD...MY HOUSE IS MORE FORTUNATE THAN MOST...AND THE ESTIMATED CONSTRUCTION COSTS FOR SUCH A ''WORK''...AMOUNT TO ABOUT...900,000 GOLDEN DRAGONS!..." Leobald, waited for everyone to realise the significance of that sum...and then added: ...and then he added: "THAT''S WHY TALLHART''S HOUSE, WILL BURDEN ALONE." End POV. -------------------------------------- POV: The Protector of the North; Torrhen''s Square. A few secondster, Leobald''s final shocking statement.... Eddard Stark, saw, over 200 men rise to toast in the name of House Tallhart. "TO TALLHART, TO THE BENEFACTORS OF THE NORTH, TO THE NORTH AND TO HOUSE TALLHART, TO LORD LEOBALD... Dozens of simr statements and cheers followed one after the other. Ned himself raised his ss and took a sip of each proposed toast. He had to admit that he was rather astonished at the turn of events... not at the proposed project... Helman Tallhart had exined the road project to him in detail. After seeing the ns, calmly weighing up all the pros and cons, the protector of the North was absolutely in favour of the idea proposed by House Tallhart. The benefits cited by Leobald Tallhart were only part of the actual benefits. Not only would the whole of the North benefit from viable transport for food, clothing, hides, firewood and other subsistence materials... but after the Winter, the North would benefit enormously from this ''Network''. For both economic and military purposes. Trade would be more viable and faster. Northern troops could move at three times the speed. The road they built would be at least 20 feet wide (about twice the width of today''s ''King''s Road'' made of beaten earth), would allow 4 men on horseback or two carriages to travel in unison on the same stretch... They could even, through the various supporting establishments, charge tolls to trade caravans and merchants who wanted to travel through theirnds, quickly and safely. ''Thiswork, must be built. For the good of the North.'' Ned Stark thought. "MY LORDS!!! SILENCE!!!" "SDUGH!", "SDUGH!". Greatjon Umber, drew attention to himself... As the others, sat down and focused on him, GreatJon said: "HOUSE UMBER, WILL SUPPORT THIS PROJECT! WE WILL PROVIDE: MEN, MATERIALS AND GUIDES. WE WILL PROTECT AND MAINTAIN EVERY STRETCH OF ROAD THROUGH OUR LANDS. NOW AND FOREVER!" thundered GreatJon. After nodding at Lord Helman Tallhart''s assenting nces, Lord Umber returned to his seat. "AYE!!!" All the people in the room replied in unison. "HOUSE KARSTARK, WILL STAND BY HOUSE UMBER IN THIS CHOICE!!!" Rickard Karstark said standing up. The man nodded to both Greatjon and Helman Tallhart. "HOUSE MANDERLY WILL NOT BE OUTDONE! WE WILL CO-INTRIBUTE TO THIS PROJECT!" Shouted Lord Wyman Mandery making a great effort to stand up. "AS WILL HOUSE GLOVER !" Roared Lord Galbarth Glover. "AS WELL AS THE FORRESTERS!" Said Lord Gregor Forrester. "THE CERWYNS, ARE WITH HOUSE TALLHART!" Lord Medger. "ALSO THE HORNWOODS!" Lord Halys. "HOUSE RYSWELL WILL JOIN!" Lord Rodrick. "BARROWTON, WILL STAND BY HOUSE TALLHART!" Lady Dustin. "BEAR ISLAND, WILL NOT BE OUTDONE!" Lord Jorah. "GREY TOWER AND THE NECK, WILL ALSO CONTRIBUTE!" Lord Hond Reed. "WIDOW''S CAPE WILL FOLLOW!" Lord Robin Flint. "IF THE FLINTS OF FLINT''S FINGER WILL PARTICIPATE, THE FLINTS OF WIDOW''S WATCH WILL NOT BACK DOWN!!!" Roared back Lady Lyessa Flint. "WOODFIELD, HOUSE TOO!" Lord Woodfield. "HOUSE LOCKE, WILL PARTICIPATE!!!" Lord Locke. "CLAN MAGNAR, WILL REPAY ITS DEBT TO HOUSE TALLHART!" Even Lord Magnar of Skagos thundered. "House Bolton, will follow the decision of the North." Lord Roose Bolton. After all the nobles of the greatest houses spoke, it was the turn of the ns of the mountains. The five n leaders stood up in unison and stared at each other... it was Lord Hugo Wull, the leader of the strongest n, who stepped forward. "THE CLANS OF THE MOUNTAINS, WILL FOLLOW THE DECISION OF THE NORTHERN PROTECTOR!" Lord Hugo shouted, kneeling down in the direction of Lord Eddard Stark. Lord Helman Tallhart rose from his chair and walked to his brother''s side. Both men followed the example of Hugo Wull and the other n leaders and knelt before the Warden of the North. "LORD EDDARD STARK, LORD OF WINTERFELL AND WARDEN OF THE NORTH, YOU HAVE THE FINAL WORD. THE NORTH WILL FOLLOW YOUR WILL, MY LORD." Lord Helman said in a high but respectful tone. All eyes in the room focused on Lord Stark, who stood up and held his head high. Silence spread through the hall... only dogs could be heard barking outside the walls... "MY LORDS... MY LADIES... LET THIS NETWORK BE BUILT!... GATHER ALL THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO CAN CONTRIBUTE TO THE PROJECT!..." He paused for a moment and then smiled slightly, before uttering thest words.... "WINTER IS COMING!...AND THE NORTH WILL BE READY TO WELCOME IT!" Chapter 36: Only a Bastard Chapter 36: '' Only a Bastard '' POV: Ser Haymitch Rivers; Torrhen''s Square. Year 285, 28th day of the first moon. The evening after the announcement of the Warden of the North... Ser Haymitch waspletely drunk... but no more than usual. This was the second week he''d resided in Torrhen''s Square. And now, in clothes ''not fit for a Knight'', he stood before the door of a room in the castle. A young guard, still slightly bruised, stood in front of the entrance. "Good evening, Ser Haymitch. Lord Stark, has been expecting you..." Said Jory Cassel, in a somewhat hesitant tone. The man in front of him had mussed hair, his beard was barely trimmed, and Jory''s clothes...were certainly considered ''regal''pared to the clothes of a man who had just won 2,000 golden dragons...but Jory tried to restrain himself from advising the knight to take a bath and look for any clothes other than that before he went to talk to his Lord. "Good evening! Good evening!...Good thing I managed to find the hall...emm...yes...I remember you...emm, Josye?" Haymitch. "Jory...Jory Cassel, Ser." Corrected the captain, slightly offended, at the female call name just mentioned... "Ah. Yes!...Jory! Forgive me Captain...I remember buying you a drink a few days ago...but then, I didn''t...emm...what was that word?..." Tried to think the Knight taking a step back, trying to keep his bnce. "It doesn''t matter, Ser...I remember you weren''t so...''bright'' that night. Forgive me for asking, Ser Haymitch. Do you think we should postpone the meeting?" Jory asked, not wanting to present the man, for whom he still held some semnce of respect, to Lord Stark in this ''condition''. "No, no. It''s alright...Jory! I don''t think Lord Stark, will ever find me in any better ''condition'' than this..." Haymitch replied sincerely. "...I understand." Jory. "Knock. Knock...Ser Haymitch, my Lord." Announced the Captain, knocking twice. "Let him in, Jory. Thank you." Ned Stark. "You''re wee, Ser." Said Jory opening the door and letting ''The Drunk Knight'' through. "Thank you...Captain, Jory Cassel." Haymitch walked in and saw a man, wearing fine clothes made of wool, covered in a ''standardar studded leather armour, worn by almost all Starks soldiers. "Lord Stark. Thank you for the invitation." Haymitch, managed a decent bow before approaching. "Thank you, Ser Haymitch, for epting the meeting. Please take a seat." Young Ned Stark said, showing a chair in front of a desk. "Thank you, my Lord..." As Haymitch sat down, he couldn''t help but notice that Ned Stark didn''t seem the least bit upset by his ''pitiful'' condition. Eddard Stark, took a seat opposite him soon after. "Mypliments to you, Ser, your performance in the melee was most... impressive." Ned. "You are kind, my Lord, to use that adjective...Many lords, have personally taken umbrage with me, for my performance: ''cowardly'' and ''disloyal''...all except Lord Umber...I didn''t think there was anyone in this ce who could drink more than me." Haymitch." Haymitch. "Ahah...it''s true, many men, would consider your performance...less than honourable...but many of those same men, have never taken part in a real battle..." Ned took a pause, recalling the ''horrors'' of the previous two years...then continued: "When I fought my first battle in the Vale, I was only 15 years old... The ns of the Vale ambushed Lord Arryn... Robert , me and 1,000 other knights rushed to his aid, and the first thing I thought when the battle began was ''Who will I challenge to a duel?'' It was only a minuteter that I understood the hard truth of war..." Ned said, with a slightly sad and ironic tone. "It was the same for me...I was still a squire of just fourteen years old...A skirmish with Lord Bracken''s militia...It was a riot of: chaos, blood, shit, severed limbs, and death... but there was no honor in it... My lord... would it offend you if I drank a little? Lately, it''s been giving me a headache and a bad mood to remember the past..." Haymitch. "Do as you please, Ser Haymitch..." Ned. "Thank you, my lord... You may call me, Haymitch, if it pleases you to do so." Said Haymitch, taking his sk from his belt. "Thank you, Haymitch...You are free to call me, Ned, if it is all the same to you." Ned. "Can I offer you some ''liquid courage'', Ned? I have to admit, they have some really good stuff here in Torrhen''s Square." Haymitch. "...Yes, why not. Thank you." Ned had half his ss filled with an amber liquid that smelled of ''Whisky'', the new drink soon to be sold exclusively by Casa Umber. Ned wasn''t crazy about spirits of that strength, but he didn''t back down. "To the harsh and unforgiving reality!" Said Haymitch, offering a toast with a slight smile. Ned returned the toast with a nod of assent. He raised his cup in response and took a moderate but intense sip. About a minute of silenceter... "So, ''Lord Stark''...I am here, to receive your offer to enter your service?" Haymitch asked directly, going straight to the heart of the matter. Ned, who appreciated men who didn''t waste time on unnecessary turns of phrase, wanted to return the gesture with honesty. "Yes. This is the reason for my invitation..." Ned. "I like you, Ned. Even Lord Helman, whom I consider a man worthy of respect and more than tolerable, would have bundled the reply with at least a dozen sentences of praise, loads of honour, merit, gold and other rewards. Haha." Haymitch. "Well... Thank you, Haymitch. I''ve always had a hard time with run-on,plex sentences. Full of double meanings and unspoken words. I appreciate bitter sincerity, more than any ''sweet and intriguing lie''..." Ned took another sip. "I don''t want to appear ungrateful and greedy, but why should I ept? I mean, I don''t think you can offer me something I want..." Haymitch. "Probably...I''d like to try anyway...To do that, I''d need you to help me out...but only if you want to." Ned. "And how would I give you a hand, Lord Stark?" Haymitch asked in a slightly wry tone. "I would like you to tell me about your past, Haymitch...If you can do that, perhaps I will be able to understand, ''What is it you seek?''..." Ned asked sincerely, trying to appear as friendly as possible. Haymitch, hearing that request, lowered his gaze to his empty cup. Thoughts, full of sadness and suffering, swept through him again. Another minute of total silence passed... "I could do it...but only on two conditions." Haymitch. "Let''s hear it." Ned. "First, I''d like you or that boy Jory, to get me safely back to my bed after this meeting...I''ll definitely need to draw on my ''second'' and ''third'', reserve of ''liquid courage'', to be able to talk about it...and I''m pretty sure I won''t really be able to manage to do it alone..." Said Haymitch in a joking but sincere tone. "You have my word. I will drag you myself, if I am able. The second condition?" Ned fully understood that his request would cause the poor man ''extreme'' suffering. "The second condition is, that in return: you tell me how the fight at the Tower of Joy ''really'' went. I don''t want to offend you... but I personally crossed swords with Ser Arthur Dayne at the Lannisport tournament, organised by Lord Tywin in honour of the birth of Prince Viserys... And I''ve also personally seen you fight, both at the ''Battle of the Bells'' and at the ''Trident''... I could beat you in a fight, Ned... but even with the most borate of tricks, I couldn''t bring down that ''monster'' born with a sword in his hand... I''d rather you go first. I''ve always found it ''wiser'' to let others charge forward into danger before me..." Haymitch stared deeply into Ned Stark''s eyes as he spoke those words. Ned Stark, was genuinely surprised by that request. He thought for a moment, just for a moment, of disputing the statement... but then he changed his mind. It was his turn to stare at the cup, pensively and sadly. Another minute of silence passed.... "All right. It''s a deal, Haymitch. If you''ll excuse me for a moment...I think I''m going to have to bother Jory. To order him to go get something strong for both of us..." Said Ned as he rose from his chair. Haymitch nodded smugly in response and toasted in honour of the choice of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. About thirty minutester... "...So that''s how it was...All just to defend the honour of Hond Reed? Personally, I''d apud the man who managed to take ''The Sword of Dawn'' by surprise...I''ve seen dozens of ''Honorable Lords and Knights'', ughter many of poor peasants like that with a rusty de in their hand..." Said Haymitch taking a sip from his second cup of Dorne Red. "Aye... I might not have done it for someone else... but I owed and still owe a great deal to that man." Ned replied, finishing his ss. "I think it''s your turn, Ser Haymitch..." Ned. "My name is Ser Haymitch Rivers, illegitimate son of Lady Lysa ckwood, Aunt of Tytos ckwood, Lord of Raventree Hall... Only Tytos refers to me as ''cousin''. To all others, I am, and always shall be, ''Ser Haymitch the Drunk''... Yes, Lord Stark... even within me there are traces of First Men''s blood. '' Started the drunken knight''s tale, putting a lot of emphasis on his origins.... About twenty minutester... "...When I got home, that was the first thing I saw...two naked bodies, hanging and charred...the leader of that gang, he didn''t attack the vige for gold, resources or women...He just wanted revenge on me...I didn''t know that was just a branch of his group...It took time...three months to be precise. Me and twenty other Raventree soldiers found the nest. Well, leaving aside the details, Ned, it''s safe to say there''s an absolute certainty that the Seven will not wee me into their paradise when my timees. My squire, Berry...he voluntarily left for the Wall to join the Night''s Watch after only three days back home...I think I''ll catch up with him sooner orter...maybe get myself transferred to another castle...I don''t want to keep traumatizing the poor guy. I think you know the rest from that point on..." Said a Haymitch. Ned stared at the man in front of him with eyes full of sadness and pain... "Yes... Lord Helman has already told me about it... I would like to express my sincere condolences to you... no man should have to go through what you have gone through..." Said an equally tipsy Ned. "I''ve seen your two sons...Protect them Ned...Try to prepare them as best you can and get them through this hell aste as possible..." Said Haymitch, with as much sincerity as he had. "That''s what I promise myself, every time I pick them up or see them smile...That''s why I want you by my side...I want them to learn from the best...possibly without them knowing your story...Not until they''re adults at least..." Ned. Twenty minutes of negotiating and drinkingter... "Wait, wait...So you''re telling me, that I might as well p your Heir on the ear when needed? The future Protector of the North? Without anyone in Winterfell or anywhere else cutting off my hand in response?" Haymitch stood and moved his arms, sttering the floor with wine. Luckily for him, the sixth cup, which would have, without a shadow of a doubt, brought him into a state of ''eth'', emptied onto the floor... "If it will help... yes you can do it. But I''m not promising anything in case Robb loses the hearing in that ear forever..." Ned replied with a slight smile, amused by the antics of the man who reminded him, for the most part, of Robert. "And may I also praise the achievements and efforts of your bastard?!? And what will she say, Lady Catelyn Stark?!?!? She won''t try to cut my throat in my sleep, will she?" Ned, having abandoned the little bit of dignity, which every Lord Protector should always show to his fellow man, put his hands in his hair massaging his tired eyes with his palms. "So everyone already knows?" Ned asked, in a desperate tone. "Mmm not really...Your drunk soldier who told me about it, tried to both beg, bribe and threaten me, the morning after he could remember what happened the night before...Let''s pretend I don''t know, for the poor guy''s sake." Haymitch. "My wife, she won''t be a problem. I swear. She will have no authority or decision over Jon''s growth...You may act as you see fit." Ned. "Mmm...To recap our agreement: In the event that I no longer care to serve the ancient and mighty, noble, House Stark, I shall be free to leave my service whenever I wish, betrayals, backstabbing and such excluded of course...I shall be able to warm myself within your walls in a room of my own. Drinks and refreshments will be provided on an ''absolutely'' perpetual and unlimited basis by House Stark. My sharp tongue shall be free to move as it sees fit, save for royal visits and the like... I shall even be able to squawk, in my spare time, in the brothel of Winterfell town... And in return, I shall: Safeguard and protect Winterfell with my life. Protect the current and future Starks progeny. Train your children in the art of ''surviving in a battle'' and asionally, protect and escort your butt, of undisputed nobility, into dangerous ces? That is the deal you are proposing to me, Lord Eddard Stark?" Haymitch asked in an almost shrill voice. "....I would say so...that is the deal, Ser Haymitch..." Ned replied, beginning to have difficulty following the drunken, Haymitch''s impetuous movements. Haymitch stopped and wobbled over to the northern protector. He bowed... more like a jester than a knight.... "So, I, Ser Haymitch Rivers, known as ''The Drunk''...will be at your service, Lord Eddard of House Stark.....Now if you don''t mind, you''ll have to keep your end of the bargain...Sduffh...." Haymitch, passed out lifeless on the ground.... End POV. --------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Torrhen''s Square. About two weeks before Eddard Stark and Jory Cassel, were forced to drag a helpless man into his bed... "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Ser Haymitch." I said to the blond haired man, who by a twist of fate, bore a slight resemnce to the actor, Woody Harrelson. "Well...the word ''epted'', doesn''t sound right boy...more ''dragged'' and ''bribed with alcoholic beverages'', would be more appropriate." Replied the man taking a sip of Taylish. "But what is it? How did you produce it?" Haymish asked with sincere curiosity. "A liqueur made from Whisky, cream voured with mint, Ser." I replied briefly. "Am I supposed to know what Whisky is?...Never heard of it." Haymitch. "You''ll have a cask of that too, Ser." Me. "All right kid, you''ve got my attention. I warn you, I''ve already turned down your father''s offer, twice...and some say after two,es three." Haymitch. As the knight spoke, I could not look him in the eye. My gaze continued to stare at the clear, bright and definite number [9] floating inches above his head.... Ser Haymitch''s fame and deeds were, without a doubt, verified and justified in my eyes... "I will not ask you to enter my service or that of my family, Ser." I replied. "Then what can it do for you, Ser Haymitch ''The Drunken'', or great legend of the North, ''Bloody Snow''... Could I also know how you were raised? I could start a trade that would rival Astaport and his ''Unsullied'', if I knew the secret behind Torrhen''s Square." Ser Haymitch asked ironically but with sincere curiosity. "I am d, that my masters, Will and Shygga, have made a good impression on you, Ser...You are free to ask me any questions you wish. I will try to answer clearly and truthfully... as much as I can, at least..." I said. "Yes... I have to admit that ''Syggha'' definitely left her ''mark''... only one woman before has managed to hit me in ''that way'', in ''that ce''..." Haymitch. "Yes... Mistress Syggha... You are quite sensitive to insults directed at yourself or your master..." I replied, feeling a cold shiver in my lower back... Then I continued... "I''d like to propose an assignment to you, Ser Haymitch... or rather... suggest a possible assignment, which I think would suit you best..." I said. "...And how do you know it will be the most suitable? I don''t think you know me, boy... Between knowing what a man is looking for and knowing the ''voices'' that tell his story, there''s a huge difference, Duncan of House Tallhart..." Said Ser Haymitch, in a harsher and more serious tone than his usual jovial and light-hearted one. "You''re right, Ser, the difference is gargantuan...but I know a lot about you and I could be wrong of course...but I think I''ve found you a ''purpose'' in life." I said, careful to calibrate mynguage. The subject matter was very, very sensitive. "....Not interested. Thank you for the hospitality, food and alcohol young Lord." Haymitch rose from his chair heading for the door. "A child, barely two years old, needs you, Ser, and you are the only one who can help him." I replied quickly, getting straight to the point. Haymitch, stopped and sought my gaze again. His eyes were as sharp as ever. "...." "Time for another cup and everything will be clearer to you, I promise." I said, filling another ss. "Alright... but I''ll lead the conversation... you won''t get away with your silver tongue, ''ttering bard''... you''ll answer my questions directly, without turning around..." Haymitch proposed. "Agreed, Ser." He agreed and Haymitch, returned to his seat. "What makes you think I would be interested in helping this child?" Haymitch immediately took off. "Your story, Ser, mostly because of what you''ve done in your life and who you really are." I replied. "Too vague... Exin yourself in detail." Haymitch. "You are, Ser Haymitch Rivers, illegitimate son of Lady Lysa ckwood, sister of Lord Brynden ckwood and cousin of the current Lord of Raventree, Tytos ckwood. You were nicknamed Ser Haymitch ''The Drunk'' when you were invested with the title of Knight at the age of 14 by your Uncle himself. For your merits in your first battle against House Bracken, which broke out over a dispute over the ownership of a mill. They only gave you that name because you drank a whole sack of mead before entering the fray... but I don''t know how reliable thatst piece of information is... Over the next twelve years, you distinguished yourself countless times with heroic deeds, asionally even participating in tournaments. It can be said that you contributed greatly to the safety of the people who inhabited the ckwoodnds, breaking up entire groups of bandits. It is even said that you managed to prevail in a 7-on-1 fight... You married a young woman, Sedine, of humble origins, employed by the ckwood family, and together they went to live in a vige, called ''Honey Forge''. After only one year, a son was born...but I couldn''t find out his name, I''m afraid... All I know is that you lived together with your family in peace, for the following two years, before the ''Rebellion'' began...With your permission, Ser, I would like to skip the part about the respective two years that follow..." I paused as I saw the expression of astonishment and distress increasing more and more, on the poor man''s face. "...Jonas...my son''s name was Jonas...it was my father''s name...and yes, you have my permission to skip ''that part''...I would not want to tear apart this ''luxurious'' and prestigious room." Haymitch replied in a slightly wry tone but with bright eyes. "I''m very sorry for your loss, Ser..." I said in a low voice trying to express, my most sincere condolences. "...Tell me about this child. Who is he? Why does he need help? And why can''t someone else in your employ do it?" Haymitch asked, trying to focus his attention on a different subject. "Jon Snow... illegitimate son of Lord Eddard Stark." Fifteen minutes of exnationter... "If you really did what you did to Lady Stark...the boy should be safe from here on out...There are many ''Bastards'' in the world who fare much worse...I speak from personal experience." Haymitch. "Lady Stark''s ''punitive'' situation will notst forever...I already know that she is expecting...and that she is waiting for her ''Lord husband'' to return to announce the happy news. Lord Stark is a hardened and honorable man...but family, is his greatest strength...and weakness." I exined back. "So you already have a spy in Winterfell...but that doesn''t answer my question, ''Bloody Snow''...Why him?...but more importantly. Why me?..." Haymitch. "For many reasons, Ser Haymitch...disregarding your own merits and the hundreds of lives you''ve saved...I''d say: Because you''re a ''Bastard'' too and you know what that boy will go through...Because you''re not looking for fame, glory or riches...but ''something else'' you think no one can give you in this world...Because you need a new home, a new purpose and some well-deserved peace...Because I''m sure deep down, you and Ned Stark will get along just fine..." I replied. "...And what exactly do you think I''m ''looking for''? " Ser Haymitch asked in a wry tone. "Redemption." As soon as he said the word, Haymitch''s eyes widened... I had hit the nail on the head. I exined that short answer better. "Based on your actions, Ser. I asked myself, ''Why notmit suicide?''...''Why continue to live like that?''...and the only answer I coulde up with is that you, Ser, are trying to find a way to redeem yourself from all the heinous actions you havemitted throughout your life. You''re clinging to a faint hope that you''re forced to believe in for your own sake... That one day, when you''ve saved enough innocent lives and helped enough souls, you''ll see your family again... Correct me if I''m wrong, Ser Haymitch." I asked the unarmed and helpless man... "..." Haymitch, replied with absolute silence. "Personally, I believe that possibility exists, Ser Haymitch." I asserted in a confident tone. "...And how can you believe that? You''re quite cynical and realistic, boy...you wouldn''t have me believe you''re a ''Pious Believer of the Seven''? "It was only now that I noticed that Haymitch hadn''t had a drop of alcohol in thest ten minutes. "Because, at least for the most part, I know what awaits us on the ''other side''... I''ve seen it." I said with conviction. Haymitch used every second and every ability of intuition to figure out if I was lying or not... "Are you truly blessed by the gods?" Haymitch asked. "Will the conversation and events in this room remain between you and me?" I asked in reply. Haymitch nodded with a look that expressed the phrase ''I swear on my life.''... I took a small dam tree twig in my breast pocket and briefly sang the chant of ''Druidcraft''... The twig took the form of a ring... "A gift for you, Ser." I said handing the wooden ring less than a foot away from the man. Haymitch took the ring and scrutinised it carefully. Probably to see if it was real or a result of the side effects of alcohol... A minute of silence passed... "Why Jon Snow? What makes you think I might have a chance at redemption if I help that very boy?" Haymitch asked, choosing not to borate on the ''strangeness'' he had just witnessed. "Because that boy''s fate will decide the fate of many...I''ve seen it...He, more than anyone, will need a guide, a friend he can count on, who can teach him everything a ''bastard'' needs to learn to make his way in this harsh and unforgiving world." I said. "...You''re giving me a hint that this child...''isn''t just a bastard'', aren''t you?" Haymitch asked wittily. "If I were to answer that question, Ser... I would significantly increase the possibility that a terrible tragedy would befall us all... thus causing the death and suffering of tens of thousands of other children who have been born or will yet be born... So, Ser Haymitch, I ask you here...''DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHO THAT BOY IS?''..." I asked, showing part of the ''real me''. Haymitch froze hard... He kept staring at me with a look that expressed fear, confusion and anxiety... After a few seconds he answered... "No... I don''t want to know." "Good... So I guess we agree... Right?" I asked while continuing to keep my ''will'', active. "...I will protect that boy...You have my word, Duncan of House Tallhart." Haymitch replied, making a small bow with his head. "To recap, Ser...Who is Jon Snow?" I asked for onest confirmation. "...Only a Bastard." Chapter 37: Brave Companions Part I Chapter 37: '' Brave Companions '' Part I POV: Helman Tallhart; Torrhen''s Square. Year 285, second day of the second moon ... Helman was in his study after dinner. After three days of nning, many Lords and guests, began to leave Torrhen''s Square to return to their respectivends. Currently, only the guests of House Reed, Bolton and Dustin, were present. Now, the moment the Master of Torrhen''s Square had been waiting for had finally arrived... To deal with Lord Roose Bolton in person. The Lord of Dreadfort had just taken a seat in front of Helman. "Lord Bolton. Atst we have managed to find a moment for the two of us, to discuss this alone. I apologise, my Lord, for making you wait so long..." Said Helman in a sorry tone. "I have been looking forward to this moment, Lord Helman. Do not worry, my lord...No doubt, thest few days, have been very busy and full of duties for you." Replied, in a gentle tone, Roose Bolton. "Thank you for your understanding, my lord. I now understand from whom Domeric learned. That boy is lovely...he is kind, witty and very well behaved. It''s all thanks to his father...Our two sons, they''re really liking each other and I''m really d." Helman. "Even Domeric has only woven praise for your son Duncan, my Lord...I am proud of you both...after all, it is good that our two Houses, are forgingsting rtionships in both the ''present'' and the ''future''..." Roose Bolton replied with a sincere but nheless disturbing smile. "Well said, my Lord...If our two sons, are working so hard...we can do no less. Do you agree with me, my Lord?" Helman asked, trying to give the warmest smile he could muster. "Fully agree, Lord Helman." Roose. "But where are my manners!...My lord, I did not offer you anything to drink...I beg your pardon...Would you like something? Wine? Beer? Or something stronger?" Helman said, showing a small table with three ss bottles filled with different liquids. "No thank you, my Lord...I hardly ever drink actually...It dulls the senses." Bolton replied, scrutinising the three bottles for a moment. "I see...A very wise choice, my lord. I am currently drinking a drink that aids in concentration, an invention of my son''s...I now drink it instead of water ahahah! Would you like to try it?" Said Helman showing his almost empty jug on the table. "...Sure, my lord..." Roose replied, scrutinising Helman''s cup and jug for a moment. "A mixture of water, honey, lemon and ginger. The original would also contain cinnamon...but personally I''m not crazy about it. Ahahaha...Nevertheless, it''s good for the nerves." Said Helman, acting as cupbearer. Then he proposed a toast: "To future prosperous coborations between House Tallhart and House Bolton!" Helman sipped first. "To peace and prosperity..." Roose carefully checked that the other party had ''actually'' drunk from the goblet... After confirming, he took a small sip... and had to admit that the taste of the drink wasn''t bad at all... but he preferred not to drink more than he had to. "So, my Lord... shall we get down to business?" Helman proposed, smiling. "Of course, my Lord." Roose. "When is the shipment of iron and cast iron due to arrive, Lord Bolton?" Helman. "Within a week or so, my lord. 560 tons of iron and 340 tons of pig iron." Roose. "Sounds good to me...House Bolton, will you be able to supply us with that amount every month, my lord?" Helman asked. "We are very confident that we will be able to maintain that burden...Lord Helman. I thank you and Torrhen''s Square for the business opportunity you are providing us..." Said Roose in a slightly sad tone... "My lord? Are you alright?...You look thoughtful and hesitant...If you have any doubts or concerns, please talk to me." Said Helman showing a slightly worried face. "In truth...there is something. My lord, over the past few days. I couldn''t help but notice that your rtions with Lord Umber, Lord Karstark and Lord Manderly, were ''close''...Comparing myself to them, I discovered that you have agreed on several good ''business rtions'' between you...I wouldn''t want toe across as ''ungrateful'', my lord... You buy raw iron and cast iron from me, at a higher market value, and I am infinitely grateful...but the other arrangements...We can say with certainty that they are at least, ten times more remunerative...I would not like to see undisguised ''friction'' between our two Houses...how shall I put it...between us...Has my House in any way offended yours, my Lord?" Roose Bolton asked, in a tone that sounded ''sincerely contrite'' and in some small way... offended. "My lord, I assure you that it was not my intention to offend you...in any way. Our rtionship has never been too close. I have to admit that... but since ''The Battle of the Trident'', I have felt nothing but great respect for you. I mean, let''s face it, my lord. If someone else had led our troops... we wouldn''t have been able to prevail. You contributed ''greatly'' to the allied victory. I would never have been able to execute a strategy as borate as yours, my lord. Five thousand of our troops prevailed against EIGHT THOUSAND, Lord Bolton... Amendable achievement." Said Helman, with as much sincerity and appreciation as he could muster within himself. "I could have done more. I do not deserve your praise, Lord Helman. Although we won, our losses were heavy..." Replied in a contrite tone, Roose Bolton. ''I''ll make you pay for this, you bastard!'' Thought the Torrhen''s Square Master, with a neutral look. Helman struggled with all his might to maintain control...His son Duncan had warned him that Roose Bolton would try to ''test the waters'' as much as possible to try and extract as much information as possible... "The losses...yes it''s true. They have been great...but where would we be if we had not made such a sacrifice, my lord?...We, our men, our families...would have suffered the wrath of that madman Aerys...War, my lord, always demands a debt of blood...I am sure, you did all you could to prevent this terrible fate from befalling us all." Helman. "I am heartened to hear that, my lord." Roose replied, making a small bow with his head. "As for our business partnership, Lord Bolton. I assure you, this is only the beginning. We have not yet entered into ''more lucrative'' arrangements, simply because we thought the time was not ripe. In fact, the reason I have asked for this meeting is that I would like to begin discussing such an arrangement with you." Helman. "You have my full and sincere attention, Lord Helman..." Roose. "We are still in negotiations with Lord Hond Reed...but in the future, after the winter has passed, to begin breeding nts and leeches that have innovative and more effective healing effects than our normal stockpiles...Therefore, my lord, soon after Maester Qyburn did the necessary research, and discovered, fortunately for us, that one ''of the greatest researchers'' in that field, was and still is in your employ, we were looking forward to making arrangements with you. We hoped...well, most of all, Maester Qyburn hoped, to meet this infamous, ''Adoamros'' in person but, we have been unlucky so far. In any case, my lord, we are convinced that if this deal goes through, our House, House Reed and House Bolton, could get their hands on a new monopoly of unprecedented medical supplies...and it will be very, VERY lucrative, my lord." Exined Helman putting much emphasis and expectation on thest part. "I see...Out of curiosity, my lord. What ''sum'' are we talking about more or less?" Roose Bolton asked, in a very interested tone. "Well...if we were to divide the profits equally into three shares...we have estimated, at the very least, a profit of about 90,000 G.D. a year each, with a virtually certain increase of 300% over the next five years, my Lord." Helman could see that Roose Bolton''s unchanging expression wrinkled slightly... "A good profit, no doubt about it..." Roose admitted. "However, my lord..." Helman. "However?" Roose. "Nevertheless, Maester Qyburn...is slightly anxious about Adoamros. The research he needs is not yetplete, my lord. And if through our misfortune, something should ''happen'' to him. Qyburn is convinced that ''the deal'', will be dyed considerably... Which is why we were hoping that you could...shall we say, ''Give him an eyeful'', my lord. And if possible...just a second..." Helman, interrupted himself to fetch some paper documents. Roose Bolton, looked at those papers very carefully. " Here they are. I apologise for the interruption, my lord. Yes, as I was saying...Qyburn hoped that Adoamros could answer these questions and issues thus anticipating and facilitating the work. If you agree, my lord, I think we should at least try to ''protect'' our future interests in any way we can. These documents, if they arepiled, will help greatly to that end." Said Helman, handing two stacks of papers to Roose. Roose tried to understand the nature of these questions...but, although he had an excellent knowledge of the nature of leeches, many aspects were obscure and iprehensible to him. "I understand...fear not, Lord Helman. I will ensure that, Adoamros, you get to work as soon as possible...I will guard to the best of my ability, the integrity and safety of that man and these papers. I promise you that, my lord." Roose said, nodding. "That heartens me greatly, my lord. After all, we should all make sure to leave our coffers full to our heirs when the ''Old Gods'' call us back! Ahahaha!" Said Helman in a jovial tone. "...I agree, my Lord." Roose replied with a slight smile in amusement. Ten minutes of formal talkter.... "I really hope, not to have caused Lord Leobald unnecessary difficulties during his speech." Roose. "No, no, my lord. On the contrary, you helped us enormously!...Although they were full of smiles andughter, at least half of the lords anddies present at the banquet, harboured the same doubts as you. With your questions, you only helped us wash away the insecurities of everyone else...and for that, my lord, we thank you, on behalf of myself and my brother." Helman. "You are wee, my lord...Lord Helman...if I may ask..." Roose showed hesitation and need for help in those words. "Ask away, my lord. By now I had hoped you would have no qualms about opening up to me Lord Bolton. Is there anything else I can do for you?" Helman asked, showing genuine curiosity. "As a matter of fact there is, my lord...I was wondering...I was wondering, if it would be possible to apply to your house...a loan, my lord...a gold loan to be precise..." He tried to ask Roose, now that he thought the time was ''ripe''. "A loan you say?...My lord, you need help, surely House Tallhart will not back down...but may I first know the amount we are talking about?...As you know, at present, our hands are quite full and we have to give out huge amounts of funding for the construction of the road..." Exined Helman in a calm and respectful tone. "Of course, my lord. You deserve at least rity...without any doubt...Unfortunately...my House is, at the moment, in a ''precarious'' situation. Countless small groups of bandits, infest mynds. I would like this problem, to be solved as soon as possible. Especially now that ''winter ising''... I would also like to try to ''safeguard'' my people as much as possible. Many viges are not prepared with sufficient supplies and provisions... Therefore, my lord... I was wondering if it would be possible for you to grant me a loan of 100,000 Golden Dragons...". As soon as Roose Bolton mentioned the number, Helman Tallhart discreetly moved a small wooden lever with his right foot. Some sort of mechanism was set in motion... He remained silent for a few seconds, pretending to ponder carefully. "I understand your concerns, my lord...I too,st autumn, had tried to get rid, as much as possible of this..." Helman, was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Knock Knock!", " My lord!" called the man on guard in his employ. "Wird, this is not the time!" Helman replied in response, showing a face annoyed at the interruption. "Knock knock!" " My lord! I''m afraid it''s urgent!" After hearing those words, Helman rose from his chair. "I beg your pardon, Lord Bolton, I will be with you as soon as possible." Roose nodded with a face that expressed: mild suspicion, disbelief and curiosity. "What''s so urgent?" He heard Roose say from about 15 feet away...but he couldn''t hear the whisper of an answer. "How long? Is Maester Qyburn there yet?" Helman. "Yes, my lord, Lord Leobald and Lady Myra are also already on site." The soldier. "I understand...tell them I''ll be right there. Go, run!" Helman ordered. "Lord Bolton...I ask you again to excuse me, my lord. It seems that my son, is not feeling very well... Might I ask you to continue our talk, tomorrow morning?" Helman asked, with a sorry face. "...No problem, my Lord...I hope nothing serious has happened..." Roose replied, with a serious look. "I''m just going to check it out, my lord. I certainly hope not....Edgar, would you please escort Lord Bolton to his quarters?" Helman asked his second guard. "Of course, my lord. I am at your full service." Edgar. "That won''t be necessary, Lord Helman... I can find my own way, I thank you for your trouble..." Said Roose as he rose from his chair and approached the exit. He had also collected the documents for Adoamros. "As you wish, Lord Bolton. Thank you so much for your understanding and help, my lord..." End POV. ------------------------------------- POV: Qyburn; Torrhen''s Square. About 30 minutes after Roose Bolton, left Helman''s private study.... Qyburn, was listening intently to Lord Helman''s ount. He and the other three members of the ''Council of House Tallhart'' were gathered in their meeting room. The safest ce in the castle, to discuss matters of ''high importance and secrecy''. "I was one step away from that ''leech'' and for a moment, could think of nothing but the various ways in which I could tear him apart!...I''ll be damned! How could I have failed to notice such a ''snake''! SBAMM!!!" Helman, concluded, mming his palm angrily on the table. "I am proud of you, father...Few men, could hold a candle to Roose Bolton. The man is a devious, emotionless calctor who wouldn''t hesitate for a moment to cut off his own leg or arm if he thought that was the only way to achieve his goals... All this is nothing but a game to him..." Duncan said, cing a hand over his father''s slightly injured one. "It''s true, brother. You''ve done really well to be able to maintain control all this time. Even our father would be proud of you." Leobald. "Well done, my lord." Qyburn also joined in, making a small bow with his head. "Thank you...but I don''t deserve your praise...This is all thanks to all of you, who worked out the n and prepared me properly...Now enough praise...Let''s find a way to crush that ''slimy leech''!...Son...your advice on the correct course of action?" Helman asked, turning to the boy at his side. "Mmmm...I have to admit, Roose Bolton''s move is well nned and borate...He knows that we have exposed ourselves greatly on the road project...He wants to undermine our finances to weaken us and enrich himself in turn..." Duncan Tallhart reflected aloud. Everyone gave the boy time to think and make his points. After a minute or so, the silence broke. "Maester Qyburn." Duncan called, addressing the most Azian person at the table. "Yes, my Lord?" Qyburn. "How much do the mercenarypanies of the Brave Companions and the Storm Crows demand in wages? And do you happen to know how much their units currently amount to?" Duncan asked. "Yes, my lord. Currently the ''Brave Companions'', led by their leader Quorik and the second inmand is one Vargo Hoat. They lead a militia of about 200 men and demand a sry of 5,000 golden dragons for each year of employment. The Storm Crows, are currently led by a certain, Prendahl na Ghezn. He leads 500 men-at-arms and requires a sry of 15,000 golden dragons for each year of service." He described Qyburn from memory. "mmm...I have an idea...Thank you, Maester." Duncan. "Always happy to be of service, my lord." Qyburn. "Don''t tell me you want to hire those mercenaries?" Leobald. "No uncle...not us...but I think there will be a strong possibility that it will be Roose Bolton who will do it...and he will do it with the funding we provide him. That''s how I would like to go about it..." The boy, took a sheet of paper and some wooden figurines. Then he began to exin. "We will tell Roose Bolton, that unfortunately, we currently cannot afford to lend him such a sum...We will offer 70,000 golden dragons, instead of 100,000...This way we will also make the negotiation more credible and give him confirmation that: ''The Tallhart family is financially vulnerable''.... Trust me, he won''t pass up this opportunity...not after sniffing the blood of a wounded prey. We''ll also tell him that ''unfortunately'', we couldn''t even afford to release it in one go. We''ll give him 5,000 golden dragons right away, as a sign of good faith. From there, we''ll lend him 15,000 golden dragons...but not until two monthster...That''s when he''ll strike, and I think he''ll use the Brave Companions disguised as bandits to do it..." Duncan, paused and smirked, searching for his uncle''s gaze. He wanted to see if Leobald, had managed to read the diagram. "You believe, that Roose Bolton, will engage the ''Good Comrades'' with the 5,000 we will provide him...Why? Why not use his own soldiers in disguise?...wait... THAT VISCIOUS BASTARD WITH NO SOUL!!! THE REPORT TO EDDARD STARK!" He shouted angrily, Leobald. "That''s right, uncle. He will almost certainly be looking for foreign men to do the job..." Duncan. "What are you referring to?" Helman asked with a confused air. It was Qyburn who answered: "My Lord, the Frost des unit reported to us just yesterday that Roose Bolton reported to Lord Eddard Stark the presence of ''fierce bandit groups'' in hisnds...But our spies, on thosends have found no such thing. No suspicious reports have been found since thest report..." Qyburn exined calmly. "That can only mean one thing, Father...Roose Bolton, is preparing to strike. And he''s already defending himself against ''any unfounded usations''...He''ll be forced to use outside men, because if just one of his ''men in disguise'' is caught, and it can be linked to him, Ned Stark, he''ll have enough motivation to cut off his head. But if he used a mercenary group instead... even if one of the men confessed that they were hired by him, he could still ''contest'' the charges. I''m sure he''ll make sure his hands stay clean when he acquits such individuals." Duncan. "The man is a monster! Are you telling me, he would even attack one of his own viges...all to bolster his story?!" Helman asked indignantly. "He will...no ifs or buts. And I assure you, it won''t disturb his sleep in the slightest." Duncan. "Fuck hospitality! We''ll have to go upstairs and slit his throat!" Said Leobald in a fit of rage. "In that case, Lord Eddard, he''d cut off your head Uncle..." Duncan. Leobald, cleared his thoughts quickly after those words and returned to a state of calm and rationality. Duncan, picked up his pen and began to write speaking in a clear voice. "Maester Qyburn. How long will it be before Adoamrospletes his assignment?" Duncan continued writing as he asked. "Not before three months, since Lord Bolton will return, my lord. The pathogen that Roose Bolton ingested just now, should show the first harmless symptom in about a week...I''m pretty sure Maester Wolkan, won''t know how to treat the ''false disease''. From then on, Adoamros, will be ''free to act'', my lord....Ah I almost forgot, Lord Helman...here drink this, my lord. You shouldn''t get any eye redness or itchy skin from drinking it." Qyburn handed a bottle to Helman, who epted it without question and drank the contents, thanking him with a nod. "Right...This is my n: 1) We will try to infiltrate some men, in the ''''Brave Companions'''' and the ''''Storm Crows'''', before Roose Bolton contacts them. I don''t think he''ll hire the Crows before he gets his hands on those 15,000 Golden Dragons...but just in case, we''ll put a couple of our Frost des in there too. 2) After two months, we''ll send ''the bait''... the armed convoy that will transport the 15,000 g.d... I''m sure he won''t attack us in his ownnds. If he did, byw he would be held responsible for the loss...it is likely, that he will attack us in Starks'' territory...That way he would hit us while lining his pockets at the same time...We know the ''WHO'', the ''WHERE'' and the ''WHEN''...I would say we will have quite an advantage... 3) We''ll ask Roose Bolton, to let Domeric stay as a guest here with us...as a hidden form of guarantee...I''m sure he won''t refuse...That way, I''ll have more time to be able to bond with him. 4) When Adoamros seeds in his task, we will make Domeric Bolton, the new Lord of Dreadfort. Qyburn, Helman and Leobald, stared at each other for a few seconds, then all three men nodded in response. "Father...I would have two requests to deal with the ''Brave Companions''...and both will not please you." Said the boy, staring at his father. Helman signalled for him to continue. "1)- I need a man willing to sacrifice himself." Duncan. Helman thought about it for a moment...then nodded, already having ''the ideal man'' in mind. "2)- I want to participate in the fight against the Brave Companions." Chapter 38: Brave Companions Part II Chapter 38: '' Brave Companions '' Part II POV: Adoamros; Dreadfort. Year 285, 17th day of the second moon. About two weeks after the meeting between Roose Bolton and Helman Tallhart... Adoamros stood before the Lord of Dreadfort. Next to him was the Bolton family''s chief attendant, Rigghert. "Do I make myself clear, Rigghert?" Roose Bolton asked his attendant in charge of the castle''s finances. "Yes, my lord. I will burn the documents as soon as I have finished ounting for everything." Rigghert replied promptly, bowing. "Go on then. Leave us." Roose. "Yes, Lord Bolton." Rigghert, bowed again and prepared to leave. As soon as Rigghert stepped out, Adoamros took a step forward. "My lord...Forgive me for allowing myself. I would like to ask if I could observe your eyes for a moment." Adoamros asked with humility and awe. Roose Bolton was slightly surprised by the request. Adoamros, at this point, should have known ''the rules'' well. "For what purpose?" Roose asked coldly and suspiciously. "My lord...I notice a slight redness near your iris. On both eyes to be precise. I would like to check it more closely. If you will allow me." Adoamros. Lord Bolton, thought about it for a moment. He knew the man couldn''t be armed and had nothing but his clothes and a book with him. "You can do that. Also check this rash on my left arm and tell me what it is." Bolton. Adoamros, bowed after hearing those words. He approached calmly but also confidently towards his master. Without tremors in his hands or hesitation, Adoamros opened his patient''s eyelids wider and searched his eyes for a good minute. "Do you feel an itch in your arm, my Lord?" Adoamros asked, turning to his arm. "Yes...for about a week now. What is it?" Roose Bolton asked quietly and coolly. From the man''s voice, he didn''t sound frightened but his gaze expressed an icy hint of anger and ruthlessness. "My lord... Before I answer you, I would like to bring in Maester Wolkan as well. I would also need his opinion to confirm my suspicions." End POV. --------------------------- POV: Griff ''Rusty Sword'' . King''s Road, about 80 miles from Winterfell. Some forty days after Adoamros first visited Lord Roose Bolton... Griff, who had been nicknamed ''Rusty Sword'' for over a decade. He had been in the service of the Tallhart family for over 50 years. All his life he had fought alongside House Tallhart. He had started as a soldier at only 16 years of age. He had served Lord Helman''s Grandfather William, his son Ecbert and 5 years under themand of thest Master of Torrhen''s Square before being discharged with full honours. He was even granted a piece ofnd and a mill, for all the years of loyalty and valour he had shown to House Tallhart. When Lord Helman called together the men of hisnds to march south, Griff, who had just turned 77, begged Lord Helman to allow him to join his army. Lord Helman refused his pleas and forced him to return home to enjoy his years of well-earned rest. It was his son, Edd, who went in his stead and never returned... Griff was left alone. When he was called to Torrhen''s Square to receive an honorarymendation for his Edd''s sacrifice, the old man refused to take the money. Not because he was offended, but because he wanted a different reward.... What he wanted most was for his name to be immortalised alongside his son''s in the marble b of the war memorial. And now, he had his chance. A chance to serve Tallhart House onest time... "I won''t die lying on a bed because of a cough. No... I''m going to die standing up with a sword in my hand!!! Lord Helman, he even granted me the chance to contribute to the n to avenge my son Edd! '' Old Griff thought with a smile. The man, out of excitement, clutched the hilt of his rusty old sword. A gift from Helman''s grandfather for the valour he had shown in his battle. He had tended that sword for over forty-eight years. Although the steel was worn and rusted, the sword was still razor sharp. Hence its nickname ''''Rusty Sword''''. ''''This is it... They''reing! '' He thought as he looked at a mounted group of about thirty armed men. Griff was currently sitting on his four-wheeled wagon, pulled by two tired old nags. It was carrying fifteen twenty-gallon barrels of fine liquor. About a minuteter. "Hey there Old Man! What are you carrying? " Asked one of the thirty bloodthirsty men. "What do you want?! Who are you? Don''te any closer! This... this is a shipment for Lord Eddard Stark himself!" Griff replied, trying to y the part of ''the poor, frightened old merchant'' to the best of his ability. "Ahahahah! Did you hear that?! A load for ''LORD EDDARD STARK! Good stuff boys!", "Aahahaha!". "So old man...Choose! Hands or feet? " Asked the man with a wicked smile. "Wha...What you mean?" Griff. "You know...We have a habit of chopping off limbs here and there, and today you my friend will be the lucky one. Since you''re giving us the gift of precious cargo, we''ll even let you choose between ''hands'' or ''feet''. Well?" The bandit. "No, please! Take whatever you want! But don''t hurt me, please! I have two grandchildren to look after! Have mercy in the name of the gods!!!" Griff retreated backwards, trying to get off the cart awkwardly. "Ahahaha! Look at him! He''s trying to escape!", "Ahahah!", " Boss leave him to me please! " "Hear that old man?", "Rosgho will y with you! Try not to shout too much. He loves to hear his prey scream." Said Vargo Hoat ''The Goat'', deputymander of the ''Braves Companion''. Rosgho, seeing the old merchant limping as he tried to escape, dismounted his horse to catch up with him on foot. It would have been too easy and too little fun otherwise. When he got about 5 feet from the old man, Rosgho noticed that the merchant was clutching a bundle wrapped in a woolen cover. He was about to grab the old man''s shoulder with his right hand... and then the old man turned his head. Rosgho''s hand was on the ground and what was left of his right arm was a blood-sttered stump. "ARRRGHH!!! MY ARM!!!" Rosgho. " Not to mention the left.", " shh!", "Spurzzsh!" Griff, seized the opportunity for distraction to cleave another blow towards his left hand. "ARRRGHH!!! DAMN IT!!! HELP ME!!!" Screamed Rosgho in pain and panic. "SOON! TEAR THAT OLD MAN DOWN! MOVE!" Vargo Hoat suddenly ordered. Three knights rushed forward, twoncers and an archer. Griff saw that the archer, less than 30 feet from him, was about to shoot an arrow. At thest second, he shielded himself with Rosgho''s still shocked body. "Phew! Stuck!", "Urghaa..." Rosgho fell to his knees after the fracas hit him on his back. "CHARGE! DIE OLD BASTARD!" Shouted ancer, picking up speed. ''This is the end... NO! I can still kill a horse! '' Thought Griff smiling for thest time. 15 feet...10 feet...5 feet. Griff, clutching his faithful sword with both hands,unched himself with the full weight of his old and frail body, towards the throat of the horse that was about to run him over. "SPFHUZZ!", "NIIII HIIII!!! ", "STROSHCRACK!!!''... These were the sounds Griff managed to hear, before everything went ck.... End POV. ------------------------------ POV: de 57; A heand in House Starknds about 6 miles from the border of the Boltons''nds. Three dayster. de 57, aka ''Thirsty de Garofd'', was standing guard in the small clearing that contained over 100 horses, belonging to the '' Braves Companion''. It was almost two moons ago that he, and his ''''fellow adventurer'''' Dast ''''The Kettle of Rabbits'''' ( de 111), had joined the group as ''''novices''''. Less than three weeks ago, de 57 and 111 had taken part in two raids on viges under the protection of House Bolton. All on the orders of Roose Bolton himself.... The Lord of Dreadfort had to prove to his protector and the entire North that hisnds were swarming with ''dangerous bandits''... Now there were only a couple of days to go before the real n. House Tallhart''s caravan was on its way to this path, and by tomorrow it would arrive at the ambush site. They had chosen this spot because it was uninhabited, not subject to patrols and perfect for a raid. "Take the apples. The time hase. "de 57 ordered his subordinate, who nodded readily. This was the third phase of the n. First, for about four days now, de 57 and 111, had killed four ''Braves Companion'' men. One each night... They had arranged for the body to be found under grim and mystical circumstances. The body stripped bare, the victim strangled to death and the blood spiraling down his chest... Then they had spread a rumor among the men... ''The lost Stark. ''... A descendant of House Stark, who lived over two hundred years ago, who had sold his soul to the God Stranger, renouncing his faith in the Old Gods... The ''legend'' (totally invented by the two of them) was that Diggard Stark, ''The Direwolf'', had to pay a sacrifice every day, so that his life couldst one more day without aging, which had reaped tens of thousands of poor souls. And now the ''Stranger Wolf'' hade down on the ''Brave Companions'' for daring to camp in his territory. On the first day, the story wasughed at and taken as a joke. On the second day, it began to be taken seriously. On the third day, panic spread among the men. On the fourth day, seeds of despair began to sprout. Guard shifts were tripled. Half the men could not sleep, at least 50 of them had not slept for two days. Then came the second phase of the n: ''Poison the food''. de 111, cooked a delicious rabbit stew for over a month, which was a great sess among the men. Even the leader, Quorik, ordered Dust, ''The Kettle of Rabbits'' to prepare that stew at least once every two days. So it was that Dust easily managed to corrupt the stew with a special liquid... About 100 men, of the original 206 (now 201), who hadnded in the North for a special assignment, were struck down by repeated bouts of fulminating diarrhoea. Twelve of the hundred were feverish in bed, dehydrated and unable to get up. de 57 managed to find a way to ''alleviate those symptoms''. Fortunately the 15 barrels, plundered a few days ago from an old merchant who managed to kill one of theirs and shoot down a horse that, in the fall, fractured the leg of a second of their riders, seemed to contain a high-proof liquor that managed to calm the inmed bowels of half of the ''Brave Companions''... Now, almost all of the 200 men were used to drinking more alcohol than water.... Now, the third phase of the n had finally arrived... The penultimate one before the start of the assault on the caravan. Drugging the horses. de 57 and 111, were distributing poisoned apples to over 150 horses. The group''s scout had indicated that the three caravans and the 60 men-at-arms escorting them would arrive at the appointed location around dawn the next morning. This was the ideal time. So that the horses would have half the energy and strength they should normally have the following morning. About 3 hourster... "Hey Garofd! It''s not your turn...Coorfff...Gurrlp...Clugh.." The man on patrol that night was stabbed in the throat. Ten other sentries met the same fate... "Hide the bodies! And be quiet... You will all have to wear these clothes. Make sure that when the timees, the red sash is clearly visible in the morning." Twelve men dressed in ck, nodded at those words and began to get to work. End POV. -------------------------- POV: Vargo Hoat. The same promontory. Dawn of the next day. What the heck is wrong with my horse! '' Thought the deputymander of the ''Brave Companions'' in frustration. "Move you stupid beast!" Said Vargo, trying to spur his mount on harder. They were about half a mile from the hillside overlooking the path. Shit! I can''t wait to leave this barren, cold ce! We''ve had nothing but bad luck and misfortune of all kinds since we''ve been here!'' Vargo thought angrily. But now, he had no time to think about it. Although they had three times as many men as their target, Vargo, knew full well that half their men were tired and drunk. Even he had drunk two horns of the liquor the night before to get to sleep. The strongest he had ever tasted... but also the sweetest. Once tasted, every other drink tasted like piss. A few minutes ago he even had ckouts... He had seen a couple of faces in his group that he couldn''t recognise. He pretended not to, because his head was still spinning from the hangover. He couldn''t even remember the names of the new members. All he knew was that one was called ''Kettle of Rabbits'' and the other... no, he couldn''t remember the other at all. He had promised himself that if they actually earned the amount Roose Bolton had promised them for their services, he would buy dozens of those barrels. For his own use only. '' 15,000 g.d. is less than a mile away from you! Concentrate Vargo! '' He thought as he shook his head slightly. "MEN! TO ME!" Hemanded loudly trying to rally the 60 knights at his directmand. ''As soon as the chariots reach that point, we will begin the charge! Remember! No one must be able to get back to us! Cover your faces and hide all symbols. Should anyone escape, no one must know that the ''Brave Companions'' were involved. FIFTEEN THOUSAND PIECES OF GOLD AWAIT US! LET''S GO GET THEM!" He encouraged Vargo as he raised his spear to the sky. "YEEEAAARGGHH!!!" More than half of the armed men responded with euphoria and desire. About twenty minutester... "SOUND THE CHARGE!!!" Both Vargo and Quorik shouted in unison. "WOOOUUUUUUHH!!!" End POV. ------------------------------- POV: Bloody Snow; On a trail in thends of House Stark. A few seconds after a horn alerts the men of the caravan. "PREPARE THE WAGONS! MEN IN POSITION!" Thundered a white-haired boy. "YES, MY LORD!" More than 50 men roared in response. The men knew what to do, they were well prepared for theing battle. The three 15-foot-long ''special'' wagons, each secretly containing 8 men-at-arms, were quickly positioned about 10-15 feet apart. Spiked steel chains, which in turn supported a five-foot high wire mesh, were attached to the rear base of the three wagons, which were positioned in a semi-circr pattern. "MEN! ON MY SIGNAL, PULL THE LEVERS! CROSSBOWMEN READY TO FIRE! CAPTAIN PETER, GATHER THE CAVALRY!" Bloody Snow, continued to fire orders one after another. "AYE, MY LORD!", "THE CHAINS ARE READY, MY LORD!", "READY TO FIRE ON YOUR COMMAND!", "MEN ASSEMBLE, READY TO CHARGE ON MY SIGNAL!". They answered one after another, their respective group leaders and captains. "Don''t move away from me or Will and keep that shield up at all times." Rmending Syggha to the boy''s side. She[9], Will[9], Josua of Jh[9], Narbo[10] and Dywen Stone[8], were the masters charged with protecting the ''ward of Zich'' at any cost. Cohollo and Gadon Sand, rode alongside the young Captain Peter. "Yes, Master Syggha!!!" Bloody Snow. "200 FEET!" Shouted a lookout and continued. "150!" "100!" "50!" "COMING!!! "CHAINS!" Three men, one each from each wagon, pulled three reinforced wooden levers in unison. Counterweights clicked and the chains were tightened. A railing of sharp steel and barbed wire rose to a height of 5 feet above the ground. "CARRIAGES ''1'' AND ''3''! PULL AT WILL ON THE FLANKS!!! CAR ''2'' TO THE CENTRE!" Themands were heard just in time, before chaos erupted. "UUUAAAARGHH!!!" "NIIIII HIIII!" "SPIGNH! ZUFHH!" "ARRGHH!", "MY LEG!!", "I''M DYING!", "HELP ME!!", "IT''S A RETREATING TRAP!!", "URRGH!!", "DART!!! THEY''RE SHOOTING AT US FROM THE SLOTS IN THE WAGONS!!!" "NIII!! HIII!". Dozens of cries of distress, screams, nitrites of dying horses and orders here and there created absolute chaos. Only one voice thundered louder and clearer than all of them. "PETER,NOWW!!! CROSSBOWMEN, CONCENTRATE FIRE IN THE MIDDLE! SHIELDS AND PIKES, TO ME!" Ordered the militiamander, d in splendid chain mail armour of fine, well-hardened steel with custom-made leather armour underneath. He was armed with a strangely shaped short sword, never seen before which he christened ''Xiphos'', and a custom-made thin steel hoop shield. "MEN CHARGE!!!" Shouted Peter, 60 feet from the chariots. He personally led 20 horsemen, well armed and steel d on the left wing. Cohollo led the remaining twenty on the right wing to close a pincer hold on the enemy forces. Some fifty enemy corps and horses had already massed outside the Iron Curtain before the charge began. As soon as the charge of their cavalry units began, Bloody Snow, gave the finalmands. "SEND THE SIGNAL TO THE FROST BLADES!" "CROSSBOWMEN, BREAK OFF! TAKE UP SHIELDS AND SWORDS AND ASSEMBLE IN FORMATION!!!" "SHIELDS FORM LINE! "ON MY SIGNAL, LOWER THE IRON CURTAIN!" The twenty crossbowmen threw their crossbows to the ground and picked up their swords and shields, heading for the second and third lines of infantry. Red and white gs were waved by a pair of men positioned ten feet above the wagons. Two lines of seven men each, armed with tower shields and spears, led the infantry. Behind them were the units of shields and swords, led by Bloody Snow himself. "UNLOCK!!!!" Thundered the boy. Immediately three levers were lowered and the wall of wirended on the ground. "FOR YOUR LORD! FOR TORRHEN''S SQUARE! AND FOR THE NORTH!!!....CHAAAARGEE!!!!!!!!!!!! " Incited themander. "FOR THE NORTHH!!! The men replied in unison. Chapter 39: 385...218...507 Chapter 39: '' 385...218...507 '' Dear readers... I know I''m making too many announcements but just a few hours ago I reached the ''One Million Views'' Step. I will be brief and concise. Thank you all for your support! Happy reading! ----------------- POV: Duncan; The ambush site. Three minutes after the men of House Tallhart, moured for the North.... The 100 or so remaining men of the '' Brave Companions '', werepletely surrounded on all sides. Their mounts, hit hard by fatigue, panic, confusion, and the smell of blood and death, were doing almost half the work of ramming and kicking dozens of knights from all sides. Now that I was in the middle of the battle, I could see the levels of my enemies. Most of them were level [5] and about a third were level [4]. This did not take away from the fact that the movements of all of them were clumsy, imprecise and slow. All due to hunger,ck of sleep, drunkenness and general panic. All the chosen men of House Tallhart were fresh, well-rested, mentally prepared and motivated. Each of the chosen members of the Frost des unit, who had sessfully infiltrated the enemy lines, were level [7]. Fourteen men with red armbands tied to their arms were striking the enemy from the south. Peter and his 20 horsemen, from the West. Cohollo with the same numbers, from the East. Me and the remaining 46 infantrymen, from the North. "DIE LITTLE BASTARD!" A man [5] armed with an axe charged towards me. Through my still active breathing technique, I could see his movements in slow motion of at least 1 to 3. Every second of my enemy''s movements corresponded to three of mine. I had detected at least four possible openings from that blow alone. I decided to y it safe by deflecting the sh with my shield. Then I aimed a lunge at the linguine... "SDENGSCRHHHIIN!", "SPUZHGH!", "YAARGHIIIIIGH!". The poor new eunuch, moaned in pain with a feminine screech. Then he slumped to the ground, probably passing out from the shock caused by the trauma. "One." I began the count involuntarily thinking back to a certain Anime, with a protagonist obsessed with Goblins. I noticed out of the corner of my eye, Syggha, who had just perpetually disarmed and neutralized a spear-armed enemy who was trying to grab me from behind. "LOOK AHEAD, IDIOT!" thundered the woman, pointing to two more enemies on foot who were advancing towards me. The one on my right was armed with a shield and spear. The one on the left had a long sword and dagger. Before both could reach a melee range, they were hit by a dagger and an arrow. The arrow hit the right shoulder of the first man, forcing him to drop his weapon to the ground. The throwing knife, the left thigh of the other, who knelt on the ground screaming in pain. I took the opportunity offered by Will and Josua behind me. I charged into the middle of the two of them smacking the knee and thigh of the man standing with nothing but the shield in his hand. "SLAASHH!" , "AAARRGH! YOU LITTLE BAST!!!", "SDUNGN!". the man bit his tongue, just after I hit his helmet sideways with my shield. Then I reached the other man on my left still distracted. "SDROFF! URGH! COUGH! SPUZZHH!" A small stream of blood hit my face as soon as I pierced the unfortunate man, finishing him off with a lunge to the back of the head that pierced him through and through. "Two." I headed towards the still stunned man. "NO! NO! WAIT...", "SLASH!" A slit in his throat silenced himpletely. "Three." Three minutester... I had just finished piercing the number ''five'' to the ground. I was beginning to feel the fatigue in my body. I could keep my breathing technique active for five more minutes at the most before I passed out on the floor from the physical and mental stress. When I saw him... A level [7] enemy, probably the leader of the group, Quorik. He was currently fighting Dywen Stone [8] on foot. He was wounded in multiple ces on his body and was at a disadvantage against his fierce opponent. A horizontal cut over his left eye, rendering him currently blinded from that point, underlined his inevitable fate... I decided toe forward. Four of my men, acting as my personal shield, stepped aside to let me pass. There were now no more than 40 ''Brave Companions'' left... "Oh Oh, look who''se forward!...Well, he''s all yours! SDINNGH!" Said Dywen as he withdrew from the fight. Quorik looked confused and surprised at his opponent''s choice. Then looking closer, he realised who the true leader of this militia was. He seized the opportunity. "YOU!!! I, QUORIK, COMMANDER OF THE ''BRAVE COMPANIONS'', CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!!! ME AND YOU! WHOEVER WINS WILL LEAVE THIS PLACE UNHARMED WITH HIS MEN! DO YOU ACCEPT, COWARD?" Roared Quorik as loudly as he could. Several men, on both sides, stopped from the fight to watch the scene a few steps away. They all began to back away as they stared at the studded leather-d man clutching a Dothraki Arakh, and the child two feet shorter armed with a shield and short sword ten paces behind him. Even the confusion and shouting began to subside.... "I, DUNCAN OF HOUSE TALLHART, COMMANDER OF THIS MILITIA, ACCEPT YOUR CHALLENGE. IF YOU LOSE, THE BRAVE COMPANIONS MUST THROW DOWN THEIR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER!" I thundered in reply. Quorik nodded, pleased with the response. Then he positioned himself on guard. "YEAAARGGH!!!", "MAKE WAY!!", "COME ON BLOODY SNOW!!", "QUORIK, TEAR HIM APART!". I charged forward with shield and sword firmly in my hand. The man was visibly panting and I wanted to give him the luxury of catching his breath. Quorik cleaved a diagonal blow from the bottom up. I dodged it by moving to the side. "WHOSSH!!!" The de cleaved the wind. Just then, as fate would have it, it started snowing. Snowkes with a radius of one centimeter began to rain down on everyone''s heads. One of the first big snowfalls of autumn. Although I was still seeing everything in slow motion, I had to admit that Quorik''s shot was quick and urate, and that the man, although tired, wounded and blind in one eye, was a ferocious beast in a trap that should not be underestimated. I tried to cleave a shot towards his blind side...but Quorik intercepted it. "SDINGH!", "SDHEIIING!", "SCHRIIIING!", "SDINGH!", "WHOSHH!", "FIUUUSSH!" A storm of empty shes and sparks from the contact of the des and the shing of steel on steelsted for at least twenty seconds. When Imitted a faux pas. Quorik had just faked an opening and I almost fell for it... "SLASH!", "SDDRIG!!!"..fortunately, my leather and steel mesh armour, managed to absorb the cut almostpletely. "YESSSS!!!", "MY LORD!!!". Some men cheered and others screamed with concern. Quorik, looked frustrated and displeased with what had just happened. He was obviously hoping that this would be a winning blow. The more he fought, the more his frustration grew. My strategy was working. The same one that gave Seraphinus an advantage against Metatron. Come on Commander! Aren''t you outraged that a child is standing up to you?! What are you doing in front of your men?!" I thought while making a teasing grin towards Quorik. "DIEEE!!! "Quorik shouted, starting the charge again...and there I saw her...''The Crack'' in his defence! Quorik had forgotten his blind left side and now his side waspletely exposed. Too unbnced and open to be a feint. I didn''t make myself repeat it twice. "SWOSHHH!!!", "SLAAAASHH!", "SPRUUSHH!".... From the groin to the armpit. A huge wound appeared in the body of Quorik,mander of the Brave Companions. Red, steaming pieces of intestine protruded from his belly... "Urghh..." Quorik knelt on the ground, dropping his weapon. He was trying to hold his insides in with both hands to keep them from spilling out. A circr pool of blood began to form beneath him. Total silence, disturbed by the moans of suffering of dying men and beasts, spread over the hundred or so men and women who had remained to witness the sh. I approached behind Quorik, throwing my shield to the ground. I raised my de upwards so that everyone could see clearly... Then, with both hands firmly gripped on the handle, I plunged my sword from top to bottom into the exposed nape of the defeated warrior''s neck, putting him out of his misery. Withdrawing my sword, a spray of blood ran through me, staining my hair and face. The snowkes falling on my bare head melted as they came into contact with the blood... "WUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGHHHH!!!!!!!!", "YEEEAAAARGGHH!!!!"... "BLOO-DY-SNOW!" , "BLOO-DY-SNOW!", "BLOO-DY-SNOW!", "BLOO-DY-SNOW!". End POV. --------------------------------------------- POV: Ser Rodrik Cassel. Winterfell. Two days after a battle was won... Jory Cassel, let his uncle into the study without question. He could already tell from a look that his Uncle Rodrik was rmed and brought urgent news. "Lord Stark, I apologize for my intrusion." Rodrik said as he stormed into the room. "Ser Rodrik...Come closer and tell me what urgent news you bring." Eddard Stark. "My lord, the Tallhart garrison that had asked our permission to cross ournds was attacked by an armed group two days ago at the mouth of the Cragger Trail. A ry just arrived less than half an hour ago." Ser Rodrik. "WHAT?! That garrison is supposed to be led by Helman''s son himself! What has happened?! Is the boy all right?" The ''Quiet Wolf'' panicked. "The heir to House Tallhart is fine, my lord. He should already be on his way back to Torrhen''s Square. He is personally leading half of the escort bringing the wounded home." Rodrik. "Fiuu!....Please Ser Rodrik, if you ever give me simr news regarding House Tallhart in the future, start at this point." Said Ned Stark as he sat back down and tried to regain hisposure. "Yes, my lord. I apologise for worrying you." Said the fifty-year-old knight, bowing. "No matter, Ser, go ahead." Ned. "It seems, that the armed group were not mere bandits, my lord. The soldier informed us that the group was made up of 200 mercenaries from a group called the ''Brave Companions''." Rodrik. "Two hundred men?...But the Tallhart escort must have been about sixty armed soldiers if I remember correctly...What happened? Did the Tallhart militia manage to escape the fight?" Eddard Stark asked in a confused and rmed tone. "No, my lord..." Rodrik took a moment to try and find a believable and sincere tone of voice. "The Tallharts prevailed in the encounter. It seems they suffered losses of less than ten men...and of the two hundred mercenaries only about twenty managed to survive. The others, my lord...all perished." Rodrik. Eddard knew full well that Ser Rodrik was not lying. He was a man of honour. Even so, Lord Eddard Stark, had a shocked and incredulous look on his face. "And that is not all, my lord..." Rodrik. "What else?" Ned recovered upon hearing that statement. "It seems that Lord Duncan Tallhart, was leading that militia and epted a duel against the enemymander, killing him... My lord, House Tallhart is asking for our help. They would like us to help them escort the cargo to Dreadfort and take custody of the twenty captured prisoners." Ser Rodrick. Ned was struck by another shocking piece of news. He was silent for more than thirty seconds. Then he recovered and returned to being the Lord of Winterfell and Protector of the North. "Ser Rodrik, gather three hundred armed men and head to the aid of House Tallhart as soon as you can." End POV. ----------------------------------- POV: Qyburn. Torrhen''s Square. Two weeks after three hundred armed men left Wintefell.... About two weeks after the defeat and capture of the remaining members of the ''Brave Companion''. Qyburn arrived at the gates of his private ''study'', located in the castle dungeon. Over the past year, his Lord and master had seen to it that the space at his disposal was tripled. All the innovative and experimental equipment, as well as all the material and organic ingredients, were at hisplete disposal. The knight of the mind, could safely im to be the Maester who had ess to the rarest and most expensive alchemical and medical ingredients in all of Westeros. If sold back to the citadel, such ingredients, tools and devices could easily have earned House Tallhart tens of thousands of Golden Dragons. And now, by direct order of Lord Helman Tallhart, all this rightfully belonged to him. Every morning, Qyburn thought back to the choice he had made almost three years ago. And each time, he couldn''t help but smile inwardly and congratte himself. Two men dressed in ck bowed as Qyburn came in front of them. Two ''Frost des'' at his directmand, who would obey almost his every order and will. "Thank you de 116 and de 30." Qyburn said in a polite tone as the two men opened the sealed doors in his ce. The Maester entered the semi-darkened room. Then the doors were closed again. Qyburn, approached his new and again in patient strength. "Commander Vargo Hoat. Thank you for volunteering to be the first for this fascinating new surgical treatment." Said Qyburn to a naked, bound and gagged man. Vargo Hoat, new Commander of the ''Brave Companions'', was trying with all his might to free himself from the leather straps that held him down. "My master asked me to take care of you with a rather specific request. Namely, ''experiment with new amputation techniques and surgical removals.''" Said Qyburn as he began to carry out his normal preparation routine. "Personally, I''m very excited to experiment and test these procedures. They will be of enormous benefit to the entire Kingdom. For thismander, I offer you my sincere thanks. Fear not, my Lord... Your faithful fourteen men will also be granted the same privilege." Qyburn. "UGH! SGNNNMMON! LEAVMMMDGH! IMM KOLLMM GHUU!!!" Vargo. "I see you have a desire to converse with me, Commander Vargo... In that case, let me go first. I have a colleague down in Dreadfort, of whom I have the utmost respect and esteem, who is soon to undertake a very risky assignment...but I have every confidence that he will be able to carry it out." End POV. ----------------------------------------- POV: Roose Bolton; Dreadfort. About a week after Vargo Hoat had his first anatomical piece removed.... Roose Bolton was lying in his bed. He couldn''t find the strength to speak or move a muscle. If he did, the shivers and pain would increase again. He thought back over the course of thest few months. About three months ago he had returned to Dreadfort. For about a week he had been suffering from a slight difort in his eyes and itchy skin. When Adoamros first noticed the condition, he sought a second opinion from Maester Wolkan, who confirmed Adoamros'' hypothesis... Roose Bolton had been struck by a very rare disease, caused by an insect bite. The disease was dangerous and contagious. Even knowing this, Roose Bolton ordered that the rumours not be spread. Maester Wolkan did not know about the treatment...but fortunately for him, Adoamros did. Before the treatment began, Roose personally tested the loyalty of his new healer. He took him to the Bolton family dungeon and gave him ''the mark''... Adoamros passed the test. For the first few weeks, Adoamros'' treatments seemed to work, although the man repeated each time to the Lord that the disease was not yet eradicated and that symptoms could always appear. The most dangerous of all was the chill... Thest week of Roose Bolton''s life was an ice inferno. He constantly experienced tremors of all kinds. Neither fire nor furs could relieve him. He felt as if he were constantly swimming in a frozenke. And now the disease had damaged his muscles - he could no longer move. For about three days now, none of his loyal men had shown up. Adoamros and Wolkan had probably spread the word that the disease was contagious. Neither his wife nor his son came to see him. A creak of a door made Roose Bolton change the direction of his gaze. "My Lord. Your son Domeric is a true gift from the gods. Never have I met a more caring and kind boy. I really mustpliment you on the way you have raised him." Adoamros said, slipping off his protective linen mask. "You must have many doubts and questions, my lord.... Today I am happy to announce that you will have them." Said Adoamros as he sat down beside the bed. "Urgh." Roose Bolton, managed to let out a small groan of pain from his mouth. "Ah! I beg your pardon, my lord. I almost forgot that your skin sensitivity is at its highest. The pain receptors are as active as ever...Even moving the nket, should cause you much pain." Exined Adoamros in an apologetic tone. "First of all, I would like to assure you by saying that the fate of House Bolton is well and truly in your hands. Maester Wolkan and Rigghert, have done me the courtesy of rmending me to the future Lord of Dreadfort. Rest assured, my lord. We will advise and guide your son in his future duties. Although...I must admit that we have a fair amount of difficulty in answering some questions, such as: '' Why did we borrow 70,000 g.d. from House Tallhart? And what was it for?'' But fear not, my lord. We will manage to ovee even this ''difficulty''." Adoamros, took a moment to discover his own wound on his left side not yet healed. "If you are wondering ''How did you manage to withstand the torture?'' The answer is: ''All thanks to Maester Qyburn.'' A dental capsule, my lord. Containing a powerful anaesthetic, all you had to do was move it with your tongue and bite down on it. See?" Adoamros showed a gap between his mrs. "Now my Lord it is finally time to join your ancestors.... Lord Helman and the entire Tallhart family, wanted me to convey these exact words to you: ''The 385 families serving House Dustin, The 218 families serving House Mormont, The 506 families serving House Tallhart, And Captain Tom''s family, SEND YOU THEIR REGARDS. '' Chapter 40: Golden Coin Chapter 40: '' Golden Coin '' Finished reading the chapter. If any of you have an idea on how to improve the B##### on B***** S***. Anything you can think of is wee...in Italian I could manage but in English...it''s hard...very hard. Thank you all. Enjoy reading. ------------------------- POV: Leobald Tallharth; Ten miles from Torrhen''s Square. Year 285, 20th day of the fifth moon. About a month after the death of Roose Bolton... Leobald Tallhart was exhausted. The blisters on his hands were beginning to burn... The poor man couldn''t dig anymore. "Enough! I need a break!" He said looking at a child beside him covered in dirt. "No uncle. Not until the lunchtime bell rings." Duncan resumed digging with the shovel. "My hands are bleeding! Look! See these? They''ve already exploded!" Replied Leobald, showing his slightly injured palm. "Same excuse as yesterday. Your hands aren''t rough enough, uncle... You should wield a sword as much as you wield a pen." Duncan replied coldly. This was Leobald Tallhart''s punishment for forgiving his nephew and his sister-inw Myra... [To personally help build the road for at least two moons.] "I already told you! I didn''t write it! I only approved it! And then it was you who told me to find you a singing and music teacher." Leobald. "I don''t want to hear any words, uncle. I just want to hear the sound of the shovel digging the ground..." End POV. ----------------------------- POV: Helman Tallhart; Torrhen''s Square. That night... Helman''s day had been tiring and frustrating. Now that his brother was serving ''''punishment'''', he had to be the one to keep the master bookkeepers...something he hated doing. This was a part of his punishment that he had to face in order to gain his wife Myra''s forgiveness. Punishment for sending his seven-year-old son off to fight, in a bloody battle against a militia of mercenaries famous for their cruelty and ruthlessness.... ''Surely my idiot brother didn''t help!'' Helman thought in frustration as he remembered the incident, which had put the icing on the cake. Helman, had just put his son Benfred and Eddara to bed. It was time to go to sleep.... Five minutester... Helman closed the door behind him. His wife Myra was already in bed reading by candlelight. "I just put the children to bed.... Tonight we finished reading ''Dance of the Dragons''." Tried to say Helman looking for some kind of reaction in front of the indifferent woman. Myra, nodded with barely perceptible nods...but didn''t look for her husband''s gaze. "Phew...Myra please talk to me. This has been going on for a month now." Helman said in a pleading tone. Myra looked up and then said: "You are the Master and Protector of Torrhen''s Square. If you want me to speak with you, my lord husband, you need only order me to do so." Myra exined in a cold, terse tone. "I am your husband, not your lord.... I would never order you to do something like that...I..." Helman was interrupted. "Then, you will wait." End POV. -------------------------------- POV: Tywin Lannister. Casterly Rock. About a monthter... Tywin was at the head of the banquet table, set up in honour of his brother Kevan''s sess in breaking up a group of bandits in the Wesnds. "Why is this banquet in your honor then? You didn''t even draw your sword. AHAHAHA!" Roared Gerion Lannister, the ''Smiling Lion''. "Little Brother Gerion, do you by any chance remember that unfortunate incident that happened to you when you led a punitive expedition when you were 15 years old?" Genna Lannister asked casually. Gerion nearly choked on his wine. Then he jumped up. "GENNA! You promised me! You swore you wouldn''t tell!" Gerion. "And in fact I told no one...A Lannister always pays his debts." Genna replied, feigning innocence. Tywin let the jovial diatribe between siblings slide. This was an evening attended only by members of House Lannister. Even Tywin, at rare times of the year, appreciated moments like this. Full of levity and togetherness and family bonding. When his wife Joanna was still alive, even heughed asionally. After Joanna died in childbirth, it was his brother Gerion who took the brunt of herughter for her... Thesest few weeks had been filled with anxiety and worry for the Protector of the West... All due because of one Kingdom...the North. House Manderly, had recently started a sessful business. Toilet paper''... A product that was more sessful than soap. His spies told him that House Karstark was producing armour and other leather products of astonishing quality and strength... And he was currently drinking a ss of whisky... which was sold by House Umber. Thetter was having even more sess than Manderly and Karstark. All the taverns, inns, vis and castles in Westeros were trying to buy as many barrels as they could... House Umber was probably already pocketing profits on a par with House Redwine. The North was getting rich quick. Gerion, Kevan, Genna and Tyrion, never spoke at the table or anywhere else on Casterly Rock of the ''Road''... A subject of absolute taboo. The builder who reported on the methods of construction to Tywin''s council, had over-emphasised the sesses and benefits of that road. funded by House Lannister itself. The builder was still locked in the narrowest cell of Casterly Rock... ''And now that affair too...'' Tywin thought instinctively, forcing himself to think of something else. A few minutester... Gerion and Kevan were chatting with relish, reminding each other of old adventures past. Music wafted through the room... When at a certain point, Tywin sprang to his feet and roared: "GUARDS, TAKE THAT BARD INTO CUSTODY AND IMPRISON HIM!" End POV. ------------------------------------- POV: Eria Sand; Sun Spear. About a week after a young minstrel begged for her forgiveness.... Eria was wrapping her arms around, her friend, her beloved, herpanion and reason for living, Oberyn Martell. She continued to caress his chest gently. The Prince of Dorne, had just returned from his ''desperate search campaign''. Eria was the only one, along with very few other people in all of Dorne, who knew the truth.... Nevertheless, Eria had not seen Oberyn for almost a year. She couldn''t wait for the weing banquet to end, this way she would have her man to herself. Eria had prepared a surprise for her lover, which had required a lot of gold,bour and ''experts in the field''... Oberyn and Eria, were currently lying on huge velvet cushions as they watched, along with the other guests, dancing, performances and singing. "What are you thinking about my love?" Eria. Oberyn turned his head to seek out the neck of the beautiful Dornish woman. "Should I be thinking of something other than you?" He said cing gentle kisses on Eria Sand''s perfumed skin. "No...you shouldn''t...but you were. Mmm..." Eria replied with sensual irony moaning asionally. "That''s why you''re by my side...Because I could never hide anything from you." Said Oberyn before kissing Eria intensely, who returned the gesture of passion. A minute of passion (inappropriate in front of noble guests)ter... "Don''t you dare distract me ever again.... Now my love, answer my question." Eria. "...Nothing in particr, my beloved. I was just intrigued by the bad sung a few minutes ago by that bard. That''s all." Oberyn. "You speak of the Northern bad? There are even better ones...Why did it stick with you?" Eria asked curiously. "Because that ''Bloody Snow'', is alive and well, and currently only seven years old." Oberyn. "You''re kidding, right?..." Oberyn smiled amused at Eria''s question. Thetter realised that her beloved was not joking at all. "Lord Helman Tallhart''s son, Duncan Tallhart has been nicknamed ''Bloody Snow''...but that nickname was given to him about two years ago. Rumor has it that hemanded the sixty Tallhart men against the hundred bandits in the battle ''''The Snow Mill Massacre''''...and now a new venture then his name." Exined Oberyn calmly. "It will be a set-up. A method of House Tallhart to make that boy '' a more ptable party ''..." Eria. "Perhaps...but every good story has a kernel of truth to it, my beloved." End POV. ----------------------------------- POV: Catelyn Stark. Winterfell. Three weeks before a night of fiery passion was consummated... Catelyn Stark sat beside her lord husband at dinner. Her belly was swollen, forcing her to wear less elegant and stiff clothing. She was now five months pregnant. After Ned returned from Torrhen''s Square, he held a weing banquet to tell the whole castle the good news. It was at that moment that she saw her Ned smile back at her. It had taken time and effort, the crisis was not yetpletely over. Ned began to grant Catelyn small privileges again. At the moment, she could work with Chief Steward Poole on minor castle duties. Step by step, with perfect and dutiful behaviour, Catelyn was bing the ''true''dy of Winterfell again... Of course, she was well aware that in the matter of ''Jon Snow'', she would probably have no more say. Making an extreme effort, Cat, she even took care of the boy from time to time. Small courtesies at first. Scolding him in the same manner as Robb on manners. Apanying him by holding his hand to the nurse who assisted him in times of need. Even giving him littleplements when he behaved. She knew there was no other way to mend the broken trust between the pair. Words were wind... "Ned...I thought of a name this morning. You know, in case it''s a girl." Catelyn said, stroking her husband''s hand. "What?" Ned asked briefly but expressing a calm, sweet and curious tone of voice. "Sansa...Sansa Stark. Do you like her?" Cat. Ned remained silent for a few seconds staring into his wife''s eyes. Then, giving a small smile he replied: "If we were to have a daughter, her name would be Sansa Stark." Ned said, gently kissing the hand that held his. A few minutester... "My lord...mydy. Thank you for inviting me and allowing me the honor of ying for you." Said a minstrel with harp in hand, bowing. Small apuse apanied the bow. Lord Stark and Lady Stark nodded in response to the courtesy shown by the bard. The servants and courtesans at Winterfell''s service were eager to hear the bard sing. "This evening, I will perform beginning with new bad." A few murmurs and small cries of excitement from several maidens instantly burst out after hearing that announcement. The bard began to strum a pleasant melody with his fingers... About forty minutester... The bard sat down after receiving his due dose of apuse. Catelyn Stark was still trying to calm her breathing. Even Ned had been surprised by the first bad and had sought out his wife''s gaze, to check on the woman''s state of mind. Cat, being attentive to every detail in recent months, managed to resist. She kept a serious but calm gaze. She overcame the tough test of will she had just been forced to face. Then a louder-than-normal voice echoed through the room... a voice of a drunken knight. "BARD! HEY BARD! TAKE IT! A GOLDEN DRAGON IF YOU WILL RECITE FOR US THE BALLAD ON ''BLOODY SNOW''! AHAHAHA!". End POV. ----------------------------------------------- POV: Tycho Nestoris; Braavos. About 3 weeks after Catelyn Stark was forced to get up from the table due to ''''an illness''''... The manager of the Iron Bank, one of the youngest ever, was walking in broad daylight on one of the main streets of Braavos. At his side was young Ronan, the protected trainee of House Tallhart. Tycho, Ronan and six escorting mercenaries had just returned from a business meeting at the naval port. Ronan had be Tycho''s new personal assistant. Even the talented Braavosi manager had to admit that this boy Ronan had an unnatural gift for numbers. He could easily performplex arithmetic calctions at incredible speed. He also had an incredible memory. There was not a number or a written word that Ronan could not remember... ''One in ten thousand.'' Tycho thought again as he looked at the fifteen-year-old at his side. Although House Tallhart had set up an ount especially for Ronan, containing hundreds of golden dragons. Ronan never made use of it. If he had to spend anything, the boy would only use coins he had earned himself. Tycho felt respect and esteem for the hardworking and responsible boy. The Iron Bank paid the boy a fee of one gold coin a month. Three times what they normally paid for each new young trainee. Ronan alone could do the work of five trainee ountants. '' The Iron Bank will get what they are owed and pay what they are due. '' Tycho thought with a small smile. ''''I definitely need to find a way to bring the boy into our ranks.'''' Tycho''s smile, faded immediately after that other thought. All the bank executives were rmed by the abnormal economic growth in the North... Making estimates and calctions, they had deduced that at that rate, the North would be the richest Kingdom in all of Westeros. Even more than the West... and it would be so within the next ten years at thetest. What rmed the Iron Bank the most, was that none of the Great Noble Lords of the North, had an ount with the Iron Bank. And House Tallhart''s ount was emptying month after month... The spies they sent or the agents who were tasked with hiring spies on the spot, never returned or managed to bring back anything relevant. Spying on thends of the Tallharts was almost certainly a suicidal enterprise, and now even on thends of House Dustin ''''the birds were no longer singing''''. They were going blind, and now that Winter wasing, they would be even more so. No one knew exactly what happened in the North during the harsh winter. Roads were blocked by snow, harbours were almost frozen and ships could not dock. Even crows could sumb during a storm... As soon as ''The Watcher'' leaves the North, we''ll have to get rid of that Bloody Snow and the entire Tallhart household if necessary... ''The Iron Bank, he will soon lose influence on Westeros if we don''t stop him soon.'' Tycho''s thoughts were interrupted. He had recently noticed that his assistant, Ronan, was no longer walking at his side. He looked back with a hint of urgency and found him.... The boy had joined a small crowd that was listening to a bard sing. Tycho headed curiously towards the crowd with the guards following behind him. ''Something interesting had to be there, if he had managed to break that boy''s dutiful duty.'' Tycho thought curiously. By the time the executive managed to reach the boy''s side, the song had just ended. Did I hear the words ''Bloody Snow''? Or am I working too hard? '' With that thought Tycho crinkled his eyes for a moment but then he saw him.... Ronan, '' the '' iron trainee '', '' the unppable Ronan '', the dutiful, hardworking and alwaysposed boy...was crying. He was crying while smiling. End POV. ------------------------------------ POV: An aspiring bard; Braavos. Half an hour before a fifteen-year-old boy began to cry.... Young Greed of sixteen, was hungry, tired and dirty. Only six copper coins remained in his cloth purse. They were barely enough for a hot meal in a shabby inn. He had been forced to sleep on the street at night, behind his favourite inn, ''The Singing Cat''. An inn that offered young bards, a hot meal for every half hour of performance (that didn''t make your ears bleed), if you got tips from the audience, you owed half of it to the inn that offered you the stage and the people. Last night, Greed couldn''t find a space to perform. Dozens of professionals showed up and stole his thunder... All of them, wanted to try and y the new bad of Westeros. Some bards even got silver tips... Greed didn''t let it get him down and stayed at the inn trying to learn the song as much as possible. He had even paid for the meal out of his own pocket and had to give up his shelter for the night... Now he wanted to try performing in the street and try his luck. He was still not very familiar with his lute... but he could sing, had a good voice and had managed to get a free meal every night for over a year. He put a wooden bowl on the ground and began to perform... About twenty-five minutester... Greed had sung: The Bear and the Maiden Fair, the Dornish Wife, the Rains of Castamere, Hands of Gold and Jenny. A small crowd of about 30 people had formed. Greed, he knew well that at most every third spectator would leave him a piece of copper...but he was proud of himself nheless. Theughter and smiles the audience gave him was his real bread. The nourishment that gave him the strength to face each hard, cold day. "Thank youdies and gentlemen of the wonderful city of Braavos. And now, I would like to try my hand for the first time at a new bad... Straight from the cold and destends of the North, here is the bad of ''Bloody Snow''. Greed prepared to y the chorus. In the intro, he missed a note or two but kept going without stopping. Then he started to sing... "In the cold and destends of the North, there was a boy named Bloody Snow... Silver eyes and White hair, of a Castle he was the heir... A knight'' squire and the vengeance inside zing like a fire. With an iron will, Rode in the vige of Snow Mill!" ..... ..... After three more choruses a 31st spectator joined in... Greed was about to arrive at the final refrain. "Captain Tom''s heir knows... That the challenge was epted by Bloody Snow! Sparks of steel surrounded the Goat and Boy, It looked like a legendary sh at the Tower of the Joy. ... But soon only the sound of silence remained from the show, Broken by the tone of acmations for Bloody Snow!" ----- Greed paused and the crowd began to apud. The bard bowed and said: "Thank youdies and gentlemen for your attention and remember my name is Greed.... Greed the Bard! Thank you, thank you again..." After another minute of apuse and even some handshakes, the crowd dispersed. Greed checked the bowl...and it was worse than he expected.... There were only seven of the ten copper coins he''d hoped for...but he didn''t beat himself up. He was about to pick them up when a figure approached. Greed looked up... it was a boy... A clean, well-dressed boy...and his cheeks were wet with tears. "Yes? Is there something I can do for you?" Greed asked politely. The boy became disenchanted with the question for a moment. He reached into his purse and pulled out a shiny coin that glistened for a moment in the sunlight. "Please Greed the Bard, could you sing me thest bad again?" The boy asked humbly, handing the coin into the minstrel''s hands. Greed had not heard a word of the request he had just made... he could only stare in disbelief at the shiny gold coin in his hand. Chapter 41: Your Name Part I Chapter 41: '' Your Name '' Part I Hello everyone, please forgive my dy. I''ll try to make it up to you by posting two chapters. I''d like to tell you, for those of you who want to know, that one film in particr inspired me. An Anime masterpiece (at least in my opinion) titled precisely: ''Your Name''. I must admit that I haven''t cried so much for an anime since the first four episodes of My Hero Academia... I highly rmend anyone who hasn''t seen it yet to watch it. P.S. A warning to all single people. The movie could be very detrimental to all of you mates. Thank you all and I''d like to point out that for these two chapters I''ve attached two songs, which I think are perfect while reading...I was listening to them in Loop while writing. Enjoy your reading. ----------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Torrhen''s Square. Year 285, tenth day of the sixth moon. Some seven and a half months after Leobald announced the happy news... I, and all the Tallhart family, were waiting anxiously just after Uncle Leobald entered the room. For me, the silence was more excruciating than for anyone else... For the past few months, I had to get as far away as possible from every tiger-tree in the vicinity. In particr, I had to get as far away as possible from any temple dedicated to the Old Gods... [COME TRAVELLER!...COME! COME TO US! THE TIME HAS COME...] This was the fourth hour in a row that I had heard the exact same message inside my head. The closer I got to Gods Wood, the louder the voices became. If you''re wondering, ''Why? Why Duncan-Matthew were you dying your level up?''...I had more than one argument in my favour. 1) I still wouldn''t have had any benefit. My strength statistic is definitely far from [13]. I still can''t use either the skill ''Lay of Hands'' or ''Divine Sense'' which I should already be able to use at [Lev 1]... Probably due to the fact that my charisma hasn''t reached [13] either... This is one of the reasons why, I had asked my Uncle Leobald to look for a music teacher for me.... In addition to lessons with my various masters of arms, I was trying to learn as many arts as possible, such as: writing, singing, music, eloquence and negotiation skills. 2) I had no idea what I was causing in the world with those energy beams that exploded in the sky...Was I empowering my possible future enemies? Were other unknown phenomena taking ce somewhere? 3) I''ll be damned if I want to go through that hell again without getting any benefit from it. Therefore, I had convinced my father and Master Zick that I could spend a few months away from Torrhen''s Square. My masters would follow me and I could both continue my training and help build the new roads. But now... I had returned to be at my family''s side. Today, we would have a new member. About three minutester... Maester Qyburn came out of the room... It was stained in ces with traces of blood and other fluids. "My Lords, my Ladies...I am pleased to announce that the birth went well. Both the child and Lady Berena are well. Lord Leobald, asked me to let you in...He wants you to meet someone." Announced calmly and with a slight smile on his face, Qyburn. "Thank you Maester! Thank you! '' Said Helman going to shake Qyburn''s dirty hands. My mother also joined in by warmly wrapping Helman''s arm so as to try and restrain him from too impulsive actions. "Duncan! Duncan! Does this mean we''re going to have a cousin?" asked Benfred moving my arm. "Yes Benfred, we''re going to have a cousin!" I replied hugging him. "I want a hug too!" Eddara. I made Eddara join the fray as well. "Now stay here for a moment. Let''s go inside and check if Aunt Berena and the baby are not too tired. Stay a few minutes with Bicka. Okay?" I said nodding to my mother''s nurse and assistant. Bicka went over to take the hands of the two children who nodded at my request. About a minuteter... "A boy! I am the father of a son, brother!" Said with shining eyes, Uncle Leobald carefully and thoughtfully showing a small bundle. "I am proud of you both! You have given me the most beautiful gift I could have received!" Helman ced a kiss on Leobald''s forehead. "What will you name him?" Myra asked with a curious smile on her face. My mother was at the side of the exhausted Aunt Berena, who was still crying from both exertion and happiness. It was Berena who replied. "We won''t be the ones to choose the name." Both Berena and Leobald turned to me. "Yes, nephew. That honour belongs to you. Probably both Berena and I could never have celebrated this day without your help and that of Maester Qyburn...So, choose Duncan. What will be the name of your cousin?" My uncle exined, expressing confidence in his tone of voice. I approached the tiny bundle.... "Can I hold him, Uncle?" I asked showing my arms. "Of course you may." Uncle Leobald handed the baby to me with the utmost care. After taking it, I could see a little red face, with tiny eyes, mouth, nose and ears... I sat spellbound for a few seconds waiting for the child to open his eyes even a little, but it didn''t happen. "He is a wise child... wiser and smarter than my uncle.... He''s not even 10 minutes old and he already understands that he shouldn''t open his eyes so early... Because, Uncle, as a child you dreamt of being a magician..." I waited for his reaction. "Did you tell him???!" Leobald turned to my father, who instinctively turned away, pretending not to notice... Then I continued, smiling. "I believe that this child may one day fulfil his father''s dreams.... Therefore, he will have a name worthy of a Wizard... Wee to the world, cousin. Your name shall be...Elminster. Elminster Tallhart." End POV. --------------------------------- POV: Eddard Stark; Winterfell. About six weeks after Elminster Tallhart came into the world.... The Lord of Winterfell felt like the luckiest person in the world.... His wife was well. And now... he held in his arms another creature for whom he would dlyy down his life. A baby girl born less than an hour ago... "Wee to the world, my daughter. Your name is Sansa. Sansa of House Stark." After saying this, Ned looked at one of the castle attendants and ordered in a clear, authoritative voice: "Let the bells of Winterfell and Winterfell City ring. They are to ring for a day and a night. Let all celebrate the birth of my daughter!" End POV. --------------------------------- POV: Cercei Lannister; King''s Landing. About four moons after the bells echoed in a ce far to the north.... "Where did the idiot go?" Jaime Lannister asked his sister in an annoyed tone. "My husband the King, he went to hunt for prey worthy of his ''heir''." Replied in an almost disinterested tone, Cercei. "Look at him Jaime...Isn''t he beautiful?" Cercei asked, gently touching the hand of the child not even three hours old. "He is...he gets it all from his mother." Jaime tried to take the baby in his arms. "No. Don''t do that... Pycelle should be back soon." Said the woman pulling him slightly away from his real father''s arms. "What''s the problem?" Jaime asked in an annoyed tone. "Are you really the stupidest of the Lannisters perhaps? I don''t want the first man to hold the prince to be you. You know what I mean?" Cercei asked in an ironic and childish tone. Jaime remained silent and took a step away. He was frustrated and slightly angered by that answer. After a couple of minutes of cuddling and very small caresses.... "Did you pick a name?" Jaime. "Yes, I chose it..." Cercei. "Your name will be Joffrey, my love. You shall be called Joffrey Baratheon and you shall be first in your name, when the world is yours..." End POV. ------------------------------------ POV: A farmer in the Rivends. About 30 miles from Harrenhall. About four weeks after the kingdom celebrated the birth of Prince Joffrey.... Jerry had never been happier or more worried than he was that day. Not only because his wife was giving birth to their first child but also because, the day before, he had given refuge to a septon wanderer in thesends... At first, Jerry was sceptical about weing him into his home. The man, almost fifty years old, was barefoot and wearing a putrid toga. If it weren''t for the pendant depicting the seven-pointed star, he would have thought the man was just a homeless man looking for free food and a free bed. The vige healer had said his wife should not give birth for at least another two weeks... but his wife''s water broke that very morning. The healer was at least 10 miles away... there was no way he could transport his wife there. The unnamed septon volunteered to help the poor woman, reassuring Jerry that he had healing abilities... "Push, my dear. Don''t be afraid I''m here... Mother is watching over you." The septon. "AAAAARRRGHHH!!! SNNNGGHHHRRRAA!!!" Shrieked a woman in pain making an extreme effort. About two minutester... Jerry was clutching a dirty, screaming infant as his wife grew paler and paler. "Septon! Septon do something! My Bezzy''s bleeding!" Said Jerry urgently, pointing to a small puddle on the wool nket. The septon sped his amulet in one hand and whispered a few inaudible words to Jerry... A light made of seven colours came out of the septon''s hands. Jerry was shocked and petrified... Bezzy''s skin immediately regained its colour and he was able to breathe normally and even open his eyes. Then Jerry pulled himself together and stammered: "That...that...was a witch..." "A blessing of the seven. Your wife will be fine, my friend. Fear not." Said the Septon confidently, breaking the word ''witchcraft'' from Jerry''s mouth. About two dayster... "Do you really have to go?" Jerry. "Yes son...Other souls need me. I must resume my journey. Seven blessings to you and your family." The septon nodded slightly and began to walk away. "Wait! Wait septon! You haven''t told us your name yet. We would like to name our son after you, if you will let us." Jerry. The septon turned onest time. "I don''t have a name, son. I gave up owning it some time ago." The septon. "But...but then how are you going to distinguish yourself from other septons? No one is like you! There must be something to call you besides septon!" Jerry replied in frustration. "In that case... Someone not long ago, gave me a nickname..." The septon. "What is it?" Jerry asked hopefully. "High Sparrow." End POV. -------------------------------------------- POV: Of a loan shark and gangster of Myr. Free City of Myr. About five weeks after a septon left a farm... Rhaburag Za Nogui, a born bastard, illegitimate son of the Magister of Myr, was returning home after another profitable day. When he walked the streets, especially at night, he was never alone. That evening, three of his men were escorting him to his vi. A marble structure paid for mainly by honest and stupid city workers. Rhaburag Za Nogui was the boss of all crime in the city. No shady business could be done without his explicit permission...and especially without paying him the proper tribute. About half an hourter... ...the master of the vi entered his drawing room... He was quite a creature of habit. Usually at that time, he would down an alcoholic beverage. Not so long ago, he had a preference for Vodka. A new drink famous throughout the city of Myr, from the northernnds... After drinking, he ended the day with a good dose of sexual release. The whore in his employ must have already been in his bed to warm him up before his arrival... Rhaburag Za Nogui, noticed that something was wrong... The vi was too quiet. As he stiffened and approached one of the drawers that contained a spare weapon, the candles and torches in the room went out in unison... "Who goes there? Who dares enter my mansion? GUARDS!!!" As soon as he finished shouting thest word, ''''The Bastard of Myr'''' noticed a figure cker than the others, approaching him. "Who are you? What is your name?" Rhaburag. "A man has no name." End POV. -------------------------------------------- POV: Khal Thero; Some 70 miles from Vaes Dothrak. A week after a name was bestowed upon the God of a Thousand Faces.... The Khal,manding the horde of 9,000 Dothraki, was down without an arm. The warrior with more than 30 years ofbat experience managed to keep his pride from screaming from the severe wound he had just suffered. He still couldn''t quite understand...the how. ''How did he manage to stay on his feet after that wound I had inflicted on him?'' Thero thought as he looked up at his opponent who was barely in his twenties.... ''I had managed to take this Khsars of 20,000 Dotraki led by Khal Bharbo by surprise... I defeated Bharbo in a duel and now...I''m going to die.'' He thought back to thest events he had just experienced. Not wanting to die with doubts in his mind, Thero asked the young warrior in front of him (in Dothrakinguage) : "How did you manage to survive that wound?" "I am blessed by the Great Stallion." The Khkka replied proudly, slightly showing the cut on his half-closed side, then continued: "Your horde now belongs to me... It is time to join the Starry Khsars, Khal Thero." The Dotrhaki warrior reached up to the back of Thero''s head to cut his long braid. Hundreds of Dothraki warriors from both Ksars, were watching the scene in silence. "What is your name?" Thero asked, before losing his symbol of honour.... "Drogo, son of Bharbo." Chapter 42: Your Name Part II Chapter 42: '' Your Name '' Part II POV: Elia Martell; Naath. About a moon after a new Khal was chosen... The princess of Dorne awoke to hear that noise from the door. She was still holding her almost five year old baby Aegon in her arms. The child was still sleeping blissfully.... "Narid? Is that you?" Elia asked, thinking of the guard who was supposed to be keeping watch that night. "Yes, princess..." Elia was disturbed for a moment.... That was the voice of Narid, one of Dorne''s most skilled and loyal spears, but he spoke in a strange tone... "My princess, you have a visitor..." Elia sprinted to the bedside table looking for her dagger. "Do not be rmed Princess Elia of Dorne... I have note here to harm you or your children." This time, it was a female voice that spoke. "Who are you? How did you get here? Narid what is going on? Why did you let that woman in?" Elia didn''t calm down for a moment hearing that answer. "All will be clearer to you, Princess. I apologize for showing up at thiste hour...Narid pleasee out and close the door." Said a hooded figure dressed in red. "Yes High Priestess, Narid is at yourmand..." The dornian walked out bowing. Elia was shocked by the scene she had just witnessed... As the door closed again, Aegon Targaryen sixth in his name, began to wake up... "Do not be rmed, princess...this is just a little mind trick, nothing more. Narid, he will soon return to being your loyal bodyguard." Said the woman uncovering her head by lowering her hood. "Mother... what is it?" Little Aegon asked, crinkling his eyes. "Aegon, get behind the bed without arguing!" Elia. "...Yes mother." The boy obeyed without thinking. After the events of King''s Landing, Elia Martell, chose a stricter, less princely approach to raising her reasons for living. Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen, had practiced numerous times for possible dangerous situations. The priestess took no notice of the normal unfolding of events. She found such a wee more than normal. "Princess Elia, Prince Aegon, may I light some fires in the room? The night is dark and full of terrors." Said the woman. Elia thought about it for a moment, then deemed it more convenient for her to see her opponent better as well, and nodded slightly. "Swham!" All of a sudden, twelve candles, two torches and the firece lit up in unison with a single wave of the Red Priestess'' hand. Now Elia could see her clearly... A woman, barely in her thirties, shiny ck hair with a ck cor around her neck, decorated with a glowing fiery red ruby... "I hope the trick on Nadir and the one I just did, answered your question ''How did you get inside the guarded fortress?'' Elia of House Martell." Said the priestess in a gentle tone. "Naath is supposed to be inessible to outsiders. On this ind..." "I am immune to every known disease and poison of man, Princess...and I would also like to point out, that there is another method of being immune to the ''disease of Naath''... Would you like me to reveal to you the name of the one you and your brothers hope so much to know?" The priestess asked with a smile. Elia''s eyes widened as he heard that reply... She lowered her de for a moment. "Was it you? You are the ally of House Dorne?" Elia asked hopefully. "I would love to take the title, princess, but no. That ally is not me, and it was not anyone of the R''hllror faith who helped you... Nevertheless, I have heard his name in the mes..." Elia was not pleased with that answer, but she also understood that if the Priestess had really wanted to harm her or her children, she would have done so already. She lowered the de... "Mother, who is the sorceress?" Aegon asked in a slightly fearful but curious tone. "Do you wish to know my name, Prince Aegon, sixth in your name, eldest son of Prince Rheagar and rightful heir to the Iron Throne?" The priestess asked, giving a warm smile. The child rose from his stooped pose and fixed his violet eyes on the woman''s gaze. Then he nodded and asked: "What is your name sorceress?" "My name is Kinvara... High Priestess of the Temple of R''hllor, leader and first guide of the Lord of Light''s faith. Ie from Vntis, my prince. I havee to Naath to meet you and swear my eternal loyalty to you." Kinvara said with a slight bow. Aegon thought about Kinvara''s words for a moment and then asked, with all the genuineness and innocence a child of his age should have: "Why? Why do you want to swear allegiance to me, Kinvara?" "Because you are the chosen one of my Lord R''hllor. The Champion who will wield ''Lightbringer''. The one who will lead the forces of life against the armies of the cold dark night." End POV. --------------------------------------- POV: Jenny, born and raised in the vige of Snow Mill; About two miles from Casterly Rock. Two weeks before hundreds of White Crows flew from the High Tower of the Citadel.... "Captain, are the men in position?" Jenny asked the Frost de at her side. "Yes, Miss Jenny. The scouts are warning us that within 2 hours the four Lannister guards and the target, will pass through this way." de 88 replied. "Denyra are you ready?" The almost thirty year old woman asked her childhood friend. "Yes, Jenny." Nodded the brown girl a few years younger. Jenny, couldn''t help but think of her third and dearest friend, Brisea... All three of them, had grown up together in the vige of Snow Mill. They had yed together, joked together, worked together, met young men together and...when times were happier than ever, before ''tragedy and despair'' turned their lives upside down... raised their children together. Jenny had a six year old boy, whom she watched die before her eyes in her grandfather''s arms, as a spear pierced them both... Denyra a four year old girl, who died crushed by the burning debris of her house... Brisea on the other hand... was the person who had perhaps suffered the most in the North... and perhaps in all of the Seven Kingdoms. She attempted suicide several times during her period of ''Intensive Recovery Therapy''.... Maester Qyburn, their saviour, the one who, together with their Hero Bloody Snow, had given them a new hope and reason to live, had indeed done everything possible known to the art of healing to ensure that the three women would continue to live lives worth living. Denyra and Jenny had been on a mission for almost two years, monitoring and preparing to save their target. Both had managed to ''heal'' a few months before Brisea was able to regain enough mental and emotional state to continue living. After about six months of being here, Maester Qyburn had a message delivered to them from Brisea. It read: [Jenny, Denyra, thank you for being by my side in the darkest hour of my life. Like you, I have found a purpose in this life. Lord Duncan says that the fate of millions of families like ours may depend on the care of my purpose... but I don''t think we can do it before springes. I''ll be fine, believe me. There is someone in this world who will need my help and I will do everything I can to give it... I miss you all so much. Sincerely, your forever friend, Brisea.] Both Denyra and Jenny, cried for a whole day and night reading and re-reading the letter which almost deteriorated with their tears. About two hourster... Denyra and Jenny were walking on a beaten path through a small forest. Less than 100 feet away from them, they heard maleughter and a female moan... "So bitch? Say that again! What are you?" A soldier asked, tapping the t side of his de on the poor 14-year-old''s thigh. "Argh!...A whore..." Replied the girl moaning in pain. "I didn''t hear you! WHAT ARE YOU?" The soldier hit harder. "AAARGH...sigh...sigh..." The girlnded on her knees crying. Before the soldier struck a third time, she screamed: "I''M A WHORE! PLEASE STOP!!!" "Ahahahah!" "Bitch, you dropped your coin purse!" "Why don''t we bang her one more time before we get to Lannisport?" "Ahahaha. Yeah why not? Does anyone have a silver coin I can borrow?" Said the four Lannister soldiers, one after the other, amused by their task... "Oh, look at that! Two more beauties. Ahahaha" said one soldier pointing at Denyra and Jenny. "Good morning my Ladies. What are you carrying in those baskets?" Asked another with a bow. The two women began to y their part. "White bread and fruit, brave soldiers... Would you like some?" Jenny said with an embarrassed smile. "Bread and fruit? I don''t know about you guys, but all that ''movement'' made me really hungry! Ahahahaha!" Said a soldier making the other threeugh as well. "How much are you selling them for? Couldn''t you offer four heroes of the West a well-deserved meal?" A soldier tried to ask. "That depends, Ser... Would you offer two poor widowed women protection and safety from ouws and wild beasts?...haha." Denyra let a small, sensualugh escape. Three out of four soldiers walked over to the baskets and happily grabbed peaches, loaves of bread, apples and pears. "Of course mydies, you need fear nothing with us by your side." One soldier replied with the other two nodding. After barely a minute... "Aren''t you eating Ser?" Jenny asked trying to get the basket closer to the only one of the four who hadn''t eaten. "No...I have different appetites at the moment, mydy." Replied the soldier with a smile that was frightening. "I see...You are very lucky Ser." Jenny. "Why should I be?" The soldier asked. "Because Ser Qyburn won''t have the pleasure of looking after you, Ser." Jenny nodded to a figure less than ten feet from the man. "Who is Ser Qyburn? Hey but what? Wegg, Areth, Greg, get back up! THAT...Urgh..Courgh Coff..." A de sprang from the fourth man''s throat. The other three were unconscious on the ground. "AAAHHH!!! NO PLEASE! DON''T HURT ME!" Screamed the poor girl still on the ground when she saw the man, who was holding her arm, drop dead dripping with blood. Denyra and Jenny immediately set about calming the ''extremely'' traumatised girl. About three dayster... A reinforced nobleman''s wagon, drawn by four horses, carrying three young women inside, was travelling along a bumpy road towards Moat Cailin. Following the wagon was an escort of thirty armed men on horseback. "This is my story, my dear." She finished telling Denyra to the clean, groomed and again well-dressed girl. "I''m very sorry...I didn''t mean to offend you by saying what I said...Here..." Tried to say the girl trying to justify her previous statement of '' You don''t know what I had to go through''. ''''You have nothing to apologize for. But...if you really wanted to make it up to us somehow, you could finally tell us something about yourself, my dear. After all, the journey to Torrhen''s Square is still a long one." Said Jenny with a warm smile on her face. "Of course! Ask me anything you like." The girl. "Ahaha. Well then... I''d say let''s start at the beginning. What is your name, my dear?" Denyra. The girl blushed realizing her rudeness and rudeness. She tried to make up for it as soon as possible. "Tysha..." "My name is Tysha." End POV. -------------------------------- POV: A hungry child. In an ancient castle built thousands of years ago. On the day a white raven announced the arrival of Winter.... The child was running in one of the corridors of the castle. He and his brother had been ying hide and seek for most of the morning. It was his turn to hide, and as he was very hungry, he decided to do so in the kitchens of the ancient castle. He ran up to the door when it suddenly stopped. A melodious voice reached his ears from another door. It was the section of the bakery... Not only was he attracted by the sweet, warm melody, but also by an irresistible smell of sweets he had never smelt before... He crept towards the door. He knew very well that there, near the evil and dangerous fire, he could not approach, but he could not resist. He had to get in. He entered the room and caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a woman. A woman with a flour-stained apron and beautiful curly ck hair. The melody came from her. "La,,! mmm mmm! High in the halls of the kings who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts The ones she had lost and the ones she had found And the ones who had loved her the most The ones who''d been gone for so very long She couldn''t remember their names They spun her around on the damp old stones Spun away all her sorrow and pain And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave They danced through the day And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall From winter to summer then winter again ''Til the walls did crumble and fall And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave High in the halls of the kings who are gone Jenny would dance with her ghosts The ones she had lost and the ones she had found And the ones Who had loved her the most..." Softly sang the woman in a melodic and tuneful voice... For a moment, the child forgot his hunger and the delicious smell of steaming pastry... When the silence returned, the child saw a tray on the steaming table, full of sweets that emanated that aroma... He waited for the singingdy to turn around before trying to approach her... After a few seconds, the flour-covereddy turned around to go back to kneading more pastry with her rolling pin. The boy, drooling saliva from his mouth, silently approached...step by step... Then he was suddenly petrified... "It seems there''s a little sweet thief somewhere..." Said thedy, still with her back to the child. The little pest immediately sought cover by hiding under the table. "Oh maybe I should say: A little biscuit thief''." The dame corrected herself. The boy put his hands over his mouth, trying to stop hisboured breathing. "Of course... If instead of a little thief, a brave little knight had entered...and I mean a knight who would have asked permission to take one of those warm and delicious biscuits filled with honey and nuts... Maybe... and I say ''Maybe''... He might have taken them." The dame. "I AM A KNIGHT! Studff! Ahai!" The child, snapping to his feet, lightly banged his head on the table. The dame turned to look for the child''s gaze as he was rubbing his head. "....We''ll see..." Said the woman as she approached. "I am not a thief! I just wanted to...emmm" The child tried to find the words in his limited vocabry. "Steal a biscuit? Ahahaha!" Said thedy, kneeling down at the child''s height. Now that the ''alleged thief'' took a better look at the woman''s face, he was impressed and struck by her beauty. Pale face, big green eyes, tiny and delicate nose, but most of all.... Beautiful curly ebony ck hair. "Are you... are you by any chance a princess?" The child asked without thinking. "Ahaha...no I''m not '' Little thief and aspiring knight''.... I''d say you just earned yourself a biscuit." Said the dameughing. A few minutester... The boy was sitting on the table toddling happily as he finished his second biscuit. "Could I have another one? Dame Princess?" The child asked, having learned a valuable and profitable lesson. "No I would say no. A third might give you a stomach ache, and I''m pretty sure someone is looking for you to go to lunch, my knight." The boy, hearing those words, put his hands over his head showing concern and rm. "But...I don''t want to go! I want to stay here with you!" He said thinking hard about what he really wanted to do. "Mmm I''d say that''s not the case. Maybe tomorrow..." The dame. "No! I don''t want to wait for tomorrow!" The boy. "...If you''ll wait until tomorrow, as a good knight would, then tomorrow I''ll make you another kind of biscuit.... What do you say?" The dame. "...mmm I like biscuits...but..." The boy. "But?" The dame. "I want to hear you sing again! Can you sing that song again?" The child. "You mean ''Jenny of Oldstone''?" The dame. "YES! JENNY! That''s what it was called! Please can you recite it for me?" The child. "Mmmm I could do that...but..." The dame. "BUT?" The child. "I believe that before a making a request of ady, a good knight would first ask saiddy her name..." Thedy. "Smack!" The child pped his face at the forgetfulness...He didn''t know her name yet. "Lady princess. May I know your name?" The child asked in a polite tone. "Well, Ser... My name is Brisea." Said Brisea giving a small bow. "Brisea... You have a beautiful name, Dame Brisea!" Said the child. "Ahahaha! Thank you Ser!" Brisea replied, cing a small, delicate caress on the child''s face, which he epted with joy. "And yours, Ser? What is your name?" Dame Brisea asked. "My name is Jon... Jon Snow." Chapter 43: Tempering the North with frost Part I Chapter 43: '' Tempering the North with frost '' Part I POV: The Watcher; Abandoned vige Snow Mill. Year 286, the sixth day of the fifth moon. About three weeks after the white crow arrived at Torrhen''s Square... Zick, still not quite sure why his pupil, had asked him and thepany moved to the old vige of Snow Mill after the roadworks had beenpleted and proper amodation and training facilities had been built. Now renamed: ''Bloody Camp''. They had been here about two weeks and today... the time had finallye when Zick would personally follow the boy. The appointment was after dinner. That evening, after a nutritious and well-digested meal... Zick and Duncan stood in the center of a closed room. Two fireces and a new iron device called a ''stove'' heated the room. The stove was a new product that was appearing in almost every home in the North, currently manufactured in the Tallhartnds and sold by House Hornwood. Outside the structure, the wind was blowing hard and disruptive. The bite of Winter''s chill could be felt even indoors. A normal person dressed in ordinary clothes could freeze to death in less than 30 minutes if they stayed outside. Zick, covered from head to toe in twoyers of wool and fur, was standing by the stove. His pupil Duncan, now nicknamed ''Bloody Snow'' throughout the world, was less than 15 feet away, dressed in much lighter clothing. He stood there motionless, waiting for instructions. "Well, Duncan. I suppose you''re curious to know, ''What mysterious and freaky training method will The Watcher himself teach you?''" Zick said, giving a small smile. "None of your teachings are wacky, Master Zick. Thank you for allowing me the honor of your guidance." Duncan replied. "Duncan, Duncan...if you continue to tter me like this, I will have to stop training... I would not have the heart to see you suffer the pains of Hell that this training will bring upon your body and mind... I''ll ask you again: Are you sure you want to learn this technique, Duncan of House Tallhart?" Zick asked, making a wry smile at first but bing serious towards the final question. "Yes, Master!" The boy did not hesitate for a single second in answering. "The pain you have experienced so far is nothingpared to what you will face... Your body will be torn apart and rebuilt in its entirety. It will be a slow process and, at the risk of sounding repetitive, very... VERY PAINFUL. There is no guarantee that you will be able toplete the training and all that suffering you will have to go through may have been paid for in vain. Are you aware of this, boy? Even if your body were to somehow endure, your mind could be permanently damaged... Having said all that... Do you still want to learn this technique?" Zick asked. A small part of him hoped the boy would answer no. "YES, MASTER ZICK!" Duncan. "...So be it." Zick closed his eyes, smiling as he spoke those words. After a few seconds of silence, Zick began the lesson. "Before I show you the technique, allow me to tell you the story behind its creation... When I was still an infant in swaddling clothes, I was picked up and raised by a ve, a direct servant of the wife of a famousnista in Meereen. This woman, who for me will always remain my true and only mother, was the wife of a diator. This diator, who I will always consider as my true and only father, was thenista''s champion... His name was Vharro... Vharro, also known as ''de of a Hundred Eyes''. Ournista master was very forgiving and kind. He was one of the few vers in Meereen who would never do unnecessary harm to his ves. He even made sure they were all well-fed and healthy. He had no problem rewarding his due to anyone who brought value to his House. His wife was even kinder. It is also because of them that this technique exists. I was allowed to attend my father''s every training and fight. Vharro had a very rare physical condition... His pain receptors were not functioning properly. If he had ced his hand on a burning brazier, what for others wouldmonly have been a fiery agony, for my father the sensation would have been like holding a stone heated by the sun... I know what you are thinking and yes, inbat such disease can be very useful but it also has other disadvantages. Pain is our rm bell, signaling that something is wrong with our body. If a severe arm injury debilitates the arm so that it does not function properly and its owner is unaware of this, it could prove fatal to a warrior. Before I was able to contribute to my father''s training, Vharro suffered countless wounds during a fight. His body was covered in hundreds of scars. Our master spared no expense with healers and medical supplies... Therefore, he and I together created a new fighting technique and style, which we both felt was the most suitable. We called it [Closure of the Sixteen Gates]. Currently renamed [Closing Twenty-one Gates]... This technique applies to any one-handed melee weapon. It can also be easily adapted for two-handed staffs, axes, and broadswords. And of course also for your current sword and shield style. My father and I, during those years that were the happiest of my life, managed to develop sixteen positions and body movements that gave Vharro unparalleled attack and defense... After developing that technique, my father was nicknamed Vharro ''de of a Hundred Eyes''. The technique was very effective, practically unbeatable in a 1-on-1 fight... But a rivalpetitor of our master, fearing for his prestige in Meereen and that of his champion, attacked our House by surprise. Only myself, thenista''s wife, and a small handful of ves managed to escape to safety that night..." Zick paused for a moment, remembering the sad events of the past. After a few seconds, Duncan broke the silence to ask: "Master. What was the name of your mother, thenista, and his wife? Even their names deserve to be etched in history." Zick raised his head again and stared at the boy, giving him a huge warm smile. "Ahahahahaha!!! I assure you, my boy, you are one of the few to ask me that question... Thenista''s name was: Nobaru Zhao Urat. The name of his wife, who is currently still alive, is Zishua Zhao Urat. The name of his handmaiden who saved me from my misery was Binnheva. This was my mother''s name... I thank you from the bottom of my heart for asking." Zick said, expressing pure happiness in both voice and facial expression. "Now that I''ve wiped these old, tired eyes, let''s pick up the story where we left off. On the night of the attack... A hundred diators, a hundred mercenaries, and...a hundred Unsullied, attacked the noble house of Zhao Urat by surprise. Only about forty guards and diators were able to arm themselves quickly to try and resist the attack. My father was at the head of that group. Three hundred against forty...I don''t need to tell you how it ended... However, they managed to hold out long enough for a few souls to escape unharmed. I saw my father shoot down forty-four of the enemy before abandoning him to his fate. Only the Unsullied were not afraid to approach him. All of this isrgely due to the technique [Closing the Sixteen Gates]...you know what I mean? Over the years, I have been able to refine and increase the style to [ twenty-one gates]. If a warrior were to master all twenty-one gates, even if I were to somehow manage to heal my physical condition, that would be an opponent that even I would not want to face in a fight to the death... The reward would be proportionate to the price that must be paid for it. If you seed in such a feat, my boy, no one, and I mean NO ONE, would be able to defeat you in a fair 1 vs 1 fight. ...Well, at least no one that I know of! AHAHAHAHAH!" Zichughed heartily for a few seconds. Then he stopped when he saw the boy raise a hand to ask a question. "Yes, Duncan? Ask away, my boy." Zick. "Master Zick, is twenty-one gates the limit of technique?" Duncan. "...Actually, no... I have two more gates in mind... I think twenty-three gates is the limit...at least what my mind can process. I can''t put those movements into the technique yet, because my body is not able to experience them... I could only do it if someone could master the previous twenty-one gates." Zick replied, inwardly praising his pupil. "If I ever manage to master the twenty-one gates, would you teach me the remaining two Master Zick?" Duncan. "No Duncan... If you ever manage to master those twenty-one movements, I will be the one asking if you could do me the honor of showing me thest two. If that day everes, I could die with a smile on my face and no regrets, my boy." Said, Zick. The man saw the boy''s face ssh with determination before saying: "I have found him atst, Master." Duncan. "Found what?" Zick. "The way to repay you for all you''ve done for me and my House, Master. I promise, I, Duncan of House Tallhart, will do everything in my power to one day show you the way." Duncan. Zick stared into the boy''s face, activating his inhuman powers of perception to the utmost. He found no trace of lie or doubt in his face... "Ahahahahah!!! Be careful what you promise boy... There was only one individual that I believed could master the technique up to the sixteenth gate. That person had an innate talent and intuition for the martial art...somehow he managed to develop, on his own, his variation up to the tenth gate. It took him: an iron will, years of suffering, and hard work..." Said Zick with a tone of challenge. "Who was Master?" Duncan. "A young knight I saw the fight in person years ago. They nicknamed him ''The Sword of The Morning''... So...Duncan of House Tallhart, would you like to change your overly-expressed promise?" Zick. "At the risk of sounding arrogant and prejudiced... No Master Zick! " Duncan. "Enough talk. It''s time to show you the first sixteen movements. Activate your breathing technique to the utmost of your ability... and observe very carefully, Duncan. I will only be able to do this once every four days." "YES, Master Zick!" The boy began to concentrate on his breathing. About ten minutester... Zick had just finishedpleting thest movement wielding his training longsword. Each of those movements had been executed with unparalleled slowness, grace, and fluidity. The man was exhausted and mentally exhausted... After a minute spent catching his breath he asked: "Tell me everything you''ve been able to notice." Zick. The boy''s face was like stone, his gaze expressing astonishment and disbelief. He remained motionless for another minute, which Zick allowed him. The boy would have to process a myriad of information. "There''s...there''s no opening... I...I could never find it..." Replied the boy in an enchanted enchanting voice. "You''re wrong boy... There are openings. Even in the twenty-three opening technique there are bound to be some...though?" Zick wanted Duncan to finish the exnation. "...We''re not able to see them though.... Not yet at least." Duncan. "Correct answer." Zick. "What else did you see?" Zick continued to ask. "Those movements... they were unnatural. A normal person, shouldn''t be able to do them." Duncan. "Yes and No... To make those movements, you''ll have to use bundles of muscles and ligaments that you''re not used to using. We use them only minimally during our childhood. Afterward, by observing and learning from the movements of our parents and other role models, we lose the habit. Theoretically, every human being should be able to do them...but for every day that we don''t, they atrophy and it bes more and more difficult to be able to stimte them. Even my father, who perceived pain on a very small scale, suffered while awakening these parts of his body. It is like trying to reshape your developed foot to fit into a boot that is too small... The pain will be excruciating, you will have to stimte, stretch, break and rebuild parts of your body. The sensation is like a thousand needles going in and out of whole sections of tissue... My boy, you are in no way forced to go through such hell. Vharro could train with these techniques three times longer than any normal human being could... and it took him five years of constant training to assimte sixteen gates. Thanks to the anointing and tonics that Measter Qyburn is providing, you should be able to practice these movements for up to two hours a day with training sessions every other day... Nevertheless, the pain will not subside for at least the next six months. " Zick said in a serious but calm tone... then concluded by asking. "For thest time, Duncan of House Tallhart, do you feel ready to start this kind of training?" Zick. "...No...I''m not, Master. But I still want to do it." End POV. --------- POV: An uneducated viger. In a vige in the Tallhartnds. Three months after a certain training began... Jessy a farmer, married and father of two, was sittingfortably in one of those new pieces of furniture recently purchased from merchants in House Flint. He and his wife, Benna, were looking forward to this time of day. The time for stories... Their oldest daughter, seven-year-old Jinny, had just over two months ago learned to read. It had be a custom in the vige. House Tallhart had built a small facility in each vige, called a school. A teacher taught all the children in the vige from the age of four to fifteen. Older people could also attend the lessons free of charge if they wished. Some did, while others preferred other types of education. In the school, they taught: reading and writing, history, a subject called ''Ethics'' and mathematics. Not only was it free of charge but every time a pupil attended a lesson, Tallhart House provided necessities such as: Food, medicine, soap, wood, and charcoal are enough to sustain an adult for an entire day. Her daughter would have been able to survive on her own even if she had only continued to go to school. Every day there were fourpulsory hours of schooling, six days a week, two additional hours of choice. The pupil, who chose to take those extra sses for a week in a row, would be rewarded with enough sweets for four people and the pupil''s family would be rewarded with a silver stags... Both he and his wife, like many others in the vige, had chosen this fruitful option without anyints. These were just some of the novelties in the vige. For the past year, the changes included: 1) Provision of a steel card for each viger. In which was engraved the name, age, hair color, eye color, and upation of each individual. Once a week, two Ranger soldiers together with a scribe would knock on the door of each house and carry out a check and provide the necessary rewards and supplies. The strange card with serial symbols engraved on it, which his daughter had identified as numbers, was called an ''Identity Card''. Every five years it had to be renewed to confirm or renew the information about the person. 2) A facility called ''Public Baths'' was built, with which they were able to wash the body even in the middle of winter... In addition, special facilities were set up for those who had to urinate or defecate. The urine collectors were called ''Vespasians''...the others ''Manure collectors''...These facilities bore the symbol of Manderly House. 3) Each house was provided with a strange new type of iron chimney, called a ''Stove'', free of charge... It heated the house more evenly. They only had to feed it asionally with coal whichsted three times longer than wood and was cheaper. 4) Every viger, both male and female, from the age of ten to sixty, was obliged to take a course in archery, the use of a new type of ironwood stick called a ''truncheon'' and barehanded disarmament techniques. 5) Any unemployed man or woman (most are farmers who do not work in winter) could choose to take a course of their choice, which included: Healing, Crafts (various options), Watching and Monitoring, Hunting and Building. In addition, one could apply for a permit to be instructed in one or more types of weapon of one''s choice...Jessy had chosen thetter and surveince. His wife Benna a sewing course. Both of them, running the courses for four hours a day at the same time as their children''s schooling, were paid 3 copper stars a day. If theypleted the course, they could also choose to change trades and get paid work at minimum wage (i.e. two silver stags a day...every day of the year with one day a week of paid rest...). Jessy, before fertilisers and agricultural tools were implemented in farming techniques, hardly earned that amount of money...besides he was the only one who brought mary ie to their house. 6) Once a month, a bard, paid by House Tallhart, woulde to the vige. To provide entertainment and fun for the whole vige. 7) Fixed patrols consisting of five well-armed and trained soldiers would patrol the vige night and day. The patrols rotated from vige to vige. By now almost every vige was connected to a main road of the new ''Northern Road Network''. Minor roads, however, built in the same way, were cleaned of ice and snow every day. Trade caravans coulde and go as never before. 8) A medical facility where a healer was always present was open to all. Everyone had one visit per month free of charge and, in case of emergency, any medical costs were essible and affordable for everyone. 9) All those who had suffered a bereavement in the family, had the right to request a funeral rite, a b of granite with the name of the deceased engraved on it, and 3 silver moons...but on condition that the deceased was cremated in a pyre rather than buried. Or they could ''donate'' the body to the vige healer in exchange for double the sum. Jessy had already instructed Benna to sell his body to the healer, Fred, in the event of his untimely demise. He cared nothing for her corpse, but he would be more relieved in the afterlife to know that his family had spare silver in their pockets. But now, it was time for the best novelty and habit of all. Reading stories... Her daughter Jinny, when she had been promoted along with other pupils, and had been officially certified as a ''''Northern Inhabitant Able to Read and Write'''', had been rewarded with several books. Those books contained several exciting stories that were very pleasant to listen to. It was very boring being cooped up inside the house day and night. Every night before going to sleep, Jinny would read him and his wife part of a story. There were new stories he had never heard before, such as: [The Giant, the Son of the Forest and the Free People''s Boy ]; [Tale of a Young and Aspiring Wizard]; [Ser Sandor, ''the Fearless Scarred'']; [The ve who became King among Kings]; [The Alchemist]; [The Healer Who Saved the World] [The Master Craftsman]; [The Vignt Hero of the Night]; [The Knight Without Honor]; [The Most Beloved Unlucky Dwarf]; [The Banker, The Pope and The Archmaester]...Thetter was not rmended for children under eleven...He or his wife would have to learn to read or wait until Jinny was eleven...(what a nuisance!) And finally [The Shield Maiden]...his wife and daughter''s favourite. To Jessy''s misfortune, that was the night it was their turn to choose and they would definitely choose thetter. Forty minutes after Benna and Jessy cleaned the dining table. The whole family was by the firece while Jinny read aloud the novel [The Shield Maiden]. {The evil Superintendent Palpatine, was standing over the execution stage. Beside him were two armed guards holding down poor Ser Aragon. Thest of the sworn knights of the true King of Gondor, Isildur. The oppressed people of Minas Tirith watched on their knees surrounded by a thousand soldiers loyal to Palpatine. Ser Aragon caught a glimpse of his squire in male disguise, Brienne, in the centre of the square. Knight and squire met hundreds of feet apart... Aragon even caught a glimpse of the redness in the eyes of his protg, whom he dubbed ''The Shield Maiden''. Only Aragon knew that Brienne was no meremoner''s child... She was the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor, the only surviving daughter of Isildur himself. She was Princess Brienne Pendragon, thest surviving descendant of Isildur...} "Mother...Guuaaahh...I''m tired, can we reschedule for another night?" Jinny asked, yawning conspicuously. "WHAT?! NO!....emm I mean, no honey, could you please hold on just a little longer? Your father and I would like to know what happens next. Could you do that for us, honey?" Benna asked, hugging her husband tightly. Their youngest son Ben was already sleeping blissfully in his cot. "Yes, honey! Please! We can''t go to sleep without knowing what happens next. I mean, King Theoden and the Knights of Rohan, they haven''t even arrived yet! Not to mention that bum Gandalf! What on earth is that useless wizard doing!? He promised Ser Aragon that he would arrive by dawn on the fifth day!" Jessy. "SHHHTTT! You''ll wake little Ben!" Benna. "Ah. Sorry, honey." Jessy calmly replied. "Mommy, Daddy...if you want to get ahead in the story, why don''t you learn to read? The teacher always tells us that ''A people who can''t read and write, are an easy people to deceive''...Besides, Genna''s parents are alreadying to ss along with many other fathers and mothers." Jinny. "..." Both of them remained silent with embarrassment. "My darling, let''s do this, if you keep reading some more, your father and I wille to the ss tomorrow." Jessy turned around staring at his wife in disbelief. Benna glowered at her husband in response. "Yes, honey, mommy and I wille. I promise." Said Jessy in a resigned tone. "Alright, deal." Jinny resumed reading. {Ser Aragon, had sworn to his dying King Isildur that he would protect his daughter in any way he could. That''s why Aragon kept it a secret...While forcing Brienne into a life of hardship, he preferred her safe rather than noble, rich but headless. Palpatine had made a deal with Aragon. If the Knight had announced to the people of Gondor, that he and only he, was the rightful King, he would have spared Aragon''s life...} "NO! Do not believe him, Aragon! He had made a simr promise to Ser Lancelot without keeping it!!!... emm... sorry honey, go ahead." Bucket. "I was saying..." Jinny. {He would have spared Aragon''s life. The Superintendent signaled his guards to release the unarmed Knight. Aragon, as agreed, leaned forward to be better heard...he was silent for a minute, looked at the sun for a moment and after giving a small smile said loudly: "PEOPLE OF GONDOR!... To all of you who are on your knees, I, Ser Aragon Randar, Hand of Isildur Pendrangon, announce what I believe to be right from the bottom of my heart... All of us will never know our true height until we are called to rise! And if we are true to our task, our stature will rise to the heavens! The heroism we would then perform would be of every day... IF ONLY WE DID NOT BOW DOWN IN FEAR OF BEING RULERS OF OUR FATE!!! Therefore... ARISE, SER BRIENNE PENDRAGON, FIRST KNIGHT AND PROTECTOR OF GONDOR!!! This announced Ser Aragon... And a moment before the executioner''s de reached his neck... he looked onest time at the sky and at his friend Gandalf, who was descending from the heavens at the side of King Theoden of Rohan, leading an army of knights riding giant eagles... Everything went dark from that moment on}... "NOOOO!!!! ARAGONNNNN!!!!!!!!!" Two shocked parents roared in unison in tears... Chapter 44: Tempering the North with frost Part II Chapter 44: '' Tempering the North with frost '' Part II POV: A Lady with a gentle voice and look; Silk Road is about halfway between Barrowton and Torrhen''s Square. Three weeks before the start of Winter.... Lady Dustin was seated at the head of the long oak table, set up inside a sodden camp tent. Inside the tent were lit braziers, various types of furniture, and papers. Eight construction engineers, architects, and master builders were taking part in the meeting called by Lady Barbery. "Thank you all for turning up on time, esteemed master builders. Time is more precious than ever. We have means, gold, and personnel... but it is time that we are up against. If you agree, I say we begin." Said Barbery with a warm smile and a courteous respectful tone. "Mydy... shouldn''t we wait for master builder Zibet and architect Garodh to arrive as well?" A man in his fifties asked humbly. Half the men at the table nodded. "Oh, I beg your pardon, master lords... Zibet and Garodh are taking longer than expected. As you well know, the weather here in the North is uncertain. They''ve found some slowdowns... but they should be soon here... one second, please. Yes, within a few minutes at most." Barbery Dustin replied with the same smile after one of her trusted men whispered in her ear. Some nodded, others took no notice. Currently, the temperature outside the tent was about minus ten degrees and it was snowing lightly. "So... When can we start work?" Barbrey. A spokesman for the group stood up, the architect who had moved from the westernnds less than a year ago, Davys. A talented man, he had taken part in several fortress renovation projects. "With your permission, mydy." Master Davys. "Please, Master Architect Davys." Barbrey. "Mydy, all of us agree that it is not a good idea to undertake this work during the winter..." Davys said, in a humble but firm tone. "I respect your opinion, Master Davys. May I ask you, what is troubling you?" Barbrey asked in a curious but still polite tone. The man grew quiet as he heard Lady Dustin''s tone. He was prepared for female screams and scolding scenes. He took a deep breath and continued speaking. "My Lady, building in that mountainous path, those four structures will be an arduous, time-consuming, and very expensive undertaking. The snowstorms would slow us down. We will need more men to diversify the shifts. Despite the equipment and work clothes you are providing, the workers, miners, and stonemasons will not be able to work for more than four hours because of the frost... We would need at least another 8,000 pairs of hands to meet the schedule... The risk of an ident will be high and since you have promised each worker''s family life insurance... you could lose mountains of gold, mydy. That is why we suggest waiting for spring to arrive." He finished exining Davys. "I understand.. .but, my lords, the structures to be built are far more than four...Did you not get the memo?" Lady Dustin asked. "I...We... no, mydy." Davys replied as he looked around. Only a master builder didn''t look surprised. A builder who had been in service to House Tallhart for years... "Forgive me, let me illustrate then..." Lady Dustin pulled out a map and opened it. Then standing up she exined to everyone: "We will also have to build two fortresses, masters. One here on this mountainous path and another here about six miles away... They will have to work on a par with the Bloody Gate of the Valley. We shall also build eight vis here, to begin with..." Seven of the eight men were shocked, surprised, and confused. "My Lady...why..." Davys was interrupted as the curtain opened. Four men entered and carried in two frozen naked bodies. They were the bodies of Zibet and Garodh... The corpses, besides being naked and bluish, were in a stiff bent position; they fit perfectly on the empty chairs at the table. "Well masters, now that we are all here, we can formally begin the meeting." Said Barbrey while maintaining the same face and tone. Davys and the other six masters were astonished, frightened, and confused...some, especially those sitting next to the corpses, were visibly trembling. Everyone from that moment on was terrified of Lady Dustin. To them, that woman was no longer a sweet young Lady Widow...she was a predator and among the most dangerous. "The tardiness of Master Zibet and Master Garodh can only be attributed to my House, master craftsmen...As Lady Protector of Barrowton I apologize to you, my lords. Unfortunately, we underestimated Master Garodh''s physical prowess. It took him more than three hours to freeze to death... He kept moving and tried until thest minute to beg for his life. That''s quite an achievement. The reason we should alter ns slightly, Masters, is that both Master Zibet and Master Garodh tried to pass information to House Lannister and the Iron Bank... Unfortunately, we were unable to intercept thetter''s ry. But Garodh did us the favor of dictating every word of that message... It seems that from now on, the Titan of Braavos is informed that House Tallhart and House Dustin are coborating to build four enormous structures. Fear not, masters. Luckily for us, Garodh was only aware of the names of these structures...but as a precaution, Lord Helman and I agreed that it would be best to increase the defenses before work began... We certainly don''t want any more tragedies to ur. Am I right masters?" Lady Dustin asked, with a sweet smile and a murderous look. All the men at the table nodded readily at the question. Some could not hold back the shivers in their bodies. "As for the eight vis...they are a gift. A gift for you masters. Since, as of today, you will be the only ones aware of the specifications that the four structures will need, namely: Never Winter, Gauntelgrym, Tower of Babylon, and Tower of the Philosopher''s Stone, all of you, until thepletion of those structures, will dwell here in the ''Silk Road''... Your families have already been notified. AH!...what a fool! I almost forgot. My lords, we will also have to set up facilities for...5,000.... plus 8...plus those needed for the fortresses...yes, for 14,500 workers... They won''t be able to leave this area either. So masters... How do we act so that all of you can return to your homes as soon as possible?" End POV. --------------------------------------------- POV: Helman Tallhart. Ten miles from Torrhen''s Square. About two months after eight-building masters began working day and night... Helman, Leobald Tallhart and Captain Peter, were facing 1,500 men. One thousand five hundred picked soldiers, of the four thousand total in the service of the Tallhart Family. Lord Helman, after ''the incident at Winterfell'', had managed to obtain permission to increase the standing army of the Tallhartnds by another thousand men. From that moment on, House Tallhart had the thirdrgest army of all the northern lords. 1) House Stark: 6,000 men. 2) House Bolton: 5,000 men. 3) House Tallhart: 4,000 men. 4) House Manderly: 3,600 men. 5) Karstrak House: 3,200 men. 6) Umber House: 2,500 men. 7) All other Houses together: about 12,000 men. These numbers only include men who undertake a full-time military career. With forced conscription and the gathering of vigers in their territory, each House can easily double those numbers. When Ned Stark called out the banners, he managed to raise an army of 15,000 men. At least a third of them were peasants and vigers with no military training. Hardly a Protector of one of the Seven Kingdoms can summon more than 40% of the total military forces of the territory. The North in particr, due to its vastness in the territory and the fact that itsnds are sparsely inhabited. A minimum of twenty thousand men was needed to be able to patrol and defend the North from any threats. Now that thework had beenpleted, all the Houses of the North had to help keep it secure. There were 440 outposts, one every ten miles of road, which had to contain at least a garrison of twenty men-at-arms each. In order to gather these nine thousand men, Ned Stark had allowed each Great House of the North to increase their standing army by five hundred men. It was a considerable cost, both in terms of training, weapons, and armor, provisions and wages to be guaranteed... but now that each House of the North had greatly increased trade, it could be easily borne by all. Even House Reed and House Mormont, who were among the poorest in the North. Now that the 268 (of the original 300) recruits, sent in the past to train among the Night''s Watch during the autumn period, House Tallhart along with House Umber had some of the best scouts and Rangers capable of leading men through the harshest situations of Winter. Men who knew how to survive through frost and snow. The Umber had provided for thework, 300 experienced men. House Tallhart 150 Rangers. There would be at least one experienced guide at each outpost. Now that winter had arrived, it was time to train the Tallhart army in new ways. Physical, military, and tactical training that Duncan did not want to see the spread, at least not at this time. A normal army had mainly threemand hierarchies: Supreme Commander, Captain, and Lieutenant. A captain couldmand up to 500 men. A lieutenant a maximum of 50. This was the first change that would be implemented in the army: the new military hierarchy. Supreme General: Leading all armed forces. General: Inmand of a legion. Division Commander: Inmand of five centuries. Captain: At the head of a centuria ( 100 men ) Chief Lieutenant: Inmand of five lieutenants. Lieutenant: At the head of ten soldiers. All positions had at least two deputies (Deputy General, Deputy Commander, etc.). This would prevent any division from being left without a leader, should their superior fall in the field. It would also have facilitated the modus operandi of military promotion. Each division led by a Chief Lieutenant included the presence of a healer. The first problem that the great leader ''Bloody Snow'' had encountered was that soldiers, during a battle, were mostly lost and confused about the correct course of action. Many, due to the chaos of battle, could not follow the orders of the chiefmander. Each basic soldier (from now on called ''Legionnaire'') earned a sry of 3 silver moons per week. An increase of 50% over the average sry of a soldier in Westeros. In addition, House Tallhart was responsible for paying for all expenses including: Supply and maintenance of arms and armor, training, provisions, clothing, medical care, and housing. Each soldier''s family was guaranteed a home with necessities, free health care for each member, and education. Family members would also be provided with purchasing benefits. They could buy bread (wheat or flour), soap mon), toilet paper mon), clothing (basic quality), nkets, wood, and coal, at cost price. Each unit or legionnaire could be rewarded with bonuses, for acts of merit and valor during service. Each one would be granted the possibility of career advancement up to the rank of Deputy General. Each career step guaranteed a proportional increase in sry: Legionnaire (1.176 Pennies per week); Deputy Lieutenant + 5% (1,235 Pennies per week); Lieutenant + 10% (1,358 Pennies per week); V. Chief Lieutenant + 15% (1,562 Pennies per week); Chief Lieutenant + 20% (1,874 Pennies per week); V. Captain + 25% (2,342 Pennies per week); Captain + 30% (3,046 Pennies per week); V. Division Commander + 35% (4,112 Pennies per week); Division Commander + 40% (5,757 Pennies per week); V. General + 45% (8,347 Pennies per week); Each family of a Legion member who died in the service of House Tallhart would receive a reward and allowance proportional to the rank of the Legionnaire. From now on, 1,500 units (Legion), would train for 6 months in a row in new war tactics, coordination, training in the use of new weapons, military strategy, and physical training. Each day, six days a week, the program would include: Two hours of physical training; Four hours of military training; Two hours of theory sses. All of this was done on a strict diet. The instructors were previously trained members of the secret Frost des unit. Every six months, there would be a shift change between legions. Currently, one legion (1,000) was garrisoning Torrhen''s Square. Another patrolled the borders and viges of the Tallhartnds and thest was in training at the camp. "Leobald, how is it going with the selection of thest 500 recruits?" Helman asked as he observed the training in progress. "It is not yetpleted, brother... My nephew''s selection criteria are not easy to meet. It will take a few more months to round up five hundred boys, between the ages of 13 and 17, in excellent physical condition and who can pass the psychological test. Luckily for us, Master Zick has informed us that Duncan will be busy and unwell for at least the first six months of initial training... I don''t know if I should be worried, honestly. When I think about the kind of training the Frost des went through with Ramas... No. I''d rather not think about it at all." Then Leobald looked at Captain Peter. "Peter, I also called you here to inform you that your brother Brywen (fourteen years old) passed the test. Congrattions...o sorry. Either way, the boy was ted at his achievement." Leobald announced with a small smile. "I am proud of him, my Lord. Ronan, too, would be proud and so would our father..." Said Peter showing a small wistful smile as he mentioned his father Tom. "Has Duncan decided on the name of that future elite unit he wants to train?" Helman asked his brother after cing a hand on Peter''s shoulder as a congrattory gesture. "Yeah... I don''t know where youe up with all those names. The elite unit will be called: [ Winter Guardians ] ... When I asked him why that name, he said: [ Because, when the people of the North suffer and cry out for help against the ''Evils of Winter''... The Guardians will answer...] " Fine POV. ------------------------------------------------------- POV: An attendant in the service of House Tallhart; Less than a mile from the vige of Snow Mill. About three months after a Northern boy agreed to make a journey... Young Robert, son of Chief Steward Paul, was in charge of the wagon train that supplied ''Bloody Camp'' monthly. This was his third expedition. The caravan was escorted by a Chief Lieutenant inmand of 50 Torrhen''s Square soldiers. Robert was afraid. Despite the escort, despite being transported in a merchant carriage built to protect the cargo and staff inside from the freezing winter winds, Robert was trembling... He no longer wanted to be the one in charge of transporting supplies to that cursed ce. Robert, like every other member of the caravan, had not been told ''who'' or ''what'' lived in this godforsaken ce. There was a rumor in the castle of Torrhen''s Square... No one knew what happened to the prisoners captured and locked in the cells of Torrhen''s Square... Bandits and criminals, disappearing into the wind... They were all in the hands of that person, ''THE MASTER''... which must have been the nickname of the chief torturer in the service of the Tallharts... Now Robert knew where they were. He was convinced... The prisoners had all been secretly escorted to Bloody Camp to be tortured. His theory was supported by three factors: the name of ce ''Bloody Camp'', the countless medical supplies the caravan was carrying...and the screams. Those screams of pain haunted Robert''s dreams... Every morning he promised himself that under no circumstances would he betray the Tallhart family or go into hiding... Death was a destiny a hundred times better than the fate of the dastardly fools who had chosen thosest two... ''''No...we''re not even 300 feet from the vige and I can already hear those screams...'''' Robert thought as he put his hands on his face. About a hundred people began to hear screams in the distance... "AAAARRRRRGHHHH!!!!!!!... NOOOO!!! I CAN GO ON!!! I CAN DO IT!!! HIIIIAAAAAAAAARRGHH!!! NO MASTER!!! I''M OK!!! I CAN DO IT!!!" Chapter 45: Involuntary anomaly Chapter 45: '' Involuntary anomaly '' POV: A hopeful master. Bloody Camp. The day before 500 cadets arrived at the camp to begin a training program. "Are you sure this is going to work?" Zick asked his mentee. "No master...but it is worth a try. I have faith that the possibility exists." Duncan replied. "That''s enough for me, I have tried everything. I wouldn''t know what toe up with anymore." Zick. "Remember master, thest day of the third month. Never let it out of your site and perhaps you will get what you desire." Duncan. "I assure you, my boy, I will not let that moment slip through my fingers." End POV. --------------------------------------------- POV: A big brother; Torrhen''s Square. Two months before a traineepleted the first phase of his training... William was waiting in the anteroom with eleven other boys. Each of them had to wait their turn for the final test. The boy, only thirteen years old, knew he didn''t stand much of a chance of getting into the Winter Guardians'' training program. Almost all the other candidates had performed better than his pitiful performance. The boy had recently recovered from the traumatic events of almost four years ago. At that time, he was only nine years old. A nine-year-old boy holding his three-year-old sister Sarah in his arms...while his mother was brutalized in every way possible by three men. Before those bandits entered their home, his mother, Valery, had managed to hide her two most precious possessions in a secret hiding ce under the trap door. A hiding ce that had been specially constructed by her father Bradd. The man had joined House Tallhart''s army during Robert''s rebellion...and never returned. William thanked the Old Gods every night that his little sister Sarah was too young to remember at the time of that tragic event...but William would never forget. Despite the help of House Tallhart, the boy had been traumatized for life. He would never forget his mother''s screams, let alone herughter... When he came out of hiding, still holding Sarah in his arms, he had personally seen what was left of the body of the woman who had once been his mother... William had always been smaller than the other children in the vige. Although his father was tall and well-proportioned. Insomnia and malnutrition gued poor William for two years running. His sister Sarah was his only reason to endure and carry on. The two children, born and raised in the vige of Snow Mill, were adopted by an elderly couple who lived less than a mile from Torrhen''s Square. Old Donny and his wife, Greta, had children of their own in the past, one of whom died duringst winter and another who died of a fever. They were happy to wee William and Sarah into their home. The elderly couple had tried everything to help the boy... with little sess. Donny even went to Torrhen''s Square Castle for help and got it. Master Qyburn, at the service of the Tallharts, personally advised Donny to try to get the boy to talk as much as possible about the ''trauma''. The couple set about the hard task with tenacity. After a year, I''ll get something done... William had always taken his father as a role model. He was the man he wanted to grow up to be, strong and confident... The inability to help his mother, the failure to protect his family, even though his father had asked him to do so shortly before his departure, was what afflicted him most... His deepest unconscious trauma. Working on this, Old Donny asked William to try to think of someone he could draw inspiration from...and he found him...a new role model that contradicted William''s belief, which was: ''A physically weak boy like me can never be the man I want to be.''... But that model existed...and his name was Bloody Snow. A child was physically smaller than himself, who had managed to confront and defeat those men who in William''s eyes were demonse down to earth. When he realized this, the boy began to recover. He was able to sleep again, to eat again, and to find a purpose worth giving everything for. He wanted to be that man... he had to be the man who would be able to prevent that event from happening again. His little sister Sarah, Donny, Greta, and his future family would not relive that fate. He would be able to protect them no matter what... ''Despite giving everything I had in those running, weightlifting, and tug-of-war tests, I may still have ended up among thest ces...My only chance is to pass the test I will face shortly...I must do it! If I seed, I can stand by Bloody Snow''s side and I can learn from the best! '' William clenched his fists tightly as he thought this. There were only four vacancies left, and there were twelve applicants. All of the older and visibly bigger than him... Twenty minutester... "Will candidate William pleasee forward?" Said a man with a serious face and a dangerous appearance holding a clipboard in his hand. "Here I am, I''m William!" The boy leaped to his feet almost tipping over the bench he was sitting on. "Ehehe!", "Ahaha!", "Your turn future hero!". Four boys who were older than himughed at him. One of them had personally confronted William in a tug-of-warpetition and during the physical endurance test. Needless to say, what happened next... William was constantly harassed by other candidates, some even came to his defense andter rebuked him for his cowardly behavior. [Don''t let them go unpunished and fight back! If they see that you''re easy prey they''lle after you like you''re a freshly baked cake!] William thought back to the words of the older boy who saved him that time. He had managed to ask him his name. ''If I don''t make it, I at least hope it''s guys like Gellerd whoe through...'' That was William''sst thought before entering the room set aside for the interview. Two minutester... Two men were sitting at the table in front of William, one of them was Maester Qyburn, the other an instructor who called himself ''81''. "So young William... I see your results in the physical tests are poor, to say the least... I''d say we''ve found the first question for you to answer. Why should we choose you over another candidate?" de 81 asked. William was immediately taken aback by the first question. Not even a minute had passed and he was already in trouble. He clenched his fists and found the courage to answer the question. "I...Because I want to be a ''''Winter Guardian'''' Lord! I''m ready for anything! I will do anything! I will dly give my life if it means I can stand by Lord Duncan''s side! Even if it''s only for a day..." William. "...That does not answer my question. I will be more specific then. What do you have to offer? What qualities do you have that differentiate you from the other candidates? What makes you think you are better than the others?" The drill sergeant asked brutally. Qyburn was watching the boy''s face carefully as he too waited for his answer. "I... I don''t know sir... I''m not physically better than the others...nor the most intelligent. But I will try harder than everyone else I swear!!! I''ll train harder! I''ll do everything I can to live up to this opportunity! I will do whatever it takes, I swear! I will obey everymand and never betray the trust of House Tallhart! Nor that of Bloody Snow! .... I mean Lord Duncan! I beg forgiveness..." William lowered his head after his rant which he thought was almost childish...he had even made the mistake of disrespecting the heir to Torrhen''s Square. ''I am a fool! William idiot that you are!!!'' He thought reproachfully within himself. His thoughts were interrupted by another voice, that of Maester Qyburn. "A rather presumptuous statement young William..." Qyburn. William knew Qyburn. Each candidate had to attend a medical examination before taking the first round of the selection test. A few days ago, the maester had asked him a few questions about his past. About his physical problems and all his health history. He had admitted to the maester about sleeping problems and malnutrition. Qyburn had even suggested a diet and exercises for him to follow in the future. "I''m sorry, I meant no disrespect to Tallhart House or the young lord." William immediately replied, bowing his head as he continued to look towards the floor. "I''m not talking about that, young William... You stated that '' You would do whatever was ordered'' and that '' You would do whatever it takes.''... Am I wrong, perhaps?" Qyburn. "...No, maester." William. "The Winter Guardians will beposed of elite members who will have to face the most difficult situations. Brutal battles, where a single mistake can jeopardize a mission, your life, the lives of yourrades, and your Lord. Trials you cannot even imagine, young William. Do you think you''re the one, William?" Qyburn. "I....." William did not know how to answer. He couldn''t answer without knowing what trials Qyburn was referring to... "If House Tallhart in the future ever ordered you, to attack a vige full of innocents would you do it?" Qyburn. "I... No, maester." William. "If you were ordered to kill a mother in front of her sons and daughters, would you ever be able to do it?" Qyburn. "...No, maester." William. "If you had the chance to save innocent lives, but the orders were to abandon those poor people to their fate, would you obey that order withoutint?" Qyburn. "..... No." William. "Can you swear here in front of everyone, on all that you hold most sacred and dear, that you would never betray House Tallhart should you ever be ordered to carry out such atrocities as just mentioned and the like?" Qyburn. "...No. I cannot swear to that." William. "...then I guess that''s all young William... Thank you for taking part. We will let you know the results of the test shortly and whether or not you have been selected. You may go." Qyburn. About forty minutester... William and the eleven other candidates were anxiously awaiting the results. There were rumors, that on more than one asion some groups of twelve candidates were all rejected without a single would-be Guardian who had managed to pass the second test... For some, this was just an exaggeration put about to discouragepetitors. I have failed... I would never be able to do what they ask of me. They are looking for men who will do anything, and I... am not one of ''those men'', nor will I ever be. William thought with deep sorrow. The door to the study opened a few secondster. The appointed instructor 81, came out without any papers or folders and said: ''Tallhart House thanks you all for your cooperation. We regret to inform you that only one candidate in this room was able to pass the information-psychological test. Candidate William please step forward, all others may go." As soon as he had finished saying those words, eleven individuals stared with an extreme look at the tiny boy sitting behind them in silence for a few seconds...then the storm broke out. "What?", "Are you kidding me?", "That nobody passed the test and I didn''t?", "Are you by any chance the son of a nobleman?". One voice among all of them was most disruptive. "HEY, YOU! WE''RE TALKING TO YOU!" The seventeen-year-old boy, who had beaten William in the physical tests, grabbed the poor man by his woolen tunic and dragged him to the wall. "HOW DID YOU PASS THE TEST? SPEAK!" The boy''s other threepanions approached theirrade for support. "I...I...I don''t know." William hadn''t even had time to realize what had just happened. He found himself at the center of a raging storm at any moment. Before Jared, the seventeen-year-old who was attacking the only promoted man in the room, could do or say anything else, he was swept up in a steel grip that snapped his wrist and subsequently grabbed him by the throat taking his breath away. "Urgh...arrghh...can''t...brea.....help..." Jared hadn''t even been able to scream from the severe pain in his wrist. "The reasons why candidate William was selected, are not matters for you.... However candidate Jared..." de 81 was speaking slowly as he held Jared tightly by the throat. The boy''s face, helpless in the face of the monster in front of him, began to turn purple. ''House Tallhart is willing to reveal the reason why you, did not pass.... Lord Duncan wishes to tell you that he was disgusted by your choice to kill an innocent woman in front of her children... and very disappointed that you, candidate Jared, would have no problem burning viges and ughtering their inhabitants if you were ordered to. That is why you did not pass, Jared. Nor will you ever make it into the regr army from here on out." Finishing thest sentence, de 81 let go of Jared, who had just reached a purplish hue. "PUARGHH!!...IIIEEEFFHH.Cough! cofff!...anf anf..." Jared was on the ground, focused only on his task of regaining air. "Any otherints?" de 81 asked, looking around. End POV. -------------------------------------------- POV: Qyburn. Torrhen''s Square. Two days after the results of a certain test were announced. Qyburn was in his study, writing an important message to his Lord. Before the message, Qyburn had finalized the list of candidates with their respective documents concerning each of them... His master hoped that these documents would arrive in his hands at least three weeks before the selected candidates arrived at Bloody Camp. Lord Duncan, wanted to have the time to study well each file which contained all relevant information about all of them. The files were finished, only thest message was missing. [ My lord, I inform you that I think I have found the candidates with the qualities you were looking for. Files #312 and #497 contain all the information we were able to gather....] Qyburn continued toplete the message. Thirty minutester... "Promptly deliver these documents to Bloody Camp. Top priority." Said Qyburn pointing to a trunk behind him. "Yes, Ser Qyburn, it will be done." Four Frost des replied in unison. End POV. ----------------------------------------------------- POV: Gellert. Bloody Camp. About two months after a trunk was delivered to a certain location... Gellert, the son of a farmer who owned a farm in one of the most barrennds of the Tallhartnds, was waiting with his 499 newpanions. All of them were standing in ten rows of fifty people each. Dawn had just risen, if any of them had pulled off a leather glove, provided by House Tallhart in each candidate''s training kit, they would have lost a finger to chilins in less than an hour. The boy of almost sixteen had never been one toin about how unfair life was to him. Since childhood, he had been taught to hunt. His father was a potato farmer, the only vegetable that could grow on theirnd. Gellert was always helping his father to try to put more food on the table. His nine-year-old brother Robin had suffered from breathing problems since birth. Only in summer, during the hottest days of the year, could Robin leave the house to breathe fresh air. He was not made for this harsh and hellish climate. It was mainly because of Robin that Gellert, during his childhood, had never given any sign ofining about ''how unfair life was to him '' or anything like that... He considered himself much luckier than others. He loved his little brother and would do anything to help him in any way he could. About a couple of years ago, men from House Tallhart came to his farm to give him and his family new farming tools and fertilizers. They exined in detail the benefits and various techniques of use. It was a turning point for Gellert''s family. Within a few months, crops tripled. His father was even able to buy medicinal herbs for Robin with the extra money he earned... Later other men from House Tallhart came to ask them to sell him all the excess potato peelings they had... A waste product of no use to his family... His father agreed without hesitation. Finally, Gellert''s family could breathe... Other advantages and benefits cameter. A new firece called the ''Boiler House'' and coal at a lower price than wood. Even free sanitary services for Robin... Gellert only needed thetter. That was more than enough to offer himself to the House of Tallhart and repay that debt of gratitude. [No meal is free in this world.] That was the first sentence his father taught him after he could pronounce his parents'' names. When he saw Robin leaving home inte autumn for a building called ''School'', Gellert left shortly afterward, leaving his little brother in the care of his parents. He wanted to join the regr army, but word reached him about this elite unit, which would face numerous dangers and that the pay would be proportional to the risk. Gellert joined the list of candidates for that unit. He found the physical test rather easy to pass and the ''psychological'' test rather bizarre. He was rather annoyed by the constant questions concerning the reason for his candidature and about his family. The breaking point came when he was asked: ''If we ordered you to attack a vige, would you do it without any hesitation or question?'' ...He answered by asking: ''Is that vige a threat to other viges or people? Did that vige rebel or attack Tallhart House first? Is there any simr reason to justify such an attack? Have the inhabitants of that vige ever done anything bad to me or my family? If the answer is not ''YES! All the inhabitants of that vige have done so!'' to at least one of my questions... Then my answer is ''NO! FUCK YOU OLD MAN!'' He nearly spat on the not-so-old maester''s eye when he uttered the word F***. The creepy guy next to the maester, was about to jump down his throat before the maester named Qyburn stopped him. No further questions were asked and surprisingly he passed the test. Two monthster, Gellert was here freezing his arse off outdoors waiting motionless for the ''legendary Bloody Snow'' to show up. After a couple of minutes, a boy not even nine years old with white hair, less than five feet tall, dressed in the same uniform as them, showed up and stopped a few steps away from the front line. Gellert was right in that line. "Good morning everyone, I''m Duncan Tallhart, thank you foring from your homes, and congrattions on passing the selection test.... These will be the first andst thanks and congrattions you will receive from me until the end of basic training. From now until the next two years, the only words that wille out of your mouth on this field will be: ''YES SIR!'' and ''NO SIR!''...Are there any questions?" The boy asked in an icy, authoritative tone. A hand in the third row raised. "Three steps forward cadet." Bloody Snow. "Yes my lord, thank you. I would like to know if it will be possible to have contact with the outside during training. I would like to be able to hear from my fa...." The minute thirteen-year-old boy was interrupted. To Gellert the boy looked familiar...but he couldn''t quite remember who he was. "Your name cadet." Bloody Snow. "My name, my lord? Ah, yes, my name is William, my lord." Said the boy in a humble tone. "Well cadet William, I want you to make fiveps run of the vige for every time you have referred to me as ''my lord''. Fifteenps Cadet William, plus another five for saying anything other than '' Yes Sir and No Sir '' without my permission.... NOW! RUN CADET!" Roared the drill sergeant, making the poor fellow flinch. The boy didn''t let him say it twice and started running covering the circuit of at least half a mile. "Well now that Cadet William has been kind enough to volunteer as an example, we can begin." The boy took a step forward and spoke louder. "NONE OF YOU WILL BE ALLOWED TO CONTACT ANYONE DURING THE FIRST 6 MONTHS OF TRAINING! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" Bloody Snow. "YES SIR!" 498 cadets thundered in unison. Gellert did not join in the chorus. "YOU! Step forward and introduce yourself." Ordered the instructor, pointing towards Gellert. The sixteen-year-old with a twenty-year-old physique stepped forward and said: "Cadet Gellert, Sir." Said Grendel in a calm but respectful tone. "Cadet, why didn''t you answer?" Bloody Snow. "The truth, Sir?" Gellert. "The truth." Bloody Snow. "I find Cadet William''s punishment bullshit, Sir." Gellert. "Do you want to join him, cadet?" Bloody Snow. "If I have to, I will Sir. But the punishment is still bullshit." Gellert. "You must cadet. Twenty rounds for you too, Cadet Gellert." Bloody Snow ordered. "Yes, Sir." End POV. -------------------------------------- POV: A former Instructor Bloody Camp. About three months after a 13-year-old boy was punished... Ramas watched from the roof of a facility as a long-awaited event unfolded. The moment of truth... About eight months ago, Maester Zick''s ''protg'' came to him for help. He wanted his advice on the most effective way to create camaraderie and unity in a unit of soldiers. Ramas exined various suggestions to the boy. The boy did not follow his advice to the letter but adapted it in his way. For the first three months, Duncan instituted training that focused on physical development, bnce, and coordination. The five hundred cadets were to primarily follow four sacred guidelines: 1) Breathe the right way. 2) Eat right. 3) Sleep in the right way. 4) Walk the right way. He had devised a breathing technique that even Ramas or Zick himself did not know. Even the gruff and distrustful Ramas learned that technique and found it very useful... It was a technique that allowed you to lose your breath in the right way. It prevented this icy air from damaging your lungs and helped you not to waste unnecessary strength. It could easily be used 24 hours a day after a little getting used to it. Ramas felt his body slightly warmer while practicing it and was also able to stay awake longer without paying the price. He had been used to sleeping just over four hours a day for twenty years now. Now he could get that figure down to three... He also had to admit that the cadets chosen for this ''Winter Guardians'' program weren''t bad, there was better but also worse. He had been following one cadet in particr for about over a month now. Cadet William... The poor fellow was constantly tormented by Bloody Snow, who showered him with physical punishment. The cadet never gave up. He kept going until the end. He almost always camest in every test or trial. Running, rope climbing, 1-on-1 hand-to-handbat, squats, sit-ups, squats, water bucketps... During the strange and peculiar group fights, which took ce each time just before sunset, in which 20 cadets against 20 had to fight to try to steal a g from the opponent or to throw him off the field, he was almost always defeated first... William could be said to be the weak link in the chain. From day one, Bloody Snow had warned all cadets that their ce in the unit was not guaranteed. Every three months, the lowest-performing cadet would be selected and sent home. Dishonorably discharged. Ramas couldn''t help but silently root for the boy... He knew he was certainly the weakest of the lot, but ever since Zick had told him that William had a bone and muscle density problem due to malnutrition and that it would take him at least another nine months at least to recover from his physical disadvantage, and when he read the file detailing his past, even the apathetic, cold, rational, distrustful and never smiling Ramas had sumbed to sentimentality. About a month earlier, the discontent among the other cadets about William, was at a critical point... Many were unhappy about the extra training they had to suffer because of their teammate''s weaknesses. One evening Ramas, without permission from anyone, ''identally'' dropped the paper detailing the events at Snow Mill and William''s health problems in the dormitory corridor of those disgruntled cadets. The next day those rumors ceased.... Today was the long-awaited day, the moment of truth. A week before the end of the third month, William was given an ultimatum with an impossible test toplete... Since the boy hade inst in all the end-of-term tests, he was given onest ''chance''. If he did not want to be the first to be sent home with a dishonorable discharge, Cadet William would have toplete: 500ps of the running track; ( 0.5 miles) 3,000 arm bends; 3,000 sit-ups; 1,000 rope climbs 30 feet high; 200ps of leg lunges. ( 0.2 miles another circuit) and 200ps of the field with buckets of water. ( 0.5 miles. Two buckets of 5 kg each). All to bepleted within a week... William did not give up. He did everything he could to seed... On the sixth day William managed to achieve: 207ps of the running course; ( 0.5 miles) 1,860 arm bends; 1,950 sit-ups; 418 rope climbs 30 feet high; 43ps of leg lunges. and 111ps with water buckets. Ramas had personally kept track of those days by remaining hidden in the shadows. Bloody Snow interrupted training for the remaining 499 cadets on the seventh day. He wanted everyone to witness the "futile efforts" of theirrade. With less than two hours to go before time ran out... ''Get up boy! Get up and move on!'' Ramas thought as he was hiding above the branch of an oak tree. William had fallen for the fifth time in a row unable to make his arms and legs work anymore... He had tried everything... He could no longer add a single unit to the count for any exercise. Thest futile attempt was for the rope. He was so close to achieving at least that goal. He was only seven climbs away from reaching his goal. Bloody Snow approached the boy as 499 cadets watched the scene in silence. "Cadet William... You have less than two hours left until time runs out and as we can all see, you can no longer continue. Spare us this suffering and say the words: [ I surrender ]...." Said Bloody Snow bending his knees to get closer to the boy lying on the ground. "No...I can go on...I CAN CONTINUE!" William. "I can continue...'' SIR ''...I''m afraid I''m going to have to add another twentyps to the count, Cadet William." Said Bloody Snow giving a small, amused smile. None of the other cadets found such a scene amusing.... "ording to my calctions, you''re still short: 165 + 20ps of the running field; ( 0.5 miles) 837 arm bends; 703 sit-ups; 7 rope climbs 30 feet high; 124 fieldps of leg lunges. and 42ps of the field with buckets of water. An impressive cadet aplishment, no doubt about it.... But how are you going toplete such milestones? Well?" William couldn''t answer that question...every word that came into his head was a lie. He didn''t want to stoop that low. "I..." A voice intruded, interrupting William. "I''LL DO THEM, SIR." Said a voice from among William''s 499panions. Gellert stepped forward and continued to speak. "I willplete the exercises, Sir. I will also do the twenty rounds for speaking without permission, Sir." Said Gellert with a look more determined than ever. Without waiting for permission, the strong cadet began to climb the rope... Cadet Jix stepped forward and began doing the bends... Cadet Zetth began running towards the track soon after... One by one the remaining 496 cadets joined in with each remaining exercise type... The drill sergeant stood up and stood enjoying the scene for a couple of minutes, before saying: "Can you manage to stand up Cadet William?" Bloody Snow asked offering a hand to the boy with the broken body. "I...I think so, Sir." William epted the offer of help and with a considerable effort got to his feet. He was still in a daze from the unexpected event he had just witnessed...still unable to acknowledge his situation, until the moment Bloody Snow spoke again. "Wee to the Winter Guardians, William. You have reached this milestone in your strength. Congrattions cadet." William didn''t know what to say except: "THANK YOU! THANK YOU! MY LORD!...sigh...Thank you, Sir." Then William began to cry as he couldn''t stop staring at the entire field full ofrades who were helping him in his task. While all this was going on, less than a hundred feet away in a tree, Ramas was enjoying the scene. After a few seconds, the man noticed that an ''unexpected anomaly'' was afflicting him. Something that hadn''t happened since he was seven years old... He couldn''t hold back an involuntary spasm of his facial muscles... ''Am I smiling?'' he thought in amazement as he identified the anomaly. What he had just done was undoubtedly a smile...and he couldn''t turn it off. Little did Ramas know, that a familiar acquaintance of his was spying on him from about five hundred feet away, as he activated his inhuman perceptive abilities to the maximum... Chapter 46: Time has Come Part I Chapter 46: '' Time has Come '' Part I POV: Duncan; Torrhen''s Square. Year 288, 15th day of the twelfth moon. Three months before the citadel informed all of Westeros of the start of spring... I had returned home. I had made sure that no one but Qyburn and a few Icedes knew of my arrival. The next morning I would see my family again after almost two years. I needed to resolve something long overdue first... An appointment with voices twice as annoying as thest time I heard them. [COME TRAVELLER... THE TIME IS NOW... COME TO US...] This time I was well prepared. I took off my clothes, the chill of the night could hurt me despite what I had been through in the past two and a half years. It could be said that the Winter Guardians unit I led had been tempered in ice and fire all this time. Bloody Snow had also been tempered in fire and ice... but at different temperatures. Temperatures that no human mind could withstand. I could see the reflection in my naked body in the pond. I was lean, muscles barely above normal size but more defined than ever. I could see muscles that should not stand out in a normal human body... No one could develop them to that level or at least...that''s what Zick said. I approached the tree-dig, noticing the same obsidian dagger asst time. I had checked... No one in the castle but me could see it, much less touch it. I grabbed it and cut my right hand like thest time. An attractive force sucked in my hand as if it were a ma...the process began...and it was much more intense and painful than thest time. My body vibrated and overheated as I absorbed the energy from the sacred tree with a sculpted smiling face. That pain was nothingpared to the suffering I experienced during the first three weeks of training with Zick. My impurities began to pour out of every pore of my skin. I could feel it pooling inside my belly, that muddy liquid burning my insides like burning, putridva... I didn''t blink an eye at the difort I was feeling. It was atrocious and disgusting... but also tolerable from my point of view. The trialsted an hour... I barely had time to vomit, before my hand was drawn back to... Another hourter... '' As I thought...the experience umted over time. I went through a double level up. '' I thought to myself as I dipped into the pond to clean my body... After a few mouths rinsed with mint vored water, I dried myself with the warmth of a bonfire and towels. I put on my dry clothes and then waited... As expected, the same energy impulses from the first process exploded in the sky: one green, two brown, two blue, two rainbow-colored, two ck, two red, and two white... Strangely enough, there was no explosion like the first time... The process seemed smoother and less disruptive. I already had an idea of what those impulses might represent. The spy cells throughout Westeros and Essos provided the information I was looking for... Or at least some of that information. I had asked Qyburn to pay special attention to any abnormal events in the world. Especially those involving supernatural urrences... Rumors from Vaes Dothrak, im that the high priestess of Dosh Khaleen, Anha Vezhvena, has magical powers...powers that can heal and cure disease. Khal Drogo, it seems, is blessed by the Great Stallion... A barefoot Septon, nicknamed High Sparrow, roams thends of Westeros performing miracles... Wet Hair, Aeron Greyjoy, can create saltwater out of thin air... These four pieces of information led me to a theory: '' A Cleric and a Pdin... one for each faith. '' I thought with concern. The supernatural power of the forces that will oppose me was growing along with my own... If this is true, it means that there are 14 individuals with supernatural powers in this world. Green = Old Gods. Red= Faith of the Lord of Light. Rainbow= The Faith of the Seven. Blue= Faith in the Drowned God. Brown= Dothraki faith in the Great Stallion. ck= The God of a Thousand Faces. White= ...the Extraneous God. Currently, I had only identified four certain ones and five probable ones... Khal Drogo= Pdin of the Great Stallion. Anha Vezhvena= Cleric of the Great Stallion. High Sparrow= Cleric of the Seven. Aeron Greyjoy= Cleric of the Drowned God. Night King= Pdin or Cleric of the Extraneous God (hypothesis). Melisandre= Cleric of the Red God (hypothesis) High Priestess Kinvara= Cleric of the Red God (hypothesis) Aegon Targaryen= Pdin of the Red God (hypothesis) Jon Snow= Pdin of the Red God (hypothesis) The reason I doubted Melisandre and Kinvara, was because both were ghosts hiding in the shadows... No one had heard from the two priestesses for at least 3 years... Between Aegon and Jon Snow, I suspected thetter more...but in any case, I had no proof. I thought about getting rid of the High Sparrow or Aeron Greyjoy but I knew it would probably be worse... Anha Vezhvena, the current Cleric of the Great Stallion, was not the first... The previous High Priestess showed the same magic as the second... She was burned at the stake a few dayster. The woman died...but witnesses imed that a brown light came out of the dying woman''s body and poured into Anha Vezhvena... If I had had the High Sparrow killed, I would only have killed an old man who has not yet done me any wrong, and I would have blessed someone else whom I did not know. Better to face someone you know than a stranger. I had formted four other hypotheses for this anomaly: 1) As long as my power is in this world the other powers will not disappear. 2) We are in a stalemate '' Hignder: Only one will remain ''. That is, only the chosen ones could destroy other chosen ones. 3) Power could diminish until it disappears if faith itself is suppressed. 4) Abination of the previous three... Now, to my list of problems to be faced, I had added the item ''Holy Wars''... After a few moments'' reflections, I decided it was the moment of truth... Statistics. '' I thought as I watched a green smoke condense in front of me... [LEVEL: 3] [Strength: 15] [Dexterity: 16] [Constitution: 16] [Intelligence: 19] [Perception: 17] [Will: 25] [Charisma: 14] Before I could realize the information I had just read, the voices began to speak again... [Come, Traveler...you must swear...swear...swear on your knees...] ''The sacred Oath that every 3rd level pdin must perform...'' I thought, connecting the dots immediately. Each pdin up to [2] level had no close ties to the deity they served... but at [3] level, to obtain the specific abilities of that chosen order of pdins, you had to take an oath. I approached the God-Tree. I did as requested and knelt with my left knee on the ground and my right knee bent in half. I also lowered my head to the ground. [Do you, Traveller, rebaptized as Duncan Tallhart, son of Varra Tallhart and bearer of the blood of Joramun, swear that now and forever you will feed the light of life and guard its spark?] "I so swear," I answered. [By your blood, do you swear to protect that light from the forces that would destroy it? And that where there is the life you will resist those who would see it wither?] "By my blood, I so swear." [By what you love most, do you swear to keep the light in your heart?] "By all that I love, I so swear." [...And finally...On what you most want to protect and cherish, do you swear to be that light? Will you be that beacon in the world when every other light fades? Will you let your joy and courage shine in all your actions?] "...On that which I most want to protect and cherish, I swear I will do all I can to try to be that light." [You swore... You swore it to us, Duncan of house Tallhart. Remember now and forever your oath.] "Now and Forever." Roots slowly sprouted from the ground and wrapped around my hand... Countless pieces of information entered my mind along with a familiar but purer energy. The processsted a few seconds, then the voices echoed onest time... [Rise Pdin... Pdin of the Gods whose names are forgotten... Pdin of us Ancients... arise Duncan Tallhart... Pdin of the Old Gods.] End POV. --------------------------------------------------- POV: Oberyn Martell; Sunspear. About five weeks after an oath was sworn... Oberyn was annoyed and bored. He had just been summoned by his brother for yet another lecture and reminder... He entered his brother Doran''s chambers. The prince and protector of Dorne was sitting in his new wheelchair. Over the past two years, his mild gout condition had worsened. Doran could only stand for a maximum of three hours a day. The man tried to move around and walk as much as he could to try to stay as fit as possible. Beside him was his loyal bodyguard and captain of the prince''s escort guard, Areo Hotah from Norvos. "Brother. Axe lover. " Oberyn bowed to the first and nodded to the second, who was untouched by his prince''s younger brother''s little tease. "Oberyn...I sent it to you two hours ago... Why do you keep acting this way?" Doran asked in a calm but serious tone. "Why do you try to restrain and asphyxiate my nature, beloved brother? I am a free spirit, full of love and passion... Free spirits should not be disturbed during acts of full love...beloved brother." Oberyn. "Our guest will arrive tomorrow. I hope you will control that passion tomorrow. I will say it again. Tomorrow, you will wee and guide our guests, offering all the hospitality and cordiality a Prince of Dorne should show. Say it. By order of your Prince, say that you will do as I have just asked." Doran. "Phew...Yes, brother, I will. I will bring glory and honor to House Martell and in no way injure, poison, offend, seduce or defy our esteemed host." Doran nodded slightly, trying to think of a possible loophole for his brother in that sentence. "House Tallhart is increasingly bing the most influential and wealthy house in the Seven Kingdoms. The heir of Lord Helman Tallhart is loved and revered throughout the North... To offend, and gods save us, to injure that boy in any way will be a deep wound to the North itself... a wound that will take its toll, Oberyn. The North does not forget... House Tyrell has learned those words the hard way. ''I have told you before. I am eager and curious to meet the ''Legendary Bloody Snow'' firsthand... Could you remind me why hees to Sunspear?" Oberyn asked, scratching his head. "... Oberyn Trade... House Tallhart, wants to offer us a possible business partnership... Our finances, they are not bright and plentiful, Oberyn... We''re losing ground in the salt trade. Our revenue has dropped by 10% in thest two years... House Martell needs this possible coboration. Let me remind you... Every northern house that has partnered with the Tallharts... they have a bigger and more lucrative business than any of us. The soap you love to use, the paper, your new leather armor, the alcoholic beverages you dabble in, and the new toilets and waterworks that help us not wastewater, alle from that House... The incident at the tournament with the heir to House Tyrell has already been a blow Oberyn..." Doran concluded, recalling ''''the incident'''' at the tournament that had perpetually crippled Wis Tyrell during the joust a few months ago. "I already told you! That was an ident! I unhorsed him and his foot got caught in the reins! I have already apologized directly to Wis and he bears me no grudge or guilt. It was his idiot father''s fault! He forced him to joust against experienced knights when he was not yet ready." Oberyn justified himself in a tone of annoyance and concealed anger. Doran knew his brother was not lying. "Nevertheless, friction with House Tyrell has red and now Dorne buys grain from them at a higher price Oberyn... This year''s harvests were average. We can NOT afford any more ''INCIDENTS''. Do I make myself clear?" Doran. "Crystalline, my prince." End POV. -------------------------------------------------- POV: Kinvara the Red Priest; Naath. On the same day... The servant of the Lord of Light looked out over the horizon towards Dorne. She felt power flowing within her that she had not yet experienced fully. From the balcony she could glimpse the garden, the mother of the chosen one was giving a history lesson to the two girls: Rhaenys Targaryen [9 years old just turned] and Missandei [8 year old]. Kinvara was pleasantly impressed by the little girl Missandei. In only three months, the prodigy blessed by the mes of knowledge had learned from her The High Valyrian and The Old Valyrian... The child was already fluent in 7nguages... Her thoughts were interrupted by a presence behind her. " May I disturb you for a moment, High Priestess? " A seven-year-old boy asked. " For as many moments as you wish, Prince Aegon. I am and will always be at your service. What can I do to quench the doubts swirling in your mind?" Kinvara asked, extending a smile to Aegon Targaryen. "Thank you, Priestess Kinvara... May I ask, why my mother still won''t reveal to my uncles, the identity of our ally? Every time I try to ask her, she changes the subject or tells me I''m not old enough to know yet..." Aegon. "...The chosen one of the Forgotten Gods will soon show himself to Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn, Sire. Princess Elia has chosen to keep the secret, for it was I who suggested she wait and guard it. I fear the difort of doubt that afflicts you, my prince, is because of me." Kinvara. "Ah...May I ask why you suggested she wait?" Aegon. "Because ''He who will stand by your side during The Long Night'', was not yet ready, my prince... He had needed more time. Time to gather the necessary strength and prepare as best he could... Your mother, she simply respected that choice." Kinvara. The boy thought about Kinvara''s words for a moment and then nodded, showing a sign of understanding. But then another doubt popped up...one word between the lines in particr. " Had? " End POV. ------------------------------------------------------ POV: Obara Sand; Sunspear. The day a wee guest arrived... The eldest of the ''Sand Snakes'' ( sixteen years old ), was waiting at the entrance along with her two stepsisters Nymeria Sand ( thirteen years old ) and Tyene Sand ( eleven years old ). By direct order of Oberyn, they were to be the first to wee Bloody Snow into the pce. Their father had promised Uncle Doran that he would in no way be able to intimidate or disturb their guest... So Oberyn delegated the task to his daughters. They were not to attack him but only to test the fame and glory of such an individual... Oberyn did not want Dorne to bow to a lesser House of the North. '' The North is Dorne''s enemy...'' Obara thought, remembering the support Lord Stark had given to the usurper King Robert Baratheon. Ned Stark had killed Dorne''s greatest hero of thest century, Ser Arthur Dayne...along with his sister Ashara Dayne. "Remember what our father said," Obara said to their sisters. "Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken." The two sisters replied in unison. The pce doors opened, and three figures, escorted by four spears and Areo Hotah, entered. A boy in the center stood out above them all. Dressed in a white silk robe with exquisite green and silver decorative stitching, as if they were roots and branches of a nt. A blood-red symbol sewn onto his chest stood out slightly. But the whole ensemble enhanced his well-groomed hair color, and especially his eyes. Those eyes, which expressed gentleness and intelligence in a peculiar silvery-green, enhanced the uniqueness of this individual who was getting closer and closer. Obara had also scrutinized the two youngpanions at his side, who were to be his escort. One was at least 6 feet 3 inches tall and the other was at least half a foot shorter... but both of them expressed strength and confidence in every movement. Those two know what they''re doing... the tall one, in particr, is a good fighter. '' Obara assessed inwardly as he failed to praise the bearing of the two guards covered in exquisitely crafted studded leather armor. A few secondster... "Lord Duncan of House Tallhart, Dorne wees you...it is an honor and a privilege to wee the hero of the North, the infamous and legendary Bloody Snow... I am Obara Sand, natural daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell, and these two by my side are my sisters, Nymeria Sand and Tyene Sand... Wee to House Martell, my lord." Obara said with a slight bow. The young warrior had used a subtle but unconcealed tone of mockery in her voice, but none of the three figures reacted or seemed to be bothered by it... "Lady Obara, Lady Nymeria, Lady Tyene, I thank you for the warm and weing hospitality offered by House Martell. I am Duncan Tallhart, son of Ser Helman Tallhart and heir to Torrhen''s Square...but you may address me as ''Bloody Snow'' if you wish. These two young and promising men at my side are Commander Gellert son of Dyman and Vice Commander William son of Bradd. I would ask you, if possible, the courtesy to treat my twopanions as an extension of myself if that is too much to ask... My Ladies, let me be the first among the nobles of the North to express to you, '' Legendary Serpents of the Sands'', the most heartfelt honor and privilege of meeting you. It''s not every day I get to meet three fine warriors from Dorne. Especially you, Lady Obara... I admire your choice at an early age to pick up the spear offered to you by your father Oberyn, that day he came to take you from your mother''s arms in tears... Tears and Lance...two fine weapons to choose from...and you, mydy, made the bravest choice in my opinion." Said with a polite and sincere tone, Bloody Snow. The silence in the roomsted for a few seconds... Obara Sand couldn''t stop staring at that red symbol on the dress of that monster he had just unmasked... The embroidery on the silk dress was in the shape of a winged knight wielding a two-handed hammer... Obara couldn''t stop staring at it because it represented her psycho-physical condition... She felt as if she had just been hit by a mighty hammer... Every part of her body trembled after hearing that being''s words. Only she, Oberyn, her mother and Nymeria, had to be aware of that part of her past... No one else had to be aware of it... she was more than certain... ''HOW?! HOW DOES HE KNOW?! WHO THE F*** ARE YOU, EVIL WIZARD?! I KILL YOU!!! YOU''RE DEAD!!! Shrieked Obara inwardly as a murderous look grew on her face. Nymeria, sensing her sister''s emotional state, intervened by grabbing her by the arm, fearful that she might perform an extreme and catastrophic act that would stain the name of House Martell for centuries... "Lord Duncan, thank you for your praise, my lord. Please, could you give us just a moment? My sister is not feeling very well at the moment. Tyene! Entertain our wee guests during our brief absence." Said Nymeria immediately, seeking Tyene''s gaze to express the urgency and delicacy that the moment required. "Of course sister. My lords, if you will follow me... A waiting room with drinks and refreshments awaits you. Our father, Prince Oberyn, will join us as soon as possible." Said the sweet and pretty young Tyene Sand showing a hallway with friendly gestures and tones. "Of course my Ladies... I hope it is nothing serious. We wish you a speedy recovery, Lady Obara. Please let us know if House Tallhart can help, we have good healers at our service less than a mile from the pce." Said Bloody Snow bowing his head. "YOU! ...." Obara was interrupted and shushed. "THANK YOU, my lord, for your helpfulness... There will be no need, I assure you." Nymeria. "As you wish, mydies... Lady Tyene, I and mypanions dly ept your guidance and hospitality, thank you." End POV. ---------------------------------------------- POV: Nymeria Sand; Royal Pce of House Martell, Sunsper. Nymeria had recently dragged her screaming fury of a sister into a room as far away from the ''Gracious Guest'' as possible... After calming her sister down and swearing to her that she had never mentioned her past to anyone, Oberyn came to their aid... After exining the past events to him, his father, too, seemed shaken and enraged. Oberyn hated anyone who even tried toy a finger on his family. Perhaps asking her father for help was the wrong move... She should have informed her uncle Doran directly... the Prince and Lord of Dorne. A few minutester... Nymeria, Oberyn, and Eria Sand walked briskly towards the guest rooms. Though fearful of the likely nefarious events that would soon unfold, Nymeria was also excited and intrigued by the way, her father Oberyn would demand justice. The two women and the Prince at the head of the group opened the doors to the hall... Oberyn approached with a leisurely step towards the three guests of honor, who were currently seated on a couch in thepany of her sister Tyene. "Lord Duncan Tallhart... Forgive my tardiness, and let me wee you in person to the pce. I am Prince Oberyn of House Marte..." The Prince''s arrogantly charged words suddenly broke apart... Oberyn was petrified by the figure a few steps away from him. He stood motionless and silent for a few seconds before shouting... "WELCOME! Wee my friends! Dorne is honored to wee you!" The Prince said in a warm and sincere tone, giving a deep and humble bow. Then Oberyn turned to some servants and ordered: "LET THERE BE A BANQUET! THE GREATEST THIS PALACE HAS EVER SEEN! OUR HONOURED GUESTS SHALL KNOW ALL THE HOSPITALITY AND WELCOME THAT DORNE CAN OFFER! MOVE!!!"....The attendants jumped in unison as they left the hall. The only thing Nymeria Sand, second daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell, also known as ''''The Red Viper of Dorne'''', could think as she watched that scene was: '' WHAT THE F*** IS GOING ON? '' Chapter 47: Time has Come Part II Chapter 47: '' Time has Come '' Part II POV: Doran Martell; In the most secure room of the Royal Pce of Sunspear. An hour before the banquet was to begin... "Prince Doran, please stand up... I assure you that this is unnecessary...I..." Said an eleven-year-old boy to a man afflicted with gout, both knees on the ground and his face covered in tears. "It is not Prince Doran who is kneeling to you, Lord Duncan... The man at your feet now is just a poor sick old man full of gratitude for the person who saved his family from a horrible fate... This is nothing...nothing...sigh...please ept this pathetic gesture as a smallpensation for a debt that can never be repaid..." Doran Martell said, sping the boy''s hands with his own as he kept his head bowed to the floor. Oberyn stood a few steps away from them in silence, he too was charged with simr emotions, but he had already burst into tears and venting by the time they had reached the antechamber and no one could witness it. "If these are the words of a brother and uncle who cares about his family...then I ept the gesture with gratitude. Now, however, I would like to speak with Prince Doran of House Martell. The man who is charged with protecting the legacy of a house has never bowed to anyone. Please, Protector of Dorne, rise. I know very well that you are in tremendous physical pain right now." The boy helped the man up, and Doran epted the offered help. "Thank you...thank you, Lord Duncan..." Doran returned to his seat. It took him a few more minutes before he found hisposure. After a while, Doran spoke again... "Lord Duncan, please tell me how House Martell and House Targaryen can repay this enormous debt. Just say the word, my lord. We''ll make sure we do the rest, I swear it." Said Doran in a calmer, more rational tone. "...Dorne will have a chance to repay that debt, Prince Doran. However, I would like to make one thing very clear before we begin... I did not help you because I am loyal to House Targaryen, Prince Doran, and Prince Oberyn... I only saw in advance what might happen to a mother and two children, and I chose to intervene. I assure you, if you had not respected the use in the message or offered aid to the people of Naath, we would not be having this conversation today." Both Doran and Oberyn nodded silently at those words. "Lord Duncan, may I ask if you have had...'' any other visions'' concerning the fate of Elijah, Aegon, and Rhaenys?" Oberyn asked, taking a step forward. "No, Prince Oberyn...I''m sorry. I cannot control this ''''gift'''' at will. Once I have changed the fate of an event, I have never had visions concerning that new changed event again... It''s quiteplicated to exin..." Said the boy scratching his head, showing a helpless and embarrassed look... "That said, I can tell you that I know what is going to happen in many other events. Events that will affect all of us... We can prepare for theing storm, changing course, lowering sails, avoiding obstacles...but the relentless current will always drag the ship in that direction, we can''t stop the ship from going there, we can only stop it from sinking so we can save the crew that rules it." After those words, Doran intervened. "Are you talking about the fate of all the Seven Kingdoms?" The man asked with a puzzled look. "Of the world Prince Doran...or rather of all its inhabitants. I do not wish to go into specifics now, not least because I would have no way of proving my words. But in the next fifteen years, the world will face two of the greatest catastrophes history has ever seen... What I seek from House Martell is a worthy ally. An ally to help me save as many people as possible from these catastrophes. We''re not talking about the fate of a dynasty, but the fate of mankind. Before you answer me, Prince Doran... I would like you and Prince Oberyn to promise me two things." Hearing those words, Oberyn reached his brother''s side and exchanged a look of mutual understanding with him. "We will listen to your requests with the utmost care and seriousness, Lord Duncan," Doran said in a serious tone. The boy nodded before continuing to speak. "The first... Whatever I say to you from this point on will have to remain between us. If, after exining the framework of the situation, you choose not to be my ally, House Martell must at the very least maintain a state of absolute neutrality. You will not use this information to pursue an agenda that would benefit Dorne. In that case, I would consider you my enemy, and I woulde down on you with all means at my disposal. The second... You will only agree to follow me in this fight after you have heard all the information I will dispose of. Do not ept lightly, and weigh all the risks, pros, and cons carefully. I cannot guarantee that Dorne will not suffer a terrible fate or that House Martell will continue to exist should you choose to travel ''that road'' by my side." Doran replied after a few seconds. "We ept these conditions. I, Doran Nymeros Martell, Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne, swear to you, Duncan of House Tallhart, here, now, and forever that House Martell will abide by your terms. I swear it by all that I hold most dear in this world, may the Gods and Men be my witnesses and may I be damned for eternity, should I ever fail in my oath." When he had finished reciting his oath, it was Oberyn''s turn. After Oberyn finished speaking, Bloody Snow began to exin to the two men in front of him, all the information he had chosen to reveal to his possible future allies. About twenty minutester... Doran and Oberyn looked astonished, full of astonishment, disbelief, fear, distrust, and uncertainty. The boy in front of them had only exined what could happen in the next ten years by exining, ''''Who'''' will be the enemy they will face and, ''''What'''', they will have to face. After a few seconds, Bloody Snow finished his sermon. Doran turned towards his brother. ''''Oberyn...the citadel... You said..." Doran didn''t know how to continue. "I knew the Archmaester could not be trusted...but at this level... No brother I had no idea, and I''m afraid... I only know a few of their ''weapons'' that they might use... Conspiring all this time against House Targaryen...if this is true, a snake more poisonous, more hidden, and more dangerous than 1,000 Red Vipers dwells in Old City and every castle in Westeros." Oberyn shuddered at that thought then thought back to another dangerous enemy and asked: "Do you want to go against the Iron Bank?" "Of course I don''t. I would much rather be able to avoid facing the true Titan of Braavos. The gods only know, how much gold and what kind of treasures they keep in those crypts. It''s not clear to me yet how many branches they have, I know for a fact that destroying the headquarters in Braavos won''t be enough... However, it will be the Iron Bank that will move against me and my House first. This information is already confirmed through mywork of spies. I can''t avoid a problem, if the problem itselfes looking for me, Titan or not the Iron Bank will get its due. If after some skirmishing, they choose negotiation, we can coexist. If not, it will be a battle to thest drop of blood and ounce of gold." Bloody Snow exined. Doran pondered carefully. He would not be worthy to sit on the throne of Dorne if he did not... The fate of his people would change with every choice he made... He had to figure out which one was the best, without being influenced by personal motives... After a few minutes, Doran asked: "Can we win?... Answer with raw and bitter honesty, Duncan of House Tallhart." Doran. "...Honestly? I don''t know. The possibility exists... but I can''t estimate the chances of victory... not yet at least. Know in any case, that I will fight this war even with the certainty of losing it. It is not toote for House Martell to back down and stay out of such a conflict. Naath will be a safe ce for many decades, even centuries with the right precautions." Doran stared intently into the boy''s eyes for a few seconds, then sought his brother''s advice. "The choice is yours, Doran... Don''t let your bloodthirsty crazy brother influence you. I will follow and respect my Prince''s will to the end." Oberyn said in a serious tone trying to hide his fearless adventurer nature as much as possible. Doran remained silent for several minutes... He thought and weighed every possibility, trying as hard as he could to find a way to avoid that crossroads... Even just postponing it would have been a victory...but he wasn''t going to do it, not this time. At least this one was due... He was already aware of the answer he would give. A part of him had already decided several minutes before... Doran grabbed the arms of the chairs with both hands and pulled himself to his feet. His sore, swollen knees roared in response to their owner''s thoughtless gesture. The man managed to withstand the pain and maintained a dignified and authoritative appearance. "Duncan of House Tallhart... What you are about to face is beyond the reach of any House in Westeros. The conflict toe will bring death and pain to thousands... From what I can see, the odds are not in your favor. May my people and my ancestors forgive me for the choice I''m about to make. You could prevail and gain prosperity, peace, and infinite possibilities in this world... or unnecessary suffering, pain, chaos, despair, and misery, without being able to move a single cog in this wheel that governs us and drags us all along... Whatever fate awaits you.., Dorne will share it with you. End POV. ------------------------------------- POV: Oberyn Martell; Sunspear. Two days after an alliance was made. House Martell had bled itself dry, amid parties and celebrations. After Oberyn had heard his brother Doran''s answer, he considered Duncan and his family, part of his family. All 350 men of his escort and the staff that made up his retinue in Sunspear had been invited to the pce and considered guests of honor. Before Oberyn granted Bloody Snow''sst request, he basked again in the thought of the events and challenges that were toe in theing years. Never before had he felt so alive and full of adrenaline. It had been two days and two nights since he had been able to stop smiling. Now another exciting challenge was in front of him. A friendly sparring match with the Legendary Bloody Snow... Both sides were facing each other, wielding only a shield and a blunt spear. His daughter Obara, still recovering from the course of events, had just been knocked down a dozen times by the boy and those two Unsullied-non-eunuchs who followed him wherever he went. If every member of that unit was truly the equal of Divisional Commander Gellert or his Deputy William, the Prince of Dorne knew with certainty that three hundred of those men would prevail in a fight against a thousand veteran spears of Dorne. "I know you held back against Obara... Don''t do it against me, Bloody Snow." Oberyn. "I will only do so if you swear to me that that blunted spear, is not poisoned, Red Viper." Bloody Snow. "Ahahahah! You''ll never know!" The Red Viper. Bloody Snow charged forward with his guard up. He cleaved an initial blow like a whip towards Oberyn''s left leg, which he dodged by leaping to his opponent''s right side. The Red Viper tried a shot from above but the two rods crossed in mid-air and there, Oberyn noticed an unnatural twisting of the body... Duncan was attempted to hit Oberyn in the face with a roundhouse kick... "Fuuu!" The kick cleaved the air...he had missed the target by only a millimeter. Oberyn stepped back... "What the heck kind of movement was that? Are you a Lys contortionist?" Oberyn asked instinctively. "No, fortunately for me I am not. Might I ask how you managed to dodge it?" Bloody Snow. "By constantly getting kicked in the face by Lys''s whores." Replied The Red Viper wryly. They bothughed at the exchange of banter. "My turn boy, get ready. "Duncan nodded and raised his guard. Oberyn charged forward with a series of precise, focused lunges to the elbow and exposed knees... Duncan dodged and parried each lunge. He tried to strike back, but the Red Viper retreated an instant sooner after each lunge. Just like a snake bite. The exchangested another five minutes before the sparring''s first blow hadnded. Oberyn had managed to unbnce andnd the boy, who got up with a backward pirouette a momentter... This took Oberyn by surprise... Duncan swept across the ground with his shaft and Oberyn was knocked down. The Sand Snakes, watching from a corner with other spectators, were shocked and admired by this exchange... About six hourster... "Are you sure you want to leave Sunspear already?" Oberyn asked with a slight tone of sadness to the boy about to board the ship. "I wouldn''t want to leave these sun-kissednds, Prince Oberyn... But all this hospitality is making me ufortable...and frankly, I would like to get some distance from your niece Arianne and daughter Tyene... I am forced to flee and try to save the resources of the people of Dorne." Duncan replied in a gentle, joking tone. "Ahahahaha! My daughter is pointing at you as if you were forbidden fruit. Are you sure you don''t want to try everything Dorne has to offer? I had my first sweet experience at your age boy." Oberyn asked with an amused and mischievous look. "NO, thank you... I would like to keep my '' Eleven-year-old'' innocence for a while longer. Thank for me all the young maidens of Sunspear for their ''kindness'', ''thoughtfulness'' and ''friendliness''..." Duncan. "Arianne, she swears she was lost that night and drank too much Dorne red..." Oberyn tried onest time to tease the boy. "But that doesn''t justify why Tyene was with her in my chamberste at night too!!! " He shot out indignantly at the boy who was visibly blushing. "Younded her father in front of her, Bloody Snow... "That''s the price of fame. Ahahahaha!" Oberyn let out a big, fatugh. He was having too much fun teasing perhaps ''Bloody Snow''s only weakness. After a few seconds, he regained hisposure... "Changing the subject, will Dorne be able to deliver the first shipment of sand to Bear Ind on time?" Duncan. "The Mormonts will have those fifty tons within the next two moons. House Martell gives you his word." Oberyn promised in a serious tone. "And the North gives you theirs, that Dorne will suffer no more thirst and hunger in the next two years. As for the production of ice and ice cream, we should be able to build the factories within the next six moons at thetest." Promised Duncan in the same tone of voice. "We look forward to it... My concubine Eria, is nagging me about wanting to travel to thends of House Tallhart as soon as possible. Once tasted, it is hard to find a better dessert here in Dorne. We''ll meet again at the tournament, brother. Safe journey. Give my respects and greetings to the future Lord of Barrowton." End POV. ---------------------------------------------------------- POV: A woman who keeps her promises. Barrowton. Three days after three galleys and two merchant ships set sail from Sunspear for Bear Ind... More than four years had passed since that meeting which radically changed Lady Barbrey Dustin''s life. Due to the unforeseen problems in construction and nning over thest few years and the harsh winterst year, both the Widow of Barrowton and Bloody Snow agreed to postpone the fateful meeting with the ''candidate'' she was to meet... For Lady Dustin, it was just another item on her busy agenda to be cleared. She just wanted to get rid of that burden as soon as possible. Although she had been shaken and affected by the events of that tournament, after working hard for the next three years, Barbrey had decided that there would be no more room for futile things like ''''love''''...Only power and influence could be under her tight control... And she was good at maintaining that control... Soon, few in Essos and Westeros would dare to disparage or offend lightly, Lady Barbery Dustin. Lady of Barrowton, protector of House Dustinnds and future High Executive of the Never Winter Bank. Within a year, they would announce to the world the opening of this new institution... Preparations were almostplete. The Northernnds were full of mismanaged gold umted who knows where. ''The first woman in history to hold such a position...'' Lady Barbery thought every morning, to spur her body and mind and face the day loaded withmitments and duties to the best of her ability. "My Lady, the lookout spotted thirty horsemen and a carriage less than a mile from Barrowton." An attendant in the service of House Dustin reported. ''Let the gates of Barrwonhall be opened and bread and salt offered to our guests. I will await ''the guest of honor'' here in the hall." Barbery ordered. "Yes, my Lady." The attendant. About twenty minutester... the hall doors opened and a man entered... A man, unarmed, dressed in aristocratic robes made mainly of leather and wool, just over thirty-five years of age, with a weathered but gentle gaze, well-groomed hair that hid a slight onset of baldness, slim and toned body, and a face that expressed awe, happiness, and expectation. "Lord Jorah...Why are you here?" The man was overwhelmed by this first question. Both the man and the woman had a petrified look on their faces and their bodies were stiff as a statue due to the unfolding of the unexpected events. After a few seconds of silence, Jorah recovered and made a bow, saying: "Lady Barbrey, thank you for your invitation here to Barrowton. I am pleased and honored to meet you again after all this time...I...hope I am not inconveniencing you, mydy." Barbrey awoke from her astonished and shocked state when he heard those words. "I... Forgive me, my lord. I do not believe I invited you here to Barrowton..." The gears in Lady Dustin''s head began to turn again. Hundreds of words, events, and images surfaced... and took shape, connecting. Lady Dustin, unable to stop the shaking... The trembling from the rage and fury she felt for two individuals. Lord Jorah was more bewildered than before... The poor man had no idea what was going through the mind of that woman in front of him... A woman who was spewing fury and hatred from every pore of her skin... "You!...WERE IN ACCORDANCE WITH HIM, MY LORD? All this time you''ve done nothing but mock me? All those events at the tournament...Were they all nned?! Answer me Lord Jorah!" Roared Lady Dustin with a voice full of hatred and resentment. The woman felt offended and mocked, now more than ever... Ever since that day when Ned Stark told her in the person of her William''s death, Lady Dustin had vowed to herself that never again would she be struck where she was most vulnerable. She would never again allow that opening in her defenses to anyone. And now, she had just been thrown from her horse again in that spot. Every essence of her screamed ''Revenge''. Jorah remained silent, his face more confused than ever. He had no idea what Lady Barbrey was talking about... After a few seconds, Jorah took courage and said: "Lady Barbery, I swear I don''t know what you''re talking about... If I have offended you in any way, I beg your pardon, mydy. I had no intention of harming you in any way." Said Jorah, bowing. Barbrey has pped again. She did not know what to think, she only knew that Lord Jorah''s behavior and words seemed sincere in her eyes. Trying to remain calm, Lady Dustin asked: "Why have youe to Barrowton, my lord?" "Because three weeks ago I received your invitation by missive mydy. The emissary bore the symbols of your House and on the letter was engraved your seal..." Jorah. Barbrey was shocked by his response. About a year ago, Barbrey had stopped corresponding with the man. She had made a harsh decision and written to her would-be Knight, that she would not be able to keep her promise made that day at the tournament... She had even returned the ''crown of beauty'' and sent a promise to pay 100,000 golden dragons, to try topensate, at least in part, the offense she had caused the poor man... No reply was received from Barrowton after that message... Lady Dustin thought the man was heartbroken and did not want to hear from her again... She had suffered secretly for months after sending that emissary... that emissary who never returned... ''THE DAMNED FROST BLADES!!! That''s why des 1, 2, and 3 disappeared two days ago! YOU DAMN BASTARD! YOU WILL PAY HARD!'' Lady Barbrey clenched her fists as hard as she could as she began to tremble with rage again. "Lady Barbrey...are you well, mydy? Do you wish me to leave? I don''t want to bother you any more than I have to...I" Jorah was interrupted. "No, my lord... I apologize, for my behavior...and myck of respect for your person... I have falsely used you of matters for which you are not to me. Please, my lord. Could we pretend that the ''events of thest few minutes never happened?" Lady Dustin asked, pping herself inwardly for the umpteenth time and recovering the poise everydy should disy. "Of course, mydy... I do not know what ''events'' you are referring to." Lord Jorah replied in a gentle tone making a small sigh of tranquility within himself. "Thank you, my lord. Please take a seat, I will have my servants bring food and drink immediately." Lady Dustin greeted her guest with kindness and cordiality. A few minutester... "I have brought a small gift for you, mydy... A foreigner visiting mynds has advised and instructed me for such a gift... I hope you will enjoy it." Said Jorah, handing over a small box of fine Damewood. "Thank you, my lord...truly there was no need. I...I am ashamed to say that I have not prepared any gifts for you..." As he said this, Barbrey opened the box. A pendant was inside, a pendant with a peculiar shape and material...It looked like...Valyrian steel. A bear on one side and a maiden on the other. A clear reference to {The Bear and the Maiden Fair}. The first song that apanied their first dance together... "Beautiful, my lord...I" Although the item was made of Valyrian Steel, the shape of the figures...was a bit rough and unkempt... "I apologize for the rough shape of the symbols...I drew them myself...it was the stranger from the free city of Qohor who created them, following the drawings exactly... I assure you that I practiced a lot... but I''m afraid I couldn''t do better. In any case, I wanted to contribute this gift in person. Here if you would move these two bows like this..." Jorah gently activated a small interlocking mechanism... The two bow-shaped symbols joined together in the shape of a heart... "... Your gift is most wee, my lord. Thank you for it... How may I return the gesture?" Lady Dustin asked, trying with all her might to maintain a demeanor. "...There is something I would like to ask you, mydy. If it''s not too much trouble for you since the day is beautiful and clear, would you like to ride together and be my guide through yournds? This is the first time I have ever visited Barrowton and I would like to see it." That evening after dinner... "I assure you, mydy... My father still has a scar on his arm. That was the time I learned firsthand why you should never approach a bear cub with its mother within arm''s length. I always feared that if I ever had an heir...my son or daughter would be born with my father''s handprint on their buttocks." Lord Jorah recounted as he finished his third cup of the wine of the day. "Ahahahaha! Please my lord stop, I can''t contain myself. Stop here! hahaha." Lady Barbreyughed for the umpteenth time during this very pleasant evening that had just passed. She and Jorah had spent an entire day riding and talking, telling each other all the past events of their youth while politely glossing over the more tragic ones. Lord Jorah had suffered too, she knew that well... "Mydy, with your permission, I would like to retire to my chambers. For me, three cups of wine are far too much...I do not wish to risk embarrassing my House any more than I have to. I thank you for a beautiful day." Lord Jorah said, politely rising from the table still filled with food and drink. The hour waste. Without realizing it, the pair spent four hours in frivolous and jovial chatter. "You are dismissed, Lord Jorah. Thank you for your pleasantpany... Good night, my lord." Lady Dustin said, rising and bowing as per etiquette. "Good night, mydy." About an hourter... Lady Dustin was in her bedroom. She was carefully brushing her hair in front of a mirror without getting any help from any handmaidens... She had just taken a hot bath with her favorite soap... When she had finished arranging her loose hair, she reached for a wooden box. She put on the pendant she had received as a gift that morning, carefully stroking the heart-shaped metal with her fingers... then got up from her chair. Before opening the doors of her room and heading for the rooms that did not belong to her, Lady Barbrey Dustin grunted in a low voice: "Bloody puppet master..." Chapter 48: The Shield Maiden Chapter 48: '' The Shield Maiden '' POV: Syggha; White Harbor. Two weeks after a pupil said goodbye to a master... Syggha didn''t know where she was born, the only thing she remembered was a wagon pulled by her father on which they traveled constantly between towns and cities. Her father was a healer who specialized in healing teeth. Although the little girl had always been fascinated by stories of legendary knights and warriors, every time she tried to ask her father: "Father, can I one day be one of those heroes?" Her father, hearing this question, took her out of the wagon and showed her the starry sky. He gave her a short lesson on how to orient herself at night, pointing out a few key stars that always pointed north or south. Finally, the father said: "Syggha, do you know why I am showing you the stars? Because they always remain there... You cannot change the course of the stars... Before a woman can be a legendary warrior-hero, she will have to change the course of the stars... So desist my child, before it is toote to change course. A path full of missed expectations, disappointment, and pain." She was only six years old when a group of Vntis vers attacked the caravan. Her father and a couple of apprentices died in that assault, only Syggha was escorted alive into the ship bound for Vntis. As fate would have it, those two ve galleys decided to attack a swan ship from the Isle of Summer, a ship that contained a group of travelers with extraordinary abilities. The captain of the ship, Josua''s father from Jh, freed all the prisoners and offered them safe passage to Pentos. When Syggha first saw Zick training a group of young men, she stood on the ship''s dock watching and watching...she sat in a corner and was enchanted by the art. On the third day, Zick came up to her with a smile and asked her why she stood all day watching the boys fight. She replied: "Because one day I too would like to learn to fight like that." Zick asked her again: "And why do you wish to learn to fight? " Syggha''s answer was: "Because I want to change the course of the stars." Twenty yearster, Syggha was in White Harbor with Zick and his retinue. After spending more than four years in the North, the longest period ever spent in one ce, Zick''s group decided to leave the Tallhartnds and depart for Pentos. Zick had the desire to visit a very old acquaintance of his. Syggha and many others asked Zick why they were leaving the Tallhartnds if his pupil''s training was not yetplete. Zick simply replied: "Because I don''t want to spoil the surprise... The surprise that boy will one day show me." Two weeks after all the greetings and thanks were given, Syggha was standing there a few steps away from the dock of the transport ship offered by House Tallhart. Three weeks earlier, Syggha and Josua had received an offer from Bloody Snow. He had asked the two of them to stay, he wanted to put them in charge of a unit that would be formed soon. [The Shield Maidens] A unit made up of only willing and eager women. Josua agreed. Syggha, on the other hand, couldn''t bring herself to leave Zick...she couldn''t leave her savior''s side. The first person in this world who said to a child full of dreams: "Yes, it is possible. You can do it too Syggha." But now, each step towards the dock seemed to weigh tons on her... When she reached thest step, Zick stood in front of her and smiled. Then he said: "This is where our paths diverge Syggha. You don''t have to worry about these old bones anymore. Take care of yourself, my child. Now go and change the course of your stars." End POV. --------------------------------------------------- POV: An emissary paid handsomely; Pyke Ind. About three days after five ships passed through the Salt Lance Strait... Captain Berand, was a valiant fighter who fought in the Gold Company for more than a decade. He left the most respected and feared mercenarypany in Essos when he received a job offer at the Iron Bank. He was currently the captain of the first garrison in the perennial service of the bank. He was given an important assignment, one of the highest priorities. Berand left with the three best ships of Braavos together with an escort of 200 mercenaries. He was to go and deal in person with the Lord of the Iron Inds, Lord Balon Greyjoy. The mission was of the utmost secrecy, no one but him knew of this assignment. Officially, they were just markets that transported valuable goods to the coast of Dorne, and from there, purchased spices and x to be delivered to the Isle of Pyke. The Greyjoys '' do not sow '', but are very open and permissive about fishing and naval trade. Pike sent a symbol every month to the various merchants they were in business with. This way, the merchant ships would be able to travel safely, without risking being attacked by an iron marauder. All that was needed was to raise the g with the safe-conduct symbol on it. The voyage took almost two months, but they finally reached the ind of Pyke. They had kept a gap of about five or six days'' sailing from their goal. The Iron Bank had managed to get Berand a safe passage through the strait protected by the Iron Fleet. Balon Greyjoy would grant him an audience. That day, in the fortress of Pyke. "Lord Balon, the Iron Bank thanks you for granting us hospitality and audience," Berand said to the man around his forty-five years of age who was looking at him with a wary, contemptuous look. "Speak quickly, sword in the pay of the coin-counters. What does the Iron Bank want from me?" Balon asked ungraciously. "The Iron Bank knows you''ve been very busytely, Lord Balon... Or perhaps, I should address you by a different title?" Berand. Balon did not respond to that provocation and a few secondster, his eyes full of murderous intent, he said: "So you havee all this way to threaten me. Does the Iron Bank think I am afraid? Ironmen do not fear men with velvety hands who have never held a weapon in their hands. I will find your spies and my brother Aeron will baptize them in salt and water. Then you can return to Braavos bearing gifts of sealed barrels filled with the drowned." Balon replied with pride and confidence in his voice. Berand had expected such an answer. The file that contained every piece of information about Balon Greyjoy underlined the fact that he was a prejudiced man, a fanatic of the ''Old Way'' and with an inordinate amount of arrogance and confidence. "King Balon, the Iron Bank did note here to threaten you...only to support you. We know of your ns for Lannisport and Seagard. We only want to ask you to... ''augment'' those ns. In return, we will pay the fair ''Iron Price''...but only if it is won." Berand said in a respectful tone. Balon began to pay attention to those words. He slowly got up from his chair and walked towards the firece. "I suppose if I were to refuse, ''someone'' in Westeros might be informed. Am I right counting coins?" Balon asked as he continued to stare at the mes in the firece. "Surely the Iron Bank would ensure, strict control and verification that this information never reaches ears ready to listen.... However it would be an ''expensive'' task...but surely that cost would be overlooked if you decided to cooperate with us..." Berand. Balon remained silent for almost a minute, then said: "What would that goal be?" "A goal for which the Iron Men are best suited to achieve. After all, you know Bear Ind well.... We will offer a good ''Iron Price'' for the death of a certain individual... An individual who must be killed during an armed confrontation, and not by mere assassination... He is currently on his way there, and our spies in Sunspear have informed us that he will be on that ind for at least two weeks. You should have time to gather the men necessary tounch a surprise attack, King Balon." As he said this, Berand reached out to the protector of the Iron Inds and handed him a piece of paper with a number written on it. Balon took the piece of paper in one hand and scrutinized it for a moment. ''''One-third immediately... The remaining two-thirds of the ''loot'' when the job is done and yes King Balon, we''re talking of gold." Berand. "Who is the target?" Balon asked simply. "The son of Ser Helman Tallhart, the legendary ''Bloody Snow''... Some rumors say that that boy will soon achieve greater fame than Pyke''s hero, Dalton Greyjoy... The Red Kraken''..." Berand. After hearing those words, Balon carefully looked into the eyes of the representative of the Iron Bank. Then he turned back to the mes, peering onest time at the near-incinerated remains of the book he had snatched from his daughter Yara''s hands earlier that morning. End POV. ------------------------------------ POV: Lord Selwyn Tarth; Evenfall Hall, Isle of Tarth. Some one months after a secret meeting... Lord Selwyn watched from the walls of the training grounds. His daughter Brienne, hisst surviving child and heir, crawled across the muddy ground in a desperate attempt to reach her training sword. After that tragic eventst month, when Lord Selwyn had held a ball for his daughter''s ninth birthday, and she was humiliated by almost every scion of Strond, Selwyn had relented. He had given his daughter permission to train in martial art. The man would no longer attempt to restrain his daughter''s wishes. Brienne wept for two days and nights after being nicknamed ''Brienne the Beautiful''... Any father would have seen his daughter with different eyes, eyes full of love, and Selwyn was no different. He loved his Brienne with all her heart. On the third day after the ball, Selwyn himself apanied his daughter to the training ground to Ser Goodwin, the master-at-arms of Evenfall hall. He said to her: "If you must do it, then do it properly. Ser Goodwin, train my daughter to the best of your ability. Consider Brienne as you would any other page eager to be made a squire." Ser Goodwin took his lord''s instructions literally. Every morning, from dawn until lunchtime, Brienne was trained hard with no favoritism for her gender. She was hit and knocked down without mercy, and his daughter did not utter a single moan about it. She kept getting back up, blow by blow, continued undaunted towards her path. The Heavenhall ball was the present she had given his daughter for her ninth birthday... But now Selwyn wanted to make up for it. He had recently found the perfect alternative gift for her... Today was the day he would give Brienne that gift. The day he was to leave with the militia of House Tarth. His King Robert had requested House Tarth''s support for his punitive expedition to the Iron Inds, and Selwyn Tarth would answer the call to arms. About two hourster... "Father, take me with you! I know how to fight, I won''t stand in your way, I swear." Said a nine-year-old girl who was taller and bigger than normal males of that age. "No, you are not ready yet Brienne. Your time wille too. I will be back I promise. I leave Evenfall hall and the ind in your hands my child. Do you promise that in my absence you will heed all of Ser Goodwin''s advice?" The Lord of Evenfall hall asked, lowering himself to his daughter''s height. "I promise father. When you return I will be stronger than ever, I swear it." Brienne replied in a determined tone but her eyes were bright. "Ahahaha, try not to get strong too fast. You wouldn''t want the other Lords of Storndughing at me, would you? ''Lord Selwyn Tarth, the one who was defeated by a little girl.'' " Selwyn said in a jovial and joking tone. "Ahah." He managed to pull a smile from his daughter. Selwyn then pulled out a leather-bound book wrapped in a sapphire blue ribbon. "Happy bted birthday, Brienne." Selwyn ced the package in his daughter''s hands and she grabbed the book. "A book?" Brienne asked curiously. "Yes, a book of a new novel that is very popr in the North... You''ll see, I''m pretty sure you''ll like the main character." Selwyn said, stroking the little girl''s face onest time before leaving. Brienne read the title aloud: "The Shield Maiden." Fine POV. ------------------------------------------- POV: Dacey Mormont; Bear Ind. About four weeks after the five Tallhart ships departed from Sunspear Harbor. Dacey had recently returned from her time as a cupbearer on Last Hearth. Her mother, Maege Mormont, had forced her to go. The woman hoped her daughter would bond with Greajon Umber''s eldest son, Smalljon. She and Smalljon did not get along well... The 13-year-old had never been able to defeat Dacey in an armed struggle... Dacey, hitting and knocking the heir of Last Heart on his butt without holding back. Although Greatjon was pleased with a party like Dacey, Smalljon had pleaded with his father not to force him... Negotiations between House Mormont and House Umber did not go well. Fortunately, there were no disagreements between the two ancient Northern Houses. During the Winterfell, the North was more united than ever. Now her mother, who was in charge of the Ind until the return of Dacey''s cousin Lord Jorah, had forced the twelve-year-old warrior to wait and greet their guests in person as they docked at the newly restored port on Bear Ind. Dacey didn''t like that ''Bloody Snow'' either, she wasn''t going to disobey her mother, but it certainly didn''t mean she was going to greet her guest with a smile on her face. The song she had heard that bard sing at Last Hearth made her explode with anger. That night a fight of epic proportions broke out in the castle halls... and the spark that fanned the mes of chaos was Dacey Mormont herself. Smalljon Umber had to stay in bed for at least three days. He had never taken such a savage beating in his life. We''ll see what you''re made of Bloody Snow...'' the twelve-year-old thought with determination as she watched three galleys and two merchant ships enter the harbor. Even though the Tallhart heir wasn''t her cup of tea, Dacey had been pleasantly surprised a couple of years ago. Both she, Smalljon, Rodrick, Daryn, Eddard, and Domeric received a book every year as a gift from Duncan. For her tenth birthday, Dacey received her new favorite book, [The Shield Maiden]. She mirrored herself a lot with the novel''s protagonist Brienne...or also called Ser Brienne Pendragon. When Dacey read the scene at night when Brienne stood up and picked up her shield, right after Ser Aragon was killed on the orders of the evil dark wizard usurper Palpatine, the littledy nearly woke up the entire Last Hearth. She screamed aloud, expressing both despairs at Ser Aragon''s death and excitement for the glorious and epic final battle. When Lord Umber''s wife burst into her room to see what kind of nightmare the protge of House Mormont was having, she found Dacey standing on the bed with the candlestick in one hand and an open book in the other while she was screaming at the top of her lungs: "COURAGE SER BRIENNE!!! GANDALF THE WHITE HAS OFFERED YOU AN OPENING! HOLD IN YOUR HANDS THE MAGIC SWORD OF YOUR FATHER, ANDRIL THE FLAME OF THE WEST! ONLY YOU CAN FINISH HIM! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR TO STRIKE? !!!!" About twenty minutester... A white-haired boy, covered in woolen clothes, fine leather armor, and a heavy fur cape, a couple of centimeters shorter than five feet tall, stood in front of her with a confused look on his face. ''''Why is he staring at me like that? It''s almost as if he doesn''t know who I am... Did the bastard even forget about me??!'' After a few more offensive thoughts, Dacey took charge of her responsibilities as a representative of House Mormont and said: "Lord Duncan...it is a pleasure to see you again after all these years, I, Dacey Mormont, cousin of Lord Jorah Mormont, wee you to Bear Ind." Said Dacey in a neutral but respectful tone. As soon as Bloody Snow heard the girl''s name, he stared at Dacey with astonishment and shock on his face... The boy''s face was visibly turning red. Dacey also noticed his body trembling and heard an unintelligible stammer in the boy''s voice... " La...La##...L#dy Da*ey...*ha...Tha#k.." Dacey hadn''t understood a single word... "Forgive me, '' my lord''...I can''t understand you. Could you please speak louder?!" Said Dacey in an annoyed tone. The girl was beginning to think that the ''minstrel-paying fanatic'' was making fun of her. ''So that''s why they call you Bloody Snow?! Because your hair is white and your skin turns blood red?! You lying scoundrel! Shame on you! You bring disgrace to the entire North! '' Thought Dacey. " Foff#....Forg...Ufff...Uff.....FORGIVE ME, MY LADY! THANK YOU! THANK YOU LADY MORMONT FOR YOUR WELCOME!" Chapter 49: Birthday Gifts Chapter 49: ''Birthday Gifts'' POV: Ned Stark; Torrhen''s Square. Year 289, 24th day, of the third moon. About a week before the citadel''s white ravens were dispatched. Ned Stark had just entered Torrhen Hall. He had left Winterfell five days earlier with his armed escort of 100 men. He had announced his visit to Lord Helman in advance, only he estimated that he would not arrive for a week. He was two days early... Ned Stark was still unused to the new speed of travel in hisnds. The roads worked perfectly. Every two hours of travel, he and his men had stopped at one of the rest stops located every ten miles throughout the Winter Road Network. That was why he had been waiting patiently for Lord Helman in his study for about half an hour. His poor bishop was unprepared to receive him so soon. About three minutester... "Lord Stark, I beg your pardon for the wait. I am truly mortified. The fault is mine alone, I did not organize properly." Said Lord Helman making a formal bow to his lord. "Please my lord. This is your abode and I am only a guest. The fault is mine for miscalcting the timing. I am still bewildered, two years ago moving this far in the middle of winter took two weeks at least. So it''s all House Stark''s fault, My Lord. It is I who beg your pardon." Lord Stark replied, standing up and making a gesture of apology. About ten minutester of formal chatter... "So my Lord, may I ask why you went to such lengths instead of summoning me to Winterfell? I assure you there was no need to bother so much my Lord. What can my House do for you, my lord?" Helman asked, cing a cap on the desk. "Lord Helman, as you well know Winter is almost past. In thest month, I have received reports from all the Northern Lords and I havepared them with Maester Luwin and all the other reports, from thest hundred years, filed in Winterfell... The North has never been able to remain so stable and strong, not after facing the darkest and most suffering period our people are forced to face. There have never been so few bandit attacks, the number of casualties is less than a tenth of what it wasst winter... and most importantly, the number of registered births has never been so high... The people of the North are safe, warm, and well-fed... All this, my lord, is thanks to House Tallhart." Exined Ned in a sincere tone full of gratitude. "My lord, I assure you, it is not all credit..." Helman was interrupted with a wave of Lord Stark''s hand. "Please, my lord. This is no time for misced ims of humility. Credit to your House is due. I havee here today to officially propose that you unite and bind our two Houses with a deeper bond, Lord Helman. I would like to propose marriage... A marriage between my first daughter Sansa and your heir Duncan. I wish for our two Houses to be linked in blood and that one day when the timees, we may share in the joy of a grandchild together. A Granson or Grandaughter who will carry Tallhart blood and Stark blood in his veins, my lord." Eddard. "My lord...I am speechless...I do not know... I don''t mean to question your decision at all, my lord...it''s just that... I can''t help but ask my lord, does Lady Catelyn agree? I would not like to well..." Lord Helman was in an unexpected situation. He knew his son was a much sought-after party in both the North and the South, but in all honesty, he had dismissed the possibility of a union with one of Lady Catelyn''s daughters. He knew first-hand the bond that existed between his daughter Eddara and his wife Myra. Thank the gods his son Duncan had simply managed to strike a courtship deal with House Lannister. If he had promised to marry off his only daughter, only five years old at the time, he was not so sure that his Myra would never try to poison him or make him unfit to rule in any way... And now, Lord Stark himself hade so far as to enter into a marriage agreement with his daughter Sansa, who was not yet three years old and whose mother was a woman who hated his son Duncan. "I know what you are thinking, my lord. I admit that my Lady wife was...'' hard'' to convince, but now even she agrees... We want to forge this bond also to bury underyers of ice all disagreements between our House and yours my lord. You and your son will have nothing to fear." Eddard replied in a confident and slightly embarrassed tone. "My Lord...here I am... I absolutely will not turn down the chance to unite our two Houses..." Helman. "But? Do not be afraid to offend me, my lord. I value sincerity and rity above all other gentle, polite lies." Ned. Helman braced himself and spoke with sincerity. "My lord, since he was five years old, my son Duncan has only ever requested one thing as a birthday present. Every year he refuses to ask for or ept any gift from any member of the Tallhart family. He has requested and still requests only one great gift, namely: [The possibility of being able to be united in marriage with a woman of his choice. Whoever she may be: Noble or lowborn, rich or poor, Westeros or foreign.] Neither his mother nor I can interfere with Duncan''s choice, My Lord. That''s not to say the possibility doesn''t exist, Lord Stark...it''s just..." Ned continued for him: "You cannot guarantee a promise of marriage to anyone... I understand my Lord. I must admit..." This time it was Ned who was interrupted, but not by Helman. The sound of a door opening and rapid footsteps apanied by jingling chains stopped Lord Stark''s words. Helman was surprised by Maester Qyburn''s sudden entrance, and for a moment he wanted to reprimand the man who had entered without knocking and even interrupted Lord Stark''s words, but reason and instinct stopped him. "My Lord, Lord Stark, I am sorry to interrupt but there is urgent news that cannot be dyed in any way," Qyburn said politely but quickly expressing urgency in his voice. "A message concerning the Iron Inds and your son, my lord," Qyburn concluded, handing a piece of paper to the Lord of Torrhen''s Square. Helman sprang to his feet and scrutinized the message. The man''s face paled visibly and he began to crumple the piece of paper, almost tearing it. Lord Stark couldn''t stop himself from asking: "Lord Helman, what is going on? Can I be of any assistance?" The protector of the North asked instinctively. Helman ignored Lord Stark''s words only for a moment and immediately asked Qyburn: "How soon will they arrive? How many ships?" "I have already sent word to your son and brother, my lord. In less than four days they willnd on Bear Ind...at least a hundred ships." Qyburn. Ned Stark connected the dots himself and he too paled and grew visibly worse. At least a hundred Iron Fleet ships were about to attack Bear Ind... End POV. ---------------------------------------- POV: Leobald Tallhart; Waterdeep, the new port town in Sea Dragon Point. About half a day after Torrhen''s Square was warned... Leobald was sitting opposite his friend and rival Gerion Lannister, younger brother of Lord Tywin Lannister. Every three months, Gerion woulde to Waterdeep, the newly founded city of about 50,000 inhabitants, to personally conduct trade negotiations with local merchants and collect payments owed to House Lannister for the two million loans. In addition to this, Gerion was also to purchase the new ships promised by House Tallhart, namely: 2 Galleys, 4 Caracas, and 5 merchant ships for the first 3 years. The three years had passed, and now Gerion, in addition to further tightening ties with House Tallhart, had alsoe to collect the first batch of ships of the year. Twice as many as the previous three years, as agreed. "Come on Leobald, lower that price... In the name of all that wine I''ve offered you over our long, deep years of friendship." Said Gerion finishing the wine cup and smiling cheekily with eyes that expressed the word [ Cleverness ]. "No way. A friend here and friend there when it suits you. You''re more taxing than our family ountant...and he studied in Braavos." Replied Leobald not flinching an inch. "AHAHAHAAHAH!!! I remember him! What''s his name? Rnd?" The Lion smiled. "Ronan. Ahah." Leobald. "Right! Ronan. By the seven hells Leobald... What the hell did they teach him in that Bank?! I''ve never had a worse headache than when I finished arguing with that numbers guy. Ahahahahah" Gerion. "Back to business, you deviousyabout. As you can see, I have three towers of cards to fill out before sundown. So, in two days the 4 Galleys, 8 Caracas, and 10 merchant ships will bepleted. The price is and will remain respectively: 5,000 g.d. per galley, 2,000 per carrack, and 900 per merchant. I have already deducted the sum from the total remaining debt... now that leaves... 1,231,750 golden dragons to be repaid. Is this correct? What do you prefer as an installment this quarter? Gold or merchandise?" Leobald. "Correct... We prefer white salt, Whisky, dried fruit, Karstark leather, soap, and paper. Both writing paper and toilet paper. I must say, Leobald, that I expected a little more from you... You wound me deeply my friend. My birthday ising up and..." Leobald nearly stood up to throttle the shameless man in front of him. "Don''t you dare talk about birthdays!!! I''m still fighting with Berena over those five hookers you so kindly sent me three months ago!!!!" Leobald. "I tell you again, ''THAT SPACIOUS EXQUIVOUS''...was just a minor misunderstanding with my nephew Tyrion... I had asked him for help... And by the way, they were not simple ''prostitutes'', but elegant young professionals in their trade from all over the world... PHUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! Phuaf...hihihi...ahahaha....fiuu...oh seven heavens, I cannot breathe... Please remind me! How long did Berena force you to sleep in another bed?! Pfff..." Gerion could barely contain himself as he asked. "Thirty-six nights!!! You and ''Tyrion'', will learn first hand that a man of the North [Will Never Forget!] " Leobald replied almost shouting. "Well...at least you had a way to warm up that freezing bed, right? PHUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! I can''t wait Leobald! Show us what you''re capable of! Ahahahahahaha!" The Smiling Lion. About 10 minutester, the two men representing their respective houses resumed discussing business... "So... Have you found a suitable admiral for the job? Or will those galleys and Caracas still be led by an inexperienced man named Leobald Tallhart?" Gerion asked with a mischievous smirk. "It seems that at least this information, you have managed to get. Why don''t you simply tell your brother to spare those poor souls, whom you call ''spies'', from an inevitable permanent and dark fate?" Leobald replied in reply. Before Gerion could answer, a man-at-arms rushed into the office. "Lord General! An urgent message from Maester Qyburn!" Said a Frost des disguised as amon soldier. Leobald sprang to his feet, knowing that de 10 would never havemitted such an act if there wasn''t a real urgency. About twenty secondster... "Recall the fleet as soon as possible! Every ship you can reach! Assemble the second Legion! Contact House Glover, House Ryswell and House Dustin, we''ll need their support! I will write the message to House Mormont myself! AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I WANT AT LEAST SIXTY SHIPS READY TO LEAVE WITHIN TWO DAYS AT THE MOST!" Leobald thundered, not caring about Gerion''s presence just a few steps away. The Smiling Lion''s smile had shed and was now expressing solidarity with his friend. "Yes, Lord General!" de 10 walked out without bowing or asking permission. Gerion remained silent, seeking Leobald''s gaze... Leobald after a few seconds answered Gerion''s silent question. "The Iron Fleet... More than 100 ships are about to attack Bear Ind. My nephew Duncan is on that ind..." Leobald. Gerion assimted that information carefully. Then he said: "You don''t have an admiral capable of beating the Iron Fleet... Let me give you that ''birthday present'' now." Leobald looked at Gerion seriously, seeking confirmation of what he guessed he wanted to offer him. "I will help you save your nephew. Put me inmand of those sixty ships. I''ll be your Fleet Admiral." End POV. ----------------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Bear Ind. About three days before a ''Smiling Lion'' tookmand of the Tallhart fleet... There I was standing in front of that girl, staring at me with hatred and confusion... My body was exploding... I felt my skin boiling, the damp and cold air couldn''t even hinder those hot shes. My eyes couldn''t tear themselves away from the figure in front of me. A figure that about four years ago I remembered as beingpletely different... I remembered her to be a foot shorter, with short hair cut badly, t breasts, and a face that at first nce could not be identified as ''feminine''... but now... The figure in front of me waspletely different... Almost as tall as me, long straight wild ck hair, delicate face adorned with honey-amber eyes that emanated an impressive fighting spirit, slightly pronounced breasts, arms, and legs entuated by well-proportioned muscles and perfect curves... It was as if Arwen from Lord of the Rings and Lagherta from Vikings had learned the [Fusion] technique from Dragon Ball and joined forces to create a more perfect being. When I was in Dorne, Arianne Martell, and Tyene Sand, would intentionally provoke me.... Unsolicited or justified touching and caressing, hugging and whispering near the ear... I had to admit that even I wasn''tpletely immune to it. My adolescent puberty + my more than one hundred years (as far as I could estimate) of absolute virginity or contact with the female gender, were more than the discreetbo. Now to these two enemies not to be underestimated, was added the Boss of the end of the campaign. This formidable foe, who made me shudder like a seven-year-old who had snuck into a movie theatre showing the film [IT], I could only identify as [Werewolf imprinting] or moremonly known as [Devastating crush on a Goddesse down to earth]... She was gravity, she was attraction...she was everything I could wish for at that moment. In front of that statue of ivory and ck pearl, all the gold in the world was worth less than an old, faded, rusty copper coin. It had to be her. [She was to be mine and I was to be hers.] It was aw, a dogma, a mantra, a creed... Nothing made sense at that moment. Then a voice...a voice I hadn''t heard since I was five years old, a voice of an old me, who had severely reprimanded me after sixty men baptized me with the nickname '' Bloody Snow '', awakened me from my dumbstruck state. [GET A GRIP DUNCAN!!! READY???!! here is Matthew from earth!!! THE GODDESS IS TALKING TO YOU!!! FOR CRYING OUT LOUD YOU MORON, ANSWER THE GODDESS!!!] I awoke from my numbness and made sense of that other angelic voice covering the first. "Lord Duncan...it is a pleasure to see you again after all these years, I, Dacey Mormont, cousin of Lord Jorah Mormont, wee you to Bear Ind." Said the angelic voice. [NEXT! ANSWER! Repeat after me: ''Lady Mormont, thank you for your warm and loving wee. it''s a pleasure to see you again after these long four years.''] Assistant Matthew. " La...La##...L#dy Da*ey...*ha...Tha#k.." Says the retarded fool (me). [Oh Jesus Christ...what a pitiful start...] Assistant Matthew. "Forgive me, ''my lord''...I can''t understand you. Could you please speak louder?!" The Valkyrie daughter of Freya and Odin asked. [COME ON DUNCAN GET UP! Nothing unrecoverable has happened! We can still make it! Bring out that adamantine will you''re so proud of!!! Come on!] Assistant Matthew. " Foff#...Forg..." stammered the retard (me). [ Foff#....Forg...FUCK YOU DUNCAN!!! BREATHE! USE THAT DAMN BREATHING TECHNIQUE AND GET CONTROL OF YOUR TONGUE BACK!!!] Assistant Matthew. I took a deep breath activating everything that could be activated at that moment, and then, without any voice control, shouted: "FORGIVE ME, MY LADY! THANK YOU! THANK YOU LADY MORMONT FOR YOUR WELCOME!" The scream sounded like a mixture of a dying nightingale in agony and thest cry of a Spartan shouting before jumping into the fray... [That''s enough... You will stay a virgin and die a virgin. I cannot watch one more second of this pathetic agony. Goodbye Duncan] The voice of android assistant Matthew had disappeared... ''BASTARD!!! You leave me alone in the trenches again! I am you filthy son of our mother!'' I thought instinctively showing visibly hatred and resentment. Unfortunately... That was a badbination of events. "Lord Duncan... Why are you shouting at me like that?! And what''s that look of defiance? I would remind you that you have not yet received bread and salt, my lord." Said the figure in front of me, who I only now noticed was level [5]. ''Fuck! Are you kidding me!? Twelve years old and you''re already at Level [5]?!'' I thought as Dacey walked up in front of me clenching her fists. "Mydy! Please stop! I had no intention..." I was interrupted. "I am well aware of your intentions, my lord. I have seen that look countless times. A Mormont does not back down." Dacey continued to advance while I retreated. I couldn''t think of anything to stop this madness... until I said the words that put the final nail in the coffin... "Lady Mormont, do you remember the gift I gave you for your birthday? In the book [ The Shield Maiden] there is a simr scene..." The fire red up after pouring that bucket of gasoline into the mes. "So you did it to buy me... You gave me those books for a purpose. You thought those books could save you from the beating you have always avoided..." Chapter 50: The Price of Hunger, Heart, Iron, Word and Blood Chapter 50: ''The Price of Hunger, Heart, Iron, Word and Blood'' POV: Maege Mormont; Bear Ind. About three hours after a young lord tried unsessfully to defend himself from numerous beatings... Maege Mormont, known as ''''the Bear'''', is a short, stout, gray-haired woman and a fierce warrior. She wore a patched chain mail. Although House Mormont had considerably increased its trade and tripled its tax revenue in thest three years, it remained one of the poorest Northern Houses. Maege could easily have afforded a new suit of armor, but she had learned from her older brother Jeor (some fourteen years her senior) never to waste unnecessary money on something that was still doing its job very well... Maege was a stubborn, ill-tempered, and headstrong woman, but above all... a great warrior. She was certainly the strongest and deadliest woman on the ind, and many think even in the entire North. Her daughter Dacey, took her as a reference point. Maege was proud of her of course... but Maege also felt that sometimes Dacey could bite off more than she could chew... And this was one of those times. Her man in the Mormont service, Ted, who had been Dacey''s shadow for many years, had recently informed her of the ''inappropriate'' wee he had reserved for her at House Tallhart... Now her guest of honor was standing in front of her. The boy in front of her was Helman Tallhart''s first son, Duncan of House Tallhart... the Legend of the North: Bloody Snow. Although this Legend had recently changed his clothes, the marks on his face were quite evident... And there was no doubt that Bloody Snow had just had his ass handed to him by a female... "Lady Maege, thank you for seeing me privately. It is an honor to meet the most feared warrior in the North." Said a slightly slurred voice. She almost certainly had swollen gums that softened and held back her tone of voice... "Lord Duncan..." Maege rose from his chair and bowed in apology. ''On behalf of my nephew Lord Jorah and all of House Mormont, including my daughter...I apologize my Lord for all you have had to go through... I hope there is a way for my House to make amends for this insult and injury to House Tallhart. I take full me, my Lord." Maege. "No my Lady! I beg you. The fault is mine alone! It was I who unjustly provoked your daughter... Here...could we just pretend that nothing happened?" The boy said quickly in an embarrassed tone. "...Of course. Please, my lord. To help a poor mother sleep soundly, I ask you the favor of making a request. Is there anything my House can do as a goodwill gesture?" Maege. "Here... There is one thing, my Lady... I would like to request a favor from you, Lady Maege." Bloody Snow. "Just say the word, my Lord!" Maege. "... I would like to officially request you and your House, permission to court Lady Dacey... May I have your permission, Lady Maege?" The boy asked in a slightly lower but more embarrassed tone of voice. Maege shook her head for a moment and blinked repeatedly. She had two pints of beer at breakfast and would shortly finish the third before lunch... In all likelihood, that beer was of a higher strength than normal. She was 99.9% certain that she had misheard the previous words. "I beg your pardon, my Lord. Could you please repeat thatst sentence?" Maege asked as she double-checked the poor boy''s appearance for safety. His lip was split into two ces. The nose was swollen and probably, recently repositioned from a fracture. A small, almost invisible drop of blood was currently oozing out. One eye was swollen and reddened and would be bruised the next day. The Old Gods and the victim in question only knew what other wounds and bruisesy beneath those robes. But then the bruised and bruised boy said again: "Indeed, mydy... I, Duncan of House Tallhart, officially request permission from you, Lady Maege Mormont, to court your daughter Dacey of House Mormont..." The boy said with more rity and formality. Maege was taken aback. The woman tried in every way possible to see where there was deception in this request. It did not seem true to her. Bloody Snow, the son, and heir of perhaps now the most powerful and influential House in the North, was openly dering his interest in marrying the daughter of the Lord''s aunt from a lesser House... Maege would never belittle House Mormont, she knew that her House was strong in many other ways. It was one of the oldest houses in the North. A House that had never really known times of peace. Though the constant conflict with the Ironborn and the Wildlings constantly impoverished Bear Ind and impeded its development, the people of the Isle were the most tenacious and undaunted in all of Westeros. This was the strength of House Mormont, the people of the Isle. "My Lord... Don''t get me wrong, I am honored and grateful to you for showing interest in my daughter Dacey...however... However, I can''t help but wonder: Why are you interested? Are your intentions serious, my lord?" Maege. "Yes, mydy. My intentions are serious. As for interest... Because I like her, Lady Maege..." The boy had made an incredible effort to utter thest words, but Maege had still sensed the sincerity and seriousness of those words. "I... You have my permission, Lord Duncan. I will tell my daughter..." Maege was interrupted. "No please mydy!!! Don''t tell your daughter anything!!! I would like the matter to remain between the two of us if you will allow me... I...I don''t want to force her hand. Yes, well, I wish I could win her over without the means of my family..." Duncan. "...As you wish, my lord. I will say nothing to Dacey...but at least let her be in charge of being your guide andpanion during your stay... I don''t mean to offend you or doubt your abilities, my lord, but...let''s just say you''re starting at a considerable disadvantage. My daughter...she has acquired many aspects of me that my brother Jeor has always rebuked." Maege. "... I ept your help, mydy and I thank you." Said the boy bowing. ''Ancients please, bring wisdom and foresight to my daughter! If you will help my House in this, I swear that every week I will offer you a tribute in sacrifice! Seraphine, please help us! Make my daughter and this boy bond with each other!'' Thought Maege making a little inner prayer within herself. She had long been undecided whether or not to pray to this so-called ''Seraphine''. The people of the Isle believed that all the sesses of Bloody Snow and the Tallhart family were since Duncan Tallhart had discovered the name of one of the Old Gods and along with it, knew part of the long lost ancientnguage of the true First Men and Sons of the Forest... This would be the night Maege would also recite those strange verses in God''s Wood... "My Lady, are you all right?" Duncan. "My lord. I was just lost in my thoughts for a moment, nothing more..." Maege. "I understand. My Lady, if it is all right with you, I would like us to discuss together the original reason for my visit. House Tallhart, would like to enter into a business partnership with House Mormont. A partnership that we hope willst for generations and bring us all prosperity and growth. I assure you, mydy, these affairs will be unrted to my ambitions with your daughter. Even if the courtship should fail, House Tallhart will maintain the same terms." Duncan. ''The gods have already answered my call...'' Lady Mormont thought. About forty minutester... ''''So, House Tallhart would like Bear Ind as a center for ss production? Is that what you''re proposing, my lord?" Maege. "Precisely, mydy." Bloody Snow. "Why us my lord? I mean... You will lend us the means and builders for the factory... House Martell will provide the sand with a high concentration of... emm... ''Silicon''... House Tallhart will send us a dozen master ssmakers plus a hundred apprentices... And you only want five percent of the ss we sell? Why, my lord? Why leave such a lucrative business in our hands?" Maege Mormont asked, unable to avoid crippling her House with her own hands. Perhaps the reason for the Ind''s poverty was precisely thisck of talent in business and negotiation that ran in Mormont''s blood. "For Bear Ind is the furthestnd from Myr, mydy. When we start making and selling ss, we will inevitablye into conflict with the magisters of Myr. They will try very hard not to havepetitors threaten their monopoly and main means of ie... Moreover, House Tallhart cannot allow House Mormont, one of the oldest, most loyal and brave Houses in the North, to fall too far behind the other Houses." The boy picked up more ns and opened them on the table. "My Lady, perhaps this is the business that will benefit the North the most... We don''t just want you to produce ss, we want you to be able to produce ss greenhouses that can protect and speed up types of crops that would be difficult to grow in thesends. Imagine, Lady Mormont, that in every fortress or city in the North, there are such greenhouses... greenhouses are protected by high walls with ss mirrors that direct the light to specific points... With only 800 square meters of them, it would be possible to produce food for at least a hundred adults continuously... We are already in talks with the mountain ns to train them in mining and construction. In a few years, we could reinforce and improve every fortress in the north. If we can do that..." Duncan was interrupted. "No Northern fortress could be taken by starvation..." Maege said, expressing aloud the enormous potential of this project. "Exactly, my Lady. The North, the entire North, will never starve again." End POV. POV: Bloody Snow; Bear Ind. About two days after the documents were signed and sealed... Duncan was on his backside. This was the tenth time Dacey Mormont had managed tond him in one ''friendly'' sparring session. The girl had insisted that, after their boring, silent exploratory trip to the Ind, Bloody Snow would fight her on equal terms. Duncan had tried numerous times to strike up some kind of conversation with the girl but each attempt was in vain. His every word (clumsy and stuttering) only seemed to annoy her. The girl hadined several times that her mother had forced her to be his wet nurse... Dacey was trying to vent all that frustration with ''friendly sparring''. Unfortunately... Duncan couldn''t convince the sweet girl to use wooden weapons instead of blunt metal ones. The ten-pound iron club, though blunt, struck like a cksmith''s hammer on an anvil. The hero of the North, Bloody Snow, had managed to find some semnce of control over his physical and oratorical abilities in the presence of the being who weakened him most. His pure Kryptonite and true Shield Maiden, Dacey Mormont. "On your feet! I''m not done with you yet!" Dacey roared and continued with. "I want your people to see who the real Bloody Snow is too! Everyone needs to see the real you! A spoiled wuss who can''t even hold a sword!" Dacey struck as ferociously with her words as she did with her club. "Yes, my Lady... Could we possibly take a short break?" The mud-covered boy asked as he clutched his side. His wooden shield was in tatters after parrying Dacey''s thirtieth 10-pound iron whish. "You have no shame or pride, Duncan of House Tallhart... Do you think the women of Bear Ind ask for ''A break'', from the marauder who wants to ravage her body?! Do you think in a real fight, you even have time to breathe fresh air?" Dacey asked, expressing a disgusted and disappointed face. "No, mydy..." Bloody Snow. "Then on your feet, ''Bloody Snow''! Show us what the hero of the North can do!" Dacey. While all this was going on, Commander Gellert, William, and fifty other men of the Winter''s Watch watched this scene, feelingplete pity for the poor man in front of them...their General. Duncan, he trusted every member of his unit, a few months before he had even shown them his ''magical blessings''... They knew what was going on and what an ordeal their leader was going through. But only Duncan knew why his fighting skills were so low and set. After going through the Level Up a few months ago, the Pdin of the Ancients had finally confirmed what kind of advantages he had gained. The level he gained would not be added to his standard skill level. That is, assuming a ''chosen one'' had acquired a level [5] through experience and training on his own if he had acquired the ''Special Level Up'' his proficiency in weapons andbat would not have increased by 1. That proficiency was separate... However, the advantage was that even in situations of full exhaustion or physical incapacity, the chosen one''s abilities would never be below level [1]... Currently, Duncan was at level [3] and waspletely unable to move or fight at his optimal state. The Kryptonite ''Dacey'', made him as weak as an olive branch. If he didn''t have that ''''divine advantage'''', he wouldn''t have been able to even hold his sword decently. At most, he would have disyed the skills of a level [1]... So the current fight was fought by a Dacey Mormont [5] vs a Duncan Tallhart [3]... Bloody Snow was taking it hard. Duncan rose to his feet brandishing his chipped half shield and long sword. Dacey moved forward without hesitation. The girl went for a swing of her mace to the exposed nk. Duncan managed to back up enough to avoid it but Dacey cut the distance between them by striking with her shield. "Sdumg!" Shield against shield. Duncan stepped back due to the force of the impact and the girl took advantage of it by cleaving a sledgehammer blow, which sent Bloody Snow''s leg into the air. "Sdoofh!!! The boy was on the ground again... "Get up! I want to ring you like a bell!" As soon as she finished saying those words, Duncan sprang to his feet...but threw his shield and de to the ground directing it with urgency and decision to a point. Bloody Snow had noticed something... Something that shouldn''t be there... "Where are you going coward! I don''t..." Dacey was interrupted. "Just a moment, my Lady." The boy''s tone of voice was no longer soft and insecure, but firm, strong and authoritative. Dacey was struck by this anomaly for a moment and watched her opponent''s intentions. Duncan paused at a point less than a hundred feet away from Dacey looking up at the sky, then let out a sharp whistle... "Phew!" After a few seconds, everyone in that field could hear the bird''s answering cry. "Kwhiiaaa, Kwhiiaaa!" Shouted a majestic and umonlyrge eagle, which descended towards its target. That was Rhiunda, the eagle belonging to the Wargh in the service of House Tallhart. Duncan had managed, after two years of effort and expeditions by Rangers and Frost des beyond the barrier, to persuade a small tribe of Free Folk living on the shores of Ice Bay to emigrate and spend the winter in a hidden vige at Sea Dragon Point. Presently, about three hundred Wildlings were living peacefully south of the Barrier without anyone knowing it... Among them was Werragh, a very talented Wargh shifter. The agreement between that tribe and House Tallhart was that Werragh would lend his innate abilities to the service of Torrhen''s Square. In return, House Tallhart would offer a warm home, food, and protection to every member of the tribe. In six months of cooperation, nothing had gone wrong so far. Some of the tribe''s children even started to take sses to learn themonnguage and other adults took up small jobs offered by Tallhart House... The foundations of a small peaceful coexistence between the people beyond the barrier and the North were beginning to take shape... Duncan knew that if his first knight, Qyburn, had chosen to deliver a message through the Werragh''s abilities, the situation was grave. As the eaglended on the ground, Duncan unhesitatingly reached for its paw. He untied the roll of paper and began to open it, reading it carefully. The message read: [Over a hundred Iron Fleet ships, will attack Bear Ind. They will arrive within three days after you receive this message. We assume you are the target, my Lord. Our source has warned us that three Bravoosian merchant ships docked on Pyke Ind about ten days ago... The fleet ismanded by Lord Denys Drumm, son of Lord Dustan. We estimate a minimum force of 5,000 men. We''ll send reinforcements and aid as soon as possible, My Lord. Your uncle should be able to reach the ind with his fleet within five days. You will receive instructions from your father shortly. S.Q.] ''Ser Qyburn... What would I do without you?'' Bloody Snow thought first. ''The Iron Bank wasted no time... I naively underestimated them. They managed to deal with that crazy fanatic Balon. Exploiting the Greyjoy rebellion to kill me... Good move.'' The boy''s thoughts were broken by a soft but furious voice. "Hey! I''m talking to you! Don''t you dare ignore me!" Gellert interposed himself in Dacey''s path who froze. "Commander Gellert." Bloody Snow. "Yes, General?" Gellert. "Gather all the men, I want all the captains of our fleet to reach the castle on the ind as soon as possible. Try to round up the captains of the Mormont Fleet as well. Everyone you can find within the hour. William, you stay with me." Ordered the General, ignoring Dacey''sints. "Yes, General. Get moving! You heard the orders!" Gellert thundered to the other members of the Guardians. Fifty young men sprang up and headed swiftly for the Ind''s harbor. "Will you tell me what''s going on!" Dacey. "My Lady, we need to get to your mother as soon as possible." Duncan. "If this is another one of your tricks..." Dacey was interrupted. "Lady Dacey, this is no joke. Bear Ind is about to face a grave threat. Within three days, thousands of Ironmen will attack House Mormont... We don''t have time, we must warn Lady Maege Mormont." End POV. ---------------------------------- POV: Dacey Mormont. Fortress Mormont, Bear Ind. About three hours after an eagle interrupted pleasant sparring... Dacey was with her mother, a couple of Tallhart officers, several Mormont-Tallhart captains, and that Bloody Snow. Although Dacey was irritated every time the ''little prince lord'' opened his mouth and intervened in the conversation, the girl remained calm and mute. Her mother had already zapped her with a look at her first hint ofint or mockery. Dacey didn''t dare disobey her orders, not with her mother only a few steps away. "We can''t take on 5,000 men...not at sea or onnd." Her mother said in a resigned tone as she looked at the open map of the Ind on the meeting table. "My Lady, if I may." Bloody Snow. "Go ahead, my Lord." Maege. "How many good, well-armed warriors can House Mormont provide? And how many inders can we muster in these three days?" Bloody Snow. "With some men still at sea...about 600 warriors between men and women. Some of the inders are too scattered...we''ll be lucky if we can round up 7,000..." Maege. "And immediately? How many women and children can we round up?" Bloody Snow. "...Nine hundred, maybe a thousand. Why do you ask?" Maege asked in a tone of doubt and confusion. "We will be receiving a raven from my Uncle Leobald shortly. I''m sure he''s already moving heaven and earth to give us all the support he can. I estimate that in a couple of days he will be able to gather about 50-60 ships at Waterdeep harbor. Along with at least 2,500 to 3,000 reinforcements. They''ll arrive here within one to two days of the attack. I have a n in mind, mydy." Bloody Snow. "Any ideas are wee at the moment, my lord." Said Maege slightly heartened that reinforcements would be arriving soon. "What I propose, my Lady is that every ship in the Isle''s harbor leaves for Waterdeep as soon as possible. Between the Mormont and Tallhart ships, we have a total of 8 war galleys, 7 carracks, and 10 merchant ships. These ships are to transport and escort to safety every possible inhabitant of the ind who is unfit forbat. Women and children will have priority. But these ships must leave within the next six hours at thetest... That way, my uncle can add those ships to his fleet, whichunches in three days..." Bloody Snow. "If we send the galleys and caravans away, we''ll have less chance of..." Maege was interrupted. "My Lady... We don''t stand a chance on the water. Not with that number of ships. We''ll simply be sending men to the ughter as well as losing forces that could be put to much better use three dayster." Bloody Snow. "...Yes you''re right." Maege grieved even more. "My Lady, we can win this battle." Said the boy. "I do not see how my Lord... Even with your strength, the enemy outnumbers us at least five to one. The fortress is not strong orrge enough to withstand such a scope of attack." Maege. "You are right my Lady... But our goal is not to prevail against 5,000 men." Maege seemed to sense something after hearing that sentence. "Victory will be ours if we can gain enough time to allow the allied forces to arrive in time. The iron men don''t expect us to be prepared, nor do they expect reinforcements to arrive so quickly... If I were them, I wouldn''t expect attacks from outside forces for at least four days. Let them think that and slow them down as much as possible. Here my Lady..." Duncan pointed to a spot on the map away from the fortress or the port. "What? You want us to defend that point?" Maege. "I have personally explored that basin surrounded by the cliffs... We can also gather and protect your people by hiding them undercover in those caves. Let''s abandon the harbor and the fortress and direct our forces and all the inhabitants we can find there." Bloody Snow. "But that way, if the defensive line falls, we''ll have no way out!" Roared Maege, mming her fist on the table. "The defensive line will not give way, Lady Mormont. Trust me. We can hold the enemy for at least two days in that position. There they will have no way to surround us, they will face us in equal numbers. We will alert my Uncle of our position and he will divert there, forces as soon as possible." Said the boy in a confident and determined tone. Maege Mormont considered the proposal carefully, her warrior instincts were giving merit to that n. After a couple of minutes, Maege Mormont ordered: "We will follow Lord Duncan''s n, mobilize our forces and all the inhabitants you can find. Let the ships sail on schedule... and ring the bells." No sooner had Lady Mormont finished herst word than thirty people on the spot sprang to do her bidding. "MOTHER! YOU CAN''T.." Dacey broke off that sentence as soon as the murderous gaze of the warrior bear met her. Dacey trembled in the face of that intimidating presence... "I beg your pardon, Lady Mormont..." Maege turned away, nodding slightly after hearing her disobedient pet''s righteous words. About ten minutester... Dacey found her target in a corridor of the manor, next to him were two of his men. She grabbed the boy by surprise and pushed him hard against the wall, staring intently into his eyes. The two men were ready to intervene but were stopped by a gesture of the boy''s hand. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?! YOU COULD HAVE CONDEMNED US ALL! WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT BATTLES?! THIS IS NOT YOUR PEOPLE OR YOUR ISLAND! YOU WON''T BE THE ONE TO FACE THE REPERCUSSIONS OF YOUR IDEAS!!! YOU WILL RUN AWAY AS YOU ALWAYS HAVE AND LET YOUR MEN AND THE MORMONT WARRIORS PAY THE PRICE!" Screamed Dacey sternly. These were no longer theints of a young maiden. No... those sounded like the words of a mature woman, a woman who had lived. "I trust the n will work, Lady Dacey." The no longer stammering and unsure of himself boy calmly replied. Dacey lowered her tone but not her grip on his prey''s cor. "And what makes you think your n will work, O great and potent ''Bloody Snow''!" Dacey asked in a tone of irony and contempt. "The fact that my men and I will hold the first line of defense, my Lady." End POV. ----------------------------------------- POV Helman Tallhart. Torrhen''s Square. About half a day after a n was decided... Helman had been waiting for more than six hours. He still hadn''t found the courage to warn his wife, Myra, of the enormous danger his family was facing... All he could do at the moment was waiting for news from his son Duncan... He feared the boy might make the wrong decision. Someone knocked on the door and entered... "My Lord, your son Duncan has responded to yourmand..." Maester Qyburn said hesitantly. "Eh? This is Maester speaking! Will my son withdraw from the Ind?!!" Helman asked in a desperate tone. "I''m afraid not, my lord... Lord Duncan wants me to inform you that he is sorry and regretful that he disobeyed yourmand, my lord... Upon his return, he will be amenable to whatever punishment you deem fit for his insubordination. He also wants me to inform you, and here, I quote his words: [The Ironmen will learn about the ''Price of Blood''.] Chapter 51: Smiles Chapter 51: '' Smiles '' POV: Gellert; Bear Ind. One day before thousands of raiders invaded the ind... Gellert, the youngest Divisional Commander of the strongest, most prepared, craziest, weirdest, and most highly paid unit in the entire North, was helping to prepare the battlefield for the uing battle. The ships that had sailed two days earlier from the ind, carrying over a thousand Mormont women, old men, and children, must have docked at Waterdeep Pier by now. Gellert could not stop thinking about his family. Less than a year ago, his father had sold his farm, and together with his mother and his little brother, they had moved to the new northern city. His brother Robin, thanks to numerous treatments by healers, including Ser Qyburn himself, was able to live a normal life. He excelled in his studies and managed to win a fund offered by Tallhart House, which guaranteed a subsidy for his entire family until Robin came of age. Thanks to that fund and two-thirds of Gellert''s sry, his family was living in conditions they would never have believed possible a few years ago. Gellert was currently digging holes with a ten-year-old boy in the service of House Mormont. In between digging holes, the Winter Guardians Commander observed the thousands of people who were helping in one way or another to defend the ind. People digging, people pinning wooden logs, some transporting goods, others preparing bags full of silver and gold... "Commander Gellert?! Commander?" The boy asked, waking Gellert from his thoughts. "Yes, boy?" Gellert. "Do you think we can win this battle?" The boy. "Will you do your part? Will you help defend the ind? Will you protect the women and children in the caves?" Gellert. "Yes, of course, I will!" The boy in the service of the Mormonts replied. "Then the Ironborn won''t stand a chance," Gellert said, smiling at the boy. The boy answered the smile with his own. "Commander Gellert! I can fight! My father taught me how to use a sword. I..." "You with your swordsmanship will defend the cave," Gellert answered, cutting it short. "But!... Many say we don''t have enough warriors! That these caves could be our graves! They say that if the defensive line falls, we will all be dead or be salt ves... I don''t want my little sister or my mother to be ves!" Roared the boy with conviction. Hearing those words, Gellert couldn''t help but think back to that moment two days ago. Two days before... The Division Commander, along with his 349 subordinates andrades, had lined up in five neat rows waiting for their General to speak. General Duncan Tallhart, showed them all a piece of paper and said: "This is a message, from the Supreme General. A message from my father, Ser Helman Tallhart. The Generalmands us to withdraw from the ind." The Winter Guardians did not blink or flinch at the words. "Within three days, five thousand marauders from the Iron Inds will attack this Ind. The seat of House Mormont is a house that for centuries suffered abuse and violence at the hands of the Ironborn... No help has ever been able to arrive in time for the swift and targeted attacks of these pirates. The people of this ind have no way of resisting such an attack. I want to inform you, that I am probably to me for this attack. Ourrades in the Frost des unit have uncovered information that leads me to the conclusion that Lord Balon Greyjoy, ordered the attack on the ind, with the main purpose of capturing or killing me." A few nces turned towards the General, but none moved their heads or reacted in any other way. "Therefore... Since I am the cause of this threat that could destroy one of the oldest and noblest Houses in the North forever, I will disobey the order of mymanding superior. None of you, I repeat, NONE OF YOU, are forced to follow my decision. However it goes, for anyone who chooses to follow me, almost certain disciplinary punishment awaits. Even a dishonorable discharge or death by treason should I perish. DID YOU ALL HEAR THAT?" Thundered the general. "YES, GENERAL!" 350 soldiers roared in reply. "Anyone who wishes to leave and join the forces of my Uncle, General Leobald, is free to do so. No personal grudge or punishment of any kind wille upon the man who chooses to follow General Helman''s orders... Whoever wants to leave, now is the time, step forward please." Not a leaf moved... Bloody Snow waited in silence for a minute, then smiled slightly and said under his breath: "...Crazy bastards...all of you." Then he continued shouting: "WE ARE ABOUT TO FACE 5,000 FANATICAL WARRIORS OF THE ABYSSAL GOD THAT. ARE YOU AWARE OF THIS?" "YES, GENERAL!" The 350 men. "AND DO YOU KNOW THAT WE MAY ALL DIE?" The General. "YES, GENERAL!" The 350 soldiers. "DO YOU WANT TO DIE?" The General. "NO, GENERAL!"The 350 soldiers. "ARE YOU AFRAID?" The General. "NO, GENERAL!" The 350 soldiers. "Good for you men... I''m shitting myself with fear." Some couldn''t hold back giggles after Bloody Snow''s unexpected statement. "You all know, that your General just got his ass kicked by a twelve-year-old girl right?" Bloody Snow. "YES, GENERAL!" Theughter deepened slightly after the answer. "And yet you will still choose to follow me?" Bloody Snow. "YES, GENERAL!" The 350 soldiers. "FUCK YOUR GENERAL!... MY COMRADES, WILL YOU HELP ME PROTECT THE PEOPLE OF THIS ISLAND?" Bloody Snow. "YES!!!" 350rades answered. "MY BROTHERS, WILL YOU FIGHT BY MY SIDE UNTIL THE END?" Bloody Snow. "TO THE END!", The 350 brothers. "FOR WHOM DO WE FIGHT?" Bloody Snow. "FOR THE NORTH!!," The 350 Northmen. "WHOM SHALL WE DEFEND?" Bloody Snow. "THE PEOPLE OF THE NORTH!!" The 350 defenders of the people! "WHEN?" Bloody Snow. "NOW AND FOREVER!!!" The 350 honorable men. "AND WHY ARE WE DOING THIS?" Bloody Snow. "BECAUSE IT''S WHAT WE WANT!!! BECAUSE OF WHO WE ARE!!!" The 350 men with a purpose. "AND WHO ARE WE?" Bloody Snow. "WINTER GUARDIANS!!!" The 350 men with an identity. "WHEN WILL THE WINTER GUARDIANS INTERVENE?" Bloody Snow. "WHEN THE PEOPLE OF THE NORTH NEED HELP!" The 350 winter guardians... "WINTER GUARDIANS, THE IRONBORN WILL COME TO BRING SUFFERING AND PAIN TO THE PEOPLE OF THE NORTH! OUR PEOPLE! WILL WE ALLOW THOSE PIRATES TO KILL OUR PEOPLE?" Bloody Snow. "NO!" The 350 Winter Guardians. "WILL WE ALLOW THEM TO R*** OUR WOMEN?" Bloody Snow. "NOO!!!" The 350 Winter Guardians answered with more vigor. "AND ALLOW HIM TO EVEN TOUCH A NORTHERN CHILD?!" Bloody Snow. "NOOOO!!!" Roared in response with every effort possible the 350 Northern heroes. The boy moved a few steps closer towards the front line. He remained silent, staring at as many of them as he could until he said: "Well, you crazy Pdins of the North. You have convinced me. I will grant you the privilege of following the craziest, the most reckless 11-year-old in the North. Always remember that my pockets are nearly empty... Therefore, DON''T YOU DARE DIE! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH A MARBLE STATUE COSTS! I DON''T WANT TO BUILD A MONUMENT FOR ANY OF YOU! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!" Bloody Snow finally asked. "YES, GENERAL!" All 350 lifepanions roared the reply with a smile on their faces. Gellert awoke from that shback... "Commander? Commander?! Can you hear me?" The boy asked with concern. "Yes boy, I can hear you... By the way, what''s your name?" Gellert asked curiously still keeping a small smile on his lips. "My name Ser?... My name is Robin, Commander Gellert. Robin son of Rubben." As soon as Gellert heard, that name, he stopped the shovel letting it fall to the ground. "Forgive me, Robin, son of Rubben, if I did not pay you the proper attention earlier... Could you repeat the questions you asked me a few moments ago?" Gellert asked the boy, who was a simr age and had the same name as his younger brother. "Yes, Commander... Do you think... do you think we will be able to resist, Ser? Will I be able to save my little sister and my mother from the Ironborn? Will the defensive line hold?" Robin asked in a frightened and unsure tone. "Yes, Robin. The defensive line will hold. And no ironborn willy a finger on you, your sister, or your mother. That''s a promise, Robin." Gellert said, staring into the boy''s eyes and expressing all the sincerity and confidence he could muster in his tone of voice. The frightened boy, who was beginning to lose hope, smiled again. End POV. -------------------------------------------- POV: Jorah Mormont; Barrowhall. About half a day after ravens departed from Torrhen Square... This was the twenty-third morning in a row that Jorah woke up in the same bed. A bed lined with scented silk sheets, with goose-down pillows and superb furs, warming his naked body from the cold morning air. But none of these luxuriousforts couldpare in the slightest to the jewel in human form thaty beside him. A smooth, soft, warm jewel. The female being who had given the man the twenty-two best days of his life was still sleeping in his arms. Days full of love, passion, fun, and smiles. His head was still resting on her chest. The man felt a slight damp sensation on the area close to the perfect creature''s lips. The woman exhaled involuntarily through her mouth, her breath condensing on his skin. He prepared to wake the sweet, helpless creature in the same way... He stroked her long, silky hair gently, trying to brush the hairline with the fingertips of his fingers... Jorah continued to repeat those movements for more than a minute before Lady Barbrey Dustin showed signs of gentle awakening. He felt her smooth legs and feet, rubbing with more intensity. As the woman clutched the naked man''s body in her arms with more vigor, Jorah said: "Good morning, my Lady..." He kissed the woman gently on the forehead. "Mmmm...good morning, my Lord... I''m cold...please don''t get up. Do that finger magic again..." Replied a still slightly dazed and confused woman. "I am at yourmand, mighty and feared Lady of Barrowton..." Jorah prepared to stroke Lady Barbrey''s bareback with his fingertips. When he reached the nape of her neck, he stopped to fiddle with the tinum chain that held Valyria''s steel pendant. Since that magical first night, Lady Barbrey had never taken off her token of love... After a few minutes of cuddling and tender kisses, a ng at the door of the room abruptly interrupted the magic. A seventeen-year-old girl entered without even knocking and walked briskly towards herdy. "TYSHA! BUT WHAT..." The furious Lady''s roar was interrupted as soon as she noticed the missive the girl held out in front of her. Jorah knew the girl; she was the trusted handmaiden of hisdy, Tysha. About a week ago, Barbrey told him the story of the poor girl, who answered directly to her and her alone. Only about ten people in all of Barrowton knew her real name. To everyone else, she was Wy Snow, a bastard cousin of Lady Barbrey. Jorah hade to know his bride-to-be. Lady Barbrey Dustin, was sweet, friendly, and understanding to all. This was her first armor. An armor that hid the true ''Widow of Barrowton'' in disguise... Jorah was convinced that if anyone else in Lady Dustin''s service dared to do the dastardly deed that Tysha had just done, they would be torn apart by four horses tied to every limb of the poor unfortunate... Only her right-hand man, Tysha, could do that... but she would have to have a good reason too. Her Barbrey was simr to Longw, a beautiful, majestic de and a faithfulpanion...but also something that required care and attention while wielding. One mistake and you could lose a limb to its sharp edge. "An urgent missive from Torrhen''s Square, my Lady! Soon we must receive another from Waterdeep..." Said the girl, trying hard to look away. Lady Dustin read the message carefully... The woman''s face stiffened and began to lose color. Jorah noticed that his beloved was trying her best to avoid his gaze. He stroked her cheek, trying to turn her gaze towards him. The woman relented and ced the piece of paper in his ''Bear''s'' hands. Jorah began reading the message with one hand, holding his ''Maiden''s'' hand tightly with the other. As soon as the Lord of Bear Ind finished reading thest word, he let go of the woman''s hand and sprinted to his feet without a care for his naked body. "I must go mydy!" Said Jorah with celerity as he hast hastily searched for his clothes. Barbrey''s breath broke with a soft moan. After a few seconds, the woman tried to say: "You will not be able to reach Waterdeep in time! Lord Leobald will leave with help, certainly within the next three days! Don''t go..." Jorah ignored Lady Dustin''s warning and continued undaunted to get dressed as fast as he could. After Jorah slipped the first shirt on his exposed torso, he replied: "I can do it. I''ll rece the horses along the road every ten miles... I can reach Waterdeep within three days." Jorah. "But..." Barbrey didn''t know how to answer... She knew, too, that if a person rode intermittently for at least ten hours a day along the Winter Road, they could aplish such a distance within three days. About a minuteter, Jorah grabbed Long w and approached his beloved. "My family and my people need me, my Lady. I will return, I promise." Jorah kissed his Maiden intensely onest time before leaving the room. After concluding the long kiss, Barbrey said: "I know... Wait." Barbrey got out of bed and walked over to the bedside table, writing a message quickly. She poured some wax, from a nearby candle still burning, onto the paper and stamped Barrowton''s seal. "Take this and show it to every outpost you meet along the way... You will have the fastest horses, and every man-at-arms in the garrison in the Dustin and Ryswellnds will join you. I will send a raven to my father, to make you full authority over our forces." Said the enamored Lady, handing a roll of paper into her lover''s hands. The man could not help but smile warmly and lovingly at his new brightest light in this dark and dreary world. ... In a time interval close to this one, abrupt awakenings and simr ns wereing to life in two other great Houses of the North... End POV. ------------------------------ POV: Admiral Gerion Lannister; Port of Waterdeep. About three days after an Ind Lord left a fortress... Gerion was aboard his '' Seeker of Brightroar '', one of thergest galleys in the west. A gift was given to him by House Tallhart some four years ago. The expenses of maintaining the ship were not small. Every two years, the copper coating on the keel had to be reced. Yet it was still the most majestic, fastest, and most powerful ship in the entire Lannister fleet. Now Gerion held a piece of paper in his hand, a message he received from Casterly Rock that very morning... The Lannister Fleet, which his house had taken years and gold and effort to obtain, was burning in its entirety in the ports of Lannisport... The Iron Fleet hadunched three attacks at the same time, taking Robert Baratheon''s entire realm by surprise. Balon GreyJoy had just dered himself King of Salt and Stone and ruler of the Iron Inds. Every castle in Westeros seemed to have received a raven from Pyke with that message... At this moment, Balon''sst fleet must have been about to dock on Bear Ind. His brother Tywin, Protector of the West, had ordered him to return immediately to Casterly Rock and bring back thest six ships remaining in House Lannister... But Gerion had already given Leobald his word... ''A Lannister always pays his debts, brother.'' Gerion thought as he finished writing the reply message to send to Casterly Rock. A few minutester... ''You don''t owe me anything, Gerion... If you have to go home, then go." Leobald said as he approached his friend on the deck of the ship. "I''ve never seen Bear Ind... I want to find out if it''s true that the local women mate with Bears. Ahahah..." Gerion. "...I won''t forget. House Tallhart won''t forget what you''re doing for us, I swear." Leobald. "Don''t swear, Leobald. You''re not in charge of House Tallhart... You only administer one of the most emergent cities in Westeros. And you are inmand of a paltry force of...How far have wee?" Gerion asked. "Lord Jorah should arrive within a couple of hours with a retinue of about 1,000 knights, so, about 3,300 soldiers and 71 ships, thanks to my nephew." Leobald. "Phew! Those roads are working well I see...Anyway, I was saying: Exactly! You''re the general of a measly army of 3,300 bloodthirsty, well-equipped, and trained Northmen... So you have no authority to keep your ridiculous promises, my friend." Gerion. Leobald gave a small grin in response, but his anxiety and concern erased any kind of smile. After a few seconds he asked Gerion: "Do you think we''ll get there in time?" "Yes, I do. ''Bloody Nephew''s n is sound. If he can hold off the enemy forces for two days, the Ironmen will be finished. Of course, this n would fail if House Tallhart didn''t have a good, brave,petent, cunning and smiling, Fleet Admiral..." Gerion. "Ahahahaha, the nickname you''ve been given is well deserved." Leobald. "The Laughing Lion... My nephew Tyrion, who has be my favorite nephew for a few years now, said something to me not long ago." Gerion. "What did he tell you?" Leobald. "That there are many kinds of smiles. Naive smiles. Fake smiles. Genuine smiles. Funny smiles. Loving and friendly smiles. But also Red Smiles... Balon Greyjoy is probably smiling right now over his pew of dirt and salt. And in the words of my favorite dwarf: [ who smilesst, smiles best]. We shall see who smilesst and what kind of smile they make... Surely Lord Drumm will know what other kind of smile the ''Laughing Lion'' can do." Chapter 52: Golden and Silver Snow Part I Chapter 52: '' Golden and Silver Snow '' Part I Hi everyone, sorry for the dy. Preparing this chapter andying the groundwork for the sequel was a mess. Watch out for the attached pictures (maybe there are some that interest you). Happy reading!!! -------------------------------------------------- POV: Denys Drumm; Bear Ind. Two hours after the Iron Fleet invaded the ind''s harbor... Captain Denys Drumm (c. 37 years old), eldest son of Lord Dustan Drumm (75-76 years old), Lord of Old Wyk, was inmand of 112 ships and over 5,300 real bloody iron men. Old Wyk is the holiest of all the Iron Inds. The legendary Grey King slew the sea dragon, Nagga, upon its shore. On Old Wyk, the First Men found the Seastone Chair, the traditional throne of the Iron Indsra. It was on that ind that Balon Greyjoy was crowned King of Salt and Stone some two weeks before. His king had charged House Drumm, one of Greyjoy''s most loyal houses, with an important mission: Destroy Bear Ind and consecrate every inhabitant in salt and water... No one would be a ve or a salt wife... not this time. Any spoils found on the ind would belong to House Drumm, as well as ''special booty''. If they were able to find and kill a certain target, Balon would give his House 50,000 G.D., a sum sufficient to double House Drumm''s fleet... On this asion, because his father was too old, Lord Dustan Drumm granted Denys, one of the fiercest fighters in Old Wyk, the ancestral steel bastard sword of Valyrian steel, ''Red Rain''. A de that had belonged to his House since their ancestor, Hilmar Drumm, took the de from a knight in armor with nothing but his wits and a wooden club. From then on he was called "Hilmar the Clever". It would be Denys'' first battle with Red Rain... and he would consecrate it with the blood of that supposed hero of the North, ''Bloody Snow''... A perfect sacrifice that would raise his and his House''s glory to unprecedented heights. "Admiral Drumm!" He called to an officer under his directmand. "Speak up, what did the scouts find?" Denys. "My Lord, every house is abandoned... The ships along the coasts, they found no trace of the Mormont or Tallhart fleets, just a few old fishing boats." Denys grunted conspicuously, clenching his fist. ''Bloody cowards! Where have they gone? There''s no way they could have escaped... They shouldn''t have heard about our attack for at least a day...'' The Admiral thought reflectively. It was true, the enemy fleet, even if it had escaped a day earlier, would have been stopped by the blockade of Iron Fleet ships. Before attacking the Ind, Denys had made sure that no one could leave the Ind. His target would not have to escape. After a few seconds, Denys made a decision. "Give the signal for 50 more ships to dock... Thirty ships will remain to cover our backs. I want every man ready to attack Castle Mormont." The Fleet Admiral ordered. "Yes, Admiral, aye aye!" The officer stepped back to carry out Denys Drumm''s instructions. About six hourster... "My Lord...there is no one inside the fortress. It looks like they abandoned it in a hurry. We found several supplies and some treasures scattered everywhere." Reported a captain to themander-in-chief. "So they''re still here! They can''t be too far away... Collect the treasures and anything else that might be useful! Then burn everything! Search every stone and forest within 30 miles of here! They''ll have left a trail!" Denys. "Yes, Lord Drumm. My Lord..." The captain. "Speak up!" Denys. "It seems that in many houses, small booty has been found... Many men are concentrating on plundering, you see... It will be difficult to explore the ind in a short time..." Said the young captain, being careful with the words he used. He didn''t want to tell that bloodthirsty madman, Lord Drumm''s son, that the men were practically getting caught up in the Gold and Silver fever and ignoring orders... "...We don''t have time for a few measly coins! Within four or five days at most, reinforcements from the North will arrive... Have a dozen mutineers executed as an example." Admiral Denys Drumm replied angrily. "...Yes, my Lord." End POV. ------------------------------------------ POV: Lieutenant Brywen Selected battlefield, Bear Ind. About four hours after fourteen ironmen were executed in front of everyone... Brywen (about 17), Tom''s youngest son, was on the left edge of the first line of 30 men. To his left was thest member of the Guardians who would protect the most vulnerable point in the formation, his own, General, Lord, hero,rade, and friend, Duncan Tallhart. Soon Deputy Commander William, the most capable scout in the entire unit and perhaps in the entire Tallhart army, a direct pupil of Master Zick''s travelingpanion, Ramas, would be returning to inform everyone short of the shifting enemy forces... With a few bags of silver and bags of gold, the Mormont-Tallhart allies had managed to make the enemy army lose more than half a day. Within a maximum of two days, reinforcements woulde to their aid. If they could hold out for two days, victory would be theirs. For Brywen, this was his first real battle. Many of his brethren had already fought and bathed their des in blood. For the past year, Bloody Snow, as part of the drill, had personally led all 500 of the Guardian recruits on a bandit hunt... They had routed tworge groups that year. As the defenses of each vige in the Tallhartnds were considerably increased, many small bands of bandits formed coalitions. The first band of nearly 100 armed men was broken up in less than an hour... The second group, of about 150, managed tost almost four hours, but only because the General had chosen to fight on the safe side... In any case, Brywen, didn''t get the chance to fight and face his first baptism of blood. Today would be the day, and he would be baptized in the blood of the ironmen. The skill level of the bandits was... pathetic, to say the least. Only able to prevail on old men, women, and children. There were barely three lightly wounded in both punitive expeditions. This time it was different... They would face real warriors armed with well-honed axes that had been used many times before. Fierce men, even without a strategy, strongly believed that dying in battle would make them immortal. ''What is dead may never die'', that was their mantra, their philosophy of life... Brywen checked his equipment for the umpteenth time. His steel helmet, lined inside with feather padding, was securely fastened. Therge round ironwood shield, ted in polished steel, three and a half feet (1.05 m) in circumference, rested at his feet. The leggings and armbands were securely fastened. Leather gloves with close-fitting pads on the palms and small steel ting on the backs had been put on. His studded leather armor, made from the finest Karstark leather on the market, adorned with fine metal rings at the joints, had been properly fitted. The seventeen-year-old wriggled out of it to test itsfort... The silk-lined inner padding made it soft and not at all ufortable. His skin did not friction with the armor at all. His movements were free and unencumbered by unnecessary weights. His short Damascus steel sword was in the leather sheath on his left, the opposite side of his sword hand. The dagger with the hand shot handle, also made of Damascus steel, was behind in the small scabbard fastened to his belt. ''The spear!!! Where is the spear?!... What an idiot I am...'' Brywen thought as he looked at the seven-foot spear, with the ironwood shaft and the tip also made of Damascus steel, which was already firmly in his right hand... Brywen, did not know, that by removing the Damascus steel des, which were currently only wielded by: Generals, V.Generals and Winter Guardians, his remaining single piece of equipment, was worth as much as the production cost of 3 full sets of white te armor of the Royal Guard... des were simply priceless on the market at the time... Torrhen''s Square cksmith, Will, loyal to House Tallhart for over thirty years, had personally forged all those weapons in over two years of non-stop work... Only he and the one who had taught him the forging technique currently knew the form for creating such steel, which was second only to Valyrian Steel in both thread, strength, and durability. This was Brywen''s actual equipment. The boy had no idea how lucky he was. He found the weapons and armor, simply very good, to wear or wield... The armor was suited to the northern climate, it protected well against shing blows, but was ''weak'' against blunt and piercing blows...Of course, weak in case he got hit if he didn''t have his shield... "This is the fourth time in an hour you''ve rechecked the equipment Brywen... I''d say that if ten minutes ago, your third check was fine, your fourth is a bit of a stretch. Don''t you think?" His General asked. "Yes, my Lord General! You''re right!" Said Brywen in an embarrassed tone. "You don''t need to call me... Let''s just leave it at that. I''m starting to lose hope by now, both with you and your brothers... Are you scared?" Bloody Snow asked. "...Yes, my Lord General," Brywen admitted. "I''d say that''s good. It means you''re not stupid. Ahaha!" Bloody Snow. "My Lord General...May I ask you...? How can youugh at a time like this?" Brywen. "Everything that needed to be done has been done. Now all that''s left is to wait... And it''s getting boring! I mean, how stupid can those squids be? I thought the coin trick was supposed to buy us five to six hours. We''re almost to the 11th hour. All we can do isugh! Ahahahah... All kidding aside, I think Zick''s to me." Said Bloody Snow, who managed to wring a small smile from Brywen''s lips. "My Lord General, do you think we''ll be able to hold the defensive line and...yes in short survive?" Brywen. "Tell me again, the first and second rules of the front line." Ordered the General. "1) [Do everything you can to protect therade on your right and have total confidence in therade on your left. If you do that, the line will not copse."] "2) [Mentally repeat the first rule three times, just before the fight begins.]" Brywen. "Will you abandon Lieutenant Erick who is on your right?" Bloody Snow. Erick turned around as soon as he was mentioned.... He too was curious about Brywen''s answer. "NO! NEVER! I SWEAR ERICK! Hey! Don''t look at me like that!" Erick was mocking him by staring at him with a look full of doubt. "Ahahahahaha! Don''t torment the poor Brywen, Erick!" Erick gave an amused grin and went back to minding his own business. "So, where were we...ah yes...? Do you trust me, Brywen?" Bloody Snow. "Of course, my lord general! With all my heart!!!" Brywen. "Do you think your otherpanions will follow these two rules?" Bloody Snow. "I am convinced of it, my lord! They-" Brywen didn''t have time to finish his sentence. "Then I am quite certain the defense will hold." Cut Bloody Snow short. "I understand, my Lord...but...even if I didn''t want to... I mean do you think I can manage to protect...'' Erick'' " He whispered thest word, though unnecessarily as Erick had heard him very well. "Your brother Peter could do it in your opinion?" Bloody Snow. "Of course! Peter is so strong! He..." The boy was interrupted again. "Then I''m sure you''ll make it. You''ve already reached your brother''s level." Duncan had exined up and down, the esteem he ced on each individual to his fellow soldiers. They all knew: What grade from [1] to [10] their General gave each one of them. None of the Winter Guardians were below a 6... The first line consisted of twenty-eight levels [7] + one level [8], namely Commander Gellert. Besides him, only Vice Commander William was at the same level. "Really, my Lord?!" Brywen asked, calming down after realizing this. "Really." Bloody Snow. Another minute of silence passed, then another question came to Brywen''s mind. This was perhaps the least suitable time to ask it. "My Lord General..." "Yes, Brywen?" Bloody Snow asked calmly. "What''s it like... What does it feel like to take a life?" Brywen. "Mmmm I don''t think you need to know that, Brywen." Bloody Snow. "May I ask why, my Lord General?" Brywen. "Of course you may. When the fight begins and that momentes, you won''t have time to think about what you felt... Instinctively your body will only be thinking about how to get your clean de in and how to get a red de out. You will be focused only on the here and now. Your survival instinct will take over spontaneously without you even realizing it... In two days, you can tell me how that felt, Brywen." Bloody Snow. "I understand, my Lord General...Thank you." Brywen. "You''re wee... Do you have any more doubts or questions Brywen? This is the time if that." Bloody Snow. Brywen thought about it for a while... then found it. The question that had been nagging at him for some time. "Yes, my Lord General... I wanted to ask you: Why, when Lady Dacey came looking for you, did you hide behind Jeremy?" Brywen had touched a nerve. Duncan was slightly shaken and unprepared for this question. Not only Erick, but this time Jeremy and six other Guardians all turned to their General with baleful ears. "YOU!!! You''re just a bunch of meddlers! SHAME ON YOU!!!" roared Bloody Snow indignantly. No one was the least bit touched by these usations and they continued to stare at the target waiting for an answer that they too wanted to know... Duncan tried to escape somehow or find allies to support him...but it was no use, he was surrounded by imcable stares. After a few seconds, he sighed and replied: "...I don''t feelfortable in her presence! Okay?! I can''t have any distractions right now! I have to stay focused to save your ungrateful hide!" Some nodded with a smirk, Erick even ventured a wink. After a few seconds, Bloody Snow saw his escape route. His hero William wasing to his rescue less than three hundred feet away at a brisk pace. "All right, all of you! That''s enough! Concentrate and think only of fishing and spearing squid... Boredom is over, Guardians." End POV. ------------------------------------------ POV: A Division Commander; Selected battlefield, Bear Ind. About a minute after Bloody Snow shouted to hisrades... "Commander, report!" Said William while maintaining a formal stance. The boy of just sixteen must have run more than two miles and didn''t look tired at all. "Go ahead, Deputy Commander William." Gellert. " Three hundred and nine ironmen, are following the trail and have already alerted the rest of the vanguard of the enemy army. Within an hour at most, at least 2,000 men will be here." William. "Well, good work, Deputy Commander. Now retreat, rest and hydrate. I want you fresh and prickly as a rose in an hour." Gellert. "Thank you Commander, it will be done, Sir." William retreated behind the front line to head for the camp where 600 Tallhart-Mormont men were currently resting. Then Gellert shouted: "HERE WE GO, MEN! SQUIDS WANT TO COME AND TASTE OUR BLADES! WE MUST NOT DISAPPOINT THEM!" "YES, SIR!" One hundred men thundered in reply. "Lieutenant, recall our 150 brethren on duty." Gellert. "Yes, Sir." The young Guardian, barely eighteen years of age, sprinted towards the rear. Currently, only a hundred Guardians and two hundred Mormont soldiers were on guard. The allies had to make sure all the warriors were well rested. Shifts were set to change every three hours. One-third of the army would remain in position, while the remaining two-thirds rested. The terrain and men were ready, everyone knew what to do and when to do it. Two lines of thirty Guardians with spears and shields were the first defense and vanguard. They formed a human wall of almost a hundred feet. On their hollow sides, both about 50-60 feet wide, was the ground filled with sharp stakes, foot-wide hidden holes scattered almost everywhere like a minefield, and gold and silver coins scattered here and there. If an iron man had tried to pick them up, he would at least have stabbed himself in the hand or foot. Each hole, about a foot and a half deep, concealed a steel de ready and waiting for any limb that dared to step into it. The Guardians were positioned on three sides, forming a square horseshoe. The first main side was formed by two lines of 30 shields and the remaining two by a single line of 20 shields. If by some miracle, or by the presence of the bodies of other squids forming a safe bridge for others, the iron men had managed to cross those 60 feet full of traps, spears, and arrows, they would have reached the Mormont lines. One hundred and fifty veteran warriors including archers,ncers, and swords, were ready to wee the survivors. It was almost a certainty that on the first day of battle, the Ironborn, after feeling out the enemy''s defenses, would choose to tackle the front line (visibly the most feasible at first nce). They would soon realize how wrong they were... The Ironborn didn''t have the time if not the ability to build siege tools like catapults from scratch. If they had chosen to forgo melee and concentrate on a shower of arrows, they would only have wasted time and materials. Of the two hundred and fifty Guardians: 100 formed the wall, 50 were archer-bowlers and the remaining 100 were tasked with ''restoring the wall'', protecting and supporting the archers... The Mormont lines were also well prepared against a shower of arrows. Palisades and wooden walls had been built and well-positioned to provide shelter for all the Mormont lines and the resting rearguard. The allies had even made sure that every stump of wood was well dampened and covered with fresh furs. Fires would not have been a problem. The rearguard, protected by another eight-foot-high, two-foot-thick wall of logs, would constantly hold at least three hundred to four hundred men. Men who needed rest, food, fluids, care, or other necessities. After the first few hours, the Ironborn would probably opt for a battle of attrition, feeling strong in their numbers. They had to make sure they could hold their own. Every three hours, the men would rotate line shifts. All preparations wereplete. General Duncan had set a target of at least 1,000 to 1,200 enemy casualties before reinforcements arrived. Gellert was confident they might even reach 1,800-2,000. If the Ironborn fought in a ''militarily suicidal'' manner, the Northmen could even halve the enemy army in two days. About ten minutester... "GUARDIANS! PLAN [A]! WHAT ARE THE OPENING TIMES?" Roared Gellert. "15, 13, 10 AND 12, SIR!!!" thundered in unison 250 men ready for anything. "I DIDN''T HEAR THAT!" Gellert. "15!!, 13!!, 10!!, AND 12!! SIR!!!!!!" Answered with a louder synchronized shout from the Guardians. Those just mentioned were the intervals in seconds with which they would open the wall tounch their attacks. New intervals were chosen for each battle, all above ten seconds but with a maximum of 20. If the Commander, or his Deputy, noticed that the enemy seemed to have be ustomed to the pace, it would be up to n [B] with more different intervals. "Well... I''d say we''re ready." Muttered Gellert in a low voice, deciding it was time to slip on his helmet. A helmet that set him apart from the others. About two hundred and thirty fellow soldiers, their faces still bare, followed his example at the same time. Chapter 53: Golden and Silver Snow Part II Chapter 53: '' Golden and Silver Snow '' Part II Sorry guys for those who read in the first 10 minutes there was a transcription error. I don''t know if it was my fault (likely) or a bug. One part was missing. It should be fixed now, if you notice any errors please report them. Thank you. Happy reading! ---------------- POV: Admiral Danys Drumm; Bear Ind Battlefield. About two hours after William informed the camp... Danys was in a newly erected tent with twelve other captains. "Admiral Drumm, the enemy forces should not exceed 800. We outnumber them 6 to 1, and ours are all veteran ironborn. That northern line of men is less than 300 men...they still look like they''re soaked in mother''s milk. It won''t be a problem breaking through that line." Said one of the more experienced captains. "Aye!" several of them replied in chorus. "Even a baby with a de in its hand can kill an ironborn at the right time and under the right conditions. They may be young, but they are tough and well equipped. They also seem to have been waiting for us..." Lord Drumm said wisely. "Admiral, if I may..." A young captain asked. "Speak up." Lord Drumm. "Probably, one of their ships or fishing boats must have spotted us at sea and managed to alert the Ind... With a day''s head start, they may have rushed to set up a defense in those caves... Maybe they think they can hold out until reinforcements arrive. The fact that they didn''t even have time to bring gold and supplies with them is proof of that, my lord." Said the captain named Qobbish. "Aye, it must be so, my lord." Many nodded at those words. "...Yes, it is possible." Lord Drumm. "They hope they can hold out for more than four days with those measly numbers! Then it is true that women mate with Bears on this Ind! Ahahahaha!" Many people began tough and sneer at the Northern people. All except Lord Drumm... The Admiral reasoned silently for more than a minute staring at a barely sketched map of the camp. ''''Are those Tallhart forces? Do the scouts confirm they have no way to escape?" Denys asked one of the captains. "Yes, Admiral. The seal of House Tallhart is on the shields. We have not yet identified or scouted the location of Bloody Snow... We''re not certain he''s there, my lord... No passages or exits have been found in that rocky area above ground. If there is a way it''s only through possible underground cave passages, but even if there were, we know there are thousands of civilians in the caves. Wouldn''t they mobilize quickly... They''re trapped, Admiral." Said the captain in charge of exploring the camp''s surroundings with a smirk. ''None of these idiots are wondering: Where did the ships Mormont and Tallhart go?.... Are they hoping to escape to the Wildlingnds?...or maybe they want to try and attack the ships...? No, they''re not. They don''t have more than a dozen ships, nor the men to sail them. They wouldn''t stand a chance against the thirty ships I left behind...'' Lord Drumm thought calmly. Although everyone knew how fearless and reckless the eldest son of House Drumm was, few knew that he was also one of the bestmanders of all captains. His father trusted him. In the past, Denys Drumm had always proven that he knew when to attack or when to retreat. He had even advised his father against joining this rebellion... He believed Balon Greyjoy to be too arrogant and obsessed with the ''Old Way''... But he also knew that things would never change in the Iron Inds. This was their way of life...but that didn''t mean they had to antagonize the whole world. Denys would never fight a losing battle in the first ce. He felt strongly that stupidity and courage were two sides of the coin. He knew that if he wanted to aplish this mission, they would have to defeat the enemy within the next three days at thetest. After the third day, the risk was too high. In that time interval, it was possible that the North would be able to gather and send at least 1,500-2,000 men. He did not want to face that kind of battle. He had to exploit the advantage here and now. ''Everything I''ve seen so far, only makes me conclude that stubborn people, want to fight to thest man and only hope somehow to win an almost impossible to win the battle...'' Denys thought, giving vent to all the rationality in his head. After another minute of thought, the Admiral made a decision. "Deploy the vanguard. I want that line to fall before the sun rises tomorrow... Send in the least experienced and undisciplined warriors first... they must have some kind of n. I want to know what it is. What is Dead, May Never Die." Denys announced. "What is Dead, May Never Die!" End POV. ---------------------------------------------------- POV: William; Battlefield Bear Ind. About twenty minutes after a n of action was decided... It was already two hours since the Allied army had deployed ready for battle. For the Winter Guardians, this was no problem at all. They had learned to save every ounce of strength at the opportune moments. Even in this seemingly ufortable position, he and hisrades could rest. By rxing their muscles and applying the right breathing technique, there was no difference between sitting and standing for them. The sun had been down for over an hour. The first few hours of battle would take ce in the dark. ''Better that way... As General Duncan said: [Theatricality and deception, are powerful weapons.]'' William thought with a smile. The ironmen, they were in for a treat... And with only the dim light of the torches, he could look like a shadow demon bringing death. William was the exception among the Guardians. He alone wore that kind of armor. His 499panions had standard armor. His was still studded leather armor, but instead of havingminated studs, it had small des. Throwing des. William was an expert Dual Wielding fighter. His weapons of choice were two short curved swords (smaller and thinner than standard weapons) and countless throwing knives. He was eager to prove himself. Thest two years had been pure hell. After a couple of months of William being officially integrated into the Guardians, his master, Ramas, took him under his wing. Ramas was a monster... The first three months of physical training seemed like a cakewalkpared to the man''s schedule. William had learned to climb wherever there was a small foothold, to sleep with one eye open, to rely on his hearing and smell more than his sight, and of course...to fight. Every evening after dinner, Ramas would force him into a hand-to-hand fight in all kinds of terrain. A confrontation in the dark was the most frequent. In those two years, William had suffered 36 different types of fractures, 21 cracked ribs and gods only know how many bruises and sprains... Maester Qyburn''s healing treatments were miraculous... It could be said that House Tallhart, had given a budget to that unit, enough to fund at least 4 legions... No expense had been spared. The best medicines, herbs, bandages, treatments, and tonics were always avable in unlimited supply. Now the time hade to repay that debt. William and his fellow unit members had to prove they were worth the investment. Suddenly, a loud echo thundered less than 400 feet from the formation... "FOR KING BALON!!! CHARGE!!!!!", "FOR KING BALON!!!!" About five hundred screamings, bloodthirsty Ironborn roared. ''And so it began...'' Thought the Deputy Commander. "GUARDIANS, IN POSITION!!! SHIELD WALL!!!" Thundered Gellert in the front line. "AWOO!!!" Roared the remaining 99 members of the wall in unison. ''A vanguard of about...450-500 men maximum... They are ill-equipped, movements imprecise and disorderly... The enemy wants to test our defenses with expendable meat. So be it.'' Quickly assessed William analyzing the nearly five hundred screaming men who began a charge three hundred feet away. "Captain Phillis," William called to the captain of the crossbowmen-archers squad. "Yes, Sir?" Phillis. "You havemand of the firing unit. I want to let off some steam." William. "Yes, sir. FIRING UNIT, TO ME! IN POSITION!" Roared Phillis tookmand of 20 crossbowmen, 30 archers, and 80 support men. "YES, SIR!!!" The 110 men answered in unison as they took up their positions. "LET''S GIVE OUR MEN SOME VISIBILITY! ARCHERS! RAIN OF FIRE!" 30 men lit their arrows in the braziers provided. "TENDER!... SHOOT!" Thirty tiny little red dots scattered about 100-120 feet from them, giving the men on the front line a better view. The 60 support men, quickly prepared to ce the 30 shields for each archer. The 20 crossbowmen positioned themselves behind the second line with the remaining 20 of their support men. The crossbowmen were equipped with a special new type of crossbow. A double-stringed instrument of death with two trigger levers that was capable of firing two darts in a row instead of one. Their supportingpanions not only protected the twenty crossbowmen from various threats but also repeatedly reloaded a spare crossbow with additional darts. In this way, between intervals, the barrage of darts was constant. William approached the second line on the center-right side. He was less than 15 feet from Gellert. The seconds ticked by and the enemy charge was getting closer and closer... "100 FEET!!!" warned Gellert... "50!!!"... "HOLD!!!"... "AWOOOOO!!!" Roared 60 human walls in unison, a moment before collision. "SDDUUURGHH!!, AARRRGHRR!!, TO KING BALON!!, URGHH! DIE NORTHERN DOG!!!, UUUUUAAARGH!!, TEAR THEM APART!!, CLASHS!, TIINGN!!" A loud crashing noise, along with a cacophony of screams, curses, axe blows shing on solid objects and countless other sounds dropped and burst like thunder in a clear sky. The first 30 Guardians were holding out in silence, concentrating only on their breathing and a countdown... The front line was visibly retreating at least one foot every five seconds... Not because they could not prevail against the enemy''s thrust force, but to save their strength for the decisive push... It was the second line that took on the task of holding the first line steady. The first thirty men had to concentrate mainly on leg stability, thest 30 supported the torso of theirrades in front by pushing. ''4...3...2...1...it''s the time!'' Thought William in sync with hundreds of loyalrades. "NOOW!!! PUSH!!!" Gellert. "AWOOO!!!" The 30 men who were sparing themselves pushed with all their might as if they were released tension springs. About forty iron men, tired and sore from the pressure, shed back at least 6 or 7 feet, losing their bnce. "OPEN!!!" Commander Gellert. "DISCONNECT!" Phillis. Before they could even try to take a step forward, the poor front lineposed, of the brave, valiant, and stupid ironmen, was met by 30 razor-sharp spear des and 20 crossbow darts. A moment after the fellow crossbowman next to William fired his arrow, the Vice-Commander sprinted forward into the opening in the two lines that had been created for him. William stepped over the first line and into a tangle of screaming, dying, and wounded men. Before drawing his two short des, the ''Shadow Demon'' threw one of his daggers, striking the eye of an uninjured Ironborn. Then the real fun began. William drew his two des and taking advantage of his short stature, spun around, slicing cleanly through one man''s leg and another man''s bare knee. An eye, a leg, and a knee!...There!'' William counted within himself, activating his perception and death zone to the max. He found another target to hit in time before retreating. ''Slurshh!!! AAAAARGGHHH! BASTARD!!!" Unfortunate ironmen, he would no longer be able to beget sons and daughters of salt... "KILL HIM!!!" Three men noticed the mad Northern target daring to enter the melee alone between enemy lines. William quickly stepped back. "CLOSE!!!" Gellert roared. Before axes, swords or spears could strike the fearless William, a tower of shields interposed itself between him and the enemy. The formation [Wall of Shields] was closed exactly as before and a new countdown began. But the counterattack was not over... "ARCHERS, NOWW!!!" Captain Phillis roared. Thirty pairs of Guardians raised a shield by gripping handles. The thirty archers crouched in bnce on those shields, equipped with thirty new modified bows, made from the finest golden heartwood and specially manufactured in the Summer Isle with the proper specifications, rose into the air reaching eleven to twelve feet high and fired their hollow-pointed arrows at thirty different targets. "AARRGH!, HELP ME!!, ARROWS!!, SHIELDS SOON!, AAARGHH!" Shouted the panicked ironmen who, in their confusion, couldn''t even figure out where that volley hade from. The first round of n [A] was over... ''About 40 mortally wounded, a dozen seriously wounded and another dozen barely hit...'' William counted instinctively within himself. Ramas had always taught him and repeated an important rule. [Learn to count! Words and actions can hide lies, numbers cannot! Learn to keep track of everything around you]. One of his master''s golden rules. ''The traps...'' Thought William trying to get an idea of the fallen ironmen who had chosen to walk a different road. A dark road, full of potholes, des, and sharp poles... Making full use of the few seconds he had left before the second opening in the wall, William quickly estimated the bloodshed and death that was taking ce on both sides of the front line... At least 30 men from the Iron Inds had been impaled or impaled by sharp, rusty des... The other ranks of men, seeing the bitter end of theirrades, stopped their charge and retreated on the orders of one of their leaders inmand. William moved to another point in the second line. Rarely would he attack from the same point for more than an interval. He must have been an invisible and unpredictable shadow.... The Ironborn''s second charge of attack was much sloppier and easier to handle... Now that at least fifty of theirrades had died before their eyes, with an ease and speed never before seen, fear and doubt gued the enemy formation. Even the bodies of theirrades, which stood in their way, made the offensive at least three times less fierce and oppressive than the first charge. The worst words the poor vanguard of Lord Drumm''s army could hear thundered again. "PUSH!!!", "AWOOO!!", "OPEN!!!" "UNLOAD!!!" "CLOSE!!!" "ARCHERS!"... End POV. ----------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Battlefield Bear Ind. About fifteen minutes after the fight began.... It was a massacre... There were no other words to describe the first phase of the battle. About 350 corpses of the original 500 fearless and bloodthirsty squids of the vanguard were lying on the ground beginning to form a second wall. A wall made of human flesh... The stench was atrocious and pungent, but the Guardians were prepared for that too. Each of them carried a small bottle of aniseed and licorice balm, which they rubbed under their nostrils. In this way, the stench of dead blood and shit was considerably more tolerable. Another forty ironborn survivors stilly screaming or crawling on the ground... Some who had fallen into the concealed holes, which contained a sharp rusty de, were trying with all their might to get back to their camp, limping or crawling. Others were trying somehow to blot up the blood and not bleed to death... "I tell you there were eight of them!!! Three to the belly, four to the chest, and one to the throat!" Brywen scolded Erick. "Yeah right...at most I''d say [6] and that''s only because I''m generous." Retorted Erick trying to safeguard his [7]. "You!!! One of them was even going to chop off your arm with an axe! that''s how you thank me?!?! You''re just saying that because you don''t know how to lose!!! I have the Lord General as my witness! My Lord?" Brywen turned to me looking for support. "Confirmed Erick, pay your silver moon and keep your dignity high." I saw Erick sigh conspicuously and Brywen gloats over his victory. "You shouldn''t be gambling and betting on human lives...it''s not Guardian behavior... And by the way, you both owe me a Moon. I''m up to eleven. Ahaha!!!" Both Brywen and Erick looked at me with a surprised look and a hint of doubt. I was slightly offended by this gesture that expressed ack of trust in theirmanding superior.... "General." A voice behind me almost caught me by surprise, interrupting my thoughts. "Yes, William?" I asked my trusted second-inmand. "Commander Gellert requests your advice for the next few hours." William also acted as a messenger between the various ranks ofmand during a formation. "Of course. Before I give my advice. I would like a report on our losses..." I asked hoping inside that nothing serious had happened to any of myrades or allies. "No losses, General. Just a few minor injuries. Berk and John from the front line were stabbed in an arm and a shoulder, but the de didn''t prate more than an inch. Peter while shooting an arrow, was hit by a throwing axe on his helmet but caused only a scratch on his face and a slight stun. All three are already at camp for treatment, General." William. "Good...I''m loaded with ''energy''. I''ll be heading over shortly to treat them ''personally'' in the private tent." I had the option to activate my divine ability [Lay of Hands] and use three first-level spells if necessary. Lay of Hand, could be rationed up to fifteen small uses. Each of the fifteen small portions of divine energy could ration one ''mortal wound'' to one of ''serious'' level, and one ''serious'' wound to one of ''serious'' level. I could also use several portions of energy at once. If I used all the divine power at once, I could easily totally heal up to two mortal wounds. Furthermore, I could use up to three [Cure Wounds] spells. Each [Cure Wounds] could heal a mortal wound up to a ''minor wound'' level. I should have saved these life-saving skills and spells to save as manyrades as possible. I would have to meditate for four hours to recharge these skills or sleep for at least 7-8 hours. If there had been a weirwood tree engraved with a face in the camp, I could have recovered my magic in a single hour. I considered it likely that after this massacre, the situation would be quiet for at least 5-6 hours. "Your opinion on the first enemy forces that attacked us, Vice Commander?" I asked William looking for the second point of view. "Sloppy, poorly organized, and expendable, General... I believe Lord Drumm decided to test our forces by sparing the true warriors of his army. That five hundred ironborn could at best bepared to a bunch of bandits, General." William. "I thought so too. The enemymander isn''t so bad after all... If I were him, after witnessing this massacre, I would wait and calmly evaluate. I think we''re going to be pelted with a rain of fire soon. Let them waste their arrows needlessly and conserve ours. I don''t think there will be any more attacks before dawn. After learning about the dangerous terrain full of hidden traps, I would consider it very unwise to attack in the dark. The real fight will begin tomorrow... If I were in the enemymander''s shoes, I would have battering rams built out of forest logs. They will try to break through the front line as if it were a fortress gate and I would harass my enemy during the night with continuous volleys of arrows to at least try to keep them from sleeping... The greatest danger could be fire. I would throw buckets of oil and pitch at our front line and set them on fire with torches... Yes, I would do that and I believe Lord Drumm would make a simr if not identical decision. Knowing all this, Deputy Commander: How do you think it is best to act?" I finally asked, allowing William the chance to think for himself ande up with a n of his own. William pondered the answer for a few seconds, and then said: "I suggest that we evenly distribute the enemy corpses on the ground around us. Our enemy must not have a high ground position. We would be more easily targeted by arrows, axes, spears, oil, and pitch. I would give the shift now to ensure that our strongest lines are fresh for the battle tomorrow. Also, we should do a short drill to be able to counter tomorrow''s rams. We should prepare buckets of muddy water for our front lines, which will need to be soaked and soaked thoroughly before the battle. Also, I think we should increase the line of archers by specifying to target their oil and pitch carriers and hit them with ming arrows. That''s all I could think of, General." William. "Then go tell that to our Commander. And specify the fact, that the n for countermeasures was drawn up by you, Deputy Commander." I said, nodding proudly at William. I hade up with very simr if not identical countermeasures. William was growing up nicely. "Thank you, General." the Vice Commander was about to retreat. "Deputy Commander!" Brywen''s voice stopped him. "Yes, Lieutenant Brywen?" William. "How many enemies have you downed, Sir?" Both Brywen and otherrades were curious about the answer. "Define ''downed'' better, Lieutenant. Are we talking fatal, serious, or medium wounds?" William. "Ah, I beg your pardon, Deputy Commander! Mortal wounds, Sir." Brywen. "...23." Chapter 54: Golden and Silver Snow Part III Chapter 54: '' Golden and Silver Snow '' Part III POV: Denys Drumm; Camp Ironmen, Bear Ind. About 30 minutes after the retreat horn was sounded... It was still at least six hours before sunrise, winter had just passed and the days were beginning to lengthen. But it was still early spring, darkness still prevailed over sunlight... For Admiral Denys, this was a disadvantage. Only hearing the screams of his men at 400 feet, themander-in-chief of this army, previouslyposed of 5,300 men and now of 4,900, had made the firm decision that from here on out, his Iron Men would fight in the sunlight... A lesson he paid with a salty and heavy price of iron. Denys expected that of the five hundred men sent as a vanguard to test the enemy''s defenses, at least three hundred would return. And if he had to sacrifice two hundred men, he hoped at least that those iron men, though inexperienced as warriors, would take at least fifty of the enemy with them to the grave... In that case, it would have been an eptable loss, but now the captain of that vanguard, who managed to survive that massacre, was babbling sentences that he couldn''t believe or ept. "Say it again... Know that if I detect the slightest trace of falsehood in your words, face, or tone of voice, I will personally drown you with my own hands." Said Danys to the son of one of his father''s bannermen. "Yes...Yes, my lord admiral. I swear by the Drawned God that what I have said and am about to repeat is the truth... The enemy suffered no casualties, Admiral... At most...a couple of wounded. My Lord, their formation was imprable! They were defending and attacking at the same time, I...we didn''t know how to break that line." Said the captain exposing his battle report for the second time. "Why didn''t you attack from the nks? I only saw you attack the front line! My orders were clear!" Denys. "My lord, that open ground is littered with traps! Not just the sharp poles, there must be hundreds of hidden holes... We lost forty men just crossing fifteen feet of ground...it was impossible to avoid them in the dark, my lord. We could only attempt to attack the front line." the captain. "... What else did you notice? Exin in detail the enemy formation. I want to know everything." Denys. "Yes, my lord. There are two main lines of defense, consisting of at least sixty men in studded leather armor, helmets, spears, and shields. There is not the slightest chink or opening my lord... We couldn''t hurt them even with archers...not without an elevated position. We cannot repel that line with brute force my lord. When they opened their wall, the seven-foot-long spears of the first line and the ten-foot-long spears of the second line would pounce on us, piercing everything, and at the same time, at least twenty crossbowmen would shoot darts a moment before the spears hit. As soon as the formation closed, the archers would leap into the air repeatedly like fish out of water, aiming mainly at our archers and ax throwers. All of this was repeated 3 or 4 times every minute without fail, my lord...we...here... We had no time to react, I had lost the first two hundred men in less than three minutes..." The captain paused, expecting serious, if not fatal, bodily repercussions from the enraged man in front of him. "What about that demon? You mentioned a demon earlier... Not only did you lose four hundred men, but you returned to camp instilling fear in the rest of the army..." Said Denys with a murderous look on his face. "MY LORD! I SWEAR! I''M NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO SAW IT!!! HE...CAME OUT OF NOWHERE MY LORD! HE MOVED INHUMANLY, TAKING LIVES..." The captain was interrupted abruptly. "That''s enough...you are no longer useful to me, Captain." Denys gripped the throat of the man smaller than him in a steel vise... Denys was tall and muscr, some thought he was Victarion Greyjoy''s bastard brother. He was the only one who could match his strength, and his skill with a sword and an ax in his fist were no less. Throughout the Iron Inds, it was thought that only Dagmer Cleft-Jaw and, indeed, Victarion Greyjoy, could beat him. Two years earlier, Balon Greyjoy''s son Rodrick, who was looking for easy glory, challenged Denys to a ''friendly'' fight... Rodrick paid the iron price that day at Old Wyk, along with three teeth and multiple fractures. Denys managed to lift with his right arm the tiny and dry captain, who although thin still wore his armor and chain mail. The fingers of the mighty Admiral, d in steel gloves, pierced the poor man''s throat, choking him in his blood... The other six witnessing captains did not utter a word, staring petrified at the scene. No one dared to intervene. When Denys had finished, he turned to the others and said: "Captain Deregh died with valor from a wound sustained in battle. Does anyone in this tent think the circumstances of his death are false?" The other six men trembled upon hearing those words. "NO, AMMIRAGE!", "No, my lord.", "Captain Deregh died with valor serving the King, my lord."...the other three nodded silently. "Good. Now let us calmly discuss how we will avenge ourrade Deregh..." End POV. ------------------------------------------------------ POV: Division Commander; Allied Camp, Bear Ind. Approximately six hours after a young captain had his throat slit... Gellert repositioned himself in the center of the front row. Fourteen men on his right and another fifteen on his left. Today it would be Lieutenant Brywen who would protect the weakest of the formation. General Duncan, would support the front line as a backup healer until he had exhausted his ''skill''. As predicted by the General, it was a quiet night. The ironmen harassed them with ming arrows all night, but no casualties or fires were set. Gellert and his men were able to rest quietly in the sheltered area. The enemy army had only wasted tens of thousands of arrows. Many of them were assimted to be sent back to the sender in the future. The preparations wereplete and he and his men, who had chosen him by-election as theirmander, were back from four hours of rest. They needed nothing more. The first sixty men of the formation had been well soaked in water and mud. Their uniforms had gone from white to earthy brown with still a few traces of blood from yesterday''s sh. The unit had been increased by sixty men for today''s sh. Increasing by ten crossbowmen, 10 archers, 30 support, and 10 reserve shields. Themander was pleased with yesterday''s work and proud of his men. Each of them had performed their task perfectly and at the right time working as one man. During the theory lessons, General Duncan always repeated the importance of teamwork. The Lord General used to give them numerical examples. [ 100 ranks [7] soldiers, well trained in teamwork and well equipped, would prevail against 100 disorganized and ill-equipped rank [9] men. So always take care of your equipment and yourrades...but remember that thetter cannot be easily reced]. ''Will I be able to take care of mypanions this time as well? '' Gellert thought as he stared at the more than one thousand five hundred veteran men of the Iron Inds less than a few paces from the range of their bows. The Commander knew that the confrontation of the night before was nothingpared to the challenge that would soon be before him. The five hundred men of yesterday were nothing more than marauders better at stealing and setting fire to viges of farmers and fishermen than fighting. But today... It would be the turn of 1,500 true iron men. Today even the Mormont units would have to fight if they wanted to secure victory... He did not doubt that they would prevail in the end...but he didn''t want to lose any of hisrades. Gellert was beginning to feel the true weight of his assignment. His choices and orders could have cost the lives of his swornrades and brothers... A feeling of panic and unease was beginning to pervade inside him. '' I must breathe...breathe Gellert. Five hundredrades and thousands of innocents are counting on you!!! '' Gellert thought as he began to practice one of the special breathing techniques. A technique that helped clear and rx the mind... "Phew...phew..." After a few seconds, the weight began to lighten and the chaotic thoughts diminished... Another memory took precedence over the other negative ones... [Remember Gellert. There will be a time when you feel the weight of that responsibility you think is yours... Know that that weight is not yours alone. I would not have hesitated for a moment to choose you as mymander. Do you know why I let the other Guardians choose him? Because the responsibility lies with everyone. If you fail or make a mistake in your task, we will be the ones who have failed and not just you... We will rejoice or suffer together and we will all bear that responsibility]. Gellert, thinking back on those words, looked onest time at the gazes of hispanions beside him... All of them looked both scared and determined at the same time... "GUARDIANS!" Everyone paid attention to theirmander. Gellert continued. "I KNOW YOU ARE AFRAID... I''M AS SCARED AS THE REST OF YOU... YOU ARE RIGHT TO BE SCARED. AND I WANT YOU TO BE!!!" Some of the Guardians looked at each other with confusion on their faces. "YOU TOO LIKE ME, DO YOU FEEL THAT ICY SENSATION THAT SEEMS TO PERVADE IN YOUR BONES? THE BREATH THAT BREAKS IN HALF? INVOLUNTARY SPASMS ON YOUR MUSCLES? GLOOMY THOUGHTS LADEN WITH ALL MANNER OF DOUBT?" Gellert. "Yes...", "Yes, Sir...", "I can feel them, Sir"...a few stood strong and admitted it in a low voice a few, most others nodded silently but only one voice stood out more than all, and it seemed to be the voice of an eleven-year-old in the second row. "YES, SIR!!!" Thundered an eleven-year-old. Gellert smiled upon hearing that voice and continued undaunted on his way. "I DIDN''T HEAR THAT!" Gellert. "YES, SIR!" Most answered with a few exceptions, there were still a few who pretended or wouldn''t admit to having it. "REPEAT. ARE YOU AFRAID?!" Shouted Gellert as loudly as he could. "YES, SIR!!!" This time they all replied. "...WELL. KNOW, THAT THOUSANDS OF WOMEN, CHILDREN, AND INNOCENT PEOPLE INSIDE THOSE CAVES HAVE IT TOO. ONLY THEY DIDN''T CHOOSE TO BE HERE. WE DID! WHETHER OUT OF STUPIDITY OR COURAGE, WE CHOSE IT. AND WE DID IT TO GIVE THOSE PEOPLE A CHOICE! THE SAME CHOICE WE WERE GIVEN!! I, GELLERT, DIVISION COMMANDER OF THE WINTER GUARDIANS, AM AFRAID! BUT NOT OF DYING! I AM AFRAID OF LOSING EVEN ONE OF YOU!!! AND LET THIS FEARFUL LEADER GIVE YOU SOME ADVICE... DON''T BLOCK OR HIDE THAT FEAR! EMBRACE IT AND MAKE IT YOUR OWN! LET IT BE OUR STRENGTH! USE IT TO MOVE AS QUICKLY AS YOU CAN! USE IT TO BETTER FOCUS ON YOUR ENEMY! TO REACT BETTER! TO PROTECT YOUR LIFE! TO PROTECT THE LIFE OF THE COMRADE ON YOUR RIGHT! ...BUT MOST OF ALL... LET''S TEACH THOSE '' FEARLESS'' MEN IN FRONT OF US, WHAT REAL FEAR IS!!! LET OUR TERROR EXPLODE AND BURST FORTH UNTIL IT REACHES THOSE SQUIDS WHO ONLY PRETEND NOT TO HAVE ANY! AND LET''S MAKE SURE THAT THIS TERROR NEVER LEAVES THEM! WE WILL TORMENT THEM EVEN IN THEIR DREAMS, AND NEVER!!! NEVER AGAIN WILL THE IRONMEN ''FORGET'', WHO, OR WHAT THE WARRIORS OF THE NORTH ARE! THE ENEMIES OF THE NORTH ''WILL NOT FORGET'' THIS DAY!!!! AWOO!!!" Gellert finished his speech by raising his spear to the sky. "AWOO!!! AWOO!!! AWOO!!!" 310 spears, shields crossbows, and bows were raised rhythmically in response along with the battle roar. The iron men responded to the cry by beginning their charge 400 feet away. Gellert did not react to the attack and continued to stare at hisrades. "USE AND CONVEY THAT FEAR TO THE ENEMY AND I PROMISE, NONE OF YOU WILL DIE TODAY!!!" The look on many men''s faces became more determined than ever. William supported his Commander by ordering: "GUARDIANS! BATTLE FORMATION!!!" Everyone lined up tightly clutching their weapons and positioning themselves in the designated spot. Gellert also took his ce without much of a hurry. He knew when the enemy woulde. The danger was getting closer and closer, but none of those 309 men moved a finger. No one would until Gellert ordered them to. Just before the enemy reached 50 feet away, Gellert thundered the order they had all been waiting for. "SHIELD WALL!!!" End POV. ----------------------------------------------- POV: An Ironman; Allied Camp, Bear Ind. About three minutes into the second battle of the expedition began... ''Those aren''t boys... Deregh was right... Those are Demons!'' thought Captain Wix of the second battalion of five hundred men... He had seen with his own eyes Captain Bardagh, now the formermander of what''s left of the first battalion, perish under the spear of the enemymander. The tip of that fucking spear had pierced Bardagh''s steel-reinforced helmet from side to side... and Bardagh was a true warrior tempered by a hundred raids... The Iron Fleet had just lost at least another 150 men. Wix knew, that without a guide and because they were in the middle of enemy territory, those 350 remaining men of the first battalion were already dead... Worst of all, the enemy had yet to suffer a single loss. There was no opening...at least not on the first line of defense. Wix had even tried to concentrate the fire of his unit of archers against those of the North. BUT, as soon as he had given the order, those damn mushrooms wouldn''te up anymore... It was as if the captain of that unit knew they were going to target them. Then all of a sudden, when the members of his shooting unit had their arms sore from the prolonged tension pull of the bow, forty archers suddenly popped up aiming at them... Wix had lost at least twenty-five, good archers, in that one attack... In this terrain they were at a disadvantage, even the most experienced warriors found it difficult to move among all these bodies and none of those demons would let that opportunity slip away. They easily unbnced the front line with a simple push. The man who fell to the ground was a dead man... "Captain! What are your orders?" Despite the shouting and confusion, Wix still managed to catch those words from his deputy at his side. "We must take advantage of this moment when the first battalion is getting their attention. CLEAR THE WAY! MOVE THOSE BODIES! WE NEED TO CLEAR THE WAY FOR THE RAMS!" Ordered Wix to about fifty of his men, who obeyed the orders. About sixty men were waiting with three huge oak logs. Twenty men were needed to create enough momentum to impact the ram toward the target. About five minutes of dying screamster... Less than a hundred men remained from the first battalion and the enemy defensive line continued undaunted to hold firmly. Wix had seen four or five men be wounded, at least one of them badly, an iron man, sacrificing himself in the act, had managed to nt an ax on the chest of a Northman, who fell backward only to be dragged by a couple of hisrades and promptly reced by another. While the result, in the eyes of many others in Westeros, might seem painful, it was not to Wix or any of those iron men who had seen with their own eyes what those Demons were capable of doing. A ''free'' passage had been created. Wix didn''t think twice about ordering: "NOW!!! FIRST ARIES! CHARGE!!!!" "UUUAAARGHH!!!" Roared in unison 20 iron men charging forward. When the battering ram was about to reach its target, three shield units from the front line, unbeknownst to Wix or other iron men, simply ducked letting the whole battering ram with the twenty iron men in freely, soon after the wall closed in. "SEEN MEN!!! WE DID IT!!! THE LINE GAVE WAY!!! " Wix. "UUAAARGHH!!!" Thundered a hundred or so ironmen raising the morale slightly. "COME ON LET''S SUPPORT THOSE TWENTY WARRIORS AND TEAR THEM APART FROM THE INSIDE. SECOND RAM! CHARGE!!! YOU FOLLOW ME WE WILL CREATE A BREACH IN THE ENEMY RANKS!!!" About fifty men lined up along with their captain behind the ram already in motion. 70 feet...50...30...10... The ram reached the same target and passed like a thread through a needle hole... ''No sound of an impact?!" thought Captain Wix instinctively as he crossed the line with a couple of his men. Then a push and a shouting sound behind him awakened him from his daze... What awaited the 22 brave ironborn and Wix, was not a breach...but a trap. Forty northern men, armed with swords and daggers were simultaneously ughtering his men. Wix turned away for a moment, hoping at least to have the support of his militia following him. The breach had been closed and his fifty men cut off. "FUCK YOU!!! DAMN BASTARDS!!! I''M TAKING AT LEAST TEN OF YOU WITH ME!!! WHAT IS DEAD, MAY-" Wix''s roar cracked in his throat, not because he wasn''t determined to die fighting, but because of the opponent he was facing, one who had to be truly dead! The Northern soldier, who until a few minutes ago had half an ax inside his chest, was standing in front of him. Wix did not doubt that it was him...also because on his armor, there was precisely the mark of an ax cut and bloodstains from the copious wound... ''NO IMPOSSIBLE! HE CAN''T BE ALIVE! NO MAN COULD SURVIVE WITH AN INJURY LIKE THIS!'' roared Wix''s thoughts, panicking. "What is dead, stays dead." Said a childish voice behind Wix, who wasnded by a sh that mowed down his ankle tendons. "Who...urgh...WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!!! YOU''RE FUCKING MONSTERS!" Spat Wix trying not to let go of his grip on the ax and dagger. "We are..." The boy was interrupted by a call. "GENERAL!!! ERICK! Erick has been wounded in the throat!" The boy snapped toward the voice of the call. Wix was unable to watch the scene, but what he saw before him was very clear. Twenty heads of his former men have piled up a few steps away from him, and the Northmen were severing more heads from the corpses of his men... Wix had a quick sense of why... The enemy wanted to throw those heads at his garrison, thus breaking his morale... That was the end that awaited him, and it was the ''undead'' soldier who was put in charge of the task... Secondster, everything went dark for Wix. End POV. --------------------------------------------- POV: Captain Stevan ''Salt de''; Allied Camp, Bear Ind. About ten minutes after 43 heads were dropped on the second battalion... Less than 900 men remained of the original 1,500... The terrain was impassable. Hundreds of bodies hampered any possible formation. Stevan, a 40-year-old captain with extensive experience behind him, had a decision to make. ''Both Baragh and Wix have fallen, I remain inmand.'' Thought the captain trying to figure out if it was better to call a retreat or not. The result of those six hundred sacrifices offered to this curse Ind were barely thirty wounded enemies. In an hour filled with fighting, this was the result that the iron men had managed to achieve. They still had one more card to y. Fire. They had to set the damn bastards on fire. If they retreated now, morale would plummet the entire army and Stevan would still die at the hands of that bloodthirsty madman Denys Drumm. "FORM A LINE OF SHIELDS 70 FEET FROM THE ENEMY!" Stevanmanded his troops. The men prepared to form threepact lines of 100 men each. Someone died in the process due to the crossbowmen and archers. "PREPARE...BUT WHAT!" Stevan was shocked by what he saw... That was a boulder from a catapult flying into the sky from the enemy camp. ''NO! That''s not possible! They couldn''t have carried a catapult into those wooded, rocky paths!.... They couldn''t have even built it! They should have been here no more than two days!!!'' Thought Stevan with celerity as he witnessed the scene of a two-foot circumference bullet shattering about two hundred feet from their position. The enemy had missed their target. About a minuteter, another bulletnded in another direction dozens of feet from the other... None of those bullets were hitting his army. ''At least they have crappy aim!.... But how did they do it? It would take at least 4 or 5 days to build one from scratch!'' Stevan continued to think obsessively. Then he remembered the n making a huge effort to get back focused on his goal. "PREPARE TO LAUNCH THE OIL, DEFEND THE SHOOTERS! LET''S BURN THE BASTARDS!" Stevan. "CAPTAIN, LOOK!!!" Said the second-inmand pointing into the sky. It wasn''t a bullet or a boulder...but more objects...or rather shimmers. *Tingh!, Tingh!, Tingh!* Various tinkles followed rhythmically hitting the ground or the metal of the shields. "LOOK! THIS IS SILVER!!!" Shouted a man "THIS IS GOLD!!!" Said another. Stevan, instinctively taken by curiosity as well, looked at the ground and saw coins. Silver stags, silver moons, and even golden dragons... His instincts screamed at him to pick them all up...and that''s when it hit me. He saw his men get caught up in the same euphoria, breaking the defensive formation... It was the men from the North who threw the coins. Stevan could tell where those cold silver and gold snowkes wereing from. "NOO! YOU IDIOTS IT''S A TRAP! GET BACK IN FORMATION!!!" It was all for naught. Those words did not reach the ears of raiders stricken with gold madness. Not only had they broken the formation, but men were even attacking each other for a few gold coins. Some idiots even tried their luck in the trap-filled camp. The Northmen were throwing buckets of gold into that death zone...and the fish took the bait. In the meantime, the catapult bullets kept hitting their empty rearguard, until.... The bullets were reced by a rain of fire. Stevan''s experience and instincts told him that at least 300 archers were needed to create a phenomenon of that magnitude. "SHIELDS! SHIELDS UP!!!" Only a hundred men responded to themand. The arrows weren''t aimed at them, though... "SWAAAMPPP!!!" A wall of fire at least 5 feet high, split the battlefield in half. ''NO!... Those weren''t boulders...THEY WERE OIL-FILLED WALLS! THEY WANT TO CLOSE US INTO TRAP!'' Every neuron in themander-in-chief''s head repeatedly shrieked those words. Only now did Captain Stevan and several dozen men notice that the enemy formation had advanced a few steps and was more numerous... In front of them, there were at least 600 northern men... Tallhart and Mormont men.... A five-foot-tall figure wielding a de in each hand stepped forward in the center of the group. He stood still watching the spectacle for a few seconds, then raised an arm and lowered it downward roaring: "WARRIORS OF THE NORTH!.... CHARGEEEE!!!!" Chapter 55: Wicked Game Chapter 55: '' Wicked Game '' Hello everyone here is a chapter that I hope you will enjoy. Happy reading. P.S. Watch out forments with soundtracks. They might be useful in this chapter. --------------- POV: Denys Drumm; Battlefield Bear Ind. About three minutes after a wall of fire split the camp in half. Denys and 800 of House Drumm''s best men, were sixty feet from the wall of fire. The wall had already reached six feet in height. Because of the mes and the ck smoke they were generating, there was virtually no view of the camp. Only ngs of metal and desperate screams could be heard. A rain of arrows, thick and constant, prevented the entire group from taking a single step forward. ''But how could they have created such a wall! Even if they hadunched barrels loaded with oil, they couldn''t be that urate!'' Denys thought rightly. The admiral of the Iron Fleet, did not know that the night before, about forty men disguised as ironmen, taking advantage of the darkness and pretending to be ironborn corpses, silently crawled halfway across the field, slowly distributing evenly on the ground: dry twigs, chopped pieces and coal dust, sprinkling everything with gallons of oil... The catapult had mostly helped to intensify the fire on several key points. "My Lord! We cannot advance! The heat is too intense! We must wait for the fire to die out naturally." Said a captain holding his shield up high. "Throw all the water you can get! We can''t afford to lose those men!" Denys ordered. "My lord...we have already lost twenty men! The rain of arrows is too impetuous now, Admiral. They''ll soon run out of them! We''ll have to..." An iron backhand smashed a lip and broke one of the captain''s teeth. "IDIOT! LOOK! THOSE ARE OUR ARROWS!!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW!? THEY CAN KEEP SHOOTING FOR AT LEAST AN HOUR! PUT OUT THOSE FLAMES!!!" Roared Denys. "WATCH OUT!!!", "SDURSDHH!", "BOOMM!", "SWAAMMP!". An explosion of fire sent all the front rows backward... The catapult continued to feed the ming wall in multiple ces with barrels of oil. "UUARRGHH!", "PUT IT OUT!!! HELP ME!!!" At least five men were starting to catch fire from spatters of burning oil. ''A CATAPULT! BADNESS! ...Wait...no! that''s not possible. They didn''t have time to build it... This should be at most the second day they are here... It would take at least 3 or 4 days...and they couldn''t have transported it.'' Thought Denys ming himself for not thinking of it right away. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the harbor. ''Watt! Take four men and get to the docks right away! Check that all is well and report any anomalies to me! Am I clear?!" Said Denys to one of his officers. "Yes, Admiral!" Watt began to embark on his three-hour march at a brisk pace. ''If it''s true that I''ve been here for more than a day...then that means reinforcements will be here sooner than we thought! If we lost all 3 battalions in that field... We would not have enough men for our fleet! I can''t call up more men from the ships. I only have 2,100 more men with me...'' Reflected the admiral. The longships of the Iron Fleet were among the best ships in Westeros, but they required good seamen to maneuver. A ship needed at least 30 able-bodied men to steer it withoutpromising speed, maneuverability, and navigational safety... Denys had left 1,300 men in the harbor and taken 4,000 of the entire fleet with him, if they lost those three battalions of 1,500 men in full, his fleet would already have a shortage of men. For the first time since the day his father put him in charge, Denys seriously considered withdrawing from the Ind, epting defeat, and cutting his losses... If his hypothesis was correct, the situation of this army was more desperate than they could have imagined... End POV. ----------------------------------------------------------- POV: Dacey Mormont; Battlefield, Bear Ind. About a minute after the Army General gave the order to attack... Dacey had seeded... She had persuaded her mother, Lady Maege Mormont, casten of the Isle and head of the Mormont army forces, to let her participate in this battle. It would be her first real fight... Although Dacey had dreamed of this moment for years, she was afraid. The horrors of war poured against her like a speeding train. Blood everywhere, amputated limbs, viscera, corpses, and a foul smell that would break your breath and induce you to vomit whatever she had eaten in thest week. This was not how she imagined her first battle to be... Until yesterday, her mother was adamantly opposed to the issue. Then that morning she suddenly changed her mind. Dacey would be able to take the field along with the 350 Mormont warriors, but on the condition that she would always be ced in the back rows. What she found strange was that a member of the Tallhart unit, whom Dacey recognized as Deputy Commander William, never let her out of his sight. William was her shadow. The fight had already begun; Dacey was still 40 feet from the nearest enemy. She hoped he would be able to contribute to the fight. She wasn''t going to let the men in her family suffer alone. In these two days, Dacey was more confused than ever... Her mother had told her that all those battle ns and defensive strategies, were Duncan''s doing. At first, the girl didn''t want to believe it, but more and more people were praising ''Bloody Snow'' with conviction. The first victory had been epic. Four hundred ironmen killed without suffering a single loss... Not even in fairy tales could such an achievement be found. The voice of the first victory echoed throughout the caves and reached the Mormont people. Hope red up like a fire giving strength and possibility to the whole camp. Her mother, Maege, didn''t even blink an eye after hearing Commander Gellert''s proposal of attack... '' Gellert...'' Dacey found that man from the North...no that Warrior from the North, quite fascinating... Every part of him, especially his voice, conveyed strength and confidence. She blushed like a little princess she so disparaged, in the presence of that statue made of flesh and charisma... Too bad he wasn''t of noble origins... Her mother had been clear that in the future she would have to marry a noble party from the North. In any case, young Dacey, couldn''t even get young Lord Tallhart out of her mind... She''d been trying hard to find him for the past four days, but the white-haired ghost had been slipping through her hands like fog... The first three days Dacey was looking for him just to pick a fight with him, but yesterday... Yesterday the girl would have wanted to seek him out to apologize... Dacey felt guilty for falsely using him of being a coward. To be precise a '' coward who would run away from danger by letting others deal with the problems of the North''. All anyone could do was say how brave, Lord Tallhart was to fight on the front lines among his men... To Dacey, that rumor seemed exaggerated, but she did not doubt that Bloody Snow was present along with the unit called ''Winters Guardian'' during the fight. She had seen him in passing, a hundred feet away, marching with his unit to head to camp that morning... The boy might have fought like a wuss but even Dacey had to admit that Duncan was risking a lot more than she was, that until yesterday she wasn''t allowed out of the wooden palisades... ''Will he be in the field right now, too?'' The girl''s thoughts were interrupted by a shout. ''ATTENTION! HE''S HEADING FOR LADY DACEY! PROTECT YOUR LADY!" Shouted a captain of the Mormont garrison as he crossed swords with ironmen. "UUUAAARGH! DIE NORTHERN BITCH!!!" A madman armed with a two-handed ax was running towards her. Dacey was ready, wielding her mace and shield, wearing her helmet and custom-made split armor. "He''s mine!" Said the girl with a determined look. Before the man cleaved the first blow, two throwing knives prated his right thigh and left arm, noticeably distracting the warrior. Dacey didn''t let this opportunity pass her by, deflected the now inurate blow with her shield, and cleaved a heavy, urate club blow across his opponent''s knee. "CRAACK!" The noise was almost sickening, the poor man''s knee sounded like a crushed grapefruit... Before the man could scream, Dacey aimed a second blow toward the jaw...The man, now without a mouth and chin, was dead. ''I did it! I am now a true warrior of the North as well! I have seeded in defeating an enemy of the Ind!'' Thought Dacey with confusion, joy, and disbelief. "My Lady, don''t get distracted!" Said a figure beside her. Dacey looked up as she saw two more ironborning. ''THIS TIME THERE ARE TWO!... Will I make it? Or will I die here?... NO! I MUST STAY FOCUSED!!!'' Dacey recovered from her sudden panic attack and repositioned herself for the fight. "I''ll take the one on the right, mydy." Said William positioning himself next to her in an instant. Dacey nodded regaining full confidence in herself. William leaped first, anticipating his fellow ally. The Guardian passed between the two men, Dacey did not notice that with that move, the northern warrior had significantly wounded the side of his opponent, weakening him. The young warrior maiden again managed to prevail with ease defeating her second enemy. About ten minutester... The battle was almost won, the north was about to gain its second victory in a row... There were barely three hundred ironmen left and the allied forces had lost barely 50-60 men. This wasn''t a battle it was a one-sided massacre. Dacey could see the terror in the look of their trapped enemy. She had even seen a couple of men, try their best and throw themselves into the fire for a chance to escape the camp. Dacey fighting alongside her new friend and ally had managed to take down as many as 5 enemies. She was not very satisfied with her result... She had seen with her own eyes William take down almost twenty of them... But now Dacey didn''t have the concentration or the strength to face a new opponent. All that attention was on an individual less than 70 feet away from her. An individual just over five feet tall wielding a double de, wearing blood-soaked Tallhart armor from helmet to boots, and fighting his way through the fray like an unstoppable scythe... "Who is that monster?!!!" Dacey thought aloud as he continued to stare in a state of hypnosis at those inhuman, fluid, and rapid movements. She had been keeping count for a minute, and that ''monster'' had already taken down thirteen enemies... Thirteen opponents in a single minute. End POV. --------------------------------------------------------- POV: The Heir to The Watcher; Battlefield, Bear Ind. About two minutes before a girl began to stare at a boy. The eleven-year-old boy had already defeated three-level [7] and six-level [6] enemies. He was looking for the most dangerous enemies to reduce the risk load to his men and allies. At the beginning of the charge, the enemy was distracted, poorly organized, and frightened. The forces consisting of 300 Guardians and 350 Mormont soldiers, pierced the first three lines like a hot knife through butter. The captain who led the remaining 600 remaining iron men, managed to build a ''decent'' second line of defense against them. That was the first of that second group of enemies Duncan pierced. He had made sure that a good part of his enemies, witnessed the death of theirmander pierced in the chest by a de and thenter beheaded with a second sh. A couple of men tried to avenge their captain, but they were impaled by two spears of two faithful Guardians. After the death of his main target, Duncan decided it was time to tap into his master''s legacy... Before doing so, he thought back to Zick''sst words. ["You''ve managed to learn eleven of the twenty-one maneuvers in just two and a half years... My task is done." "Master, don''t say that, I will always need your guidance!" "Ahahaha!... Of course, you will always need it, your jokes only make chickensugh!!! ahahahahahah! ...But as for the art ofbat...no boy, you don''t need me anymore. Only Ramas, Narbo, and Baragh can keep up with you... And I''m convinced that in less than two years you will be able to surpass my father''s level." "Thank you for everything, Master Zick! "No my boy, thank you. You have given a poor old man true and only ''peace''... At least seven moons will pass since our next meeting, who knows how much you will have grown by then! Ahaha! And Duncan...", "Yes, Master?" "Remember, from now on, you will be the bearer of my and Vharro''s legacy. You are the heir.] Bloody Snow activated his breathing technique. A technique that he would only use in extreme situations like this. This technique had been created by himself to help him more easily assimte and endure the tremendous price that the art [Closing the 21 Gates] required. It wouldpletely cut off his emotional state and turn him into a machine. A death machine that felt no regret, hesitation, doubt, or fear. In those five minutes, he would no longer be a human being, but rather an object, or to be more precise ''A de''. The two metal objects he held in his hands would be an extension of his body. Additional limbs that he would perceive as his own. If the edge of either de had even brushed against anything, that no longer human being would have felt it as a shiver on his skin... "Phew..." Time slowed down and the ''Death Machine'', charged towards its targets. The first target tried to pierce him with its spear. With minimal effort and movement, the machine lowered its shoulder, dislocating it voluntarily, and the spear slid its entire length into the absolute vacuum. The instrument of death overcame the first catch by slightly moving its arm-de a few inches. That foe''s belly was opened wide, dropping several organs to the ground. Two more targets armed with des and shields charged toward the seemingly lonely and surrounded target. The Machine rotated the angle of its left arm to pierce a spot normally almost impossible to hit in that position, and as it did so, it rotated its head backward tilting its back almost all the way. "AARG!!! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU ?" Said a panicked prey at the sight of his enemy staring back at him from that unnatural position. The instrument of death simply rotated on itself to regain a more human form, it mowed two spinning shes while amputating the arms of that second prey. " LET''S ALL ATTACK TOGETHER!" Shouted another prey to four of itsrades. The five men condemned to oblivion, cleaved two ax blows, two longsword strikes, and a pike lunge simultaneously in five different directions. ''Gate [3] and [9]'' Thought the monster instinctively. With two different fluid movements made simultaneously by the two arms, the monster once called Duncan deflected the pike toward the armpit of an ax wielder, parried two sword strikes, and shed the belly of one prey and the throat of another...all in one movement. In that altered state, the ws or openings of the enemy stood out like a bucket of fresh paint in a painting. Bloody Snow''s perception was at its highest, no movement escaped within the radius of his ''Death Zone''. Only three men remained, and one was badly wounded just below the armpit... Fortunately for the three men, the monster finished them off in a matter of moments, before they couldprehend the meaning of ''terror'' and ''helplessness''. Another prey was in sight, the monster severed his leg at knee level. Two more followed thest one, one of them was pierced in the heart, the second one was stabbed from behind on the back of the head. The storm of death and blood didn''t stop and demanded the ''Price of Blood'' it so craved from those frightened prey. About four minutester. Duncan Tallhart stopped his breathing technique, his body burning and screaming for mercy... For at least two days, he would not be able to practice those movements, doing so would have required physical stress that would have caused fractures and severe musclecerations... He resumed normal movement, panting slightly... About two hundred iron men remained and they were surrounded. Behind them was the wall of fire and on three other sides, three hundred men from the North mainly Guardians. The other forces were dealing with other small groups divided and surrounded. Those ironmen were terrified... They weren''t paying attention to the other 200 spears and swords pointing at them... They only had eyes on the being that had just mowed down nearly fifty of their loyal and valiantrades... The ironmen retreated with every step Bloody Snow took towards them. Gellert approached his General and said: "They''re shaking like leaves, General...they can''t seem to stand the northern climate." "Well, we can''t leave them in that miserable condition, Commander... Let''s help them warm up a bit." Bloody Snow. Gellert nodded with a smile and ordered two hundred Guardians: "LET''S PUSH THEM TOWARDS THE FIRE!!!" "AWOO!" Two hundred swords and spears responded. About forty minutester... Duncan was back at the allied camp. The eight experienced healers, plus about twenty skilled assistants, were working to, bandage, stitch, disinfect, and in extreme cases, amputate body parts of a hundred wounded Northern warriors. Among them, forty were Winter Guardians. There were the thirty who had been wounded initially during the first phase of the battle and the ten from thetter... Finally, Duncan mustered up the courage and asked what he never wanted to ask. "How many, Gellert... How many brethren have we lost?" The army general asked as he closed his eyes. "...Four, my lord... Ronald, Jonathan, Ethan and...Jeremy, General." Thest name was a stronger stab in both of their hearts. For Duncan because he had spoken to Jeremy less than two hours ago and fought alongside him the entire first night... During the wait leading up to the first fight, Jeremy told his general about all his experiences conquering the maidens of the North, trying his best to bestow advice on his general regarding women... It was worse for Gellert; Jeremy was one of his closest and most trustedpanions. One of his best friends who had always been at his side supporting him in all his trials and choices... The two leaders stood in silence with their eyes closed for more than a minute. Then Duncan spoke. "The injured? Someone in need of ''extreme'' care?". "No my lord, fortunately, we have only one seriously wounded, but the first healer says he will be fine and back to full strength within a month at thetest," Gellert replied with a very small nod of relief. "As soon as I can, I will elerate the treatments. Gellert... Make sure the bodies of ourrades are treated as ''treasures of the North''... They must reach their families in a monumental state." Bloody Snow. "Yes, General. You have my word." Duncan nodded and walked away going to mourn his men, friends, andrades in his way. End POV. -------------------------------------------- POV: A Northern Orphan. Allied Camp, Bear Ind. About five minutes after 347 brothers began to mourn and honor four of theirrades... The seven-year-old girl, couldn''t tear herself away from the cold, bloody body lying on fur nkets just behind a wooden defensive fence. She kept crying and desperately shouting the same phrase: "Father! Father! Wake up!!! Get up, please...sigh...sigh...PLEASE!!!" The poor inhabitant of Bear Ind, now without a surviving family member. continued to futilely shake the helpless body of the valiant soldier of House Mormont, who had died inbat along with 72 other of his fellow soldiers... An assistant healer tried again tofort the little girl by trying to pull her away from the blood-soaked body. "NO! DON''T TOUCH ME! NOO YOU WILL TAKE MY FATHER AWAY FROM ME! LEAVE ME!" Screamed the little girl in panic and fury. "Calm down baby, I''m not trying to hurt you. I''m just trying to help you." Calmly replied the young would-be healer. A figure, noticing the sad scene, approached the little girl cing mana on the young helper''s shoulder. "I''ll take care of it, you go and take care of the other injured." Said an eleven-year-old. "Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord." The boy bowed and walked away from the spot. "Hello, little northern warrior. My name is Duncan, may I know your name?" The boy asked as he introduced himself. The little girl was shocked for a moment by this presence with white hair and blood-soaked clothes. For a while she was scared, but then she realized that she too was stained with blood...after a few seconds, she answered. "Minny... Minny daughter of Boros...sigh..." Minny replied pulling her nose up. "Minny, nice to make your acquaintance... Minny, you seem like an experienced maiden who knows about love affairs. Could I ask you for some advice? You know there''s a girl I like, but I don''t know how to talk to her... Will you help me out, Minny?" The boy asked making a sad but funny face. "...A girl? And who is she?" The little girl was distracted for a moment, intrigued by the unusual and intriguing request. "Well, I''ll show her to you if you take a walk with me. Care to join me, Minny?" Duncan offered his hand to the little girl. Minny thought about it for a moment...and then grabbed the hand, breaking away from that cold body for the first time in over ten minutes. About two minutester... Duncan noticed an object in the corner, near what appeared to be its owner. He approached the owner holding Minny''s hand. "Excuse me, is that your lute?" Duncan. "Huh?...Yes, my lord!" Replied a young Northern minstrel... "Could I borrow it for a while? I promise not to spoil it." Duncan. "Of course, my lord. Do as you wish." The minstrel. "Thank you." The boy took the instrument and sat down on a boulder. "Minny, I may have found a way. A good friend of mine named Jeremy once advised me to sing a song to win a maiden''s heart. Could you please listen to it and tell me if she might like it?" Duncan. "YES! Yes! A song!!!" The little girl almost jumped to her feet in tion. Minny loved songs. "Ahah...Okay...make sure Minny you have to be honest... Urgh mmm, Laaaa...Yes, Okay. I''m ready..." Minny sat on the floor cross-legged. "What''s it called? What''s the title?" Minny. "Oh right... I won''t lie to you Minny, the song isn''t my creation... Let''s just say I heard it sung by a very good Bard a long time ago. The title is [ Wicked Game ]...and it goes like this: ''...Musical Intro...Intro...'' The world was on fire and no one could save me but you It''s strange what desire will make foolish people do I never dreamed that I''d meet somebody like you And I never dreamed that I''d lose somebody like you No, I don''t wanna fall in love... No, I don''t wanna fall in love With you... With you... What a wicked game you y, to make me feel this way What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you And I don''t wanna fall in love No, I don''t wanna fall in love With you With you The world was on fire and no one could save me but you Strange what desire will make foolish people do I never dreamed that I''d love somebody like you And I never dreamed that I''d lose somebody like you No, I don''t wanna fall in love No, I don''t wanna fall in love With you With you No, I Nobody loves no one ....." Duncan continued to repeat these verses while ying the lute for over four minutes, closing his eyes and focusing only on the notes and his voice. He had no idea that a crowd of over one hundred people was approaching that corner to hear the song better. Duncan was so exhausted and dejected by the course of events, that he didn''t even notice that a twelve-year-old girl had been stalking and spying on him for almost an hour. Chapter 56: Red Tones Chapter 56: '' Red Tones '' POV: Maege Mormont; Allied camp, Bear Ind. About an hour after a song was sung... "So maester Louis, the casualty report?" Maege asked the maester to serve his family for over twelve years. "My Lady, thirteen of our soldiers have will be in no condition to fight, two of them permanently... Twenty-six others have sustained medium or minor wounds. If necessary, they will be able to take the field. All were treated urgently. Thanks to the seven Tallhart home healers and the medical supplies they have provided, I estimate that we will not suffer any losses due to infection or otherplications." Maester Louis. "Well... Let all the wounded rest safely inside the caves, they may be discharged." Maege. "My Lady, although we have won a great victory I do not think we should..." Maester Louis'' advice was interrupted. "Thank you for your hard work, maester. That will be all for the moment. In a few hours, House Mormont will need your services again, please remain avable." The maester was taken aback for a moment, Lady Mormont had always listened intently to whatever advice the man gave her, this was the first time in twelve years that he had been sidelined in such way. "Yes, my Lady..." Louis bowed and prepared to leave the tent. Maege was also slightly injured, she had suffered a cut on her hand and one on her shoulder. The ind''s casten and her protector, she had fought on the front line with her warriors. Armed only with her faithful spiked mace, the ''Bear'' of House Mormont had single-handedly crushed sixteen squids. She had bitten through the jugr of one of them. She could still taste the putrid, vile blood in her mouth. She could still feel the adrenaline and exhration coursing through her veins, the veteran of over thirty battles and a hundred fights, she had never witnessed anything like it. The battle that took ce less than three hours ago was certainly the most epic and glorious one she had ever participated in. The victory was practically certain before the fight began. Now Maege was certain, the allies had already won and repelled this invasion. After witnessing the strategies and modus operandi of that ''Bloodthirsty Squid Demon'', she had no doubts about the fate of Denys Drumm and his men. ''''Those Tallharts are monsters.... Strategy, coordination, and martial skill...if they had 10,000 of those units, there wouldn''t be an army in Westeros or Essos that could defeat them in the field.'' Maege thought about every moment of the battle. Maege estimated that the entire Mormont forces could never beat Bloody Snow and his 350 elite men. Even if reinforcements had not arrived, Maege was now convinced that they could have prevailed on their own. Denys Drumm had just lost over a third of his forces and the allies had at least 9/10 of their militia still ready to take the field. Maege''s gaze lifted from the map on the table to catch sight of the individual who had just entered. Her daughter Dacey had just entered. "Mother, may I speak with you for a moment?.... NO!...Emm...Lady Mormont, may I request an audience with you?" Said the girl with a tired and embarrassed look, correcting her words on the spot. "...Go ahead, Dacey. You may address me as ''Mother''. Ted told me how you performed in the field. I am proud of you, my daughter. You fought bravely for your House and the North." Said Maege with a look of pride but still keeping a serious face. "Thank you, mydy...NO! I mean mother! Thank you, mother! " Dacey. "Calm your mind, Dacey. Take a deep breath first and then speak." Said Maege seeing her daughter''s agitated and worried state. The leader of House Mormont knew it was nothing urgent. If something had happened her men would have informed her. "Yes, Mother!...Phew..." Dacey took a few seconds and only spoke after she saw her mother nod. "Here...I wanted to ask you...emm..." Dacey blushed and froze not knowing how to continue. "Dacey...we''re still in the middle of a war. I don''t have time to waste." Maege. "...I wanted to ask you... How...How dodies get guys to like them?..." Dacey almost whispered thest words and her face turned beet-colored. "...I think I heard that wrong, Dacey. Say it again, please. Speak like a true Mormont and make your words audible." Maege. "...I LIKE A BOY! ...I want...I wish I knew how I could make him mine!" Said Dacey making a herculean effort to admit those words. "...Dacey...I don''t think I need to tell you again that..." "He is of noble birth and from the North!" Cut Dacey short. This time, it was ''Mama Bear''s turn to keep a cool head, a clear mind, and to breathe deeply. Maege took a moment making a simple logical reasoning level [1+1=2] then closed her eyes and thought to herself: ''...Seraphine...thank you! Thank you for answering my prayers! You protected my House, my people, and gave wisdom to my Dacey! Thank you! I swear, every day for the rest of my days, I will pay tribute to you! '' End POV. ------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Vice-Commander William; Allied Camp, Bear Ind. As a mother exined to her daughter thews of nature between a male Bear and a female Bear... William stood beside his general as they surveyed the battlefield with over 1,800 ironborn corpses on the ground. The field looked like it was painted brick-red, due to thousands of gallons of blood mixed in. Before the mes dispersed, the Allied army had impaled a hundred heads on pikes visibly highlighting those of the three captains. "That was a beautiful song, General." William. "When you address me with matters of ''non-military'' concern, you may do so by simply calling me Duncan, William. Anyway, thank you. And most of all, thank you my friend for protecting Lady Dacey. Without your help, I would not have been able to give my all in the field. '' Said Duncan turning a friendly smile on hispanion. "You''re wee, General! It was an honor for me... Yes, my lord... Yes, Duncan." William corrected himself and then continued. "General, there is no need for you to expose yourself so much. We can easily win even with the forces we have left and your uncle, General Leobald, should be arriving soon...I don''t think..." "The need is there, William. It''s not Northern blood I want to see flowing on this ind." Bloody Snow. The screech of an eagle in the sky interrupted the conversation between the two Northern warriors. "The time hase, Vice-Commander. Let us send the messenger." End POV. ----------------------------------------- POV: Vice-Admiral of the Fleet. Less than a mile from Bear Ind Harbor. About five minutes after an eagle managed to deliver a message. Meldred ''Seven Fingers'', Vice Admiral of the Iron Fleet, captain of the ''Maelstrom'', was an ironman to the core, serving House Drumm for over forty years. He was called ''seven-fingered'' because he had lost three of them during multiple ax-wielding contests in the Iron Inds'' most famous game, ''The Fingers Dance''. Although he had lost a little finger, half a ring finger on one hand and the tip of his index finger on the other, Meldred was still the undefeated champion of the game. No one could wield more than seven axes at once, only Meldred. He was not only good at ''ying'' with an ax, but also at using it. Hundreds had fallen under his de and he was also one of the best navigation experts in Old Wyk. Meldred was hand-picked by Lord Dustan Drumm himself and tasked with training his two sons, Denys and Donnel, to be true ironmen. The Vice-Admiral was not only a master of arms for Denys but also a second father. Denys had been at his master''s side on numerous raids. When Denys was appointed Fleet Admiral, he didn''t think twice about appointing him as his second-inmand. Meldred would have done anything to never let his ''protg'' down. He would have dly given his life if it meant bringing glory and honor to the boy''s shoulders. He thought him a worthymander worth dying for. "VICE ADMIRAL! SHIPS IN SIGHT ON THE HORIZON!" Shouted Maelstrom''s best lookout. "HOW MANY AND WHAT KIND? WHAT BANNERS DO THEY CARRY?" Retorted Meldred without panic. The man, like Denys, suspected that the Mormont-Tallhart forces were attempting a naval attack. "FOUR GALLEYS, FIVE CARACAS, AND THREE MERCHANT SHIPS, ADMIRAL! BEARS AND THREE PINES ON THEIR SAILS!!! THEY''RE AN HOUR''S SAIL FROM US... LOOKS LIKE THEY''RE TURNING TO CHANGE DIRECTION!" He described the lookout in detail. Could it be a way to divide the forces?...No...it wouldn''t make sense. Do they think they can escape us? We have the wind at our back in less than two hours we could take them... ...Denys''s target could be on those ships...'' Meldred thought carefully about what decision was the best one to make. After another minute, finally, Vice Admiral made a decision and turned to the boatswain. ''Signal the fleet that we are going after them. I want twenty longships in pursuit. Have Captain Wexat remain on port watch with the remaining ten." Meldred ordered. "Yes, Vice Admiral." Boatswain. "MEN! LET US TEACH THESE PEASANTS WHY THE IRON FLEET IS UNRIVALLED AT SEA!" Meldred. "UUUUARRRRGHHH!!!" Forty-eight members of the crew roared in unison. About an hour and a halfter... ''Why are they turning?...Do they want to surrender and try all-out melee? ...no it''s not that...'' Just as the instinct of a hundred battles roared and alerted the Vice-Admiral, the lookout thundered. "VICE ADMIRAL!!! EIGHT MORE GALLEYS ON THE HORIZON! ...BANNERS TALLHART AND GLOVER..." The lookout. ''Eight? Glover''s house? They couldn''t have sent reinforcements at such short notice. We can still make it. It''s going to be a hard fight.'' Meldred. "Vice Admiral! Behind us! Enemy ships behind us and on both nks!!!" Said the boatswain with a worried face. "WHAT?! IMPOSSIBLE!!!" Meldred blurted out with genuine disbelief. ''No, it can''t be! Even if they had time to call in reinforcements so quickly, they''d have no way of getting around us!!! The sun is overcast!!! You can''t see the coastline from here! HOW WOULD THEY GET THEIR BEARINGS?!'' A sledgehammer of contradictions mercilessly struck the skull of the 55-year-old who had lived two-thirds of his life on the salt-water. Despite everything, the Vice-Admiral managed to keep control and asked his boatswain: "How many? How many Elligh Ships?!" "...Captain Dexos reports the presence of eighteen Northern galleys and one gship...The gship''s sails are purple and gold, Captain..." The boatswain said in a surrendered tone. He too had realized that the twenty longships in that fleet were about to be imed by the Drowned God... ''Purple and gold... House Lannister?! '' End POV. --------------------------------------------- POV: Petty Officer Watt; Bear Ind Harbor. About two hours after a valiant Vice-Admiral attempted onest heroic resistance... Watt ran with all the strength he could muster in his legs. He had been running non-stop for an hour and had just witnessed a naval battle about eight miles from the harbor. Watt and his fourpanions, who had been tasked by Admiral Denys to check that nothing abnormal was happening to the Fleet''s longships, had managed to catch a glimpse of the entire course of events over thest two hours, some 200 feet up on a slope of the ind. Watt, himself, had climbed a forty-foot-high rock to get a better view and understand what was going on. Although he could only see dots... the number of those dots and the smoke rising from their ships could only mean one thing... He had to warn theirst forces that a serious threat was about to present itself to the port. "HEY, YOU!!! Anf ! Anf! Who...Anf WHO''S IN COMMAND OF THOSE TEN SHIPS?" Roared Watt tried every way he could to find the breath he needed tomunicate. "Huh?...Captain Wexat. What are you yelling about? I''m less than three feet from you and as you can see I have both ears." Replied one of the ironmen keeping watch, along with about fifty other men, over the 82 empty longships of the Iron Fleet. "FAST! WE MUST WARN WEXAT NOT TO LET THOSE SIXTEEN LONGSHIPS IN THAT ARE HEADING HERE!!!" Watt. "And why would I notify the Captain to stop Vice Admiral Meldred from entering the harbor?" The man asked showing a smirk and expression that roared a message [ If you want tomit suicide, do it yourself, you idiot]. "THEY ARE NOT ALLIED SHIPS!!! I WATCHED THE ENTIRE BATTLE FROM THAT PROMONTORY OVER THERE!!! MELDRED HAS BEEN DEFEATED! THOSE WHO ARE ENTERING ARE ENEMIES! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, IDIOT? !!!!" The sailor was stunned for a moment by this p in the face, then thought about it for a moment and replied: "That''s not possible, no one could defeat Weldred ''Seven Fingers'' at sea..." Screams in the distance stopped the man''s words. Bright red and orange mes began to spread across more than one ship of the remaining Iron Fleet forces. End POV. ------------------------------------------------ POV: Maester Louis. Midway between the Allied and enemy camps, Bear Ind. About twenty minutes before an attack on the harbor began... This is a bad idea... Why did Lady Mormont send me?! I was the one who gave birth to her daughter Dacey and her other two daughters...Why, why send me?!'' The poor man who had barely turned fifty years of age though in terror. His Lady and that Bloody Snow, had forced him to be the emissary of the allied camp and to go and propose a deal to that bloodthirsty madman Denys Drumm... Though Louis was escorted by a Mormont man and another Tallhart, and all three were under the white banner, Louis could do nothing but tremble like a scared little girl at the cowardly and thankless task that fell to him. He had even pleaded in tears before his Lady begging her to send someone else, but Lady Mormont was immovable on her choice. In her opinion, only a man as skilled in the art of speech and diplomacy as he was, could carry out this task in total safety. ''Security my ass!!! The Iron Inds is the kingdom that most disregards the treaty of non-violence against the order of the Masters!!! Only maesters who are ''too open-minded and not very keen on the council''s guidelines'' are sent to those barren inds forgotten by the gods!!!'' Louis was right, it was only about a hundred years ago that the Iron Inds had begun to treat the order of Masters with a modicum of respect. Even Balon considered their order ''''useful'''', but that didn''t change the fact that more Maesters died in that realm than in all the remaining sixbined... Oldtown '' turned a blind eye '' to several and numerous ''incidents''... Few knew that the citadel, mainly used those Isles to get rid, in a ''clean and justified'' manner, of maesters who were inconvenient or not so loyal to the order. ''That Lady Mormont knows?...No it is not possible! I have always been very careful! The greatest taboo of the order would not be revealed so easily.... ''No, Lady Mormont cannot know about the quarterly reports...there is no evidence...I have always carefully burned every lead. '' Maester Louis tried to regain hisposure by breathing deeply. The three men continued to walk carefully over the burnt ground. Louis noticed a hundred burnt and charred bodies. They were the bodies of the Ironborn who had been pushed into the mes by the allies during the battle. Captain Ted and Assistant Commander William, stopped. "Why are we stopping?" Louis asked, erasing his gloomy thoughts for a moment. "Orders from the General and Lady Mormont, Maester Louis. You will proceed alone from here on." William said as Ted nodded as a gesture of confirmation. "But...But I cannot go alone! They..." Louis was interrupted. "Don''t worry maester. Just look over there. See that white g over there? Even the enemy has agreed to receive you. Even if they had hostile intentions, Captain Ted and I would have no way of escorting you safely back to our camp. Having us by your side or not would matter. Don''t worry Maester, even ironmen wouldn''t kill a messenger of peace. They are still human beings." William exined calmly. Louis did not know how to respond to this logical exnation. He did not agree with thest part at all, but he could not justify his objections. For a moment he thought of going back and shouting at Lady Mormont that he was the onlypetent healer in the field! But reason brought him back down to earth. It was not true that Master Louis was indispensable. At least three chainless healers from those damned Tallharts were superior to him in many areas and healing treatments. The first healer''s skills and knowledge were amazing, Louis had never seen such treatments. No one in the citadel had ever taught him or even hinted at them. This was one piece of information he would surely take back to the Old City as soon as he returned to his study. "The entire North is counting on you, Maester. Thank you for your service." William. "Thank you, maester. I wish you a profitable and safe negotiation." Ted. Louis had no choice but to ept his bitter fate. It wasn''t a death sentence, of course, but the risk was still high. Especially when he knew ''what his message contained''. The maester, after staring for a moment at his dark-red blood-stained feet, looked up at the enemy camp just over three hundred feet away and resumed his slow walk. Chapter 57: IT WILL BE LEGENDARY!! Chapter 57: '' IT WILL BE LEGENDARY!! '' POV: Denys Drumm; Ironmen Camp, Bear Ind. About ten minutes after a maester started down a dangerous path... "Come in and have a seat." Said Denys sitting at an opposite end of a crude wooden table barely assembled. ''So far so good.'' Louis thought instinctively as he watched the menacing man and the two captains standing behind him. ''Thank you, my lord. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Drumm, I am Maester Louis, a maester in the service of House Mormont for twelve years. Lady Maege Mormont and Lord Duncan Tallhart, have instructed me toe and deal with you noblemen to discuss a proposal between the two factions. A proposal that could save countless lives, my lord." Said Louis putting himself on the defensive and punctuating the title ''Maester'' in a clear voice several times. Lord Drumm was not at all impressed by those words, except for three in particr and they were: [Lord Duncan Tallhart]. The Maester took a seat on the wooden stump that served as his chair. "So is it true that the legendary ''Bloody Snow'' is in that camp...? Tell me maester, did ''The Hero of the North'' also take part in the fighting?" Lord Drumm asked in a calm tone. "Yes, my lord. Lord Duncan, or rather ''Bloody Snow'', is the General-in-Chief of the Allied Army. He led the troops during thest battle, Lord Drumm..." Lord Drumm expressed a slight frown upon hearing those words. He also wanted to personally participate in the battle that took ce about four hours ago, but he didn''t have the chance... Now more than ever, the Iron Fleet Admiral wanted to take the field to unleash his fury and bloodlust. Louis visibly sweated as he saw the altered state of mind of the six foot four inches tall, solid body man wearing full steel armor worn from numerous signs of struggle. "And what does General Bloody Snow propose, maester?" Drumm asked, returning his focus to the discussion. "My Lord, I would like to point out that the words I am about to ry to you do note from me... They are exactly what the General wants me to report... My oath as Maester of the citadel..." The trembling Louis was interrupted. "I am waiting, Maester. I have no time to waste..." Lord Drumm. "...Y...Yes, my Lord...I beg your pardon, Lord Drumm. General Bloody Snow would like to propose a duel, my lord. A duel to the death between the two leaders of the armies... Whoever prevails will be the victor in this battle..." Louis. "A duel? Does the eleven-year-old boy want to fight me? Is that what your faction is proposing to me, Maester?" Lord Drumm asked with a smirk and a predatory look. The Maester nearly stained his breeches in the presence of that murderous, bloodthirsty intent. Now that he was there, Louis was beginning to think he wasn''t the only one who had a crazy idea. That being in front of him was a master ofbat and a killing machine. Not even Maege Mormont, ''The Bear Warrior'' conveyed this much danger. "Y...Yes, my lord. A...a duel." Lord Drumm rose from his chair made of whalebone and began to make his way to a small table with a few cups and a silver wineskin, probably the spoils of some raid, for on one of the cups was the crest of House Redwine. "Wine, maester? I have an excellent red from the Isle of Summer." Lord Drumm asked politely. "I...I would not... Yes, my lord. Thank you for your kindness and hospitality." At first, Louis wanted to refuse but then he thought that by refusing the ''kind'' gesture, he might cause further offense. Lord Drumm served the wine in two cups and returned to his seat, handing one of the cups to the sweaty, trembling homunculus. Denys Drumm took a generous sip and then asked: "Maester... As the ''expert healer'' of House Mormont, you must know the condition of the Northmen in that camp... If you don''t mind, could you tell us in detail how many of the wounded Mormont and Tallhart are? How many of them can fight, and most importantly what is the exact number of enemy forces?" Lord Drumm asked amicably but still keeping a serious look on his face as he continued to quietly sip his cup. "...My lord...I...I''m afraid I cannot answer that question... I...as you well know...am in service..." Louis could not continue his sentence, three men in that tent had their eyes on him. And those eyes were roaring: [Talk nicely or talk nastily. Your choice.] The undaunted Maester Louis sipped the offered cup. Small sips at first, then due to the trembling of his hand he ended up swallowing the entire contents. Visible bitter red stains appeared on the cor and chest of his grey tunic. The taste of the wine was sweet and refreshing, but it was not enough to extinguish the fire that was draining the poor man''s throat. After a few seconds, Louis confessed every detail. "At the start of the battle, the Allied forces, excluding themanders-in-chief were 611 Mormont soldiers and 350 Tallhart, my lord... After the two recent battles, we lost 73 warriors and house Tallhart...4, my lord... I currently believe....that about 520 Mormont and 346 Tallhart can still fight, my lord..." Louis. Denys didn''t like that answer at all... "You dare to lie to me, maester? Do you think I can believe that in a battle to the death, where 1,500 brave ironmen lost their lives, my rival forces lost only those paltry numbers?!" Denys was tempted to decapitate the lousy coward right there on the spot, but he managed to keep calm enough not to. "I SWEAR, MY LORD! THIS IS THE TRUTH! EVEN I DON''T KNOW HOW THIS COULD HAVE HAPPENED! I HAVE READ COUNTLESS TEXTS OF BATTLE ACCOUNTS AND THIS IS THE FIRST TIME EVER IN THE HISTORY OF WESTEROS THAT SUCH AN IMBALANCE HAS ARISEN! PLEASE, MY LORD! YOU MUST BELIEVE ME!" Shouted Louis activating to the maximum his mode of a helpless and defenseless man ready to do anything to serve his master. For a moment, Louis cursed himself inwardly... He would not have believed those numbers either, and he made the very serious mistake of telling the truth. He should have put up more credible numbers, but the egg was broken. Although Denys was the bloodthirsty madman his reputation preceded him, he was also one of the best minds in House Drumm. Although he still found those numbers unbelievable, he also knew that it was not impossible. His enemy hadn''t made a single misstep so far, and it was well known that during the first sh, Tallhart''s troops hadn''t suffered a single loss... Besides, Denys had seen a lot of cowards in his life, and this one seemed ready to do anything to get out of that tent unscathed. Even though he was young, Denys had already admitted to himself that the enemy general was a capable and even better strategist than he... It was as if his every move or strategy had been correctly read and predicted. He was sure that there were no leaks or spies in his tent. That led to the only possible exnation that the mind behind enemy lines was brilliant...if not genius. "Maester... You have one chance to get the facts straight. Now exin to me and my tworades here, HOW such an oue was possible. We want to know every detail of the enemy''s strategy. Do I make myself clear, maester Louis?" Denys. "Yes, my Lord. I swear on my chain that what I say will be the truth and nothing but the truth. The battle n..." About five minutester of exnations and details... ''Bloody bastard! Throwing gold and silver among the troops!!! No wonder he got such a result... Half of those greedy idiots must have stayed behind to collect every penny while theirrades died alongside them!!!'' Denys thought angrily, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. ''Even if I warned the men of the danger if we were to return to that chief, at least a quarter of them would still fall for it picking up the coins as if they were flowers. That bastard is more cunning than I thought!!! He''s found the greatest weakness of this bunch of indiscipline pirates and yed us like bagpipes!'' The Admiral assessed concretely. "What does Bloody Snow propose in return for winning?" Denys asked, has now confirmed that the trembling rat''s words were true. "Lord Duncan said and I repeat I only quote his exact words: [ If you can beat me, you can have your prize. Me or what''s left of me. And your men can leave the Ind unharmed. I''m only addressing the Iron Men in this camp. The rest are dead by now...]" Denys nearly leaped to his feet to choke theid creature in front of him with his own hands. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?! SPEAK!!!" Denys. The lower part of Louis'' robe became wet and a strong smell of urine wafted through the tent. "Lo...lord...lord Drumm...I fear... I fear that reinforcements have already arrived at the port... Lord Duncan says you should be receiving a report from one of the survivors shortly, my lord. At least 60 northern ships will havee to the ind by now. My lord, please...I am only a messenger.'''' stammered and begged Louis. ''I''m an idiot! Until now I have concentrated on the specifics of the opponent''s strategy, but I have never asked the question that matters...'' Denys whipped himself inwardly. ''HOW MANY DAYS HAVE YOU BEEN IN THIS CAMP? SINCE WHEN DID YOU KNOW ABOUT OUR ATTACK?!" He roared as hard as he could at Louis. "...three...three days before your ships arrived, my Lord..." That information gave the final stab to Denys'' already wounded pride... His worst fears of this military campaign had just materialized in front of him. Themander was smart enough to know that he was one step away from being in [Checkmate]. He had only one ''too seductive and convenient'' box left to move to avoid that fate... ''He has no reason to challenge me to a duel. If it is true that we have lost the ships and Meldred has fallen, victory is already theirs! It would only take another 1,000 Northerners to surround us and achieve an easy victory... Is he that confident in his fighting skills?'' Denys thought bitterly. At this point, he could only think about how to reduce his House''s losses. It wasn''t just him he was thinking about, but also his father and brother... If House Drumm had lost all these forces, it would have been defenseless and it would have taken at least ten years to recover. Old Wick had barely 1,000 men left. He also had to ensure that the family''s ancestral sword, Red Rain, returned to the ceremonial rooms of his castle. Denys was a cynical, cunning, and cautious person, but he was not a coward and would never bring such dishonor to his family. He did not want to be remembered as ''the one who brought defeat to House Drumm''. So, for the sake of his house, he would have to ask this question: "In the unfortunate event that that boy''s sword manages to prate my armor, killing me before I can rip his heart out of his chest, what will happen to the men of House Drumm?" Denys. "My Lord... I do not wish to be repetitious, but I must insist on offering you in advance my sincerest apologies for the words I am about to utter..." Maester Louis. "Speak coward." Denys. "Here... before I repeat those words, my Lord... I must of necessity ask you... Did your men by any chance kill any innocent inders beforeing to this camp? If the answer is yes, my lord... then I would need to know the number... the exact number if possible." Louis asked to tremble. The maester, had finallye to the most delicate part of the speech. "...I don''t know the exact number. At least 400 maybe even 500. Why do you ask?" Denys. The maester pulled a scroll out of his sleeve and began to read it. "... For should Bloody Snow prevail, my lord, and here I quote his exact words again. [I will execute and torture 400-500 of your men. I will castrate another 400-500 of your men and make them work for as long as it takes in my mines, to repay the damage done to this ind. Finally, I will make thest 400-500 men take ck and if they refuse this opportunity of redemption, I will chop off both their hands and feet leaving them free with their '' favorite tool'' still intact. The remaining men will be able to return to the Iron Inds safely with the ships that will be used to transport the bodies of their deadrades. I sincerely hope that the deaths do not exceed 700, Lord Drumm, or the fate of your house will be etched in marble and the history books of the North... I would appreciate it, if possible if you would already select the men responsible for the probable massacre you have left behind. You would save us time and effort, and your men unnecessary suffering]..." Maester Louis finished saying, handing over the written, stamped, and signed message that listed the exact words he had just spoken. Denys looked at the message for a brief moment.... Then he began tough. "Ahahahahahah! The kid''s got guts I''ll give him that! ahahahahahah... I haven''t felt so alive since my first raid... I can''t wait to meet this infamous ''Bloody Snow!'' in person... HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! However things go, this duel is already written in history!!! I finally meet someone really worth killing!!! AHAHAHAHAH!! YES, IT WILL BE! ''DENYS THE BLOODTHIRSTY'' VS ''BLOODY SNOW'', IN A DUEL TO THE LAST ''BLOOD''!!! HAHAHA, SOUNDS GOOD! OUR FIGHT WILL BE LEGENDARY!!!! AHAHAHAH!!!!" Denys roars withughter. His rational and logical side was put aside and the one that made him nicknamed ''Bloody Denys'' erupted out, giving him adrenaline and endorphins all over his body. Denys couldn''t wait to fight. Maester Louis decided it was time to take his leave, his work was done. "My Lord, then I will go and report your answer to the camp. Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Drumm." Louis. "What?... you''re right, the answer. Maester, may I ask you a professional question?" Denys. "Su... Sure, my lord. I''ll be happy to answer it." the maester. "Are you a skilled healer? An expert in the field?" Denys. "I am, my lord. I have forged three rings in three different fields of the healing area, my lord. I could say I am among the top twenty healers in the Kingdom, Lord Drumm." Said the maester, trying to raise his value to the most reasonable. "Among the best... Then I fear, maester, you are going nowhere." Denys. "My lord? I... I must deliver the message... what do you mean my lord? Does anyone in the camp need my services by any chance?" Louis. "As a matter of fact yes, maester... My men have suffered so much these past two days and lost so manyrades, without having much chance to hit their enemy... As you said yourself, Maester, you are one of the top twenty in all of Westeros. Whether I win or lose, I cannot leave my enemies such a resource... I hope you understand me, maester..." Said Denys giving a warm disturbing murderous smile. "... my Lord... NO! I AM NOT! THERE ARE MANY BETTER HEALERS THAN ME IN THAT FIELD! YOU WOULDN''T ACCOMPLISH ANYTHING BY HURTING ME! PLEASE, MERCY!!...Sigh... Sigh...sigh...Please, my lord, mercy! Mercy! No! Please leave me! NOOOO!!!" The two captains dragged the screaming maester out of the tent. Chapter 58: Steel Clangour Chapter 58: '' Steel ngour '' POV: Leobald Tallhart; Allied camp, Bear Ind. About five hours after a body was returned to sender... "You''re not seriously going to fight a duel! Tell me this is just a strategy to catch the bastards off guard..." Said a worried Uncle to a nephew. Leobald was shocked by the situation he found on the battlefield. Gerion had remained to defend the harbor and ships with over 1,000 men, while the General of the Second Legion together with Lord Jorah Mormont had taken the remaining 2,000 troops, mainly consisting of Tallhart and Dustin forces, and rushed towards the appointed point. In the naval battle against the 20 Iron Fleet longships and the second battle in the harbor, the Allied forces had suffered some 220 losses and nearly a hundred casualties. When Leobald arrived, he expected to face a fierce battle with the remaining enemy forces. However, this was not the case, the thing that shocked him most was not the almost two thousand enemy bodies scattered across the camp, but the remaining 2,000 enemy forces. Lord Drumm moved the camp to a moreteral position about 400 feet from the only viable wooded path. He had positioned himself with his back to the wall of a massive rock face... The enemy was trapped with no way out. It took him only a minute to realize that victory was at hand. Then his nephew arrived and exined the situation and the truce agreement they had made with the enemy. "No Uncle, no tricks. Of course, we will carefully monitor that Lord Drumm does not take advantage of the situation to attempt some surprise attack, but I doubt that will happen." Duncan said, turning his gaze on both Leobald and Jorah Mormont. "TOO RISKY! I will not allow you to continue this madness, I will takemand from here on out!" Leobald. Jorah remained in a religious silence, not wanting to intervene in that discussion that was more familiar than strategic. He owed much to both individuals in front of him and would step aside until spoken to. "Uncle...I don''t want to y the authority card... I know you are doing this for my sake, but I am acting in the interests of my House and the North. Even in this position and with twice the numbers of the enemy, we could not avoid hundreds more deaths in our ranks. The solution to saving those lives is this one and there is no other. Have faith in me, I can win." Duncan. Leobald was silent for a few seconds, racking his brains for an alternative, but he couldn''t find one. That damned crazy nephew of his was right. "But you don''t have to be the one to fight! Let someone else represent our forces... I..." Leobald stopped his words. Over the past two years, the man, who had always had little talent for fighting, had practiced a great deal in the art of the spear and hand-to-handbat. He had abandoned the way of the sword altogether. Gadon Sand had even instructed him more than once, but the improvements were slow and minimal. He knew he did not stand a chance against Denys Drumm... At that point, a third voice intruded into the conversation. "Lord Duncan, you have defended my Ind and protected my family and people by taking on the burden and responsibility that I should have carried myself. Leave it to me to face Lord Denys." Said Jorah with a resolute and determined look. Everyone could tell that Lord Jorah was ready to fight, every part of the man''s body craved bloodlust. He was ready at any moment to unsheathe his sword of Valyria and charge at the enemy. "Lord Jorah... I do not doubt that you are a worthy warrior. Your fame and fighting spirit say much about you, my lord. But I must be honest with you... you''re no match for Denys Drumm. You would lose the fight at least two out of three times... The risk is too great, my lord. I met Lord Drumm about three hours ago, I assure you my Lord that I am good at evaluating warriors. Denys Drumm''s reputation is also well deserved... He is not an opponent you can easily defeat, my lord. That being said, even if I were on the same level as him, there is another ''monster'' more dangerous than Denys that I would have to face should you perish in that fight." Said Duncan looking for an understanding with the ''''betrothed''''. For a moment Jorah didn''t understand who the boy was referring to... Then a sh of lightning turned on his head. ''He knows! He knows about me and Barbrey... How?... ''The news shouldn''t be out of Barrowton. '' Thought Jorah. ''My Lords, I have already given my word. We cannot back out. Trust me, tomorrow morning I will face Lord Drumm and close the chapter of this Ironborn military campaign." Jorah stepped forward, approaching the two members of House Tallhart. For a moment Leobald hoped that the Mormont man would not give up at his nephew''s words. Then Jorah said: "Then, at least allow me to contribute in another way." End POV. ------------- POV: Denys Drumm; Mid-camp, Bear Ind. About three hours earlier... Two ironborn men dragged a naked corpse to the feet of an eleven-year-old boy. The body was bruised, full of cuts, with multiple fractures and an almost unrecognizable face. Even the teeth had been pulled out... Duncan could also deduce the cause of death - Maester Louis had been drowned. "I don''t think Maester Louis believed in the faith of the Drawed God... "Said the boy to the man in full armor in front of him less than ten feet away. Two Northmen picked up the body and dragged it to the rear. Twenty-two men in total were present at that point in the camp just a few feet outside the archers'' enemy range. Ten armed men escorted both factions and the two leaders. "It is precisely because he did not believe in our faith that he was baptized in water and salt. Maester Louis will now be reborn in the depths of the abyss." Replied the man nearly six and a half feet tall, with a steely gaze, a shaggy, unkempt beard entuated on his chin, short brown and grey hair, numerous scars on his face, and a massive body. Denys was not disappointed by the figure in front of him. Although the boy was almost half his size, he still expressed a sense of confidence and assurance in his every movement. He recognized the look of a warrior in those green eyes with silvery tones. When the two Northmen reached a distance of thirty feet from their General, Bloody Snow replied. "Thank you, Lord Drumm, for taking the weight of this burden off our shoulders. It would have been difficult to exin to the citadel, ''why Maester Louis is no longer with us.'' I don''t much appreciate spies... I just hope he didn''t disgrace us too much during the early negotiations." Lord Drumm was pleasantly surprised by the boy''s words. '' He knew he would never go back... He made us do the dirty work thus keeping his hands clean. Ahahahahaha! I like him more and more... '' Thought Drumm. ''You''re wee, Bloody Snow. I''ve always despised cowards and I''ve never been able to stand men who hide behind a title... The poor guy probably repeated the words ''Maester of the Citadel'' at least twenty times... Ahahaha. I''m afraid I have to admit that the slimy eunuch was scared shitless and pissed off before weid a finger on him." Denys replied, smiling. "I beg your pardon, my lord, for the stench and whatever another unworthy spectacle maester Louis has shown you..." Bloody Snow. "No offense, Bloody Snow... Are we done with the pleasantries?" Denys the Bloodthirsty. "Of course, Lord Denys. Let us move on to more relevant matters. If it is all right with you, my lord, I propose that the duel take ce tomorrow morning, one hour after first light. I''m a little tired. I would like to rest a bit before facing you, but if you wish to have that advantage, I am willing to advance the fight." Bloody Snow. "Ahahah! No, no. Tomorrow after dawn will do just fine. I would never allow it to be said, that Denys Drumm only won because of his better physical condition. I want you to be at your best, boy." Denys. "Well, my lord. Tomorrow it is then. Any rules about weapons?" Bloody Snow. "None... Tomorrow I shalle here with my armor, my sword, my ax, and a few hidden des. Tool up as you see fit." Denys. "Alright then. Tomorrow I too will fight with a bastard sword and bring only another pair of short daggers. I''ll wear the armor you see now." Bloody Snow. "A little light, don''t you think?" Denys asked with a mischievous smile. "It is, but it makes for easier movement. I also think a tempered steel te isn''t much use against your shes." Bloody Snow returned the smile. "Ahahahahah! I can''t wait for tomorrow, Bloody Snow. I hope you can handle at least a minute of fighting... Please don''t let me down." Denys. "I will, my lord, I promise. Might I bestow some advice on you?" Bloody Snow. "Please, my lord." Denys. "I believe your scouts have informed you that within the hour my uncle and his 2,000 men will arrive here. I would suggest you move your forces from that position and let my emissaries inform Lord Leobald and Lord Jorah of the facts. I believe the air is charged with tension at the moment..." Bloody Snow. "... I will take your advice, I have no problem moving to the camp. Any other requests?" Denys. "... mmm Actually there is one. Although I admit it''s a bit brazen and inappropriate." Bloody Snow. "Ahahaha! Ask away boy, I may be ruthless, but I always try to grant onest request to those condemned to death." Denys. "Would you grant me the honor of being able to see and examine your sword, my lord? Is that the legendary ''Red Rain''?" Bloody Snow asked, pointing a finger at the Admiral''s belt. Denys was stunned by the request for a couple of seconds. This was the first time that someone had dared to ask him such a request... Denys himself, only touched the de for the first time at the age of twelve, after he returned from his first raid. Then Denys pulled the de from its sheath with a snap. The men of the North and Iron Inds reacted promptly by gripping the hilts of their weapons. Bloody Snow raised a hand, signaling that there was no need to intervene. The dark red de, a veteran of a hundred battles and soaked in the blood of thousands of men, shone and gleamed in its splendor even though the sun was still half-covered by clouds. Then Denys held out the hilt to his future opponent... "You paid the price of iron, Bloody Snow," Denys said in a respectful and serious tone. The boy took a couple of steps forward and carefully grasped the de, making a small bowing gesture. Bloody Snow held the bastard de with both hands on the hilt, looked at it, and examined it in silence for a good minute. The boy seemed to be mesmerized by the rippling features of the de. Denys allowed the young man to feel what he had felt almost 25 years ago. He even seemed to see himself back in time. Then handing the de back to its owner, Bloody Snow said: "A beautiful de, my lord. Now I understand why you choose to fight to wield an ax and a bastard de at the same time. I have never wielded a de so light and well bnced." Denys calmly grasped the hilt and sheathed the sword in its dark leather scabbard. Then breaking that moment of quiet, he said: "I am d you have thoroughly scrutinized the de that will end your glory. Fear not boy, nothing cuts better than the steel of Valyria. The sh that will take your life will be clean and precise, you will not suffer too much..." Bloody Snow didn''t react in the slightest after hearing those words. Then after a few moments, in a tone that expressed certainty of the facts, he restated: "Wield those blows with all your skill and bring as much honor and glory as you can to your House, my lord... For from tomorrow until the end of time, that de will belong to House Tallhart." Bloody Snow. "... Bold words, boy. Tomorrow I''ll cut them from your life too." Denys the Bloodthirsty. "No... You will try, Lord Denys." End POV. ------------- POV: A Concerned Lady; Allied Camp, Bear Ind. Some fourteen hours after twomanders concluded their negotiations... Dacey hadn''t slept that night. The girl was anxious after her mother had informed her of the duel that was to take ce in less than an hour. At first, when her mother and cousin had informed her of the duel, the girl was amazed and fascinated by the unfolding of events. Her bear, she had challenged a fearsome warrior, Danys The BloodyThirsty, to a duel. Even she knew the fame of this man from the Iron Inds. Ten years ago, Denys and ten other ships of House Drumm raided the southern coast of the ind, bringing death and destruction to House Mormont. A blitz attack that brought suffering to hundreds of innocent people. Denys had managed to strike and escape before his Uncle Jeor and his men could respond. That was just one of the dozens of sessful raids that created Denys Drumm''s dreaded reputation. Even the ships of House Redwine tried their best to avoid a direct confrontation with the dreaded ''''Red Foam'''', the longship of which he was the captain. Will Bloody Snow be able to win? Will he be injured during the sh? What if he loses his life? Can I intervene during the fight if he''s in trouble?! Why? Why risk so much? Is he doing this because I called him a coward a few days ago? No! Why would he care what I think?!?! What a fool I am!!! These and hundreds of other simr thoughts gued poor Dacey throughout the night. "That''s it, I''ve decided. I''m going to talk to him!!!" Said Dacey as she emerged from her tent inside the cave. The girl was more resolute than ever. She knew where to go to find her target. About five minutester... "Please, mydy." Said one of the Guardians guarding the entrance to the tent. "...Tha...Thank you, Ser!" Dacey entered. "Good morning, mydy!" Said a boy in armor in an awkward tone. "Good morning Blo... Lord Duncan!" Replied an equally awkward girl. The two stood staring at each other for a few seconds of awkward absolute silence... "I..." "How..." Said the two at the same time, interrupting each other. "Ladies first!" Duncan. "...I...emm..." Dacey''s brain and mouth froze at the figure in front of her. Only now did Dacey notice those gorgeous hypnotic eyes of a color she had never seen before. That almost silver shiny hair, the smooth skin on that charming, well-proportioned face. She felt so stupid and blind for not noticing those features before. "Yes, my Lady?..." And she hadn''t even realized that she had been stunned like a fool for at least ten seconds... "THAT''S ME... I...emm I wanted to wish you luck, my lord!" Said Dacey, uttering thest sentence with a rapidity equal to the final warnings of pharmaceutical advertisements. "...Tha...Thank you, mydy." Said the unarmed and helpless boy. ''What a figure!!! I looked like a crazy horse!!! Damn me!!! Say something sensible Dacey!!! '' Thought the twelve-year-old urgently. ''My lord... I came to tell you... Yes, I wanted to tell you to tighten your grip on the sword handle and not to turn your side too much when you receive a blow to your left!!!" Dacey said with a slightly slower rate of speech than before. The girl spat out the only sensible words she coulde up with at that moment. "... Yes, mydy... Thank you for your advice... I will try to be careful." Bloody Snow. '' FOOL! WHAT YOU''RE LOOKING AT COULD SLICE YOU UP IN YOUR SLEEP! A WARRIOR WHO''S TAKEN OUT OVER FIFTY IRONBORN ON THE FIELD IN FRONT OF YOUR EYES! AND THE ONLY THING YOU CAN SAY TO HIM IS SOME BASIC FENCING ADVICE?!!!! ARRGHH!!!'' Shrieked a voice inside Dacey''s head. The girl, struck by a state of pure panic and embarrassment, fled the tent without even saying goodbye... End POV. --------------------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Battlefield Centre, Bear Ind. About an hour after an embarrassing maiden escaped... Now I no longer had the time to try and trante and analyze the bizarre turn of events of an hour ago... I had to regain my full concentration on my target in front of me. I was less than 30 feet away from that mass of hardened steel that exuded a murderous aura perceptible from a kilometer away. A big, bright, roaring green [9] rose less than a foot high from Denys'' exposed head. From the neck down, every inch of Danys'' body was covered, but he had chosen to fight without a helmet. A choice I respected within myself. There was no risk of a stray arrow or dart; I was at least a foot and an inch shorter than him. He would probably use that supposed weak spot as bait for his hook. I also noticed that his armor was much shinier and more reflective than the day before. The sun was not yet high and shone brightly on many parts of that mirror of steel... ''Sly andwful move...'' I thought to myself, praising and respecting the man. I had a little surprise of my own... A surprise that even I didn''t expect to have until 8 hours ago. At my side, instead of my freshly forged bastard sword of Damascus, was Longw... A sword, which ever since I saw the first season of a certain TV show, I had always dreamed of wielding. After Lord Jorah epted the fact that he could not take part in the duel, he offered me his family sword on loan. Even in this fight, House Tallhart and House Mormont would fight alongside each other. Before giving myself six hours of restful rest, I had spent three whole hours familiarizing myself with the de. Three magical hours... It was as if the sword knew what movements I wanted to make, and adjusted itself ordingly with its weight. The sound of the de''s edge cutting through the air was almost non-existent. Now I understood the basic magic swords of the Forgotten Realms world better... Longw could be ssified as a [+1] or even [+2] de. It was no match for any other non-Valyrian de on this continent... Now that I had wielded not one but two of the best swords in Westeros and Essos, I kept thinking of a famous phrase from one of my favorite director''s films. [If you want topare a Hanzo sword, you have topare it with every other sword created... that is, not created by Hattori Hanz]. It was true. Even though I considered my victory a very likely event, I did not make the grave mistake of underestimating my opponent. This was by far the most dangerous fight I had ever taken part in. I had practiced thousands of times with Syggha, Will, and Master Leng. All level [9] warriors. Although I had defeated each of them in training on more than one asion over the previous six months, they were not to the death. This was a factor I took into serious consideration. The level wasn''t everything... Dozens of other factors could influence the course of events. Assuming that a challenge took ce on neutral ground and that both challengers were in good mental and physical condition, elements such as difference in statistics, quality of weapons and armor, knowledge of enemy skills, different fighting styles, and the luck factor, could drastically change the bnce of the scales. I was not currently able to use Zick''s technique. If I had used one of the eleven maneuvers of the [Gate Closure], I could have suffered a serious injury. I would have needed at least another 24 hours of absolute rest to decrease the stress umted in my ligaments and muscles. However, if needed, I could still use two or three more maneuvers for up to 20-30 seconds before reaching a point of no return. I would have to fight mainly with the basic style that I had been training and toughening up every day. ording to Zick, my body still needed at least 3 or 4 years of training to be able to practice the maneuvers for more than half an hour a day... Still, I was confident in my abilities despite this handicap. Over two thousand ironborn men were arranged in a slightly haphazard manner in six rows less than a hundred feet from Denys. Behind me, at a simr distance, were more than three thousand. Admiral Gerion Lannister, along with 200 other Lannister and Northern men, had also arrived to watch the sh. Denys noticed the ivory pommel in the shape of a bear''s head on my sword. "Is that Longw?" Denys asked. I nodded in response. "Well... This duel will remain in the history books for thousands of years. I couldn''t ask for better." Denys said, bursting with excitement and desire. "ON MY CHALLENGE! IN A FEW MOMENTS A DUEL WILL TAKE PLACE BETWEEN THE TWO LEADERS OF THESE ENEMY FACTIONS. THE TERMS OF VICTORY AND DEFEAT HAVE ALREADY BEEN ANNOUNCED. ON THE HONOUR OF MY HOUSE AND ON THE FAITH OF THE ANCIENT GODS IN WHICH I BELIEVE, I, DUNCAN OF HOUSE TALLHART, SWEAR HERE BEFORE YOU ALL THAT IN THE EVENT OF MY DEMISE AND DEFEAT, THE ALLIED ARMIES OF THE NORTH WILL HONOUR THE TERMS OF OUR AGREEMENT. MAY GODS AND MEN CURSE AND PUNISH ANY WHO FAIL TO KEEP THIS PROMISE." A respectful silence hung in the air after I spoke those words. I took two steps back, leaving Denys to his own devices. "I, DENYS OF HOUSE DRUMM, ADMIRAL AND LEADER OF THIS FLEET, ACCEPT YOUR CHALLENGE. IN THE EVENT OF MY DEFEAT, THE MEN OF HOUSE DRUMM WILL RESPECT AND ACCEPT THEIR FATE. I SWEAR IT ON THE HONOUR OF MY HOUSE AND THE DROWNED GOD. MAY THE DROWNED GOD AND THE MEN WHO WORSHIP HIM PUNISH AND CURSE FOR ALL ETERNITY ANYONE WHO TARNISHES OR DISHONORS THIS OATH." Denys returned to his position after a few seconds. Denys'' words thundered with sincerity and absolute will in his intent. Many ironmen nodded and muttered the word [Aye] in eptance. Denys and I stood facing each other. He first drew Red Rain, brandishing it with his right hand, and grabbed his ax with his left. In response, I donned my helmet and drew Longw, wielding it with both hands. We both approached our target at a moderate but sure pace. Roars of encouragement and excitement erupted everywhere. Denys set off with Valyria''s first sh of steel from above, while I responded with a firm cross parry. "SCKHIIIIIIIIIINNNGGG" A thunderous, tuneful, harmonious, and disruptive ngor swept through the air as if a visible sound wave had erupted... Chapter 59: Red Rain VS Longclaw Chapter 59: '' Red Rain VS Longw '' POV: Bloody Snow; Battlefield, Bear Ind. About two seconds after two ancestral des collided for the first time... Bloody Snow saw the second swift sh of a well-sharpened axing, lusting for his left arm. He took advantage of his already defensive stance by simply stepping back,pletely deflecting Red Rain, and dodging the blow. It was his turn to attack... He had already activated his breathing technique, his heart pumping blood at a rate three times faster and more intense than normal. Time had slowed down in the same way... He gripped the ck leather hilt of his long sword handle tightly and lunged, aiming for the pelvic joint covered only by ayer of scales. Denys managed to intercept the blow, wedging Longw between his ax and bastard sword. "WHOAAR!!!" Shouted Denys as he stamped all his strength into his arms in a double-cross sh. Duncan let himself be carried away by that mighty thrust as he leaped backward. The boy flew almost five feet in length beforending firmly on the ground, his legs softening the repulsive thrust. Denys used the momentum to advance and whirled up a storm of precise, powerful shes. Duncan concentrated on dodging, taking advantage of his superior agility. The boy''s every movement was fluid, precise, and well measured. He did not waste energy on useless efforts. If dodging a sh required at least a foot of movement in one direction, Duncan moved at most a foot and a thumb. On the other hand, Denys spared no energy in his every move. A risky move for both... Denys risked wasting too much stamina in a short period, while a single mistake by Bloody Snow resulted in a heavy injury at the very least. Despite Denys wearing at least 30 kg of steel, he was fast. This showed that his muscr strength was much higher than an ordinary person. Duncan inwardly praised his opponent... The only openings Denys left in his fierce attack were on well-protected body parts. This showed that Denys knew his blind spots and cracks in his defense well. In the first thirty seconds of the sh, the flow of the fight did not change. Denys continued a ferocious assault and Bloody Snow concentrated mostly on dodging and deflecting. At the 32nd second, Duncan decided to test one of Denys'' obvious traps. The boy wielded his sword as if a grown man wielded a two-handed broadsword. He was still too short of build and height to wield it in themon ''''one and a half hand'''' style. Bloody Snow began his counterattack, forcing the Dual Wielding-Warrior to defend himself for the first time. Four fluid shes shed, one was parried by the ax and two by Red Rain. Thest struck Denys'' steel breastte visibly scratching the polished steel, but the de did not stop. Longw''s sharp edge tried to slide like a snake towards Denys'' face. Denys was prepared, he dodged the sh by drawing his torso back, then with a double sideways sh, he moved Longw to the side and charged forward with his torso. Although prepared for a counter-attack, Bloody Snow lightly impacted with the bull of muscle and steel and was thrown backward with a slight contusion to his shoulder and right side. Denys did not stop and went for a t front kick to the boy''s torso. And his foot hit the target in the chest. Even though he was hit, Bloody Snow went along with the backward thrust, dampening at least half the force of the impact. The remaining half still managed to knock him backward, but he didn''t panic. The boy somersaulted backward andnded with one knee on the ground. Denys did not advance, he used the moment for a short pause... "Not bad at all, boy. You were an inch away from poking my eye out! Ahahah!!! You''re buzzing around me like a damn water dancer." Praised Denys in his way, smiling. "Thanks, old man. You should strike out as less forceful and have more regard for the poor kids of arms in search of guidance. I may even get the mark of your boot on my chest tonight." Bloody Snow. "Ahahaha, my boot print will be the least of your problems, Bloody Snow." Denys. "Be that as it may, I have kept my word, Lord Denys. The minute has already passed. If it''s not a problem for you, my Lord, I''d like to resume the fight. It would be foolish of me to allow you the luxury of catching your breath.... "Denys smiled in excitement at hearing those words. "Yes... this is what I was looking for... No surrender, no pity, no stupid, whiny ''Knight''ints...haha, yes...a real fight for your life. There is nothing sweeter in this world, than to see that glint of life lost in the eyes of your opponent iming your life and savouring his flesh with your own steel clutched in your hands... STEP FORWARD DUNCAN OF HOUSE TALLHART! I CAN''T WAIT TO WIPE THAT CONFIDENT EXPRESSION OFF YOUR PRETTY FACE!" Denys charged forward, grinning like a madman. Both fighters were immune to the shouts and cheers that hovered around them. Denys and Duncan, were locked in their own bubble, their world. Nothing existed around them but the opponent in front of them. Every bit of concentration was focused on the [Here and now], nothing else mattered. That world, once again, was dynamic and deadly. End POV. ---------------------------------------------------- POV: Denys Drumm; Battlefield, Bear Ind. About a second after the second round began... Denys The Bloodthirsty used his dominant right arm, wielding Red Rain, to deliver a long, powerful, diagonal blow. The sword only sliced through the air and nted itself in the mud, as he had intended. He had not used full force in that blow, he had saved himself to attempt a second sh towards the legs. The target was his opponent''s forward left foot. To Denys'' surprise, the foot not only rose to dodge the sharp sweep but headed straight for his face. The leg had extended in an almost unnatural way, snapping like a viper''s bite. Denys, who was always prepared for blows to his only vulnerable body part, narrowly managed to dodge the kick, even though much of the blow crawled across his cheek and ear, tearing them apart as the leather friction on his skin. But Denys was not distracted by the slight, burning pain; his instincts were screaming at him that this was not the real danger. No... Not only had his adversary performed a powerful kick, but the contortionist, using the support of his foot on his right shoulder, leaped backward in a somersault in mid-air and struck a dangerous blow with his one-handed sword. The de was aimed at Denys'' throat. The warrior used all his strength in his torso and neck to propel himself backward, trying to draw his des back as quickly as possible. A light sting struck the retreating man''s chin. Longw''s point had managed to im the first blood of the sh. Denys'' chin was leaking warm fluids and a burning sensation was growing. Denys was furious. He delivered a double guillotine blow to the torso of his newlynded opponent. The boy, already bent down,ypletely t on the ground and spun around, attempting the same initial target as Denys. Denys managed to nt his ax in the ground thus protecting his left foot, and cleaved a downward blow with Red Rain, but Bloody Snow rolled on the ground causing the warrior to hit nothing but the muddy ground. "Slip away like an eel, you bastard!" Denys roared involuntarily. The boy took advantage of his opponent''s anger to make a fierce counterattack. Four blows identical to a minute ago... Denys'' muscle memory took over, and he parried the attacks almost identically to a minute ago... The fourth blow, an angled lunge, struck the pectoral as it did a minute ago... Every neuron and bundle of nerves in Denys'' body screamed at the man that the de would be heading for his face again. Denys didn''t panic, and not only moved his head likest time but simultaneously attempted a counterattack with Red Rain. "Phew, slishh.", "Choph!"... Red Rain had hit the target, Denys could feel it from the vibration of the handle transmitted to his wrist, but something was wrong... The weight on his left hand was strangely lighter. Backing away two steps, Denys realized what had happened. The man had managed to graze part of his opponent''s side, tearing his armor profusely. A slight trace of blood was present on Red Rain; he had managed to injure his opponent, albeit slightly... However, Bloody Snow''s target was not his face, but Denys'' ax. Denys'' faithful ax, his faithfulpanion for over five years, had beenpletely decapitated, leaving only a handle and a foot of wooden shaft... Denys had lost one of his weapons. "And one down. I think you need to change your fighting style, my lord." Bloody Snow. "... Don''t sing victory boy. The price you had to pay for this achievement will cost you more than you earned." Denys. "What price?" The boy replied, touching his left side. A faint green glow spread from his hand. The light was absorbed by the cut on his studded armor. "What sorcery is this?" Roared an incredulous Denys. The boy looked refurbished. "A small one, my lord... I''d say it''s time to try a bigger one. ... [Bless]... " Recited the boy. A light, almost imperceptible green halo spread across his body, making the figure sharper and brighter than before. "Are you a lousy wizard, boy?!" Denys asked contemptuously. The man was more enraged than ever... He hated everything he couldn''t understand. "Not really, my lord. Let''s just say I''m ''blessed''." As soon as he finished saying thest word, Bloody Snow charged furiously forward. The real fight to the death was about to begin. End POV. ------------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Battlefield, Bear Ind. About three seconds after round three began... I could feel it... That magical, symbiotic feeling flowed through me. I had experienced this first-level spell before, but in a real-life or death situation, the effect seemed amplified several times over. It was as if, after swimming for more than an hour in the middle of the ocean, suddenly an inted life preserver appeared to help you stay afloat... The connection with Longow was stronger than ever. Even the sword seemed to be alive and enthusiastic with the buff it had just thrown. I could feel it, I could be more precise and fluid with my movements. As if Zick himself was showing me how to move correctly. A swordmaster asked me to repeat his movements. The effect would onlyst a minute and I had to make the most of it. I knew it would take Denys a few seconds to get used to his new fighting style and I had to take advantage of this double benefit. I charged forward, starting with a horizontal sh from bottom to top. The blow only hit a clump of Denys'' hair, which he deflected with an almost inurate parry. My opponent was beginning to wield Red Rain in themon one-and-a-half-handed style. I didn''t give him a moment''s respite... Another sh from the side, one from above, two consecutive diagonal shes, and a lunge that left a groove in the metal covering my belly. Another strange and unexpected sensation materialized... The shing of the two Valyrian metals generated a metallic melody simr to idiophonic instruments. It was as if the two swords weremunicating with each other. Denys was improving his style more and more... ''He too hears that symphony... He too feels that peace and serenity that I''m also feeling. A magical feeling... '' I thought noticing Denys'' look more focused and rxed than ever. All his anger and insecurity had left the man''s movements. A tornado of fluid and gentle wind, made of sword strokes and sparks, surrounded us. The sensation was intoxicating, exciting, and addictive. The best drug in the world. The best game in the world, the best art we could express. Every swing of the sword did nothing but encourage a smile on my lips. Denys was smiling too... This was the true art of fencing. An art that deserved respect, care, and devotion. We were both having a great time. I hoped the feeling would never end. Observing the flow, I noticed a w in this dance. Both Denys and I were holding back. A minute ago we were brandishing our weapons with the intent to kill. But now... we were trading blows as if we were taking part in friendly sparring. I had no idea how much time had passed... Only the blessing effect confirmed that the dance had been going on for less than a minute. To my deep sadness and regret, I decided to change that flow... but first, out of respect for my sparring partner, I warned him by slightly increasing the force of the blows. Denys seemed to get the message, even his smile faded and his expression began to express slight sadness. We both looked into each other''s eyes and gave each other a look of understanding. Our blows became fiercer and more aggressive. The melody of the ngor of steel also changed its tune. It was a darker and more somber melody... It was only then that my perception, focused on the flow, detected small cracks in Denys'' movements. The hesitation no longer held back... I was back on my feet. I could feel the superiority in my movements. Red Rain could not withstand that imbnce of precision. After deflecting a side sh, I counterattacked, aiming for the protective scales on Denys'' left armpit... The blow went in. A tiny ssh of blood, probably from a severed vein, came from the small, clean gash in Denys''s armor. The man held back a groan of pain and continued undaunted in his offensive. But it was no use... By now I was reading Denys'' stream as if it were my favorite book. His every feint and countermove became predictable. The blessing effect wore off... but it didn''t matter. I knew my enemy and I knew myself... my victory was all but certain. After another ten or so exchanges, he managed to inflict another cut on the man''s left elbow. Denys seemed to be starting to feel the effects of those wounds. With each exchange, a small crack appeared in Denys'' stream. Now I was free to choose where to strike... I inflicted the third wound on his right eyebrow. A copious cascade of blood blinded his right eye. Denys seemed to have realized his destiny, but he didn''t seem afraid. He continued without hesitation to give his best... A true warrior. I thought with deep respect for my opponent. I saw Denys making strange, indecisive movements with his right hand. I knew what he wanted to do. Master Ramas had tried a simr move hundreds of times. After two more blows, Denys grabbed a dagger from its sheath and tried to throw it at me by surprise. I easily managed to avoid him. Denys did not let his failure get him down and continued his charge. After a few more exchanges, at least an inch of Longw managed to prate between the cracks in Denys''s torso and right thigh guard. The de probably touched a bone. "Gnngrrdg..." The man couldn''t hold back a small bellow of pain. He had to change his guard position by shifting his weight to the opposite leg. After another dozen blows, a heavy cut on Denys'' wrist forced him to hold Red Rain with one hand... I decided it was time to put the man out of his misery. It was time to inflict a fatal and definitive wound. I knew where, when, and with what to strike... I activated my second innate Pdin ss skill. [ Divine Smite ] Radiant energy was absorbed by Longw, who began to glow with bright green hues. I charged sideways at my opponent''s defenseless side, delivering a precise, hard and merciless side sh into his side... "Sflussshh!!! " The blow was so effective that not even the metallic sound of the two contrasting metals could be heard. Almost one of Longw''s feet cleaved Denys'' torso... the spinal column was probably damaged as well. Denys managed not to utter a breath from the damage. He simply touched his side, lowering his gaze slightly to be sure of his fate. Fresh blood began to drip from his mouth. In an incredibly epic gesture, Denys, instead of copsing to the ground, managed to rest on both knees... The man looked for my gaze and found it. He gave a simple, bloody, thirty-two-tooth smile, trying to express with his eyes what I thought was a thank you. I stepped quickly in front of him and pointed my sword at the heart section. As soon as I perceived a nod of agreement from the man, I plunged the de deeply into his chest, putting him out of his misery. The body remained upright for another two seconds... then the light left Denys Drumm''s eyes as he slumped to the side in a frail, helpless pose. After a slight thud broke the bubble isting me and my former adversary, I noticed that no one in the whole square was making a sound. They all seemed enchanted by every movement I made. First I slumped down next to Denys'' body and gently closed the lids of his ssy eyes. I didn''t have the Longw case with me, so I decided to stab it straight into the ground. Then I picked up the red-ded sword less than a foot from the corpse, and slowly approached the 2,100 motionless ironmen less than 100 feet from me. When I reached a distance of 50 feet from the first line of marauders, I shouted in a loud voice: "ADMIRAL LORD DENYS DRUMM HAS FALLEN FIGHTING BRAVELY. I WANT AT LEAST FOUR OF YOU TO GO AND COLLECT HIS REMAINS AND BE IN CHARGE OF WATCHING OVER HIS BODY. LORD DUSTAN DRUMM, HE SHALL HAVE HIS SON''S BODY BACK WITH ALL THE HONOURS IT DESERVES." After a few seconds of hesitation, four unarmed men, probably members of Denys'' crew, stepped forward towards the body of their captain and lord. After a few more moments of silence I said loudly: "THE REMAINING 1,900 BODIES OF YOUR COMRADES WILL NOT BE ACCORDED THIS HONOUR... THEY BELONG TO THE NORTH FROM NOW ON." Then I raised Red Rain to the sky for all to see. "THIS NOW BELONGS TO ME! IF LORD DRUMM WANTS IT BACK, HE''S GOING TO HAVE TO COME TO ME AND PAY THE IRON PRICE FOR IT... AS AGREED BETWEEN MYSELF AND YOUR ADMIRAL... 467 OF YOU RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DEATH AND SUFFERING OF THE NORTHERN PEOPLE WILL BE EXECUTED... EACH OF THOSE CONDEMNED WILL BE GIVEN THE CHOICE OF HOW THEY DIE. YOU MAY BE HANGED, BEHEADED, OR EVEN DROWNED. AN HONOR YOU HAVE NOT BESTOWED UPON YOUR VICTIMS. 467 OTHERS WILL BE CASTRATED AND TAKEN TO THE LANDS OF HOUSE TALLHART... YOU WILL WORK IN THE MINES AS ''THRALL OF THE NORTH'' UNTIL YOUR LABOUR PAYS FOR THE DAMAGE DONE TO THIS ISLAND. EACH OF YOU WILL BE GUARANTEED A BED AND A ROOF OVER YOUR HEADS, TREATMENT IN CASE OF INJURY OR ILLNESS, AND THREE HOT MEALS A DAY. WHEN THE DEBT IS REPAID, YOU CAN CHOOSE TO STAY AND WORK FOR US OR RETURN TO YOUR HOMES... ANOTHER 467 WILL JOIN THE NIGHT WATCHMEN FOR THE REST OF THEIR DAYS... YOU CAN VOLUNTEER OR DECIDE AMONGST YOURSELVES WHO WILL GO TO THE MINE OR WHO WILL GO TO THE WALL. THE REMAINING YOUNGEST AMONG YOU MAY RETURN HOME WITH TWELVE LONGSHIPS. DO ANY OF YOU OBJECT TO THIS?!?" I shouted thest sentence like a battle roar. I continued with the same ferocity to ask: "DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY COMPLAINTS ABOUT THE FATE THAT AWAITS EACH OF YOU?!?! IF ANYONE HAS, NOW IS THE TIME TO COME FORWARD!!! NOW!!! ... ISN''T THERE ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO TASTE THE ''PRICE OF BLOOD''?!!!!" The gaze of many was still downcast, others were lost in the void. I noticed a few still gripping the handles of their weapons tightly, trying to decide whether to try their luck or not. Lost in my excitement, I failed to notice that the northern army had advanced the same distance I had traveled. After a few more seconds, a man in his fifties stepped forward. He appeared to be a captain. The ironman slowly drew his sword... and then threw it to the ground in submission. Dozens of men copied his gesture until a cacophony of heavy, metallic instruments spread through the air. Over 2,000 weapons and shields were thrown onto the ground... "Well... You! Step forward." I said to a boy not even twenty years old with terror in his eyes. The boy took the requested step. "I want your cape... It is no longer yours from this moment on." The boy hesitated for a few seconds, then did as requested. He took off the piece of cloth he had looted from who knows where and ced it at my feet. I picked up the brown cloth and used it to clean the de. Then I turned and headed for Longw. Denys''s body had already been transported to the enemy camp. I carefully jammed Red Rain into my belt and then retrieved Longw, trying to clean the de as best I could. Over 3,000 northerners watched me every move in silence. My uncle hadid out two lines of archers ready in case of trouble. I found my first target and headed towards Lord Jorah. After a few seconds, I said to the man as I returned the sword that did not belong to me: "Thank you, my lord. A beautiful weapon, I hope your House will guard it carefully for all generations toe." "My honor, my lord... Thank you." Said Jorah picking up the de with both palms upwards. After returning what needed to be returned, I headed towards my fellow Guardians. All the Northmen stepped aside leaving me the path clear and as they did so they removed their helmets bowing in respect. An empty circle of twenty feet radius was created with hundreds of gazes pointing towards the origin of it. I looked around and realized that the men were waiting for some word from me... There was only one thing I could say at that moment. I slowly pulled out Red Rain with my right hand and raised it to the sky. I said the only sentence that came to mind at the time.... "The battle is over... THE NORTH HAS WON!" Chapter 60: Traitors and Cowards Chapter 60: '' Traitors and Cowards '' POV: The Lord of Bear Ind; Castle Mormont. Some thirteen hours after 3,106 roars and shouts of jubtion rocked forests and caves... The castle his father Jeor had defended for over thirty years had been set aze. Jorah felt distressed and regretful at this event. Not all was lost, the main hall, built mainly of solid stone, still had a roof. Over 500 of the ind''s inhabitants had worked tirelessly to allow a decent banquet to be set up, the hall had been cleaned as best as it could be, the soot-stained floor and walls were covered with any leather cloth found within a mile of the castle. All the inhabitants were happy to be able to contribute to giving the best possible party and hospitality to their guests and heroes. Jorah, in those hours, remembered his father''s words. [ For the people of the South, hospitality is a form of etiquette and decorum. For us Northerners, it is a creed, a trait inherited and imprinted in the blood of the First Men. Never harm anyone you have ever offered food and drink under your table, Jorah. There is no greater crime or dishonor than to intentionally shed even a single drop of your host''s blood. He who does so will be forever cursed by the gods and by men. Always remember this son... Always treat your guest as if they were part of your own family]. Now, the new Lord and protector of the Ind were in front of over six hundred guests. The most that the hundred square foot room could support. One wall of the room, damaged and now useless, had even been knocked down to allow three more long tables to fit. The Mormont warrior heroes, who had fought bravely in the battle now called the ''Battle of Golden and Silver Snow'', had sacrificed themselves to allow more of their northern allies to take part in the festivities. A hundred hearths and tents surrounded the castle. At least half the people of the Ind were celebrating. The Lord of the Isle, as its protector, was to take it upon himself to open the celebrations with a speech. The man had been working on this for the past three hours... He had thought several times about what words to say tomunicate what he thought in the right way. The time hade to voice those thoughts. Jorah, who was two feet higher than the six hundred heads that were staring at him, raised his goblet high and said: "I would like to propose three toasts: The first, to celebrate andmemorate our fallen. None of them will be forgotten. To the 49 Heroes of House Glover... To the 76 Heroes of House Dustin... To the 65 Heroes of House Ryswell... To the 21 Heroes of House Lannister... To the 73 Heroes of House Mormont... And to the 85 Heroes of House Tallhart... HERE''S TO YOU HEROES! YOU WHO GAVE YOUR LIVES TO PROTECT A HOUSE IT WAS NOT YOUR DUTY TO DEFEND! TO YOU, WHO WITH YOUR VITAL FLAME, HAVE GIVEN LIGHT IN THE DARKEST OF TIMES. YOU, WHO FOUGHT BRAVELY, GAVE UP YOUR HOME, YOUR FAMILY, AND EVERYTHING YOU HELD DEAR IN THIS WORLD. BUT FROM TODAY, YOUR FAMILIES WILL BE OUR FAMILIES. YOUR CHILDREN, OURS CHILDREN. NOW AND FOREVER, WE WILL PROTECT WHAT YOU HOLD MOST DEAR. I, JORAH OF HOUSE MORMONT, SON OF JEOR MORMONT, SWEAR THIS BEFORE YOU ALL. TO YOU HEROES!!!" "TO YOU!!!!!" Thundered more than six hundred people in that hall drinking in their honor. "The Second toast is dedicated to you, Lord Gerion. You who took upon yourself the burden of leading the Northern Fleet to victory. YOU, LORD ADMIRAL, SUCCEEDED IN DEFEATING THE SEA''S MOST FEARED ENEMIES. AND YOU DID IT ON THE GROUND MOST FAVORABLE TO THEM... HONOR TO YOU, GERION OF HOUSE LANNISTER. TO YOU SMILING LION. THANK YOU FOR BRINGING A WARM SMILE TO THE FACE OF EVERY INHABITANT OF THIS ISLAND. FROM THIS DAY FORWARD, YOU AND YOUR FAMILY WILL ALWAYS BE WELCOME ON BEAR ISLAND. THE MORMONTS WILL REPAY THIS DEBT OF HONOR AND BLOOD. TO LORD GERION!!!" Shouted Jorah addressing a group d in crimson and gold cloaks. "TO LORD GERION!!!", "CHEERS!!!", "TO THE SMILING LION!!!", "HONOR TO HOUSE LANNISTER!!!". Hundreds of goblets turned to a central table on the left side. Gerion epted such praise with joy and smiles. His men around him roared in a festive and jovial manner, taking up their share of the praise as well. After the confusion dissipated, Jorah began to announce the third and final toast. "LAST... but not least... A toast. To you, Hero of the North. You, who gave us victory on the maind. YOU... WHO PUT YOUR LIFE ON THE LINE AND FOUGHT WITH ONE OF THE MOST DANGEROUS AND CAPABLE WARRIORS IN WESTEROS, EVEN WHEN VICTORY WAS CERTAIN. YOU, WHO DID NOT HESITATE TO SACRIFICE YOURSELF FOR THE SAKE OF HUNDREDS OF US. YOU, WHO MADE THE IMPOSSIBLE POSSIBLE. YOU, WHO GAVE US THE PRIVILEGE OF WITNESSING WHAT I COULD NEVER BELIEVE I WOULD SEE... YOU, WHO BROUGHT SAFETY, JUSTICE, AND HONOR, NOT ONLY TO THIS ISLAND... BUT TO THE ENTIRE NORTH. HERE''S TO YOU, DUNCAN OF HOUSE TALLHART. TO YOU AND YOUR COMPANIONS! THE GUARDIANS OF WINTER! MAY WINTER NEVER COME... AND IF IT EVER DOES, MAY YOU ALWAYS BE THERE TO HELP THOSE WHO, LIKE US, NEEDED HEROES. TO THE GUARDIANS OF WINTER!!! AND THEIR LEADER BLOODY SNOW!!!" Shouted the man with every trace of breath in his lungs, turning the cup towards a white-haired figure over a hundred feet away. "TO BLOODY SNOWWW!!!!!!", "YYEEEEAAARRRR!!!", "TO THE HEROES OF THE NORTH!!!!", "TO THE GUARDIANS!!!", " TO LORD DUNCAN!!!!" The screams red up like a fire. The tremor of the roar was at least twice as loud as the previous toasts. No one in that room failed to pay their due respect and praise to those legendary figures. "AND NOW LET''S HAVE FUN! DRINK! EAT! LET US MAKE THIS NIGHT WORTHY OF THE DAY THAT PRECEDED IT." Concluded Jorah with a smile as he returned to his seat in the center of the high table. "YEAAARRGHH!!!" The guests roared as they tried to take their ce at the table as well. An eleven-year-old stood over his table and thundered: "TO LORD JORAH!!! AND TO HOUSE MORMONT!" "TO JORAH!!!", "TO THE MORMONTS!!", "YESSS!!!", "STDUM!, STDUM!, STDUM!", cups, hands, and cutlery rhythmically mmed down on the tables after the fourth toast. About thirty people in charge of the service began to make their way between the tables of the rooms. Whole steaming roast chickens, caramelized cooked onions, stuffed piglets, bowls filled with roasted potatoes, white bread spiced or fried inrd, savory cheese-filled pies, and many other culinary delights were served. Drinks flowed like wildfire. More than forty barrels between, red wine, beer, vodka, whiskey, and even ''Taileys'', the finest drink in the North. After a few minutes, Jorah finally noticed that a member of his family was not present at therge table. "Where''s Dacey, Auntie?" Jorah asked his Aunt Maege. "... Dacey will be here shortly. She''s been getting ready for over two hours now. She didn''t take my advice on what clothes to wear for the party... Emily, the wife of our chief steward is helping her." Maege. "Ah...I see. Don''t you think it would be appropriate to tell her..." Jorah was interrupted. "No! I gave my word that we would not interfere, nephew. I am confident that another divine miracle wille upon our home." Maege. "... As you say, my Lady." Jorah crossed his fingers. If that miracle had indeed happened, the future of House Mormont would be brighter than ever. For Jorah, this past month felt like a daydream. He had found the love of his life, House Mormont would be united with one of the most powerful houses in the North. Jorah himself would be the new Lord of Barrowton. The Mormonts had just sealed and signed a golden contract with House Tallhart. Perhaps the best offer of all the Northern Houses. His Ind had just repelled one of the most onerous and feared attacks by their sworn enemies. They had won a victory that would instill fear in the hearts of the Ironborn for at least an entire generation. Probably, for the next five to ten years, House Mormont would only have to worry about attacks from the Free People... And now... a concrete window of possible union between House Mormont and House Tallhart was opening. The Hero of the North, Duncan of House Tallhart... An eleven-year-old boy whom Jorah, a dozen hours ago, had christened in his mind as the ''Most Feared Swordsman and Warrior in the North''. Perhaps only Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur Dayne could have rivaled that boy in a duel. That''s what Jorah thought. He, too, was a valiant swordsman, perhaps the best in all of The Isle, and precisely because he waspetent in the matter, and was also adept at assessing the martial abilities of others, he knew that there was no way he could hold his own against Bloody Snow. ''Those sword movements... That fluidity and decision in the blows.... ''No, I''ve never seen anything like it. '' Thought the cynical, down-to-earth, and realistic Jorah. '' Perhaps House Tallhart is already more powerful and wealthy than both House Stark and House Boltonbined... No, an underestimate... Perhaps it is already the third most powerful House in Westeros.'' End POV. --------------- POV: Gerion Lannister; Castle Mormont. A few minutes after a hopeful Lord finished processing his thoughts... '' May the gods strike me down... I can well believe it now that that ''Number'' was correct. A monster... there are no other words. House Lannister absolutely must forge an irond rtionship with House Tallhart... No,... not just House Tallhart...the North. Leobald''s nephew may very well gain more of a following and support than Ned Stark himself... He is like Tywin fifteen years ago, the true ruler of the realm. The first Knight of the King. From now on, when the rumors of what happened today will spread to every castle in the North and Westeros, the fame and influence of Bloody Snow will reach heights perhaps never seen before... [In the North, nothing will move that Bloody Snow doesn''t want to.] To hell with Tywin''s ns to marry Joffrey to Sansa Stark... We must have Duncan on our te. Cersei is pregnant again... If the baby is a girl, we''ll need to move immediately. For the sake of House Lannister and the Kingdom.'' Repeatedly thought '' The Smiling Lion'' as he masked his concern and anxiety with smiles,ughter, and jokes. Gerion continued to praise himself and the Gods for choosing that day almost ten years ago at a wedding, to spend his time and fun in thepany of Leobald Tallhart. He sincerely found Leobald, a person worth forming bonds with, regardless of the fame, glory, and wealth he had behind him. For the past three years, Gerion''s main role was to take care of the Lannister Fleet and to take care of social and business rtions with House Tallhart. A role he relished. "Lord Gerion, may I steal a word with you." Said a teenage voice behind him. Gerion turned and granted a warm smile to the Hero of the North, Bloody Snow. "Of course Legend of the North! AHAHAHAH !!! My honor, my lord!" Said Gerion opening both arms as if to grant a hug. The Smiling Lion snapped two fingers to signal a couple of his men in front of him to make room for his table guest. The two men snapped to their feet and were away from the table in seconds. "Please, Lord Duncan, take a seat at our too red and too glittery gold table! Phuahahahaha!!!" Gerion. "Ahah! Thank you, my Lord." Bloody Snow. About five minutester of jokes, yful questions, and formality... "So, oh Great Bloody Snow, what can a humble but rich sailor does for you?" Gerion. "No, mighty and undefeated ''Admiral of the North,'' the question is, ''What can House Tallhart do for you, my lord?'' My uncle told me what you did and what you had to pay for it. In addition to the undue heroic sacrifice of your men, you, my lord, even went against the direct orders of Lord Tywin Lannister to help us. We would not have achieved such a victory on the seas and in the port without your help, Lord Gerion. [House Tallhart and the North, they do not forget." Bloody Snow. "... If you put it that way, my Lord... Will you marry me, Lord Duncan? I''m not a good Lady yet, but I can learn I swear. I know, the age difference is considerable, but the new beauty products from House Tyrell work real miracles!..." Said Gerion in a tone that was at first nce serious. "Spuzz!!! Cough! Cough!...Ahaha! AHAHAHAHA!!!!" The boy spat out the mead he was sipping almost choking on hisughter. "PHUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Thundered The Smiling Lion, igniting a chorus ofughter throughout the table. "You nearly choked ''The Hero of the North'' to death, my Lord... Cough... Cough! Speaking seriously, my Lord... Might I ask you a not-so-subtle question?" Bloody Snow. "You may, my lord... But please take care of my soft, delicate skin. Ahaha." Gerion''s gaze became more focused toward his interlocutor''s eyes. "I would like to know, if possible, how many ships did House Lannister perpetually lose during Euron and Victarion Greyjoy''s attack?.... " The boy asked politely. "... My '' Seeker of Brightroar'', another Galley, a Cara, and three merchant ships anchored in these shores, are all that remain, my lord... The forty ships that were moored to the harbor, along with the eight that defended it, we''re all lost." Lord Gerion replied seriously. A spark of anger and disappointment red in his feline eyes. "... I see. Lord Gerion, a few hours ago I reached an agreement with Lord Jorah and my Uncle. In addition to the 4 Galleys, 8 Caracas, and 10 Merchantmen that my House owes you, you will bring back 48 other longships formerly owned by House Drumm with you to Lannisport. Those ships, from now on, will belong to House Lannister." Bloody Snow. "... But those ships rightfully belong to the North, my lord... They are your spoils of war. I... We have made no such valuable contribution to this fight. It would be... " Gerion was interrupted. "It would be fitting for House Lannister to get more and better, my Lord. Those pieces of wood don''t hold a candle to our Ships. This is only part of the just reward you deserve, my Lord." Said Duncan. Gerion thought about it for a moment and finally agreed that this was not the time to show off the strength and bravado of the Lion of House Lannister. They needed those ships urgently. Many contracts and trade agreements had to be fulfilled on time, or House Lannister would pay a heavy price. "... Thank you, my Lord. The Lions have a good memory as well, I assure you." Gerion bowed his head as a formal gesture of thanks. "Two-thirds of our Legion, along with eight hundred sailors from our fleet, will help you escort those ships, my lord. King Robert should be recalling the war banners soon... Lannisport will probably be the rallying point. I hope you can amodate our men until we arrive, my lord. We will of course repay the trouble... " This time it was Duncan who was interrupted. "Watch your words boy... We are still the richest people on the continent. My House can afford to offer hospitality to our friends and allies." Said Gerion in a dismissive and ironic tone. "... Well, we thank you, my lord. Since you have no shortage of gold, Lord Gerion... I would like to send a message to Balon Greyjoy... I wonder if House Lannister, or specifically ''The Smiling Lion'' would like to participate in a modest and theatrical project... " Bloody Snow. "... House Lannister loves the y, my Lord. You have my fullest attention, Bloody Snow." About five minutester... "... I love it... Yes, you have my word. I will help you deliver the ''message'', Lord Duncan." End POV. -------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Brywen; Castle Mormont. About twenty minutes after a boy returned to his table... Four of the long banquet tables had been set up for over two hundred members of the Guardians. The rest were on guard duty, along with half of the Northern forces, at the docks with prisoners of war. All were merrily celebrating bymemorating their four brothers-Ronald, Jonathan, Ethan, and Jeremy-with stories about them. Theirrade, idol, hero, and General were at the far end of the table. In a back-to-the-wall, hard-to-escape position. Lord Duncan was surrounded byrades. He hardly had room to breathe, let alone move. Brywen was less than ten feet away from him. More than thirty of them were listening to Barney''s adventures... "I SWEAR! THAT''S HOW IT WENT THAT NIGHT AFTER THE BANQUET! I was naked and lying on that bed made of silk pillows... I had a blindfold over my eyes and my hands tied to my wrists with a taut rope... Prince Oberyn kept whispering in my ear: [ Are you afraid boy?] And I answered: No, my Prince. And he... [ So... You''re not afraid I''m gonna poison you? I have drunk much this evening... my hand is not as steady as it should be... One drop more than necessary... ... It would be risky, O valiant Guardian of Winter...] The fool kept stroking my chest as he said this. I swear to you...I have never felt such intense shivers in all my life! I kept begging: ''Please don''t do it, my prince! Don''t do it! '' And he: [ I''m sorry, Barney. You were the one who said you had no attraction to the female gender... My partner Eria was very... very disappointed... She took this challenge personally... I have to do this]. At that point, the sweetish liquid wet the tip of my lips and slipped down my throat. Gods only know what magical concoction he made me drink... I began to feel a fire in my chest...I was bubbling with energy and pleasure. I felt the urge to break free from those ropes and devour the world. Then they pulled off my blindfold... My vision was blurry, and everything seemed to be spinning in circles... but then I saw her. That woman... no... THAT GODDESS! She was standing over me... She was wearing only a jade mask... Oberyn was behind her focused with his eyes closed worshipping and serving the Goddess... The rest is history,rades." Barney finished his narration, abandoning the tale midway through... "... I don''t believe you. Do you really want us to believe that you had such a depraved adventure with Prince Oberyn and Eria Sand...? Pff! Ridiculous!" Reprimanded Derret, manyughed in apaniment of his words. "I''M TELLING YOU IT HAPPENED!!! It was the most incredible experience of my entire life!!! I will defy anyone who dares to call me a liar!" Barney. "Even if it were true... and I emphasize ''IF''... Exin to me what this has to do with Ronald, Jonathan, Ethan, or Jeremy!!! We were telling stories in which they were present!" Reprimanded Commander Gellert. "Both Ronald and Jeremy would have wanted to know every detail of this story!!! Jeremy was more depraved than me!!!" Barney. "Ahahahahah!!!", " Yes, that''s right!!", " To Jeremy, the ''depraved''!", " To Ronald!!!". The mood andughter of the table lifted. Yet another toast rose for the four lostrades. All had already passed the initial stage of [Intoxication]...now they had reached the [I''m tipsy but not yet drunk] stage. "General!!! Our fallenrades would have liked to know what happened that night in Sunspear when Princess Arianne and Lady Tyene ''identally'' stumbledte at night into your chambers!!!" Said arade. "YESSS!!!", "Tell us General!!!" Thundered a dozenrades in unison. All attention passed to a shocked boy at the head of the table. His face became purple. "I tell you for thest time... NOTHING HAPPENED!!! I MERELY ESCORTED ARIANNE AND TYENE BACK TO THEIR ROOMS!!!!!" Roared a wrathful eleven-year-old as he stood up. "Liar!" Thundered a voice in reply from somewhere. "WHO SAID THAT?! SHOW YOURSELF IF YOU DARE, COWARD!!!" About fifty guardsmen burst outughing at the scene. "Come on, General... Even Brywen hooked up that night!" Said Edgard pointing at hisrade. "HEY!!! YOU DAMNED SNITCH!" Brywen stood up trying to grab his target in front of him to no avail. "What!!! Even Brywen?!!! By the Seven Hells... I''m a basket case..." Said the General in a surprised, shocked, and somewhat disappointed tone. "MY LORD!... What... What do you mean by that?!" A visibly offended Brywen asked. "Nothing, Brywen... Forgive me. It''s just the vain words of a drunk eleven-year-old..." Wrenched the General... Brywen, in with a remonstrating tone, asked: "And you, my Lord?... Why don''t you tell us how it''s going with LADY DACEY? Has the maiden already melted into the arms of the Bear wielding Longw?..." A chorus of provocation and curiosity echoed throughout the table. The eleven-year-old was unseated by that blow. With a flushed and embarrassed face, he shrieked back. "YOU! HOW DARE YOU! ARE YOU TALKING TO YOUR LORD GE..." The rebuke broke almost on the finish. A wave of silence fifty feet from the belligerent group hit them... Something was wrong... Something unexpected was happening on the other side of the table. "General!" A Guardian slipped through the pile of bodies to ry a message. "Lady Dacey! Lady Dacey is asking for you, General! She is waiting at the head of the table." Reported Jed urgently. "What?!... I... No, I''m too drunk and in no condition to talk to her right now!" Spat Bloody Snow panicking. "BUT GENERAL!!! The girl dressed and groomed herself like a realdy!!! She did it for you, my Lord!!!" Jed. "... No... No! The answer is no, Jed... Communicate to Lady Dacey that I apologize and that... HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!! LEAVE ME!!! LEAVE ME NOW!!! HOW DARE YOU!!! HEY! WHO TOUCHED MY BUTT?!? NO, STOP! YOU''LL PAY FOR THIS, YOU COWARDS! WHEN WE GET BACK TO CAMP I''LL SHOW YOU!!! 300 LAPS OF THE FIELD FOR EVERYONE! 400!! NO!!! STOP!!! LEAVE ME, TRAITORS!!!" Shrieked the boy as he was carried through the air by a human chain. Chapter 61: Lightning Strike or Love at First Sight Chapter 61: '' Lightning Strike or Love at First Sight '' POV: Dacey; Castle Mormont. About three minutes before about two hundred men made a mutual agreement... Dacey had never dressed like that before. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she wore one of the dresses her cousin Jorah had made for her. In the hopes that the girl would wear them on big asions. After the first huge failure in that tent, Dacey decided to change her approach... She was going to try to act like a real Lady. Although she preferred the way she was, namely a fierce warrior of House Mormont, as her mother Maege, her cousin Lord Jorah, had forced her to attend dozens of mandatory etiquette sses. Dacey knew how to be ady, though the girl was grasped only on the theory...she definitelycked experience in the field. The 12-year-olddy did, thanks to the help of Emily, the wife of the head-attendant. When the girl went to her former etiquette teacher for help, Emily nearly burst into tears from happiness. Dacey had been washed, improfumed,bed, styled, and well-dressed. The torture she was willing to endure for him... Few were the things Dacey really wanted during the course of her young existence. The girl had no great demands or unattainable desires, but when a desire came, she would do anything to achieve it... And her life partner, her Bear, the one who had made her heartbeat like that and made her feel emotions she never thought really existed. For that, she would fight tooth and nail... Her light brown and emerald green dress was beautiful but also ufortable and stuffy. When Emily clutched her corset she thought for a moment that she wanted to kill her.... an assassin sent by an enemy of House Mormont. Dacey walked slowly, taking care of every step. The girl also had to dose her breathing well. At least that pressure on her chest was calming her heartbeat... About two minutes of careful stepster... "Emm... Ser..." The Guardian failed to hear the girl''s faint voice and continued to listen to herpanion''s story as she drank. There was muchmotion in the room. There was a need for a high tone to be able to be heard. "Ser!... I beg your pardon... HEY! I SAY YOU!!!" Dacey hit with a handful the shoulder of the boy who spilled the wine on his tunic... "Ah...emm, I beg your pardon, Ser." Jed turned to stare at the girl. "Never mind, my Lady... I beg your pardon, do we know each other? I feel like I''ve seen you somewhere before..." A rather tipsy Jed asked. "No, Ser... I... I wanted to ask you... " Dacey was interrupted. "No need to ask, mydy... Well yes, I am a member of the Winter Guardians. It has been my pleasure and honor to assist in saving the home of this fair maiden of the North. "Said Jed taking a sip of wine. Dacey was shocked for a moment...her inner self wanted to hit that pompous creep right in the Zebedee, but she steeled herself and moved on. "No... here... I thank you for your sacrifice and courage, Ser..." Dacey didn''t know how to address himself. " Jed, mydy. My name is Jed, and I am at your service." Jed unceremoniously took the girl''s hand to kiss her on the back as she introduced herself. "... Thank you ''Jed''... Jed, I wanted to ask you the favor..." Dacey was interrupted again. "Mydy, please...before you make your request, which I promise I will try very hard to fulfill, please grant the honor of knowing your name." Jed heard a shriek behind him and recognized yet another toast to one of hispanions. The seventeen-year-old boy, along with twenty of his other friends and fellow soldiers, had vowed to drink to any toast offered at that table no matter what the cost and no matter what the circumstances. Therefore, Jed took yet another sip of the Summer''s wine... "Dacey... Dacey Mormont, Ser Jed..." Said the girl with irritation, a vein beginning to throb on her forehead. "SPRUZZZZ!!!!! THE...COUGHT...LADY DACEY?!!" A cloud of saliva and red wine ran right over Dacey... "... My hair...my dress...my face... " Dacey whispered as she wiped her face and wiped her eyes. "LADY DACEY!...couff!...I''m...coff!.... I AM MORTIFIED, MY LADY! PLEASE LET ME HELP YOU!!! SOON GIVE ME A HANDKERCHIEF!!!!" Someone handed a handkerchief to Jed... if only the poor Guardian had bothered to check it for a moment, he would have noticed the grease and gravy stains on the tissue... Jed, panicked, began to rub and dab at the dress. "Oh no... YOU''RE ANIMALS!!! DAMN YOU!!! I MEANT A CLEAN HANDKERCHIEF!!! Jed yelled, throwing the handkerchief in the face of the fellow who had lent it to him. It was at that point that Dacey burst out... "ARRRGHH!!! I''M GONNA KILL YOU BASTARD!!! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO GET READY!???! DON''T BACK DOWN YOU COWARD!!!" Dacey tried to bite Jed''s throat as she tried to blind him with her fingernails. "HELP ME!!! SOMEONE HELP ME!!! NO, MY LADY! PLEASE!!! IT WAS JUST AN ACCIDENT!!! ARGHH!!!" Threepanions came to Jed''s rescue. Two grabbed Dacey by the arms lifting her up, another dragged Jed backward. "LEAVE ME!!! YOU MUST PAY!!! RED FOR RED, JED! I WANT TO SEE YOU BLOOD-STAINED!!! ARRGH!!! LEAVE ME!!! FACE ME LIKE A TRUE WARRIOR IF YOU DARE!!!" Shrieked Dacey as she toddled in midair. "Lady Dacey... emm by any chance were you looking for, Lord Duncan!" Spat Jed looking for a way out of this mess. As soon as Dacey heard that name uttered, reason and cold blood countered in good part her fury. The two Guardians ced the maiden with her feet on the ground, loosening their grip slightly. "... Grr... YES!... I WISH... ergh emm... I would like to request an audience with Lord Duncan, if possible... Ser Jed." Dacey. "AT ONCE, MY LADY!!!" Jed snapped to deliver the message. His life might have depended on this assignment. About a minuteter... Dacey heard some inaudible shrieking less than sixty feet away from her. She thought she heard at some point the phrase '' I will have you whipped! 30... no 40shes for each of you.... '' but she was not certain. Then a body was carried in front of her. At first, that body tried to wriggle out of the dozens of holds that were dragging it in midair, then it calmed down and acted as if all that scene was normal. Duncan Tallhart was standing less than five feet from Dacey. "... Emm... Lady Dacey! It is a pleasure to see you again... You are... radiant and beautiful, mydy." Said the Hero of the North. "Lord Duncan... thank you... Thank you, my lord, for yourpliment. You are also... emm... You look very dashing, Lord Duncan." Not only the Guardians, but hundreds more eyes all pointed at the young couple. It was the event of the moment. The noise in the hall was subsiding. At least two hundred people were trying to hear the conversation... The two poor guys both looked around, feeling pressed by hundreds of tons of difort and embarrassment. After a few seconds of silence, Dacey stepped forward. "Lord Duncan... I was wondering if by any chance... Would you happen to want to go for a walk? Would you take me for a walk, my lord?" Dacey. Two hundred looks turned to Bloody Snow. "... I... would be... I would be honored, mydy! Please lead the way into your manor." End POV. ----------- POV: Duncan; Near Godswood, Castle Mormont. Five minutes after two teenagers emerged from themon room... The castle was in ruins. I had an idea about the types of damage done to the structure. Castle Mormont, was an ancient, medium-sized structure. Although the walls surrounding it, were only twenty-five feet high at most, it had a decent defense. Under optimal conditions, it could have easily housed up to 1,500 people. In a siege battle, one soldier inside these walls was worth four to the enemy. It certainly wasn''t on the level of Torrhen''s Square, let alone Winterfell, but it was mighty nheless. To build from scratch a small stone manor, usually owned by small lords or knightsnd, in an average time of construction with average quality of materials, it would take at least 2,000 golden dragons and 5 years of work. For an average fortress such as Castle Mormont or Deepwood Moot, at least 15 or 20,000 golden dragons and 10 years of work. Large fortresses, forrge Noble Houses, such as Winterfell, Eagle''s Nest, Riverrunn, or Castlerly Rock, at least 100-150,000 golden dragons and 20-30 years of construction work. The most mammoth structures in Westeros, with the exception of the Wall which is priceless, such as Harrenhall, Citadel Tower, or Red Keep, have at least 500,000 golden dragons and more than 40 years of non-stop work. To maintain a structure, on average you had to spend about 5 percent of its value each year. House Stark spends a minimum of 9 -12,000 golden dragons a year, between restoration work, damage caused by weather factors or possible attacks, heating, asional banquets for events and guests, candles, the library, stable, garrison and weapons, cleaning, and various products and services of maintaining a Noble structure. One of my spies had managed to get this information from the head-attendant of House Stark. Iughed when I learned that Lord Stark was shelling out at least 100-120 g.d. a year just to pay for Ser Haymitch''s vices and extravagances. Of course, the times and prices varied depending on the historical period or times of peace and war. It was not easy to build an average or superior fortress. Rarely did Westeros manage to have five years without wars, epidemics, economic crises, or unfavorable weather conditions. For this Castle Mormont, was a respectable structure. The ancestors of House Mormont will have invested, gold, sweat, and blood to leave this legacy standing for future generations. The damage was done by the fire and the raid by the Ironmen was considerable. I had already estimated damage of at least 4,000 golden dragons, and those 467 new employees my house had gained would pay back the damage to thest penny. These were the thoughts that helped pass the time and calm the thoughts, during the awkward silence that apanied Dacey and me on the drive. At one point, the braver member of the two spoke up. "Lord Duncan... would you care to visit the Godswood? The park was also damaged, but the people of the North helped us a lot in trying to restore it!" Said Dacey, speaking quickly toward the end. " The Godswood?...Ehmm.... Yes, no problem, Lady Dacey... I would love to." I lied. Those damned voices had resumed with the usual chant, '' The time hase here...e....e to us... ''. The closer I got to the tree, the more insistent the voices became. Surely this was not the time for a Level Up. If I hadn''t killed Dacey through the heart attack I would have caused her, the smell of impurities would have done it for sure... Dacey sensed my hesitation. "If you prefer, my lord, we could go to the walls... or..." I interrupted Dacey. "No, mydy! The Godswood will do just fine. Please forgive my rudeness... it''s only the wine that prevents me from articting words well!" I was as phony as a three-dor bill. But somehow Dacey fell for it. "... Well then. Right this way, Lord Duncan..." The tones were back as icy as the night wind. "Emm... Lady Dacey? " me. "Yes, my Lord?" Dacey. "Could I ask you... Yes here, if you like, could we drop our titles for a while? You can just call me Duncan if you like..." The first sensible sentence he managed to utter in front of her. Dacey blushed visibly, seeming to struggle to breathe. "Mydy, are you all right?" I asked worriedly. "YES!... I''M OK! MY LORD!... anf.... phew... I''m fine, Lord Duncan... I mean DUNCAN! I''M FINE DUNCAN! ... Yes... Duncan, it''s all right with me. You can just call me Dacey if you like." Dacey. "All right, Dacey... Thank you. ... Emm... you have a beautiful name, Dacey. " The tension was beginning to subside. Gram by gram, the weight of difort, which I felt in the presence of the Goddess, was getting smaller and smaller after every minute. We were still 8 or 9 tons short of the count... To give me confidence, I repeated to myself over and over again, that I had now passed one level: [It is a pain for the eyes and ears to witness such a spectacle], to an honest one: [Watch everyone carefully, this is what you should never say or do in front of a girl]. The girl froze petrified. ''There I knew it! I had to necessarily shoot the first thing that came to mind!!! Think before you speak Duncan! THINK!!!'' I thought scolding myself harshly. Then the miracle happened. "...Thank you, Duncan. I like you too... I MEANT, ''I LIKE YOUR NAME!'' YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL NAME DUNCAN!!!"...my ears were ringing and my heart soared in my throat. Dacey covered her face with her hands and stumbled through her robes as she tried to sprint forward to getaway. I still thank Zick and all his fellow masters for training me so hard over the years. Managed me to grab Dacey before she fell face-first onto the stone floor. Dacey''s body turned, and the girl instinctively grabbed my shoulder and neck with her arms and hands for support. Our faces were less than a foot apart... I could feel herbored breath caressing my chin and part of my neck. The girl was crimson red. '' God...how beautiful she is... Her breath smells like a forest... She has ocean blue eyes... Her skin is clear and smooth... Her hair smells like berries ... Those lips that move hesitantly... I want to kiss her... I can''t resist!... '' The girl seemed to be ufortable and wanted to say something but didn''t have the breath to do so... Dacey could only pant and stammer nonsense letters. Time seemed to have stopped... My face slowly approached like a ma forcibly held in search of its ideal half. The closer I got, the more Dacey''s whispering made sense. ''She wants to tell me something... Before I kiss her I want to know what.'' I thought, letting my instincts guide me. "...my...lord... can you... Duncan... please... " said the sigh. I moved another inch closer. " Please, Duncan... remove... remove your hand... you... ...bottom...don''t touch my... " The instant he connected the dots... the grip on his hands gave way. "Aaa, Stugh! "... A small cry of surprise, followed by a loud crashing noise, caused all my boundaries to be broken. I had just dropped Dacey... She had passed out from the trauma to her head. "LADY DACEY!!! MY LADY ARE YOU OK?!!" I shrieked like a panicked sissy. ''Fuck! Duncan calm down and fight back! USE BLESS IF YOU HAVE TO!!!'' Shrieked a voice in my head. ''Right! Bless works for saving throws too!" I said aloud activating the spell before finishing the sentence. A sense of relief and calmness partially counteracted the general panic that exploded within me. Thanks to that spell, I was able to think more clearly. While all this was going on, Dacey was lying there motionless... "LAY OF HANDS!" I said, activating my power as I touched Dacey''s face. I had used the same amount of divine energy that would allow a mortal wound to closepletely. A small trace of blood was present in Dacey''s hair. The blow had been strong. Although the energy did its job, and Dacey''s skin color acquired a rosier tone, the girl did not wake up. "Why won''t she wake up! What''s wrong with you Dacey?!!" Survival instinct, made me remember that I had another first-level spell that could help me solve the puzzle. "[Detect Poison and Disease!]" I recited the spell''s form, activating it. A swarm of information presented itself inside my head. { -Subject is in an unconscious condition. Causes: - Lack of oxygen in the blood. Severe pressure in the chest hinders the proper functioning of pulmonary activity. -Menstrual cycle. The maiden''s first flower has been blooming for less than three hours. Symptoms: fatigue, abdominal bloating, water retention, and headache. -Dehydration: The subject needs at least 0.4 liters of a 0.9% NaCl concentrated H2O saline solution. -Lack of sleep: The subject needs 10 hours of sleep topensate for histamine deficiency in the brain. -High emotional stress: Caused by the high concentration of two hormones: Oxytocin and Vasopressin. Sickness is also known as '' Lightning Strike or Love at First Sight''. } Chapter 62: The Letter part I Chapter 62: '' The Letter '' part I Merry Christmas Eve to you all, and for those of you who are in a very distant ce from here, Merry Christmas! Sorry for the dy, festive and Christmas issues gue me. I will try as much as I can to make up for the dy. Best wishes to you all again! Happy reading! ------------------------------------------- POV: Maege Mormont; Dacey''s Room, Castle Mormont. About a day and a half after a maiden slumped to the ground... Maege was sitting by the bedside of her daughter, Dacey. The new young woman had slept for nearly two days. House Tallhart, before departing with his fleet, had left behind their first healer, Jason. A jovial and caring man of nearly forty. The man had worked real miracles in the Allied camp. The woman had seen him in person push a protruding bone back into the leg of a Mormont soldier. Thete Maester Louis had repeatedly insisted that the leg should be amputated and that there was nothing more he could do for the poor man. Jason on the other hand, after treating the patient with instruments and surgical maneuvers for more than an hour, was confident that the patient would be able to walk again after about two moons. Little Dacey was in his hands. The healer had repeatedly reassured Maege that there was nothing to be worried about. ording to his medical advice, Dacey needed absolute rest for at least three days. Every two hours, the healer or an instructed handmaiden woulde in to give Dacey a mixture of water, honey, and restorative tonics through a spongy cloth. The warrior Bear, although fierce and merciless in the eyes of others, was tender and caring towards her cubs. Her four daughters, Dacey (12 years), Alysane (11 years), Lyra (8 years), and Jorelle (5 years), were four parts of her heart and soul. One of these parts was unconscious and in danger (if only slightly). Nevertheless, the Bear felt her motherly instincts taking over as if she were in danger. Maege hadn''t left Dacey''s side for a second in thest 30 hours. Her beloved, and as yet unofficial, betrothed had stood watch at the door of the room for the same length of time until he was forced to leave for Torrhen''s Square. He had left a sealed letter for Dacey''s eyes only. Every now and then he stroked her forehead and hair. When Maege finished sharpening one of her three daggers for the third time, she began to caress her Dacey again. The girl''s eyes slowly began to open. Dacey was waking up. "Mmmm... Mother... "Dacey Mormont said in a weak and confused tone. "I''m here, my child... How do you feel?" Maege. "... My head is spinning... mmm... ...it was just a dream..." Said the little girl, trying to get up slowly. Her tone conveyed both relief and regret. "... A very long dream, Dacey. You slept for quite a while, my pet." Exined Maege with a small smile. " Huh?... How long?... I''m starving... Wait... Mother! How long did I sleep?!" Dacey began to be rmed. "Almost two days Dacey... On the night of the banquet, you passed out and slept from then until now." Maege. "So it wasn''t a dream! He... Where''s my Bear?...emm I mean... Where is Lord Duncan, Mother? Did I embarrass House Mormont? Did he say something? What has happened all this time?" Dacey asked anxiously. "Calm down my little Bear. I won''t tell you anything until Jason visits you and you eat something. Water and honey are not enough to cure a Mormont''s appetite." Said Maege in an authoritative tone as she rose from her chair. "But mother!... Yes, mother..." Said Dacey as her head wasid back on the pillow by a maternal force almost impossible to counteract. About thirty minutester... Jason had just left the room with a handmaiden who had brought a tray full of meat and steaming bread. Only Jorah, Maege, and Dacey were present in the room. The twelve-year-old was eating greedily and in a hurry. Maege could see that her daughter was eager for news. Jorah remained silent, watching the whole scene with an amused smile. "I''m done...urgh...coff...sluurp.... Phew... Yes, I''m done! NOW TALK!!!" Said Dacey helping herself to a couple of taps on her chest and a sip of water to get thest bite down. Maege let the Lord of the Ind narrate the events. "... On the evening of the banquet, after you and Lord Duncan went off for a ''''walk'''', you fainted in the arms of your hero, Dacey. Ahaha." Said Jorah, snatching a smirk from his Aunt as well. "THIS... I already knew that, cousin!.... Emm... What happened next?" Dacey. "... Well... At first, there was a bit of '' confusion''... Lord Duncan was carrying you in his arms wrapped in a cape and your dress was torn in a couple of ces. But then the boy had made it clear that you were unconscious due tock of air and other... other physiological problems." Here Jorah passed the ball to his Aunt. Dacey''s face lit up like a red bulb. "You''re a woman now, Dacey. Do you know what that means? Do you want me to repeat the speech I gave you almost two years ago?" Maege. "NO!!! No need, mother. Thank you. I know what that means." Dacey. "Ahahah, soon you too can have your pups. And hopefully, they''ll be pups with Mormont and Tallhart blood." Maege. "I TOLD YOU... Wait... What did you mean by thatst sentence?!" Dacey asked, focusing all her attention on the next answer. "I think it''s finally time for your cousin and me to leave you alone. You''ll need privacy to read this. Unfortunately, Dacey... Lord Leobald, Bloody Snow, and his entire retinue left the shores of the ind about six hours ago. Lord Eddard Stark is summoning the entire North. The Houses of the North, have many preparations to make. They could not wait any longer." Maege left a sealed letter in waxcquer embossed with a symbol of a banner she had never seen before. A new banner that represented House Tallhart, or to be exact ''Bloody Snow''. End POV. ------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Catelyn Stark; Winterfell. Year 289, the fourth day of the fourth moon. The morning after a maiden read a letter... Catelyn had just finished washing and dressing. That morning two handmaidens had to help her with her needs. The Lady of Winterfell was in her seventh month of pregnancy. Her belly was swollen and heavy. In her womb, she carried the third heir of the great and noble House Stark. In her heart, Catelyn prayed that the child would be another girl. Her Sansa was an angel who had fallen from heaven. For the first two years, the child cried only when necessary. She slept soundly and smiled most of the time. Although Catelyn loved Robb with all her heart, she felt a different and deeper bond with her Sansa. Robb''s first had been trauma to her. The child cried constantly at all hours of the day and night. Inside Robb, there was wild wolf blood. Tully, on the other hand, was more pronounced inside Sansa. Catelyn was adamant about this. She wanted another child. She wanted it with all her heart. She certainly wouldn''t have resented the new unborn child if it had been a boy, but thest three years with Sansa misted her eyes. By now, Catelyn Stark was once again the true Lady of Winterfell. It had taken her four long and arduous years to erase that infamous stain from her name. Even her rtionship with her husband had never been stronger or more profound. Catelyn''s life returned to being more carefree and happy than ever. Of course, there was always the asional hair in the egg that made her dark and moody. Four hairs to be exact... and they were three ''Bastard'' hairs and one ''scullery maid'' hair. The word ''Bastard'', which she had erased from her vocabry on her husband Ned''s orders, always swam secretly in her thoughts. ''Ser Haymitch Rivers... Jon Snow... and ''Bloody Snow''... '' The wastrel Knight, constantly drunk, was certainly the most troublesome to her. Catelyn was adamant that the man was only undermining her House''s finances. Rarely taking guard duty, he spent most of his time drinking, sleeping, ranting, eating, and going to the brothels of Wintertown. Although Ser Haymitch was taken in sympathy by most of Winterfell''s residents, he certainly wasn''t for Catelyn. The man dared to call her husband, the Lord of Winterfell and Protector of the North, ''NED''... He addressed her as ''Lady Stark'' of course... but he did so in a most annoyingly subtly ironic tone. Catelyn covertly ground her teeth whenever she was in the presence of this man. A man who, before he was in the service of House Stark, was in the service of Lord Tytos ckwood, an ensign of her father, Lord Hoster Tully. About three months ago, there was an incident. Her son Robb and Jon got into a fight and even had a fight. After Robb lost the fight, which was supervised by Ser Rodrick, her son became angry and frustrated and heavily insulted Jon. Telling him that he was not his true brother and that he did not belong to the House of Stark... Jon ran away from the training grounds in tears. The boy hid somewhere. After a few hours of futile searching for Jon. Ser Haymich dared to raise his hands to her son, the rightful heir of Winterfell, and dragged him by the ear forcing him to find the ''bastard'' and even apologize to him... It was Ser Haymitch and Robb who found Jon after a long search. The boy had been hiding in the crypts of Winterfell. The next day, Catelyn, who demanded fair punishment for Ser Haymitch''s behavior, tried to demand justice from Ned,pletely ignoring the subject of ''Jon Snow''. Ned simply replied to her: [ Both children are well, Robb has learned a lesson he needed to learn, and my children are now smiling, forming a brotherly bond with each other more firmly than before. There is nothing to discuss, Cat. The subject is closed and buried]. And that was just the first hair on my head. The other two hairs could only be swallowed without making a peep or aint about it. As for the ''scullery maid'' hair, Lady Catelyn''s hands were tied there as well. The new master baker, Brisea, had done nothing to her or said anything that would directly offend her. The fact was that the young woman, apart from being beautiful and smelling of pastry at all times, had an attitude of consideration for ''Ned''s Bastard''. The woman had created an almost mother-son rtionship with Jon. At least once a day, the boy would secretly sneak into the kitchens to get sweets, caresses, and songs from her... There was even a rumor in the castle... ording to many, ''that bitch'' was Ned''s secret lover. Catelyn wanted to personally whip anyone who gave vent or credence to those rumors. In her heart, she had her doubts about it too. In addition to being attractive and melodic, the woman had very simr hair to Jon. An annoying coincidence... When Catelyn plucked up the courage to confront Ned on the subject, he simply said that the rumors were false and that he had never met the woman before she came to Winterfell. The next day those rumors ceased. Catelyn could do nothing to the ''Flour Whore''. Besides being impable in her manners, the baker made the best bread and pastries ever. At every meal, someone praised the day''s work of, Brisea. More than one soldier and even Jory Cassel somehow tried to seduce the ''Dame of Sweets'', without sess... Many thought that her heart already belonged to ''someone else''... Perhaps that was the bitterest pill of all that Catelyn had to swallow every day. But still, the Lady of Winterfell always managed to contain her impulses. After a short and careful descent, Catelyn finally reached the main hall where the whole family was gathered for breakfast. Ned had returned only the day before from his journey to Torrhen''s Square. He had been up most of the night working with Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin. Something serious was happening in Westeros, but Catelyn did not yet know what. All she knew was that her husband had returned from that infamous castle with no marriage agreement. The best news of the year, for a mother who would have sold her soul to the vilest and evil of witches to stop anyone from taking her Sansa from her. Catelyn wept for three days and nights when Ned told her of his intention to give Sansa away as the bride of that ''Monster''. About ten minutester... "I tell you, I will win today!" Robb said to his half-brother in a defiant tone. "You said that yesterday too! I''m better than you with a sword! You''re going to lose today too!" Jon. "We''ll see about that, Jon!" Robb. "No... You two, after you finish eating, will go to Maester Luwin''s to take the morning ss. No ''buts''... You will only be able to y with your wooden swords in the early afternoon... and in Jory''s presence. Do I make myself clear?" Ned intervened. "... Yes, father." They both rested, turning their attention again with their heads down to their porridge. Though focused on finishing their meal, the two continued to give each other challenging looks. "Ned... You should rest. You look exhausted. You didn''t sleepst night, did you?" Cat said quietly. "... I''ll try to rest a few hourster, Cat. There''s so much to do... " Ned. "Will you tell me what''s going on? Please don''t keep secrets from me. Share your sorrows with me." Cat. Ned thought about it for a moment and finally spilled the beans. Sooner orter all of Westeros would be talking about it. He had no reason to keep the secret. "... The Greyjoys have rebelled, Cat. The Iron Inds have dered war on Robert. The Iron Fleetunched three surprise attacks. One on Lannispot. another on Seagard. and a third on Bear Ind... We await word of the battle, Cat. Over 5,000 ironborn attacked Mormont House... House Tallhart, Glover, Dustin, and Ryswell have sent for reinforcements, but we don''t know if they''ve arrived in time. ... Helman Tallhart''s heir was visiting Castle Mormont at the same time and stayed there with a small militia to help Lady Maege hold out until help arrived. The entire North is holding its breath waiting for news toe." Ned exined in a low voice. He did not want his sons to hear now that the North had entered the war. He wanted to dy that moment aste as possible. Catelyn was visibly shocked and worried as soon as she heard the news. She involuntarily sped her hand on her husband''s arm, knowing full well what path her beloved was about to take. A bloody road was full of dangers. Dangers that could have left her a widow and alone. Amidst all the shocking news, there was only one positive. A small hope grew within her. It was a dark and malevolent thought, which even a small voice inside her rebuked. A voice that cried out [Duty and Honour]... but the voice [FAMILY] that came before the two of them quickly suppressed it. ''May the seven have heard my prayers... Perhaps... Maybe the ''Monster'' met the end it deserved... '' Catelyn thought as she concentrated with all her might to hold back an expression of relief. "Lord Stark!..." Called an elderly voice behind the pair. Maester Luwin was approaching at a brisk pace carrying two rolls of paper of different sizes. One was an ordinary open message, and the other looked like an unopened letter. "Maester! Any news from Bear Ind?" Ned asked, snapping to his feet. "Yes, my lord. Lord Helman sends us the news, atst, Lord Stark. House Mormont has lost its ravens, unfortunately... Lord Leobald and Lord Jorah sent a message to Torrhen''s Square earlier and Lord Helman turned the message over to us." Luwin exined, handing the two pieces of paper to Lord Stark. Ned read the first one already opened and then immediately prepared to open the second message sealed with the symbols of House Mormont and Tallhart. Lord Stark read it carefully, first smiling and then widening his eyes... The man was rereading part of the message several times. Catelyn couldn''t stop herself from asking: "Ned? Are your bannermen alright?... "Robb and Jon raised their heads in curiosity as events unfolded. Both Robb and Jon asked: "Father what''s going on?" "Tell us, father! We want to know too!" All attention was focused on Lord Eddard Stark. The man seemed hesitant to answer... He didn''t want Jon and Robb to hear... but the news was so good that he couldn''t help himself. "Three days ago, Allied forces from the North defeated the hundred Iron Fleet ships led by Denys Drumm... The North gained a crushing victory. We suffered few casualties, and none of my allies perished during the fight." Ned announced with pride and authority. Half the hall heard those words. Catelyn frowned slightly but took the news well. She was still happy with her house. Andslide victory could also mean the end of a war. ''There is more...'' Lord Jorah writes that the credit for this sess is solely and exclusively due to House Tallhart. Lord Duncan Tallhart, faced the enemymander in a duel to the death to determine the fate of the sh and prevailed in the fight. Lord Denys Drumm fell at the hands of the hero of the North." Catelyn lost a heartbeat as soon as Ned finished speaking those words. Her face was petrified and time seemed to slow down... A dark, living nightmare mercilessly assaulted the Lady of Winterfell, ripping away every ounce of happiness, hope, and joy inside her. "BLOODY SNOW HAS CHALLENGED LORD DRUMM?!" Robb roared in an excited and surprised tone. Jon continued the question he wanted to add his brother. "AND HE WON FATHER?! THE NORTH WON AGAINST THE IRON ISLANDS?!" Jon. "Yes, my sons. The North has won." Ned announced to everyone with a big smile. Over forty people in the hall rejoiced upon hearing those words. Catelyn still couldn''t move or speak, but luckily for her, no one seemed to be paying attention. "Jon,e here." Ned. "Yes, father!" Jon snapped towards the man who called out to him. "Before you go to ss, find Ser Haymitch. Give him this message..." Ned whispered something in Jon''s ear, whoughed for a moment upon hearing some of the words. "Is everything clear to you?" Ned. "Yes, father I will!" Jon. "Well... Ah. First, stop by Master Brisea''s stove and get something hot for Ser Haymitch... He probably hasn''t had his breakfast yet." End POV. ---------------------------------------------------- POV: Brisea; Winterfell. About twenty minutes after a letter was opened... "Jon... I thought I told you the water was supposed to be ''Tiepid'' ... Why is there steaming out of the bucket?" The ''''Lady of Sweets'''' asked the ck-haired boy at her side who was carrying a gallon bucket filled with water and soap. "Here... I think I got distracted for a moment... Yes, I didn''t tread carefully enough on the hearth." The boy justified himself in a tone full of unease. "... And why is your belly so swollen, Jon? You''re not hiding something under your clothes, are you?" Brisea asked as she continued to look ahead towards their destination. "No!... Your croissants this morning were so good I must have eaten too much!" Said Jon with a look and tone as false as a golden dragon in copper. "... You know what happens to knights who don''t keep their word, don''t you?" Brisea. "Yes, I know... ''''No sweets to the lying knights. ''..." Jon said in a tone that was distressed but also expressed eptance. "Umm... well. Let''s go, surely that drunkard will be in the kennel again." Brisea quickened her pace holding another bucket and a steaming bag of cloth in her hands. About a minuteter... Brisea and Jon were standing in front of a pitiful figure slumped among the dirty paws. A man in histe forties dirty from hair down to the tips of his toes, wearing threadbare but well-made clothes. A dried vomit stain could be seen on his woolen doublet. Ser Haymitch had had another good night and had slumped down to rest in another part of the castle other than his rooms. Brisea detested the behavior of the man who was supposed to be a role model for Jon... Whatever Haymitch did, it cast a stain on the title of [Ser]... She knew Jon had a soft spot for Haymitch. The six-year-old found the man likable and funny. "Come on Jon... You know what to do." Brisea urged. "But... maybe it would be a good idea to wake him up first, Lady Brisea..." Jon. "That''s the way to wake him up, Jon." Brisea. Jon hesitated for a few moments, then, making sure to have his back to the suspicious and scrutinizing woman first, reluctantly did his duty. "Swosshh!!!", "PUARGH!!! Who''s there!!! Show yourself you coward!!! Damn you, I... Jon... Lady Brisea..." He was interrupted by a drenched Haymitch quickly hiding his drawn dagger in the straw. Some of the hunting dogs that had fallen asleep near Haymitch fled with their tails between their legs from the ssh. "Haymitch... My father, Lord Stark, requests your presence... "Jon said, putting down the bucket. "Boy, this is no way to wake up an honest knight in the service of the ''Noble and Prestigious'' House Stark! You do know that in less than six months you and your brother will both be in my hands, don''t you?" Haymitch asked, not caring about the presence of that ''evil witch'' who berated him at every opportunity. "Yes... I know, Ser Haymitch... " Jon tried with all his dexterity and quickness of hand to conceal the movements he was trying to hide from Brisea. The woman knew what Jon was doing... He was trying to pass a sk to that drunkard Haymitch who drank more alcohol than water at any hour of the day or night. Haymitch noticed Jon''s gift and said. "You have your good points too, Jon. So what does the great and magnificent, Lord Eddard Stark, desire of me?" Haymitch asked, trying to hold his own with Jon as he hid the sk inside his sleeve. "My father told me to tell you verbatim: [ Ser Haymitch, as your Lord Protector Imand you to join me as soon as possible. Your lord needs advice from an expert in the field. More importantly: The time hase to protect my backside of undisputed nobility.] Ahahahah!" Jon began tough out loud as he thought back to thosest words. "Hmm... did a war break out somewhere while I was asleep, Jon?" Haymitch reasoned for a moment. "Ah, Yes! The Greyjoys have rebelled! You don''t know what happened! Lord Balon dered himself King of the Iron Inds and then he rebelled against the crown, and then..." Jon''s enthusiasm was interrupted. "Easy, easy Jon... My head is still spinning... I''ll listen to all the history of Westeros as soon as I''ve recovered. Go to your father and tell him I''ming." Said Haymitch massaging his eyes and wet temples. "Yes, Ser Haymitch!" Jon sprinted excitedly in search of his father. The ''letter boy'' had another message to deliver. Brisea and Haymitch were left alone inside the kennel. "Mydy." Said Haymitch as he stood up and gave a funny bow. "Swoshhh!!!" This time it was a bucket of icy water that ran over the poor knight. "Arrghh! That was cold!!! I''m already awake and up, what did you do that for, you evil bread witch?!" Reprimanded Haymitch instinctively. "Because you stink. Because your clothes are still stained with vomit. Because I felt like it. And because you deserve it, Ser. You should be ashamed of yourself... Showing up like this in front of a six-year-old who dreams of being a knight someday! Argh!.." Brisea restrained the urge to p the man again. "Stuff..." A bag hit the man''s chest. "Here drunkard, your breakfast is served." Chapter 63: The Letter Part II Chapter 63: '' The Letter '' Part II POV: Grand Maester Pycelle; Restricted Council Chambers, Red Keep, King''s Landing. Year 289, the sixth day of the fourth moon. Two days after a raven departed Winterfell... It was early afternoon, the Grand Maester had called an emergency council an hour before. An important message had arrived shortly before from Winterfell. Two scrolls had been received, one of them written by Lord Eddard Stark himself for the eyes of the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, and King Robert himself. Pycelle had arrived first at the doors of the hall, but before him awaiting him was the Queen herself, Cersei of House Lannister. "Good afternoon, Grand Maester." The woman, three months pregnant, said in a cordial tone. "My Queen, what a pleasure and honor it is to meet you on this bright day," Pycelle replied, bowing slowly. The man had just turned seventy-three, physically he was in better condition than any sixty-year-old, but the maester, for many years, had yed his part of [Old decrepit weak and frail] to perfection. He walked more slowly than an eighty-year-old man and had learned to simte small aches and pains here and there to perfection. Probably not even an actor could simte Pycelle''s farce better. The Knights and Lords had their armor of steel, the Ladies their courtesy, and Pycelle had his. "It is Great Maester... A fortune for me to meet you, Maester Pycelle...I have been looking for you." Cercei began to approach while maintaining a friendly smile. "I am at your service, Your Grace. Are some physiological problems bothering you, my Queen? The third month of pregnancy can bring numerous episodes of nausea and..." Pycelle was interrupted. "No, Grand Maester, thank you for your thoughtful concern..." For some reason obscure to Pycelle, Queen Cercei hardly ever allowed him to visit her. It was Robert who forced Cersei to call on the Grand Maester during Prince Joffrey''s delivery. "I am here, Grand Maester, for I hear that news hase from the North... As you well know, Robert does not allow me to attend council meetings... and you must know that my Uncle Gerion took part in a dangerous battle on Isle Mormont. So, Grand Maester. I havee here as a concerned niece for her loving Uncle... I would ask if there is any news from the Isle." Cersei. "Your Grace, it would be my duty to warn the council first. I fear... "The lioness''s eyes narrowed and became less kind. Pycelle''s allegiance had a definite hierarchy: 1) Himself. 2) The Citadel. 3) House Lannister, or more precisely Tywin Lannister. 4) The King and the realm. Pycelle would, in cases of necessity, change the order of that hierarchy, but never the first. The instincts of the man who had managed to live to a venerable age by spending decades of that life in ease and security shrieked a warning of danger. "Yes, my Queen... I understand that concern for your family may be too heavy a burden for your condition... As Grand Master and protector of the health of the royal family, it is my duty to try to help... " Pycelle''s slow speech was interrupted again. " Maester, we don''t have much time. Soon the other members of the council will arrive. Let us cut through the unnecessary formalities and get straight to the heart of the conversation." Cersei. "Yes... my Queen. I am pleased to inform you that your Uncle, Lord Gerion is well and appears to have sustained no injuries during the battle." Pycelle. "Good... I am relieved, Grand Maester... but tell me more. How did the Iron Fleet expedition go? Our loyal subjects of House Mormont and Tallhart?" Cersei. "... Well, my Queen... It seems... It seems the North has managed to prevail against the forces of House Drumm, my Queen... The Iron Fleet has suffered a grievous defeat at the hands of the forces of the North, Your Grace." Pycelle. "... I believe you meant, that ''The forces of the Kingdom'' of my husband, King Robert, prevailed against the rebel forces, Grand Maester... Tell me more... Any news of the fate of Lord Helman''s legendary barbarian heir... Bloody Snow, if I am not mistaken?" Cersei. "Well, Your Grace, I have not yete to know the details... I believe the information you seek is written in this second scroll which I fear is for Jon Arryn and King Robert''s eyes only... Lord Stark himself, wrote and sealed that information, your grace... " Pycelle said in the most humble and contrite tone she could muster at the time. Cersei looked quite annoyed. Pycelle knew why the queen hade to him first. King Robert, for the third time in five years, would personally attend this meeting, and Cersei''s spies had informed her of this ''''incredible'''' event... "... I understand, Grand Maester... In any case, I''m sure you''ll represent the incredible and heroic deeds of my Uncle Gerion very well... After all, he was inmand of King Robert''s Fleet, and the credit for this great sess belongs to House Lannister. I would like you to ''highlight'' the fact that Lord Gerion even disobeyed the direct orders of my father, Lord Tywin Lannister, to help the loyal subjects of his majesty King Robert... I hope he can entrust this task to you, Maester Pycelle." Cersei said in a much more authoritative tone than before. "... I... Your Grace. The courage of Lord Gerion''s heroic deeds, will not be set aside in this meeting." Pycelle. "Well, Grand Maester. Your queen, Lord Tywin, and all of House Lannister thank you for your gracious gesture... I believe you''re right, Maester. I''ve been having a lot of physiological painstely with the pregnancy. Come see me in my chambers after the meeting is over." Cersei cast onest smile and then walked away with a moderate but steady step. The queen did not bother to greet the ''respected and illustrious '' wise maester. "Yes, your grace," Pycelle said in a humble tone. Pycelle knew what had to be done. Try to downy the North as much as possible, especially House Tallhart, and exalt the contribution of House Lannister as much as possible. Even he thought it wise to try to slow down and mitigate the influence of that northern house... The citadel had recently asked for his help in ''advising'' King Robert to make House Tallhart''s knowledge more open to the entire kingdom. Pycelle thought it was a very bad decision to allow House Tallhart to get its hands on precious texts held by the order of maesters. It had now been more than three years since the Citadel had been in close business partnership with House Tallhart.... The Order''s biggest business was the writing and copying of texts. Currently, that task was delegated to House Tallhart... Pycelle knew that the Citadel was making a fortune in this way, increasing their ie by at least 30% and that House Tallhart was earning less than a fifth from the deal, but the biggest danger was that in that short period, the Tallharts had gotten their hands on over a tenth of the total texts stored in Oldtown... A very considerable number, exceeding at least ten thousand... If House Tallhart had bothered to copy and preserve each of those texts for themselves, they would already own the secondrgest library in Westeros and perhaps Essos... The Citadel was trying to grease as many wheels as possible to get its hands on the monopoly of paper and soap... '' What the hell is Qyburn up to? He''s been in the service of that house for more than five years now... That loafer is not doing his duty to order. If I were him, I''d have gotten my hands on that information by now. '' Thought the Grand Maester in frustration before entering the council chambers. About thirty minutester... The council meeting had started for more than five minutes. All the members of the council except for the fleet master, Lord Stannis, were present at the council. Even the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy was seated at the table. A rare urrence, as Robert still did not have full confidence in the Knight who had killed a dozen of Robert''s friends during the Battle of the Trident. Present were: Robert Baratheon, the King, and Protector of the Seven Kingdoms. Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King. Lord Gyles Rosby, Master of Coin. Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Lord Varys, Master of Whispers. Lord Symond Staunton, Master of Laws. And Gran Maester Pycelle. "So where do we stand with this army? Stannis left two days ago with the Fleet. How many men have we assembled?!" King Robert asked in an impatient tone. "Currently 8,000, your grace. We are still waiting for many Storm Lords to arrive. It will take at least another two weeks to leave. We estimate that we will be able to leave with at least 20,000. Many more Lords from the Crown Lands, River Lands, and Western Lands will join us on the march." Jon Arryn exined calmly. "Two weeks, eh?... Agreed, but not a single day longer! If any Lords arete, for one reason or another they will be left behind. They''ll even march at night if they want to catch up with us! Ahahaha. Then... why did you request my presence?! Did some other lord decide he wanted to test the weight of my hammer?!" Robert asked. "The meeting and your presence, my King, was prompted by your good and faithful servant, Grand Maester Pycelle, your Grace. It seems... that d tidings havee from the North. Am I right, Grand Maester?" Lord Varys asked in a cordial and respectful tone, mildly pointing out that it was King Robert himself who was responsible for the disturbance. "Yes, Lord Varys... My King, less than three hours ago news reached us from the North. As you well know, my King, that vile traitor Lord Balon hasunched an attack on Bear Ind as well as Lannisport and Seagard... Lord Jason Mallister is still busy fending off the forces led by Rodrick Greyjoy... while it seems the Fleet of over a hundred Ships, led by Lord Denys Drumm, has been defeated by your loyal servants... Lord Gerion Lannister has heroically volunteered to take on the heavy burden ofmanding the Northern Fleet, my king. And here, forgive me, he must have slipped between my robes... Yes, here it is. This is a letter for you from Lord Eddard Stark himself. Hopefully, Lord Stark will exin in detail the events that took ce on the Isle..." Pycelle said as he struggled up to hand a closed piece of paper into the King''s hands. "A message from Ned, eh?" Robert hastened to break the seal and immerse himself in the reading. More than three minutes of silence passed. All that could be heard were Robert''s littleughs and grins, as well as the annoyingly loud sips he was gobbling from his cup full of alcohol. "Ahahaha!!! By the Seven! how I wish I could have been there to witness it!!! Ahahaha! That boy deserves a knighthood!!! Ahahahaha! So it wasn''t just rumors and tavern dances!! I can feel my blood boiling!!! Jon! You must read this! Barristan,e along! Looks like soon there''ll be someone worthy of your sword! Ahahahahah!!!" Robert thundered, handing the piece of paper to his most trusted man. "Yes, your grace." Barristan rose from his chair preparing to reach the side of the King''s Hand. In the meantime, Robert rose from his chair walking alone to the refreshment table. The king had decided to sip something more fortified than ordinary wine. Pycelle froze at the sound of those words... He was witty enough to guess the meaning of his king''s praise and ramblings. Three minutester... "Lord Jon... So, Lord Jorah Mormont scored a great victory against Lord Drumm?" Pycelle tried to ask, hoping his hunches were unfounded. All the members excluded from reading that letter were eager to know what had happened on Bear Ind. "Great Victory is too reductive, Grand Maester... The Northern victory was overwhelming. Only 700 men of the more than 5,000 ironborn who took part in that expedition will return to Old Wik... Fifteen ironborn dead or captured for every Northern soldier fallen in battle, my Lords. Lord Stark and Lord Mormont write that the credit for this sess belongs to House Tallhart. Lord Duncan Tallhart, aka ''Bloody Snow'' to be precise. The boy led the resistance with less than a thousand men until reinforcements arrived, and challenged Lord Denys Drumm to a duel and won... He even won the ancestral sword of House Drumm, ''Red Rain''. The Crown owes a lot to that boy." Announced Jon getting three surprised faces and one shocked one in response. "Ahahahaha! Did you hear that Barristan? What did I tell you?!" Robert blurted out. "... I admit my defeat, your grace," Barristan replied with a slight, amused smile. The Knight of over fifty years took a gold coin from his purse and ced it on the table in front of the King''s chair. ''''Ahahahah! You''ll see they''ll write another bad. Keep your gold, Knight! You know what, on second thought... Give it to Lord Gyles! That way he''ll be less worried about the ''expenses of the military campaign''! Ahahahahahaha!!!" End POV. ---------------- POV: Tycho Nestoris; Iron Bank, Free City of Braavos. Approximately three days after a Grand Maester had to endure theints of an ''enraged Lioness''... The Director-General of the prestigious and powerful Iron Bank of Braavos was finishing up reviewing the document to be delivered in the future for Master of Coin Gyles Rosby... The Iron Bank had recently epted King Robert Baratheon''s request for a loan worth one million gold dragons... A huge loan, even by Bank standards. Rarely did the Iron Bank grant loans worth 500,000 gold coins or more. Any loan above that amount required the approval of the Bank''s high council. This council consisted of three senior managers of the Bank and the ten leading members of the families with the highest shares in the Bank. The top ten shareholders... Only the president of the Iron Bank knew the identity of these members. At each meeting, each of those ten members sat at the table in a special robe and mask. Rare garments and artifacts provided by the House of ck and White since the dawn of that institution''s foundation. Those magical objects prevented facial, physical, and even vocal recognition of each member... It was impossible to notice any differences or peculiarities that characterized each person in the world. Each time a new president of the Bank, the only figure in the world who knew the secret, was elected and chosen by the second council of Bank officials, a council of which Tycho was a member, that person had to take part in a special and secret ritual always at the House of ck and White... If the President ever broke that secret and failed in his oath, his name and that of any member of his family or loved one would be a top priority of the ''Faceless Men''... Tycho, who had recently been elected as the Bank''s General Manager, the third-highest position in the Bank, was also attending those meetings along with the Vice-President. "Director Nestoris!... Two letters from the North, Sir..." Said Tycho''s assistant as he hurriedly entered his office. Tycho hoped until thest that he could have Ronan, ''The Iron Trainee'', as his assistant. Although Jorakhet was also a good assistant, he wasn''t even half as good as that numbers prodigy. "Jorakhet... even if the entire world was on fire and on the verge of copse, you''d still have to knock before entering... A drop of ink has just stained this document. You will now be in charge of copying and drafting it." I scolded with a kind look but a serious tone Tycho. "Ye... Yes, Director! I implore you to forgive me, Sir. I assure you it will not happen again!" Said Jorakhet bowing at ny degrees. "... Never mind, boy. ... then these letters?" Tycho. "Right away, Director!" Jorakhet ced two sealed documents on the table. One with the seal of House Dustin... from theposition of the letter it looked like an invitation to some event. Another was more familiar... It was a report from his informants in the North. About five minutester... "Director, is everything alright?" The boy asked, seeing his boss''s face gloomy and confused. "Not really, Jora... I don''t have the desire to attend this wedding between Lady Barbrey Dustin and Lord Jorah Mormont... But the most annoying thing is that Bank just badly invested 100,000 golden dragons." Chapter 64: The Letter Part III Chapter 64: '' The Letter '' Part III POV: Ronan; Barrowton. About a day after a Warden recalled the presence of twelve members of a secret council... Ronan had been returning from Braavos for over a year. As soon as he returned, Lord Helman Tallhart himself appointed him the new Master ountant of Torrhen''s Square. Not only was he invested in that position, but he had also been invited to take part as a permanent member of a secret council. He, along with Ser Qyburn, Lord Helman, Lord Leobald, and Lord Duncan, was the member of the inner council of House Tallhart. His House, to which he had sworn eternal allegiance, had invested him with honor and privilege he could never have imagined achieving. He had only just turned eighteen, and already he had reached such heights. Not only did he get the job... but soon he would be the Director-General of another institution... an institution that could be the most powerful in Westeros. Ronan did not want to fail the expectations and trust that his masters... no, that his ''family'' ced in him. He would give his best effort every day, until the end of his days. This was the only way he could repay House Tallhart for all they had given him, Peter and Brywen. Although his brother Peter had been promoted from Divisional Commander to Vice-General a few months ago, it was Ronan who received the higher sry than he and Brywen... Even when added together, Ronan still received a sry four times higher than the total sries of those two... And that was just the base sry which did not include production bonuses. Ronan was inside the work office of Lady Barbrey Dustin, his future boss and majority owner of ''Never Winter Bank''. Ronan and Lady Dustin would work closely together in the future. Currently, Lady Barbrey was focused on answering questions from her assistant ''Wy Snow''. Ronan knew the true identity of the seventeen-year-old girl, but even in safe and secure ces, he addressed her by her false name. One could never be too sure. Ronan found the girl attractive, sweet, brilliant, and gifted in her subject... Several times Ronan had spent whole afternoons helping the young girl with her studies and assignments. Although Ronan tried hard not to be distracted from his task, the maiden was a real challenge against his iron will. "No Tysha! I want that cook from Qarth in the service of that spice merchant! No matter the price, he must be the master chef in charge of the wedding feast! Pays the amount he demands. Westeros''sdies will have to dream about this wedding for decades. I''ve decided on the prizes for the tournament. 30,000 golden dragons to the winner of the joust. 15,000 golden dragons to the second. 10,000 golden dragons to the first ce in the melee and archery. Half of the prize to the runners-up. I tell you for the second time, my dear. This is not only a wedding but our debut to the whole world. Not only will we inaugurate the opening of the Bank, but it will also be the tournament where all of Westeros celebrates victory over the Greyjoy rebellion! Everything will have to be perfect." Lady Barbrey. "Yes, mydy! I will request additional funds from the master treasurer immediately." Tysha. "Well... And for my groom''s gown? Have we heard from that merchant in Sothoryus?" Barbrey. "Emm...My Lady, we tried to offer five thousand golden dragons for the skin of that Bear of the Basilisk Isles...but he keeps stalling by extolling the rarity of that one-of-a-kind skin." Tysha. "We''re already offering him three times the market price of the Basilisk skin... Raise the price to 6,000... Should he still stall, give Ser Breston the order to kidnap his family, both his young wife and all three children. Then offer him a tenth of that bid. That''s all for now, Tysha." Barbrey. "... Yes, my Lady." Tysha immediately prepared to carry out the tasks given to her. "Master Ronan, my Lady." Said Tysha bowing as she left the room. "Lady Wy," Ronan replied extending his greetings. After a few seconds, Lady Barbrey finished the letter she was focused on writing and turned her attention to the boy in front of her. "You may as well call her by her real name inside these rooms, Ronan... Do you happen to doubt the security measures of this ce?" Barbrey asked. "No, my Lady. It was not out of ack of trust in Barrowhall, but only out of habit. Every secret I keep is worth more than all the gold in Westeros, Lady Dustin." Ronan. "Mmm... You like her don''t you? Don''t look at me like that...you''re good at hiding it Ronan, but not so good for my intuition." Barbrey. "... I find Lady Wy a person of many qualities. Her beauty, kindness, and care in her work, are among the most praiseworthy, Lady Barbrey." Admitted Ronan in a slightly more surrendered and emotional tone. "... In any case you will have to wait, Ronan. The girl has not yet recovered from her trauma... Do not burden my assistant with burdens she is not yet ready to bear." Barbrey. "Yes, my Lady. I would not dare harm Lady Wy." Ronan. "Well... Let''s get down to business, my dear. Have you estimated the expenses of this wedding yet, ''Wizard of Numbers''?" Lady Dustin. "The information in my possession is not sufficient to tell the correct approximate figure, my Lady. There are still many factors unknown to me. Just based on this meeting, if that merchant were to still ''stall'' on negotiations, I would say 211.838 golden dragons, 5 silver moons, and 4 silver stags, Lady Barbrey." Lady Brabrey quickly eyeballed a sum drawn on her cards and smiled immediately afterward. "... Not bad,d. Is it thanks to that technique Ser Qyburn wanted me to learn as well, that you can remember everything?" Barbrey asked, intrigued by her future coborator''s abilities. "The [Mental Tower] is a very useful technique, mydy. It helps me to properly store all the information I wish to remember. I''m sure you could master it to a high standard yourself. I am still immature and inexperiencedpared to Ser Qyburn. The knowledge and information stored by the maester surpasses my imagination, my Lady." Ronan. "... I shall begin to practise then. I cannot let you two leave me too far behind. You''re leaving for Torrhen''s Square tomorrow, aren''t you?" Barbrey. "Yes, my Lady. I will leave at first light." Ronan. "Well... Since you remember everything, my boy, go to that ''Bloody Demon'' you serve and give him this verbal message from me: [ I want my Crown back Bastard! Give me back my Crown of love and beauty as soon as possible. I also want the head of that slimy traitorous herald in my former employ that you are hiding! And I demand the filthy hand of that devious and treacherous de of Frost who dared to take my seal to write those messages. I DEMAND, that all correspondence you have written to Jorah in my name, be delivered to me at once!!!]... Every exact word, Ronan. Do I make myself clear?" Lady Barbrey asked with a sweet smile. "... Yes, my Lady." Ronan. "Ah,... How careless of me! Deliver this letter to him as well if you don''t mind, my dear Ronan." End POV. --------------------- POV: Gerion Lannister. Casterly Rock. Some nine days after a master ountant departed Barrowton... Gerion had just entered the castle that had belonged to his family for a hundred generations. About six hours ago, the newly refurbished Fleet of 76 ships, all adorned with red and gold sails, had docked at the port of Lannisport. A jubnt crowd was ready to wee him to honor and celebrate the victorious Admiral of House Lannister. He who had avenged and repaid the insult to the Protectors of the West. Gerion wasted no time and rode at full speed to reach Casterly Rock as soon as possible. His brother Tywin would not justify dys, and he knew it. It had already taken him a long time to return home. Both because of the wait for the production of the new sails and the repair work on over twenty ships, and because of the ''message'' he had helped leave with Balon Greyjoy. It took over two weeks to move the entire fleet to Lannisport by making those slight diversions. The man continued to walk the corridors and stairs of Casterly Rock at a brisk pace. He didn''t even have time to say hello to hismoner lover, Briony, or his sweet one-year-old natural daughter, Joy Hill. About ten minutes'' walkter... Gerion opened the doors to Tywin''s council chamber and office. A score of pairs of eyes scrutinized the intruder who had interrupted the meeting. Lord Tywin''s eyes stood out the most. "All of you, out. You too, Kevan." Tywin ordered in a cold, authoritative tone. Eighteen people, including Ser Gregor Clegane and Kevan Lannister, quickly rose to their feet, promptly obeying their Lord''smand. None dared speak a word to Gerion. Kevan, however, peered at his younger brother for a moment, giving him a warm smile but with one of his eyes sad and concerned for his brother''s fate. That brotherly look conveyed the message: [ I am d that you have returned safely.]. Gerion returned the smile and nodded slightly. "Sit." Tywin. "Yes, my Lord." Gerion did as requested as the doors to the halls were closed again. His brother rose from his red-lined, gold-ted throne. Tywin had noticed his younger brother''s fatigued and thirsty state. He served him a cup of ice water, which Gerion did not refuse. After a few sips and breaths, Tywin broke the silence. "What took you so long toe back?" "... On the way, we left a message for ''King Balon''. A message you would approve of, my Lord. The remaining excess time was used to repair some ships and change sails." Gerion. "We will discuss the details of the ''Message'' at another time... You disobeyed me." Tywin walked over to the balcony to direct his gaze towards the port of Lannisport. From that distance and height, it was possible to see all 76 sails in or around the harbor. "I have done so, my Lord. My men are not to me for this, they merely obeyed my orders. I take full responsibility." Gerion. "... And in doing so you also justified yourself by writing me that ''A Lannister always pays his debts.'' You used words that ''I'' created decades ago for this House." Tywin. "Yes, my lord." Gerion. A minute of total silence passed... then Tywin continued. "A week ago, while you were merrily sailing the seas, an invitation came to us. An invitation to a wedding by Lady Barbrey Dustin... It seems she''s organized a tournament as well. A tournament with big prizes. The woman is using her marriage to Lord Jorah Mormont to celebrate King Robert''s future victory-- She anticipated me. I wanted the tournament to be held at Lannisport. Did you know about this wedding?" Tywin. "... Yes, Leobald had told me about it, but I knew nothing about the prizes or other ns." Gerion. "... Mpfh... There''s the hand of that '' Bloody Snow'' behind it, I can smell it from here... You should have noticed." Tywin. "... I''m sorry, my Lord, I''ve failed you again." Gerion. "You will be punished for your insubordination, Gerion. For one year from this day, you may not leave your quarters or leave the castle. You will only be allowed to do so to fulfill your duties as casten when Kevan and I travel to Lannisport with our militia. Any necessities appropriate to your rank will still be offered to you. You may even receive visits from your mistress and daughter, but nothing more. Do I make myself clear?" Tywin ordered, asking for confirmation. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you for your leniency... If I may, Lord Tywin, I would like to venture an unsolicited piece of advice. Advice that I believe will benefit our House." Gerion. "... Speak." Tywin. "Since I will not be able to attend that tournament for obvious reasons, I would like you to send Tyrion to the celebration of those nuptials in the future as well. I am convinced that he and Leobald''s nephew could forge a good rtionship. A rtionship that will further solidify the union between House Lannister and House Tallhart, my Lord." Exined Gerion in a humble but convinced tone. Tywin seemed slightly annoyed by the proposal but did not show it with words. The man simply, after a few seconds of absolute silence, replied: "I will take your ''advice'' into consideration..." Tywin said in a slightly listless tone. "Thank you, my Lord. If that is all, I am preparing to follow your instructions and face the consequences of my choices, my Lord." Said Gerion politely rising from his chair. The man knew his brother well enough to know when a conversation with him wasing to an end. He didn''t want to take any more of the Westeros Protector''s time; a war still had to be won. To his surprise, Tywin thundered: "What do you want?" "... What do I want? I don''t... " Gerion was interrupted. "Don''t y unnecessary games with me, Gerion. Do you want me to waste my time singing your praises? You may have disobeyed one of my orders, but you have brought great benefits to House Lannister... So I''m going to ask you onest time: What is it you want?" Tywin. Gerion pondered carefully at the words he wanted to say. "... I... I would like Joy to be legitimized and also bear the Lannister name instead of Hill... " Gerion ventured, thinking of his beloved daughter. Tywin turned his head for a moment to stare at his younger brother''s determined gaze, then turning his attention back to the port. Tywin replied simply: "It shall be done." End POV. ------------ POV: Captain Drymak; About thirty miles off the coast of Pyke. Three days before 76 ships arrived at Lannisport... The Captain of the ship ''''Sharp Waves'''', one of the finest longships in the service of House Greyjoy that was tasked with monitoring the shores of Pyke, approached along with 20 other Iron Fleet ships at the cloud of gulls surrounding a dozen stranded and seemingly abandoned ships... Drymark, one of the most trusted and respected men in House Greyjoy, was at the head andmand of that small fleet. When his ship reached a distance of fewer than 400 feet from their target, Drymark understood what those ships were and where they came from... It was a disturbing sight he had never witnessed... Dozens of bodies hung from the masts of all thirteen ships... Hundreds of shiny red heads stuck on a spike or spike, adorning every inch of the piers... both fore and aft... The tension was sky-high. Drymark noticed the terror in the eyes of some of his crew as they in turn realized the macabre sight... ''Those belong to House Drumm... Lord Denys has been defeated? Wait, that ship''s different from the others... Red and white. Three masts, a snowke? What banner is that?'' Drymark thought as he didn''t recognize the symbol stamped on a sail of thergest of the longships. "Head for that ship, we must board it!" Ordered the Captain. "... Y... Yes, Captain." The helmsman replied hesitantly. The closer the ships came, the greater the effect of that terror. A couple of the younger, more inexperienced crew members openly gagged, unable to contain their gag reflex. Now the view was clear... At least a thousand, if not two thousand, bodies were piled on these ships. Hundreds of seagulls were happily feasting on their booty, battering the remains of those iron men... About five minutester... Drymark and a dozen of his crewmen boarded the main gship of that fleetden with the dead... Now the message their enemy wanted to send to their king was clear. Every head or face of that thousand corpses was stained with blood. On the head was gold... not a dye, but real gold... The mental patient who hade up with this idea had poured molten gold over the flesh of those heads. Each spot of gold had the rough shape of a lion... And that wasn''t all. House Lannister... No. ''The Smiling Lion''... '' Drymark thought as he noticed that each red and gold head was stamped with a smile. Each corpse smiled in an unnatural and forced way... It was a nightmarish sight. "CAPTAIN HERE''S A CHEST!!" Roared one of his most loyal petty officers. Drymark approached the voice. Now he too noticed the vacant space not littered with corpses that marked a path to the ship''s helm. Drymark peered at the white wooden chest with the same symbol as the mainsail engraved on it. ''Three white masts... no, three white mast-dykes outlined in red... blood... joining apletely red snowke... red snow... Bloody Snow!'' Drymark thought as he connected the dots of the clues. "There was this one too, Captain." Said the man showing a letter to his superior. A letter with the following written on it: [To King Balon Greyjoy.] About a dayter... Drymark was inside the King''s hall. Only he and Balon Greyjoy were present inside the hall. The Captain had already made sure that there was nothing dangerous inside the chest that could harm his King. Balon first opened it and read aloud the contents of the message. "The Price of Blood..." Then Balon opened the strange chest that was ced on the table. Inside it, there was snow. Snow was almost as thick as a sheet of ice. The snow was red... and in the middle of it, rested a single, shiny gold coin... also stained with blood. End POV. ------------------------------------------ POV: A maiden of the North. Bear Ind. About five days after a King opened a chest... Dacey Mormont was with her mother at the docks. Her cousin, Jorah, was about to set sail with the reborn fleet of House Mormont. Four hundred warriors in the service of their House were leaving with their Lord to answer the call of the Warden of the North. Soon the fleet and the northern army would march to join King Robert''s forces at Lannisport. Jorah had already said goodbye to his younger cousins, only his Aunt and young Dacey remained. "Take care Dacey, help your mother defend our Ind. Aunty, I leave you in charge. Please wee our guests from Dorne on my behalf as well." Said Jorah kissing his Aunt''s head and stroking young Dacey''s head. "Don''t worry, nephew. I don''t think the iron men will attack us again during your absence. You just think about getting back alive." Maege. "Cousin!...emm I wish you luck. Try to protect... yes in short try to help Lord Duncan during the battle... ande back both of you alive and well!" Said Dacey trying to convey her concerns. "Ahah! Yes, Dacey... I do believe your betrothed will be the one to protect me on those inds. I must go now. ''Here we stand''!" Jorah. "Here we stand!" Maege, Dacey, and her two sisters echoed the motto of House Mormont in unison. About an hourter... Dacey watched in the distance as thest ships left the harbor. She was left alone on the edge of that wooden dock. The girl kept reciting within herself the words contained in that letter. A letter she always carried with her... She no longer needed to read it. Every word was burned into her head. Dacey muttered for the umpteenth time the phrase she liked to repeat most of all... "... You are mine and I am yours..." Chapter 65: Our Blades are Sharp Chapter 65: ''Our des are Sharp'' POV: Thobo Mott; Street of Steel, King''s Landing. Year 289, the eighth day of the third moon. Some three weeks before Balon Greyjoy dered his rebellion to all of Westeros... The master smith had awakened an hour before dawn, as was his custom. He was almost always the first to start and thest to finish in his forge. For five years now, Mott''s workshop had been in operation here in King''s Landing. The first years were hard, there were already many established cksmiths and forges in the kingdom''s capital, but Thobo rolled up his sleeves and managed to make his work stand out. He had invested a lot in this business. His shop was thergest on the entire steel route. His forge was built mainly of wood and ster. Its upper floors towered over the street and Thobo lived above his shop. The double doors have an ebony and dam wood carving of a hunting scene. Two stone knights armed with red armor in the shape of a griffin and a unicorn guard the entrance. The building itself was worth almost 1,000 gold dragons. Thobo had recently turned forty and had been born and raised in the free city of Qohor, one of the nine free cities of Essos. A city famous for its metalworkers. Some of the best cksmiths in the known world could be found there. Thobo had studied and served his apprenticeship with the best master cksmith in the city. At the age of twenty-five, havingpleted his apprenticeship of over thirteen years, he set off to travel to other cities. He had been to Braavos, Pentos, Tyrosh, Norvos, and Vntys, studying all the different styles of craftsmanship in that area. Finally, right after Robert''s Rebellion, he came to Westeros and opened his forge. Thobo wasn''t afraid to call himself the best cksmith in town... He was one of the few cksmiths in the world, who could be counted on the fingers of one hand, who knew how to work and recast the steel of Valyria. He guarded his secrets jealously. Most importantly, he hid from everyone the fact that he knew how to use magic, however minimally. He had spent years studying the ancient and high Valyrian, searching for texts and knowledge that could enrich his own. All the spells he knew were explicitly centered around his work. He had also gotten his hands on texts of forbidden and very obscure Blood magics... but he was not interested in learning them. To him, his work was an art. An art that deserved respect and dedication. All else was futile means. In recent weeks, Tobho had been more excited than ever. A new challenge had presented itself at his doorstep about ten days before. A mercenary from the North with a very dangerous, but polite and respectful look had entered his forge seeking his help. The man wanted his slightly damaged sword reforged and refurbished. Amon job, one he would normally delegate to one of his three oldest apprentices. However, the de was unique. The finest worked non-Valyrian steel Tobho had ever seen. He was certain that no one, not even in Qohor, could pull off such a job. At least, ''''no one he knew''''. The undting patterns of the metal were unique, a sign that the metal had been worked with a unique steelmaking technique. Tobho didn''t know how much time he had wasted observing and analyzing that de. Time slipped through his fingers like water. He could spend hours standing still, scrutinizing every millimeter of the metal. All his attention was focused there... That morning, too, the master cksmith would spend experimenting with a technique capable of reproducing that masterpiece. He knew it would probably be another day of failures, but he didn''t care. He would try again and again for years, wasting hundreds of gold coins on steel if he had to. Gold, time, and hard work were prices he would pay without qualms. All for the sake of art. In that short period, he had already managed to identify certain qualities of that steel. Its main quality was the alternation ofyers with a high carbon content, which gave the de an aggressive cut, and a low carbon content, which gave it strength. In short, the de was both more flexible and stronger than any othermon forged steel on the continent. The metal worked in Thobo''s hands was razor-sharp, light, flexible, and strong. Only the steel of Valyria was superior, but that was mainly because of its magical qualities... If Thobo could acquire the ancient forging spells that had been lost after the disaster at Valyria and apply them to that steel, he was certain he could produce the finest de ever made by man. After another couple of hours of work, the bell at the entrance rang. The mercenary who owned that sword had just entered. "Good morning, Master Mott." Said the figure with his face concealed by a velvet hood. "Good morning, Ser! Pleasee forward and take a seat. JANYRA!" Thobo thundered quickly, summoning one of his assistants to service the forge. "Yes, Master Thobo! I''ll be right with you!" A slightly shrill voice that sounded like it belonged to a young woman answered from upstairs. Janyra, a thin, modest-looking assistant walked down the stairs with celerity. When she arrived, the girl immediately bowed to the two men and said: "Greetings distinguished customer, Master Thobo... How may I serve you?" "Janyra, immediately prepare my private study to receive our illustrious guest. I also want the best food and drink avable to us to be served... Right away Janyra! Don''t look at me like that! Just do what I ask you to do! The shop owner ordered, startling the young woman. "YES, MASTER! Everything will be ready as soon as possible!" Janyra snapped, heading for the kitchens and pantries. This was the first time in five years that Master Thobo had invited a customer into his study, so Janyra stood in shock and motionless for a few seconds. "There was no need for so much trouble, Master Mott." The mercenary. "No trouble at all, Ser. Please, while you''re waiting, take a seat on that couch, and I''ll be with you as soon as I can." Mott. About ten minutester... The mercenary, along with the shop owner, was enjoying an excellent red fruit juice and nibbling on a few pieces of spicy cheese dipped in golden honey. Thobo''s hospitality was noble. "More juice, Ser?" Thobo. "No master, thank you for the offer. I had already had breakfast this morning, so there was no need to bother so much. Besides, I am not invested with the title of knight, Master... If you like, you can call me Edward." Said the man with the physical features of the North. "Alright, Edward... I regret to inform you, my esteemed guest, that I have not yet been able to repair your sword. I could fix it today, but I don''t want to affect that work of art. I can''t guarantee you the kind of service that will maintain the qualities of that de, Edward." Said Thobo in an honest and sorry tone. "I understand master... Don''t worry, I expected a simr result." Edward. "If you don''t mind me asking, Edward... How did you manage to get your hands on such a weapon? Although damaged, I can tell that the de is freshly forged... It must have been forged no more than a year ago. Who is the master smith who created such a masterpiece? Of course, you don''t have to answer me, Edward. but know that I am even willing to pay an egregious sum for this information." Thobo. "... You may obtain such information, Master Thobo... And you won''t have to pay any money for it." Edward. "... I know the value of this information, Master Edward. I mean you no offense, but since the age of four, an iron rule of this world has always been clear to me. [No meal is free.] So, Edward, name your price." Thobo. "No offense, master Mott. Forgive myck of rity of purpose... "Before I name my price, let me give you a small gift. Consider it a gesture to repay you for the hospitality you so graciously offered me." The man ced an unopened roll of paper on the table. Thobo bowed his head in thanks and then prepared to read the offered document. All of the cksmith''s attention was absorbed by the symbols and drawings inside the paper. After about thirty seconds, Mott began to speak his thoughts aloud. " This... Brilliant!... But yes, if folded several times, the impurities of the metal will be more evenly distributed... However... " Thobo looked up at the man in front of him. "... Yes master, you had the right insight. That is only a small part of the original form, of Damascus Steel." Said the man slightly amused by the pleading face the craftsman in front of him showed. "...Damascus Steel?! That''s the name of that metal?...Mmm This is the first time I''ve heard of it... What is the price of getting the missing parts? If it is within my means, I will pay, I swear by the ck Goat." Mott. "The price, master Mott... is {Loyalty }." Edward. "Loyalty? Could you be more precise, master Edward?" Mott. "Of course, I could, Master Mott... What I am looking for... what my '' Master '' is looking for, is a man with your talent and devotion in the art of forging. My master is willing to offer you all his secrets in his possession on Damascus Steel. He will offer you wages worthy of your work, while also offering employment to any of your associates you choose to bring with you. Amodation, food, medical care, and security of the highest quality are guaranteed for all. You will be provided with a huge forge and workshop, with all the materials, tools, andbor you will require. You will even be in charge of a team of master cksmiths from all over the world. Over 50 cksmiths and more than three hundred apprentices... Your task will be to instruct, monitor and research, and experiment on the noble art of forging... You''ll even have a team of researchers focused on studying and researching { Magic }. Nothing or at least ''nothing requiring human sacrifice'' will be forbidden there. But to achieve all this, Master Thobo Mott... the price to pay is loyalty. Total and unquestioning loyalty to my master... A ship is anchored in the harbor ready to leave at any time, should you ept. Know, however, that when you reach that ce, you will not be able to leave it for at least seven years. ... So, master, now that you know the price. Are you still willing to pay it?" Edward concluded. "... Is everything you told me the truth, master Edward?... Won''t the study of magic be prohibited? ... I must warn you that the cost of materials... "Thobo was interrupted. "You have my word, master. Here... these are for you. A small advance if you ept. I hope this modest sum can give you proof of my master''s financial means." Edward said, opening a small pouch overflowing with precious stones. Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires the size of almonds slid onto the table. Mott''s eyes widened. At a nce, those stones together were worth at least ten times the value of his shop... About three hourster... "Gendry!!! Gendry where are you?" Master Thobo called. The almost six year old boy snapped towards his master. "Yes, master Mott! Here I am! Sorry, I was cleaning the workshop." Said a child hastily as he ran towards the man who was calling him. "Never mind theb! Gendry, listen to me carefully. Tell Will and Damond to gather everything, including your personal belongings. Get your tools, clothes, and any raw materials from the storeroom. Everything must be ready to be loaded onto a ship tomorrow at dawn." Gendry thought he had heard wrong, so he asked. "Master, I think I..." Gendry was interrupted. "Yes Gendry, you heard correctly. Tomorrow we will leave King''s Landing." Thobo. "...B-But... Master, what about our orders for this month? The weapons and armor from the shop?" Gendry. " I''ll leave the advances already paid to the City Guard. Just leave that pile of faulty ironmongery here." Mott. Gendry''s eyes widened again when he heard the words ''Faulty Ironmongery''... Inside the shop, there were items including weapons and armor worth at least 400 gold dragons... "... But where shall we go, master?" Gendry. Thobo turned back to the youngest apprentice and protg, and said simply: "To Gauntlgrym, Gendry... We are moving to Gauntlgrym." End POV. ----------------------------------------------------------- POV: Domeric Bolton; Torrhen''s Square. Year 289, the thirteenth day of the fourth moon. Nine days after a certain ''Master'' met in person a master smith from King''s Landing... The new Lord of Dreadfort, Domeric Bolton, the only son and direct heir of Roose Bolton, had just arrived at the gates of Torrhen''s Square. It had taken him and his escort of fifty mounted men-at-arms less than ten days to cover over 400 miles. That was the distance between Dreadfort and Castle Tallhart. Lord Eddard Stark had also requested military aid from the House of Bolton, and Domeric, like a good and faithful vassal, had answered the call. His army, consisting of about 2,000 units: 800 cavalry, 700 pikes and spears, and 500 archers and crossbowmen were already on their way to Winterfell. Although the Northernwork was efficient and functional, it would have taken his army, led by its firstmander Locke, at least another three days to reach the Stark forces. Domeric would join the northern army along with House Tallhart. He had time to respond to the invitation of his childhood friend, Duncan. More than three years had passed since theirst meeting, although they had kept in touch through correspondence. Domeric was mostly busy studying and carrying out his duties as a Lord. Too great a burden for a boy of his age. Luckily for him, he had three good advisors in his hands: Adoamros, Maester Wolkan, and his mother Bethany Bolton-Ryswell. His aunt Barbrey, Bethany''s younger sister, also helped him by visiting him two or three times a year when she could. Domeric worked hard to learn everything a lord needed to know to manage his house andnds properly. The hardest part was of course acquiring the cruelty, ruthlessness, and firmness that every Noble must have to gain the proper fear and respect worthy of his title. For the first time, about a year ago, Domeric took the life of a man with his hand. A marauder, thief, and murderer of hisnds who had ughtered a horse breeder and his family to steal a dozen horses. When the moment came, Domeric''s hand did not tremble... but he could not sleep that night. He had written to Duncan for help, and his friend had returned the call. He had answered with a letter... a long letter with dozens of names on it. On that paper were written the names of all the victims who had died at his hands or on his direct orders. One line that struck him the most was: [ I have no regrets about doing what had to be done... however, many of their faces continue to appear in my dreams. Almost every night, Domeric. I can still hear the voices and cries of each of them... the only thing that silences those voices are the cries and cries of their victims for justice. The day those voices disappearpletely Domeric, is the day we too will have be monsters like those criminals]. About five minutes after a horn signaled the presence of Domeric''s group... "Wee my honored guest. It is my honor to wee in person, the great, powerful, and feared, Master of Dreadfort, Lord of the Noble and Ancient House of Bolton, and Protector of the Hills of Solitude... Torrhen''s Square wees you, Lord Domeric Bolton." Said a voice belonging to a boy with white hair and green eyes. The tone and look of the speaker were serious... but if you paid attention, you could detect a trace of irony and mockery in his gestures and voice. Domeric did not flinch, and stepping forward, replied in full tone: "No, my Lord... The honor is mine alone. This will be the day I tell my future grandchildren... The day their Grandfather had the pleasure and honor of being greeted by Duncan Tallhart himself. The rightful heir to Torrhen''s Square, the hero of the North, the one who won the battle of the ''Snow Mill Massacre'' at the tender age of five, who destroyed the fearsome ''Brave Companions'' at the age of seven, the hero who led and won the battle of ''Golden and Silver Snow'', the scourge of the Iron Inds, the one who defeated Lord Denys Drumm in a duel, andst but not least, the possessor of ''Red Rain''. ... the great ''Bloody Snow'' himself... " "... I think you forgot in your ovation, the duel with themander of the ''Brave Companions''..." Bloody Snow. "Ah, right! How careless of me! I beg your pardon, my Lord Bloody Snow." Domeric replied, bowing like a guinea pig. "... Ahaha... Sorry, brother." Duncan''s sister Eddara, who had recently turned nine, couldn''t hold back augh at the spectacle. She, her twin brother Benfred and their cousin Elminster, were a few steps behind Duncan. The two boys maintained eye contact for a few more seconds before they too burst out inughter. "Ahahaha! Wee my friend! Thank you and all your retinue for traveling such a long way. Come... Let my family greet you as well." Said Duncan stepping to the side to advance his guest. "Ahah! Thank you, ''my Lord''." Domeric advanced a few steps. The first person who caught his eye was her, the girl who had firstughed at his little y, Eddara Tallhart. A young girl of nine he hardly recognized. It had been four years since theirst meeting, and Duncan''s sister was only five years old then. Light honey-brown eyes, silky long wavy hairbed to the side in an exquisite hairstyle, smooth pink skin free of blemishes, a thin, gentle nose, red lips that matched the proportion of her face perfectly. Eddara smelled of cinnamon and vani. The girl wore a pretty dress made of pink silk with streaks of wool and velvet. It was certainly one of Flint''s high-ss gowns from the Widows'' Head. Lady Lyessa Flint had recentlyunched new styles of gowns in the Westeros and Essos markets. Widow''s Head was famous for its wool production. Now it was also famous for its workmanship. No one could create better works of wool than House Flint. Domeric knew that there, too, the hand of House Tallhart was behind it. House Bolton, Stark, Mormont and Reed, were still the only Houses in the North that did not have an effective monopoly in some sector of the market. Even House Magnar on the ind of Skagos had started trade-in ivory and pearl products. Many Lords of Westeros began to request handles and grips for their weapons from House Magnar. It had be the fashion of the moment. Of course, the best businesses remained those in the hands of House Umber and his Aunt Barbrey. With alcohol and salt, a real fortune was made. The year before, a foreign militia of a thousand mercenaries, hired by who knows who, tried to attack the productionboratories of Last Hearth... All this in the middle of winter... I don''t even need to say how it happened. Suffice it to say that the Umber didn''t even think it necessary to bore their Lord Protector with such futility. No one had yet dared to try their luck with Barrowton. In the spring, House Bolton, Reed, and Tallhart were to begin coborating on a project to produce medicines and herbs. Even with the sale of several tons of iron and cast iron at a price above market value, House Bolton was falling behind many other northern houses in wealth and prosperity. Not that Domeric cared that much... From his point of view, the North had never been so united and prosperous before. Possibly House Stark and House Tallhart had already caught up with House Tyrell in gold and coffers. The North was currently outselling the Reach. While not the richest, House Bolton was still one of the most powerful Houses in the North. But all the wealth in the North certainly couldn''t buy the jewel that was in front of Domeric right now... "Lady Eddara, it is a pleasure to meet you again. My Lady, you are beautiful and radiant. Surely there must be some truth to the rumors of your brother Duncan''s parentage. Surely such an ugly, cold being could not be rted to such a creature blessed by the Old Gods." Domeric said, making a perfect Lord''s bow and gantly kissing the hand offered to his by the maiden. "HEY!!! How dare you?! Damn you!!!" Reprimanded a voice behind Domeric''s back. "Ahahahahah!... Thank you, Lord Bolton... Emm You look very dashing yourself, my Lord. I too am pleased to meet you again." Said the young Eddara smiling and blushing at the same time. The two youngs of noble origins stared into each other''s eyes for a few moments of profuse and awkward silence... Both Duncan and Benfred were beginning to be quite annoyed by the situation. "... I beg your pardon, my Lady, I really must let go of your hand now." Said Domeric making a small gesture of apology. "No offense, my Lord... " Eddara. "Lord Benfred, it is a pleasure to meet you again, my Lord." Domeric. "... My pleasure, Lord Bolton..." Replied a wary and annoyed Benfred. "And you little one, you must be Elminster, am I right?" Domeric. "Yeess! Hello Bolton!" Replied an almost-four-year-old boy. "Ahaha. Greetings to you too, my Lord." Domeric. About ten minutester... "Now that I am protected by the Laws of Gods and Men, may I ask you a question, my friend?" Domeric. "... My sister Eddara is already betrothed to Lancel Lannister, I''m sorry Domeric." Duncan. "What? The son of Ser Kevan Lannister and nephew of Lord Tywin?" Domeric. "The very one." Duncan. "But Lancel is supposed to be what? Seven years old?! You''ve already bound your little sister in a forced marriage to the Southern Lions?" Domeric. "... Well, not exactly... The two will have to get to know each other first... Why am I telling you this?! It''s none of your business, Domeric! Besides... I was hoping you might marry Sansa Stark in the future..." Duncan. "Sansa Stark?! Pff... What are you trying to change the subject? Why would Lord Stark give me his first daughter in marriage? With Lord Eddard''s ties to King Robert it''s more likely she''ll marry Prince Joffrey." Domeric replied, taking a sip of mead from the cup. He and Duncan were facing each other in the penthouse study of the heir to Torrhen''s Square. "Trust me, Domeric. Soon, House Bolton and House Stark will be closer than ever. As is a ''sword and shield'' if you will. Ahahahah! That was a good one, I''ll have to write it down to rub it in my Uncle''s face." Duncan. "I have no idea what you''re talking about. What I do know, however, is that House Stark would have everything to lose and nothing to gain by forging blood ties with their poorest vassal... and for that matter, with the one who has been most in conflict over thest few centuries." Domeric. "Mmmm... You have a point, my friend. But how, doesn''t your Aunt Barbrey give you adequate pocket money? I''ll have to scold her properly the next time I meet her. Ahahahaha!" Duncan. "I wouldn''tugh too hard if I were you... My mother came back from Barrowton not too long ago... I''m still not sure of the reasons, but the soon-to-be '' No Longer Widow of Barrowton'' is angry with you, to say the least. Not even the dungeons of House Bolton terrify me as much as my Aunt in a rage. Ahahahahah! " Domeric. "... I know... I know Lady Barbrey''s mad at me. I still have her letter in that drawer. My hands were shaking when I finished reading it... But, uh... I still have some leverage to use as a shield in the face of your aunt''s sharp ws." Duncan. "... If you say so... So... If I''m not mistaken we''re leaving tomorrow morning with your father''s forces, is that correct?" Domeric asked. "Yes, correct." Duncan. "So we have plenty of time to talk about Bloody Snow''stest adventures... I would say we start with your journey to Dorne, my lord. Tell me, Bloody Snow...is the fame of Princess Arianne Martell''s beauty and grace well deserved?" Domeric asked curiously, making himselffortable in his chair lined with cushions and soft leather. "... Well let''s just say... that it''s not exactly Arianne Martell that has impressed me the most during this long journey... " Duncan began to spill the beans. About ten minutes of events were narratedter... "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! GODS!!...phew... I can''t... AHAHAHAHAHA!!... I can''t breathe... Ahahahahaha!!... Help me... I''m choking!... AHAHAHAHAH!... "Domeric almost fell off his chair. The news of his crushpletely unseated him, making the boy lose all semnce and demeanor worthy of his noble status. "You can choke to death for all I care... " Duncan replied coldly. Another three minutes of hystericalughterter... "Really Duncan? Really?! Dacey Mormont?! And she put your butt on the floor too?! Ahahahaha... no! help! I can''t startughing again, my ribs hurt." Domeric. "No... The answer to your query, [Can I see Red Rain?], is no." Duncan. "All right, all right. I swear I''ll stop... phew... Word of Lord Domeric Bolton." Said Domeric quickly. "... If you''re done with your nonsense, I''d like to start discussing business... That is if House Bolton would like to see a few more pieces of gold and silver among his coffers... " Duncan. "... You have my full attention, my Lord. House Bolton is at your disposal." Domeric stood up and began to take his Lordly duties seriously. About five minutes of introduction and pleasantriester... "What? Why do you want to exclude House Bolton from the business of producing leeches and medicinal herbs?! We had already reached a stipted agreement between Lord Helman and my father, four years ago, Duncan... I would remind you that Adoamros is still in the service of my House." Answered in a half angry and impatient tone, Domeric. "I''m not cutting you out of the deal, Domeric... I am merely re-discussing with you the percentages of said trade. House Tallhart will also lower its holdings to 2.5%." Duncan replied calmly. "Going from a 33.3% to a 2.5% is not excluding for you?! Why? Why do you want to leave 95% of the monopoly to House Reed? This is at least a 250,000 gold dragon a year business!" Domeric. "Because I want to propose something far more profitable. Let House Reed have its ie too, or they won''t have the coinage to buy your products, Domeric." As soon as Duncan finished thest sentence, Domeric zeroed in and took a few moments to regain hisposure. "... Forgive my childish behavior... Please, continue." Domeric. "Well... Now that your spirits have cooled... Let me show you House Tallhart''s gift for your twelfth birthday. This is officially the first work produced by the forges of Gauntlgrym. Forged by the hands of master Thobo Mott himself... I hope you are practiced with steadfastness and devotion in the art of the sword, Domeric." Duncan exined as he approached a piece of furniture on which rested an exquisite heart-tree wooden case, stained in the colors of House Bolton. From the shape of the wooden craftsmanship, it looked like it held a longsword inside. When Duncan ced the case in front of his friend, he asked in an amused tone: "Domeric, could you please remind me how the '' Words'' of House Bolton reads?" "... Our des are Sharp. " Chapter 66: Sleep Problems Chapter 66: '' Sleep Problems '' POV: Helman Tallhart; King''s Road. Year 289, the sixteenth day of the fourth moon. Three days after Lord Bolton''s arrival in Torrhen''s Square. Ser Helman Tallhart, Master of Torrhen''s Square and Protector of Lake Torrhen and Sea Dragon Point, Supreme General of the armed forces of House Tallhart, was awaiting the arrival of Lord Eddard Stark and his retinue of nearly 11,000 men. The forces of House Tallhart and House Cerwyn were to meet the northern army at Winterfell, the assembly point for the northernnd forces. However, Lord Stark had decided to move two to three days early. Ser Qyburn, the master of spies in House Tallhart, had sent out a ry reporting that the probable reason for Lord Stark''s choice was that his wife, Lady Catelyn, could not bear the presence of the Northern lords. Especially the Umbers. For four days, the poor woman had endured dinners, banquets, and toasts where all they did was talk about the Hero of the North. Lord Stark had wisely chosen to relieve this burden on the mother of his children, fearing that Lady Stark might behave ''unseemly'' a second time. Soon, 10,400 northern men would join 2,000 others in the march to Lannisport. Lord Jorah Mormont, would lead the remaining forces of House Mormont, Dustin, Flint Fingers, Ryswell, and Glover, by sea. Another 5,500 men and 110 ships from the Northern Fleet. A fleetposed entirely of warships: 30 Galleys; 50 Caravels; 30 restored longships; Two-thirds of the entire fleet protecting the western coast of the North. The remaining ships would monitor the Frozen Bay and the Burning Bay. In all, the Northern forces that would contribute to King Robert''s punitive expedition would consist of an army of 18,900 Northern men. Well-trained and equipped men-at-arms. Almost all the Northern lords had restored their army''s equipment with new leather armor supplied by House Karstark. Over three thousand horses and caravan transports had been provided by House Ryswell. The provisions are mainly from House Cerwyn and Tallhart. And many other supplies, needed for the expedition, from all the other northern houses. Ned Stark probably did not expect such a following andmitment from his vassals. Fortunately, as well as being much more prosperous, the North was also buzzing with excitement over the events of the ''Golden and Silver Snow'' battle. At least half of the young men in the North had been spurred on to fight, seeking fame and simr glories in this war. Helman had to prove his son Duncan right again. [ A good song is more powerful than any bag of gold, order, or prize in beauty. ] 3,000 Starks, 2,200 Umbers, 2,150 Tallharts, 2,000 Boltons, 2,000 Karstarks, 1,500 Dustins, 1,000 Hornwoods, 1,000 Glovers, 1,000 Ryswells, 1,000 Cerwyns, 600 Flint Fingers, 400 Mormonts and even 200 Magnars. Lord Stark had ordered House Manderly, Flint of Widow''s Head, Locke, and Reed to remain in the North to protect the pasture and the east coast. However, the four Houses still sent a small garrison each. In total, a small militia of another 1,000 men represents their contribution to this campaign. Half of House Tallhart''s forces were already in Lannisport. King Robert would be leaving for the City of the Golden Lions in less than a week. King Balon Greyjoy surely did not expect the Stag King to gain such a following. House Bywater, Mallister, Footly, Piper, Rosby, Serret, and other lesser lords of the Crown and Rivends had already confirmed their participation. Together with the armed forces of the Wesnds and the Stornds, Robert would have gathered over 40,000 men. That together with the nearly twenty thousand men from the North would make up an army of about 60,000 soldiers. The Royal fleet, along with the Redwine fleet and the Northern fleet, consisted of over 500 ships. With the loss of over three-quarters of the Drumm Fleet and after Rodrick Greyjoy''s defeat at Seagard, King Balon Greyjoy was left with less than four hundred longships. The Northern spies in Pyke had already informed the Tallhart family, that the King of the Iron Inds had recalled all his vassals to Pyke. The King was anticipating ast stand in case his brothers, Euron and Victarion, were defeated by the numerous enemy ships. Panic was slowly spreading through the Greyjoynds... Denys Drumm''s defeat and the theatrical message from House Lannister and Tallhart were creating the desired effect. Helman was at the side of his wife Myra''s cousin, Lord Medger Cerwyn. The two Northern Lords and men of power got along discreetly with each other. After all, House Cerwyn and Tallhart were one big family at the moment. Although Helman preferred his son Duncan''spany to Medger''s, he had left him and Lord Bolton in charge of the rear guard. Helman was still angry with him... How many sleepless nights she had spent because of that boy''s choices. Somehow his little snake of a son had managed to wriggle out of the punishment Helman had prepared for him... He had the perfect person to whom he could delegate that onerous but necessary task, namely, Myra Tallhart. Only Helman and the Old Gods knew what pain the poor man had to endure when his wife Myra, learned that her husband, the Lord, had given his permission for his son Duncan to lead the Tallhart garrison against the ''Brave Companions''... Perhaps the worst three months of his life. His wife knew his weaknesses and mercilessly struck where it hurt most... both physically and psychologically. Helman thought Myra would be able to properly punish Duncan, after all, he had disobeyed a direct order from his lord. But the serpent had a shield ready with him... Before Myra could go on the attack, Duncan pulled out his card: [Mother. On Bear Ind, I found the woman of my life... I''m so sorry... but I couldn''t let the Ironmen hurt her. I couldn''t abandon her or her family!]... Myra fell into that moat of love, righteousness, and chivalry with all her shoes. Instead of being punished, her son was praised and rewarded. '' Now Myra has be his weapon! As soon as I try to scold the boy, he puts a de to my throat just by mentioning her name! I''m the one who''s been feeding such a monster. ... Sigh... Every day my authority as a father bes less and less influential... Even if I wanted to I couldn''t stop Duncan from one of his crazy ideas... '' Thought a worried father distressingly. Within an hour at most, Lord Stark would arrive. Already the vanguard led by House Umber could be seen on the horizon. Another crazy idea of his son would be implemented soon... Perhaps the most dangerous of all. ''May all the gods of this world watch over my son, my family, and my House...'' Father forgive me... I was unable to change your grandson''s mind. Perhaps this will indeed be the end of the legacy you left behind. Damn you, Duncan! It wasn''t enough that you tortured Lady Catelyn. Now you even want to go and directly threaten LORD STARK IN PERSON!!!!! '' End POV. --------------- POV: Ned Stark; Camp on the King''s Road. About 100 miles from Moat Cailin. About five hours after the Tallhart-Cerwyn forces joined the march of the Northern army... Ned had finally managed to free himself for a moment from all the other Northern lords. It had been a very trying week for the Lord Protector of the North. War was never easy to manage, but a war, and the management of the North, was a different kettle of fish. Many times Ned envied his friend Robert... not because he was king. On that day of all days, Ned would not only have refused to sit on that devilish piece of iron again, but he would also have destroyed it with his own hands. No, Ned envied Robert of his small council. Having a Hand of The King and so many other experts in various fields would have served him well at times like these. Certainly, Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin contributed a great deal to help him perform his duties and advise him wisely on matters that were impractical for him, but it was not enough. It was at least three nights in a row that Eddard was able to close his eyes for three or four hours at most. At times like these, his responsibilities to his people were eating him up inside. It was as if the anxiety felt by any father, in times of concern for the future of his children, was magnified a thousandfold. The North was enough for him. If he had to think of six more kingdoms... he would surely not be older than thirty. Now the twenty-six-year-old lord was finally alone in his private tent. It was just past his dinner hour, in about an hour he would have to perform thest of his duties for the day. Then he would be free to rest. Tonight he would sleep for at least six hours. He had instructed Jory, who was on duty that night, that if he did not want to swear allegiance to a six-year-old boy... that night his Lord would have to sleep without being disturbed. ''I''ll just have to talk to Lord Helman''s son and then I can lie down on that pillow and those furs. The Lord Protector of the North thought hopefully. A voice interrupted his thoughts. ''My Lord, Ser Haymitch is here.'' Jory announced. ''Ah, right... Send him in Jory, thank you." Eddard replied. Jory nodded and made way for the knight in the service of House Stark. '' I''d forgotten that I''d called him in a couple of hours ago.... ''Yes, I undoubtedly need to sleep. '' Lord Stark chided himself. ''''Lord Stark... Let me tell you, my Lord, you look like shit. You almost look like me." Ser Haymitch said spontaneously when he noticed the huge dark circles under his eyes and the pale appearance of the man in front of him. "Undoubtedly true, Ser Haymitch... Please be seated." Ned replied, smiling. "...Mmm, I do not know, my lord. Should you to die here and now, I could be used and sentenced to death... I would by no means want to say or do anything that would cause you the slightest difort or physical/mental stress, Lord Stark." Ser Haymitch. "By now the wine has been drunk and the song is sung, Ser Haymitch. I fear you have already entered this tent, and many witnesses might already im that you were the only person present before I departed. Therefore... Have a seat, Ser. Trust me, you are the only person in this camp right now who could lighten this burden instead of adding to it." Ned replied in an amused tone. "... Yes... you''ve convinced me. Might as well reward your effort for finally being able to make a decent joke, my lord." Ser Haymitch sat down in the chair opposite Ned. A map of Westeros wasid out on the table with various wooden figurines symbolizing allied and enemy forces. After Ned served a cup of wine to his guest and a cup of water and lemon juice for him, Ned asked: "Give me your honest opinion on our military situation. What do you think of our forces?" Ned. "Promising... The Umber are looking forward to joining the fray... If someone were to even identally wear clothes in House Greyjoy colors, I doubt they''d walk off this field with less than fifty pieces. I can smell the Greatjon bloodlust from here... These 13,000 men are well armed and ready to fight, Ned. Lord Magnar''s 200 men could be a weakness, but only if misused. They fight more like wildlings than soldiers. They are undisciplined but fierce. I would venture to say that I would not want to be in Balon Greyjoy''s shoes, now that a storm of steel and blood is about to sweep over him." He finished saying Haymitch giving his honest opinion to the man in front of him. Immediately after speaking, Haymitch allowed himself a well-deserved sip of wine for his incredible vocal effort. "... Mmm yes, you''re not wrong. Not just the Northmen, but Robert as well... Balon underestimated the King of the Seven Kingdoms'' love of war. He challenged him on what he was born to do. What do you think of the Tallhart troops?" Ned. "... Honestly?" Ser Haymitch. "All you do is spout harsh, ironic, truthful everything thates into your head, I don''t see why you should change your ways just now." Ned. "Because the answer would upset you, and you''re one step away from mental copse... Words could hurt more than a sword at the right times." Haymitch. "... I think I can handle one more sh. Then you have to, Haymitch." Ned. "... If you insist. I believe those thousand soldiers can prevail in a direct battle against your direct forces. Yes. Your 3,000 Stark soldiers would lose to those 1,150 Tallharts, Ned. "Ned suffered an unexpected blow at those words. The man knew Ser Haymitch''s true worth. Not only was he a skilled swordsman and battle veteran, but the knight Lord Stark paid a fortune just to keep him was also an excellent military strategist and a man of great insight and discernment into all things war. Ned, in his humble opinion, was also skilled in military matters, but he had to admit his defeat in the face of Ser Haymitch''s mind. "I think that''s a bit of a bold statement... Yes their equipment is excellent and the men seem well trained as well... but..." Ned was interrupted. "It''s not just their equipment Ned... They outnumber your army in many respects except for numbers. I''ve chatted with a couple of Tallhart officers here and there... A divisionmander, a captain, and a deputy to be exact. Theirmand hierarchy is more organized and well distributed than you''d imagine. If a captain ormander were to fall in battle, there would surely be a recement ready to take over in short order... On the other hand, if one of your captains were to perish, there would be 500 men who wouldn''t know what to do or who to answer to... They even have a healer for every unit of fifty men, did you know that?... Excluding the factors, differences in equipment and physical condition of the men, the most decisive factor is the discipline and synchrony of movements of that army. During the march alone, the footsteps of more than a thousand people could be heard, marching in unison and constantly keeping their ces... It will be no different in battle, Ned. And I''m talking about those thousand regr soldiers... Those 150ds following the living legend Bloody Snow... Emm what are they called?" Haymitch asked stuck with a word on the tip of his tongue. "The unit called ''The Winter Guardians''? " Suggested Ned. " Yes, them! The Guardians... Well... My intuition suggests that 150 of them could prevail against half of that regr army... " Haymitch. " ... If what you say turns out to be correct, that would mean... "Haymitch continued in his ce. "Yes Ned, your assumption is correct. Lord Helman has the most powerful militia of all the Northern Lords and probably all the Southern Houses as well. As your wartime advisor, I strongly advise against you going into an open battle against House Tallhart in the future. If you should ever have any enmities against your loyal vassal, empty some of your coffers and hire the Golden Company or buy a few thousand Unsullied in Astapor. Because the way I see it, not even a third of all the military forces in the North could stand up to that army." Said Haymitch toasting in honor of House Stark''s troubles. "Yeah... As if I could manage to convince my vassals to march against Torrhen''s Square... The way I see it, it would be a miracle if every House of the North I asked for help simply chose to remain neutral instead of siding with House Tallhart... You were right Haymitch, I shouldn''t have encouraged you to strike so hard at my mind already filled with anxiety, doubt, and worry." Said Ned, also opting for some well-deserved wine. Over the years, Haymitch had repeatedly managed to drag Lord Stark to drink with him during their less than pleasant chats. "Nah, don''t fret so much, my drinkingpanion. Depends on what perspective you see it from. If viewed from the side [The Tallharts are Enemies and Traitors], you should rightly be as distressed as you are now. On the other hand, if viewed from the sweet perspective [House Tallhart is a loyal and friendly House of the North in the service of House Stark], you should be sleeping peaceful dreams like an infant in the warm and loving arms of a mother. Ahahahah! Here''s to that! To Mother Tallhart! May she always cradle and protect us!" Nedughed in delight at Haymitch''s antics. He couldn''t wait to introduce him to Robert. He would have bet every piece of silver and gold he possessed that the two of them would get along famously. About forty minutes of frivolous and pleasant talkter... "I''d better start walking." Said Ned, cing his second, nearly empty cup on the table. "And where are you off to at thiste hour? I thought you had chosen to allow yourself some well-deserved but mostly ''necessary'' rest." Haymitch asked curiously. "I will rest, I promise. But first I must go and have a chat with Lord Helman''s son, Duncan Tallhart... I promised him we could talk alone and undisturbed for a while in the evening. I can''t miss this appointment." Said Ned as he prepared to walk up the hill about 600 feet away from that tent. "Uuhg... Bad choice, my Lord." Haymitch. "Why do you think that?" Ned. "I had the pleasure of having a '' chat'' with that boy about four years ago. A week or two before I met you." Haymitch. "And? Should I be worried about something? " Ned. " Mmm... Hard to say. I don''t know if you should be worried about anything he''ll do.... but more about what he''s gonna say. Now, in particr, I wouldn''t go mouth to mouth with that predator." Warned Haymitch in a wry, slightly amused tone. "Exin yourself, Ser." Ned. "I talked to the boy for less than 20 minutes at the time... I couldn''t sleep that night." Chapter 67: Rightful Reason Chapter 67: '' Rightful Reason '' Hello everyone, smallmunication: I have changed the title of the previous chapter. I simply found a more suitable one... This chat with Lord Stark will be longer than expected... Happy Reading! ------------------------------ POV: Duncan; On a hill about 300 feet from the camp. About ten minutes after a knight warned a powerful Northern Lord... I was at a grassy promontory about 30 feet above the in. Around me, I had had my servants carry four lit braziers. The coal and whale oil made that cold early spring night much more bearable. I was still covered in wool and fur. In my previous life, I was allergic to wool. Even though I knew this new body was not, I had always been wary and reluctant to wear it. I still remembered the unbearable itching and sneezing that haunted me for days even if I identally touched a single tuft. Now that I had reached Pdin level [3], that instinct was finally extinguished. A Pdin at that level would be immune to any disease. Common or magical. Finally, the voices had be faint. Those damn Heart Trees were everywhere on the stretch of Tomb Land. I''d learned to discern the distance between me and a tree when the Ancients tormented me with their Level Up chanting. I knew that I could even climb up to Level [5], but I didn''t want to go through the process yet. Many things were still unclear to me on the subject. For example: Would the other Pdins and Clerics level up directly as soon as I did? Or would they simply be allowed to rise to that level? Was I the one who decided the limit barrier? Would the others also have to gain experience? Could they umte experience like me? Was I a special case? What are the differences? These and many other questions gued me. I was faithful to the philosophy of General Sun Tzu taught to me by Seraphinus: [If you know the enemy and yourself, your victory is certain. If you know yourself but not the enemy, your chances of winning and losing are equal. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will sumb in every battle.] I didn''t want to grant any more powers to my possible enemy. Especially not now that I was likely to face the pdin of the Drowned God. If Aeron Greyjoy, Balon''s younger brother and cleric of the Drawned God, had ess to 3rd level spells, he might have even been able to turn the tide of the sea battle. Not so much for power but more for show... I couldn''t risk it. I looked again at the case beside me. A gift for Lord Stark for his 26th birthday, which would be less than a month from now. A gift very simr to the one given to Domeric. Master Thobo Mott was truly an artist and a genius in the field. I had only exined the process to him in broad outline and not in detail the first time I told him about the Damascus Steel form, and he had already managed to guess many of the missing parts himself. Unfortunately, the Damascus form was only effective for des, not armor. The key flexibility that increased the efficiency of a de was useless for defense-focused tes. However, Thobo had reassured me that this new method alone had given him many points of inspiration to also improve the defense of any Northern warrior. It was only a matter of time. Thobo had guaranteed that within two moons at thetest, he would already be able to bring out of the forge a new prototype of steel tes useful for all types of armor made of metal, including studded leather armor. The revolution in the weapons industry was finally about to begin. It was no coincidence that I had invested so much time and gold to make it possible. Not a single mistake was allowed. Even the steel of Damascus was reason enough to start a continental war. Perhaps it was even more dangerous than Jon Snow''s true identity. It was almost ironic that the First Men, a people formerly oppressed by the Andals mainly because of their better weapons, would soon have a monopoly on the best steel on the market. Not everything was finished yet. There were still some key details to discuss with the man who was approaching me. I had waited for this moment as long as possible. There was no more time. We were going to have to make the most of every single day of this spring and summer. [True Winter was indeeding.] Now that the man was less than 30 feet from me, I noticed that his [8] hovering above him was slightlyrger and darker since Ist saw him in Torrhen''s Square four years ago. I had created a more urate estimate between levels based on those small differences. For the same level: A number [X] Small and light green= a recent level up from 1 to 33% experience. Medium and deep green= 33 to 66% experience umted. Large and dark green= 66% to 99%. Ned Stark was in thetter bracket. I was certain that four years earlier he was in the middle tier [8]. Certainly, the man was stillmitted to his training despite his manymitments and duties. "Lord Stark. Thank you foring so far. I thank you, my Lord, forplying with this peculiar and ufortable request of mine." I said, bowing like a true vassal of the North. "Lord Duncan. No trouble or inconvenience to me whatsoever. It is my pleasure to finally be able to discuss this with you in person. I have yet to thank you properly for your recent actions on Bear Ind. Know, young lord, that I sincerely believe your designation as ''Hero of the North'' is well deserved." Lord Stark said with a sincere smile. "... Thank you, my Lord... Emm forgive me for asking. I mean no offense, Lord Stark... but... Are you sure you''re feeling well, my lord? We could even postpone our chat until tomorrow or the next day if that''s all right." He suggested sincerely, noting his cadaverous appearance. Now that he was near the light of the braziers, I saw the pitiful look on Lord Stark''s face. His face begged for mercy and pleaded for a few hours of rest. "... You are not the first to tell me this, Lord Duncan... Is my appearance that pitiful?" Ned asked in a slightly embarrassed tone. "If I''m being honest, my Lord. I have certainly seen you on better days. You do look like a man who needs to sleep for at least two whole days and nights, Lord Stark." I said. "You''re probably not wrong, young Lord... I admit I''ve been a little overworked over the past week. But I am confident I can still hold a pleasant chat with one of my loyal vassals. I hope you''re not going to bring me the news that is too... ...pressing and burdensome news, Lord Duncan. Ahah..." Ned tried to blunt some of the natural tension that was building between our gazes. The protector of the North seemed ready to face a crucial negotiation for the survival of the North... Well, at least he came to this appointment in the right spirit. I would have felt really bad hitting poor Ned''s shoulders too casually. '' I thought as I tried to find a solution to Lord Stark''s sorry state. "... My Lord... I could help you with your condition. I could help, at least in part, to ease that burden a little, but only if you trust me. Do I have your word of honor that whatever I do or say in the next hour will remain between us? I should warn you that some of these... "matters" are not known even to my father. And I honestly don''t think he''s ready to put up with anymore... "weirdness" from his troubled son." I baited the man in front of me. I already knew his more than likely response. Ned, as well as being a man of honor, was also a very curious man. "When you put it that way, Lord Duncan... Yes, you have my word. What will be said or happen here in this ce will remain between the two of us. ... Proceed." Lord Stark took a step towards me. I decided toy out my cards more. I didn''t want the Lord Protector of the North to copse with a heart attack at my feet after a few low blows. I put my hands together and grabbed Ned''s gloved hand. [Lay of Hands]... I activated the alternative mode of that healing ability. If I gave up a third of the avable divine power, I could also cure a physical condition or disease. I did the same on Dacey as well by canceling her [Dehydration] and [Oxygen Deficiency] conditions. A faint green glow was generated in my hands and spread through Ned Stark''s body. This was the first shock that disarmed the man. At least the first critical sh was in [Non-Lethal Damage] mode. Ned was speechless for a good ten seconds. Then he stammered: "T-That... That was a... a rat... " "A healing magic, my Lord. A white magic or blessing if we wanted to be more precise.... An ability bestowed upon me by a Heart-Tree a few months ago." Ned''s eyes managed to widen a few more millimeters. "... So it''s true... It wasn''t just a rumor. Are you truly blessed by the Old Gods?" Lord Stark. "... I would say so, my lord. Though the subject is a little moreplex than that... Are you feeling better, Lord Stark?" I asked noticing that his face had a much rosierplexion and the dark circles were gone. "... I... Actually I do. My eyes are no longer burning and my shoulders are much less sore... Amazing. May I ask if you know any other... ...''Blessings''?" Ned. "Yes, my Lord... I know of others. But if it''s alright with you, I''d rather keep these ''peculiar abilities'' for a while longer... Many people are still sceptical about such sensitive topics. Very dangerous and prejudicial misunderstandings are the order of the day on the subject of ''Magic''. Especially in the South, my Lord. Forgive me for insisting. Do I have your word of honour that no one, not even my father, will find out about this?" I asked for confirmation. Ned Stark wasn''t the only one risking a heart attack these days. "You have my word of honour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the name I bear, Lord Duncan." Said Ned with a tone and a look as sincere and serious as ever. "Good, my lord. That is enough for me... I guess we can begin then." Me. "Of course... So, Lord Duncan, he who is blessed by the Ancients, what do you wish to speak to me about?" End POV. ----------------------------------------------------------- POV: A man full of secrets and responsibilities; On a hill about 300 feet from the camp. About a minute after a blessing was cast.... "I''d say let''s start with a gift. A gift for you, my Lord. I hope you''ll forgive me for bringing your birthday present forward by a few months.... I think you''ll need it before that day arrives." Said the boy picking up a long wooden case. "Thank you, Lord Duncan... You shouldn''t have bothered... I..." Ned was enchanted by the contents of the case. A bastard sword... the sword he wielded best in a real fight, was in front of him. The colour of the de was greyer than normal. The undting shades of different tones of steel made it hypnotic to the eye. The hilt was crosshatched, the handle lined with fine ck leather, and on the pommel was exquisite craftsmanship in what looked like a wolf''s head made of tinum. "This... can''t be Valyrian Steel can it?" Ned asked with concern. Even if he really wanted to, he could never ept such a precious gift. "No, my Lord. Fear not. Nothing so rare... but it is the same unique fact. What you see, Lord Stark is Damascus steel. Non-Valyrian steel of the highest quality, my lord. A masterpiece crafted by Master Thobo Mott. One of the finest cksmiths alive and still among the living in all of Westeros and Essos, in my humble opinion. In addition to the Damascus form, Master Thobo has added his personal touch to the work. He can even change the color of a de without using any kind of paint. Also... here too there is a hint of ''magic'' in the touch if we can call it that. To cut a long story short, my Lord. This is a sword that is well cared for, may well be passed down to your children and perhaps even your grandchildren. The edge, the weight, and the bnce of the de are second only to the steel of Valyria. I assure you, my Lord." Ned couldn''t stop himself from grasping the offered de. He thoroughly scrutinized every inch of the masterpiece, gripping it firmly to inspect it even by touch. Eddard Stark could be considered an expert with swords. He was not only good at handling it but also at recognizing a good de. He had lost count of the number of hours he spent alone with a de. One of his favorite pastimes, which helped him to relieve all the umted stress and reflection, was taking care of his sword at the God''wood of Winterfell. "Stunning... Excellent work. Much better than the steel forged by Mikken at my side. I don''t know how to thank you, Lord Duncan... Wait a minute. Do you mean this is fresh from the forge?! Is House Tallhart capable of producing multiple examples of such steel?!?!" Lord Stark asked anxiously, holding his breath. A wave of concern washed over him like a rushing tide. "Yes, my Lord... I understand your concerns. This steel is produced in a safe, well-patrolled location on the border between Tallhart and Dustinnds. Gauntelgrym to be exact. A mountain hollowed out and worked inside to be turned into the greatest forge Westeros has ever seen. I believe Lady Dustin has already informed you of the Silk Road project, my lord." Duncan. "She... Yes, she has. But she certainly wasn''t that specific! Lady Dustin in her message only mentioned the name Gauntelgrym... along with Never Winter''s and two other names I can''t remember now. What is the name of the Old Gods have you created down there?" Ned. "She... Emm... Lady Dustin should have told you in detail, my lord. I believe she still holds a slight grudge against both of us, Lord Stark. A short while ago, I fear I offended her considerably... but, forgive my boldness, Lord Stark, you too have done your part." Duncan. "Me? I don''t believe I''ve caused any offense... Do you mean... Lord William? Does Lady Dustin still hold a grudge against me for not returning her husband''s remains to her?" Ned asked with a wistful tone and a look of contrition. "Yes, my Lord... Lady Dustin is not filled with joy and gratitude towards House Stark. Your brother, Brandon, and your father Lord Rickard may they always rest in peace, has done great harm to Lady Dustin''s heart and honor... William''s affair not long afterward inevitably severed the rtionship between House Dustin and House Stark... But fear not, my Lord. I have long been engaged in trying to redress and blunt the des that Lady Dustin was covertly sharpening to exact her, if I may say, ''''partially justified'''' revenge. Lord Jorah Mormont is the key to settling that umted grudge once and for all. I would ask you the courtesy of casting, within reason, a wary eye in the future when dealing with Lady Barbrey. I cannot guarantee that she will always be kind and helpful to you, or yourdy wife, but at least she will be to your heirs, my Lord." Exined Lord Duncan calmly. Ned pondered those words for a moment. The man could not help thinking back to sad and tragic moments in the past. He had seen Lord William strike a fatal blow to Lord Gerolt Hightower himself, unfortunately, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard took William with him to the grave. "I understand... I will try to do everything I can. I''ve long wanted to try and find a way to make up for the mistakes I made six years ago... Lady Dustin has her just reasons for holding a grudge against me. Forgive me, Lord Duncan. As this is a conversation between us, there''s something I''ve long wanted to ask you. Please be honest about it." Ned. "... If I can be, I will be, my lord. I swear it." Duncan. "... Four years ago, in Winterfell... did you... Did you intentionally provoke my wife, Lord Duncan? I still find my wife''s usations unfounded, let me be clear, but I must agree with her on one thing. You are no ordinary boy, Lord Duncan..." Ned stared intently at every millimeter of thetter''s face. He wanted to know the truth, whatever the cost. "I don''t know exactly what Lady Catelyn''s usations are, my Lord.... but yes, I have made premeditated provocations against your wife. Provocations, which I was certain only she would notice. I wanted Lady Catelyn to make a bold gesture towards me, Lord Stark..." Duncan answered truthfully. Ned frowned for a single moment. Though he was angry at the answer, he appreciated the truth he had been given. Had he not confessed it directly, Ned would have dragged this doubt to his grave. "Why did you do it?" Ned asked in a serious but calm tone. The boy closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, staring at the half-moon in the starry sky for a few seconds. Ned Stark allowed the boy time to find the right words to his specific question. "Jon Snow." Ned was struck on the sr plexus by those two words. For a moment, the keeper of the secret let out a hint of understanding, but he quickly recovered by feigning ignorance and iprehension. "What do you mean? What does my son have to do with any of this?" Ned. "... Little magic tricks are not the only gift I possess, my Lord. The Ancients have shown me more than you, and anyone else here in the North, can conceive or even imagine." Ned held his breath after hearing that answer... The poor man''s heart began to pound. His blood pressure was sky-high. Time seemed to slow down... A voice stored deep in his heart rushed to his head. [Promise me, Ned. Promise me.] The boy continued. "When I asked the ancients [Who were the greatest threats to the North?] they showed me, several individuals, among them the face of your wife, Lady Catelyn Stark. ... When I delved further, the Old Ones showed me scenes and episodes of Lady Catelyn mistreating an infant. Then scenes of her treating a crying child with contempt... Then a boy... That boy was Jon Snow. I do not believe your wife to be an evil person, my lord. However, I do know that she is guilty of arrogance, prejudice, discrimination, and I know what she would do if any entity in the world threatened her sons and daughters... Knowing that she was already prejudiced against me and my House, I took the opportunity. The main purpose was to make her shift all her hatred and attention to me, instead of poor Jon. Forgive me for saying this, my Lord, but your wife has a deep prejudice and contempt for ''bastards''..." He finished exining the boy. It all made sense to Ned now. He couldn''t deny those words... He wanted to find a way to defend his wife''s honor, but he couldn''t. Not after the trials and tribtions, his wife had demonstrated in front of half of Winterfell... The only thing that heartened poor Ned, was that it seemed that the individual in front of him, still considered Jon his ''bastard son''... Eddard had to be very careful from here on in. He had to try to steer the topic in another direction and neglect the '' Jon '' issue as much as possible. ''''I... I cannot deny what you im. However, I deny your ways and choices. There was no need to create all that drama. You could havee..." Ned was interrupted. "Come to talk to you about it, my lord? And what could I have said to you? [Please, my Lord, don''t ever leave Jon Snow alone in your wife''s jaws? The woman hates and will forever hate that innocent. Beware of her.] No, My Lord. Words are wind. You should have seen it with your own eyes. You should have seen how she would always treat that child. A child who had only you, a Lord with thergest territory in the known world to manage and full ofmitments, by his side. How would you have done it, my Lord? How would you have protected Jon?" The boy asked roughly. Ned did not know how to answer. He could only show a look of regret and disappointment in himself. Ned faltered at that moment. He made a mistake he had promised himself he would not make. "Why do you care so much about Jon''s fate? You didn''t even know him..." Ned regained control and admonished himself sternly within himself. One more misstep and a real tragedy could have urred. "It is. I saw it, Lord Stark. I saw and heard your sister Lyanna in that tower beg you on her deathbed to protect him. Protect that baby. The baby with Stark and Targaryen blood in his veins... Only four people in the world know the truth about Jon. And I am one of them, Lord Stark. "Ned''s legs shook... The man, a veteran of four bloody battles and dozens of deadly confrontations, was afraid. He could hardly breathe. He was certain it was not Hond Reed who had revealed Jon''s identity to him. ''No... He really did see him. Not even Hond knew the details!... '' Ned thought urgently. ''''You''re wrong... He... He''s not... "Ned, with onest effort, managed to utter thosest fragile words soaked in lies. Before he was interrupted again... "He is Aegon. Aegon of House Targaryen, rightful son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. A rightful heir to the Iron Throne." Chapter 68: Three Drops Chapter 68: '' Three Drops '' Happy New Year to you all!!! I hope I can start it well with a good chapter. I leave the judgement to you. Best wishes again and Happy Reading! ------------------ POV: Duncan; On a hill about 300 feet from the camp. About five seconds after a name was spoken... The man in front of me had a surrendered look in his eyes that screamed despair, fear, uncertainty, and remorse. Ned Stark, could not utter a single word in the minute that followed immediately after my statement. The man continued to look around for fear that others had overheard our conversation. "Fear not, Lord Stark. No one within 200 feet of us is present at this moment. Fifty of my trusted men are personally making sure of that. We are alone, My Lord. And you, you have fine steel on your hands. I, on the other hand, wear wool and velvet and am unarmed. You have the choice to do or not to do the deed that is tormenting you at this moment... "I said to one of the most honorable men in the Seven Kingdoms. Ned seemed possessed. I even noticed a glint in his eyes, symbolizing the beginnings of a tear. He was less than five feet from me, a sufficient distance for a sh. My gaze was still on his. The de I had given him was still pointing downward, but his right hand was firmly on the handle. Ned looked at the de... then back at my face, more serious than ever. The grip on his hand loosened... and the de fell to the ground, hitting the grassy ground stained with a light frost. Ned knelt and said with his gaze and head lowered to the ground: "I implore you. I beg you, Duncan of House Tallhart... Please... Do not breathe a word of this to anyone. I beg you to keep this secret. I... I promised her... To my sister, the one I loved with all my heart that I would protect that baby. Jon... Aegon, he had nothing to do with this. I don''t want that child forced to walk that path, but that''s not the only reason... If Robert or any other nobleman of Westeros ever finds out about this... "I cut off the helpless man''s plea. "Jon, the North and tens of thousands more would be in danger... I know. There is no need for you to plead with me, Lord Stark. I will never mention the matter to anyone, I swear it. Now rise, Warden of the North. No one could hear us, but at long range, they could. You are my Lord, and I am your vassal." I said in a gentler tone, offering the man a hand. Ned raised his face with wet eyes... Sad eyes but with a new sparkle. A twinkle that expressed ''Hope''. About three minutester of thanks and waiting for a certain man to regain the dignity of a true Lord... "Forgive me, Lord Duncan... I must be sure. When you said that '' four '' individuals were aware of it, did you mean Lord Hon Reed and that Targaryen handmaiden as the remaining two?" Ned. "Ah, right... The handmaiden... Forgive me. I meant [five]... Five if the handmaiden is still alive... Is she?" Ned lost another heartbeat but still managed to answer immediately afterward. "As far as I know, she still should be... Me or Hon, we''ve done her no harm. She... Jinnea was a loyal supporter of House Targaryen. Very loyal to Prince Rhaegar. For the sake of... She wanted to join the Sisters of the Silent... Then, when we reached Sunset Stars, she headed for Sunspear. A rumor came to us, that maybe Elia and her children were still alive and hiding somewhere... She swore to me, that if she did not find Rhaegar''s heirs, she would opt for the pious path and keep the secret until the grave. I could not harm her...she chose to stand by Lyanna''s side until the end. That being said... WHO? Who is this?" Ned. "A very old man who still lives on the other side of the Wall. He has simr abilities to mine... I believe he is watching us even now." As soon as I finished my sentence, I could hear a pping of wingsing from somewhere less than 40 feet away. "No... Not anymore. Fear not, Ned. This one, who calls himself: [Three-Eyed Raven], is no threat. He is a bit like my master... He likes to observe and be neutral..." Ned still looked bewildered by all this supernatural news, but still managed to nod. "How long have you known?" Ned. "Oh... A long time. My Lord, please. I swear to you on my honor and in everything I believe, that I will never lie to you. However... I will never be forced to tell you everything I know. At least not now. If I cannot answer you, I will simply choose not to... Is that all right with you?" I asked, interrupting Ned''s next question. Eddard took a few moments before answering: "That''s fine with me, Lord Duncan. We have an agreement. But that won''t stop me from continuing to try and ask if that''s all right with you..." Ned proposed, smiling for the first time since that whole period of despair. "Deal," I said... then continued. "Now my Lord, it''s time for the real ''conversation'' to begin..." Ned nearly lost consciousness... With a shocked look, he asked: "Isn''t that what you wanted to talk to me about?! Is there anything else?!" "Yes, there is. I... I would like to point out that it was you who brought up the subject of ''Jon''... It was not my intention to bring it up today." Realizing the obvious, Eddard Stark gritted his teeth for a moment, then, losing his wits for a moment, almost shouted: "Catelyn was right! YOU ARE... you... "Ned froze at thest breath, trying to regain hisposure. "A monster?... Yes, I can''t fault either of you. However, I am the [Monster] you need, Lord Stark... Why do you think all these ''miracles'' that fell from the heavens are raining down on the North? A gift from the Old Gods perhaps? No, Ned. Me and my House. The Tallhart are working hard and steady day and night to make the North more stable, prosperous, and strong than ever. Man has made it possible. Not prayers, the Old and New Gods... MAN." Ned immediately lowered his head, saying: "I beg your pardon, my Lord... I did not mean to offend you or your House. What you say is true. It has been a trying day... " "I understand... I renew my offer to postpone our conversation until tomorrow if you wish." I proposed politely. "... Yes, I ept the offer. I thank you, my Lord." End POV. ------------------------------------------------------ POV: Ned Stark; King''s Road, about 30 miles from Moat Cailin. Some 23 hours after an unexpected and tiresome conversation took ce... "Lord Duncan... Nice to see you again... Well... before we start, could I... Could I ask you to... "Luckily for Ned, he was understood. "Of course, my Lord. Come closer, please." The boy repeated the same miracle asst night. A green light radiated from his hands and spread over the exhausted body of the poor man, who had not been able to sleep more than two hours the night before. For the first time in four years, Ned argued with his faithful knight and friend Ser Haymitch. After the tenth minute in a row that Haymitch continued to mock and taunt him with roaringughter, Ned raised his voice. He had had enough of the man''s antics... at least for today. "Lord Stark, I have a small gift for you. A new recipe, made by Maester Qyburn. More powerfull than Dreamwine but with fewer side effects than Sweet Sleep. Two drops in a cup of water before going to sleep is rmended. He christened it ''Dreams and Wishes''... I think... Yes, I think you will need it tonight." Ned epted the vial without replying or answering. Since this morning, he had abandoned any trace of pride or resolve he might have wanted to show in such cases. The man had cursed his damned curiosity over and over again... He was conflicted... He wanted and didn''t want to know what the conversation was about... Certainly, the sentence [''Jon''s more delicate topics at the moment require your attention, my Lord.], had certainly left a deep, dark mark on him. ''This was your task, Brandon... You were to be Lord of Winterfell. YOU, not me...'' Ned Stark thought for the umpteenth time, resenting a man who was currently sleeping sweetly in the crypts of House Stark. Another thought nagged at him. ''Jeor Mormont... He is a wise man... I should follow his example. I''ll stop Benjen from joining the Nights Watch and go in his ce. I''m used to the cold, andtely, the wildling attacks have subsided... I could sleep there without looking back... That way my honor and that of House Stark would remain-'' A voice interrupted the man''s thoughts. "Are you all right, my Lord?" Said a boy for the second time. "Yes! Yes, Lord Duncan... I beg your pardon. I am ready." Eddard Stark''s honor was stained for the umpteenth time. The man had shamelessly lied... another lie. He had not felt this agitated since that moment in the Trident, where the fate of his House had been put at stake. In front of him was an army of 40,000 men, but the anxiety Eddard felt then was nothing like the anxiety he felt now. He was facing a far more dangerous army soon... "... Alright then... Before we begin, I would like to make two fundamental points clear: 1) In no way would I use the topic ''you know'' as a means of ckmail. I hope that when the day ''you know who'', turns sixteen, thus reaching the age of majority, you will talk to him. 2) I and House Tallhart will be loyal to you, Lord Stark. Even if we are richer and more powerful than the Lannisters, we will never go against you or House Stark as long as you lead us. If your son Robb were to be half the man you are today, we would swear the same loyalty to him. House Tallhart will follow values like good judgment, honor, wisdom, and mercy. We will not forget, my Lord." Exined the boy calmly. "Thank you, Lord Duncan... I appreciate your words very much. I swear I will do my best to pass on all I know to Robb and guide him to the right path. When... ...the boy turns 16, I''ll talk to him and tell him the truth, I promise... I''m sorry, what did you mean by ckmail? Does it have anything to do with the ''request'' you wanted to make?..." Ned asked partly more rxed and tense at the same time... "My Lord, I have seven requests to make of you.... The '' ckmail ''... if we can call it that, is just a... yes... A less than honorable method to incentivize you to be more inclined to ept my requests.... That sounds better." Said the boy shamelessly with an innocent face. Ned felt like punching his demonic face. ''SEVEN? I was wrong... Not one, but SEVEN armies in front of me... Old gods... Seraphine, please bless me and protect me by granting me the same gifts you offered to this monster... I implore you.'' Ned thought desperately as he turned north for the umpteenth time. The call of {The Wall } was growing stronger and more seductive... ''Another sweeter way to describe the word [ckmail], my Lord... Please continue... " Said Ned in an annoyed tone. "... Mmm... [ckmail] or [Bribe], depending on your point of view I would say. But surely, both ''less than honorable'', Lord Stark. Ahahaha!... emm... Forgive my ill-timed joke, my Lord... I guess we''ll start with the first one. You should know, I just modified that requestst night after our chat." Hundreds of drum rolls and roars of warhorns echoed through Lord Stark''s mind. The battle for {The Dawn } versus {The Long Night }, had just begun. End POV. --------------------------------------------------------- POV: A Visionary Demon; King''s Road, about 30 miles from Moat Cailin. About two seconds after an imaginary ''bloodbath'' began... "The Moat Cailin, Lord Stark." Said the Demon pointing in the direction of the fortress less than 30 miles away. Tomorrow, before lunchtime, the Northern army would be able to camp there. "You want the Moat Cailin?! That''s the first request?!" Fired Ned Stark in an indignant tone. The man had not even dared, out of fear, to ask ''Which one''. What were the means of ckmail with which he wanted to threaten him? The army? Control over the North? ''Not me or my family, my Lord. I would have you appoint your brother Benjen, Lord of the Keep until Jon Snow turns twelve... From that time on you must yield to him by naming him Lord of the Moat Cailin and Protector of the Neck and the Fever. I know Benjen wishes to join to the Night''s Watch soon, but that time will have to wait, Lord Stark... And that is not all." The Demon allowed his victim time to digest the first part. "That''s not all! I... I thought it would be better for the boy to join the Guardians in the future, rather than.... ''You know. At Wall, Jon would be safer. Besides, I''d already discussed with my wife that if we ever had another child, the Moat Cailin would go to him... No, let''s leave it for now... I want to know the second part first." Replied the victim about to sell his soul. "No... I have other ns for Jon, Lord Stark. If you follow my ''Guidelines'', Moat Cailin will be the safest ce for him... I want to turn it into a fortress more impregnable than Harrenhall was in its infancy. And to do that will require manpower and resources... Means and men, which I''m afraid will have toe from House Stark, my lord... "...the demon. "... How much are we talking about?" Anxiously asked the not-so-poor Northern Lord... That prolonged pause still made him anxious. Ned was already nning to have some of Moat Cailin''s towers restored, now that he could afford it. But the Tallhart family had, like it was nothing, pulled out 900,000 gold dragons to build roads. The man wisely braced himself for the mention of such a sum. "Um... about 5,000,000 golden dragons..." Said the greedy demon. "FIVE MILLION?!!!... ARE YOU KIDDING?! B-but... With that kind of money... I WOULD BUILD... phew... With that kind of money, I would build at least THREE [Northern Networks] and as many fortresses [Harrenhal] from scratch. What would be the point of that much money?!" The likely future Lord-indebted to the hilt-asked in a highly indignant and desperate tone. "Yes, I admit it is no small sum... Here, my Lord. I have prepared an expense list... You will find an estimate of all the necessary costs to be incurred. This is only for the good of the North and the good of Jon, my Lord." Said the demon, handing a piece of paper to the poor ckmailed victim. Ned grabbed the paper with little politeness. The man wanted to see what ''extravagances'' and ''revelry'' the remorseless monster had written. The Protector of the North scrutinized the list for a good couple of minutes in total silence. "... I... I am clear on the expenses of the fortress... The works of House Manderly, Mormont, Gauntelgrym, and the Mountain ns... You want me to build and restore all ten towers... plus ten additional ones... the two walls... catapults... the two steel gates... therder plus ''Icehouse''... Scorpions... but... here I count at most 5 or 600,000 gold dragons! Where are the other expenses?!!!" The victim. "Turn the paper over, my Lord." The poor man did as suggested and countless entries and zeros appeared there. After five minutes more, Ned shot up with indignation: "Two hundred and fifty?!!! 250,000 diggers and workers?! For two years of work? And why should I pay House Reed over 700,000 gold dragons?! But more importantly, what the hell is the point of 40 watchtowers along with the River Fever?!" This time Ned''s tone, conveyed pure indignation if not offense. The man seemed offended in his pride as if he had been taunted and used of being an idiot or a chicken to be easily plucked... "My Lord... There is no need to take it personally. I assure you that every expense is well justified, let me exin!" Said the Demon stepping back in front of the man almost a foot taller than him. "Let''s hear it, ''Lord Duncan''... I''m really curious. I expect that every coin mentioned on the back of this paper is well justified. Or I''m afraid... you won''t get away with a simple, [No Offense, my Lord]... My father always taught me to treat thieves and moneylenders fairly." Said the victim, raising his head for the first time. "Of course, Lord Stark... If you could please, just for a moment, stop advancing with this murderous aura... Yes perfect, thank you. Cough, coff... So: As you well know, Lord Stark, the Moat Cailin has always been, for thousands of years, the key to the defense of the North from any Southern armies attempting to march into our... thends under House Stark''s rule. Many an Andal army has been broken in the marshes, poisoned arrows of the Crannogmen, Lion Lizards, disease and of course the Moat Cailin... The pasture has an impassable defense. The only way in is the King''s road. A narrow path capable of passing a maximum of four men at a time. Target practice for the archers and a path of death and pain for the poor sheep sent to ughter... Now, Moat Cailin''s only weak points are the back of the fortress and the River Fever... But that river is well protected, can be the key to something much bigger than just defending the pasting... A sea route, my Lord. The natural bottleneck that separates the North from the other six kingdoms can be both a means to Gold coffers, trade pressure, political pressure, and of course naval defense. Think about it, my Lord... If we could stretch that river another 60 miles, the continent would be cut in half in its entirety. If we widened the riverbanks and dug at least sixty feet deep on the east side of Moat Cailin, we''d have another road... A road made of water but more prosperous and safer than the entire Northern Network. The Lords of the Rivers, of the Wesnds, of the Reach, Dorne, even the Iron Inds... They will all beg you to use that route to reach, White Harbor, Seagull City, King''s Landing, and especially Essos. I assure you, if the work is done properly, the Lord of Moat Cailin will pocket a minimum of 600 golden dragons per day in customs duty alone... A gold mine, My Lord. All the northern lords will also benefit by increasing their trade. You can cross the River Fever to White Harbor, and from there all along with the White Knife to two-thirds of the North... Ships and boats move faster than horses, My Lord. The danger is that by that time everyone and I mean EVERYONE... will set their sights on Moat Cailin. He who owns that fortress will own a Castle that generates more gold than Casterly Rock... One must not underestimate the greed of man, my Lord. Especially Andalus and foreign greed. Excessive defensive measures are not so exaggerated when you think about it... Moat Cailin will have to have a full 360 defense... The expenses of House Reed serve to modify the flora and fauna on the south side of Moat Cailin... You will have to ensure that even if by some miracle an army ever appears to attack the back of the fortress, your enemies will have to cross at least another 3,000 feet of puddles, branches, and sharp roots and all the poisonous beasts that will live in their flora and fauna. For the entire length of the river, it will have to be the same. Only House Reed has control over the Crannogmen people. Only they will be able to do the job... I don''t think I need to mention the 250,000 diggers andborers... let alone the 40 watchtowers along the river. If any army ever gets the crazy, suicidal idea to invade the North from the South. or harm ''Lord Snow''... he must make mental preparations to pay a minimum price of 40 men for every Northern soldier that defends him... A defense worthy of the Bloody Gate in the Vale, My Lord, you must admit. House Tallhart cannot take credit for this project, my Lord... All the lords of the North should know that Lord Eddard of House Stark has invested much gold. All for the welfare and defense of the North. House Stark, not House Tallhart..." He finished, the demon transformed for a moment into a wise, caring, and loyal subject advisor in the service of House Stark. Ned Stark remained silent for over two minutes. Two minutes of total silence... The man seemed transported to another world as if his body was there, but his mind was elsewhere. Then Ned spoke and said: "If I work on this project... as well as helping the North... Jon... he..." The guardian angel finished his protg''s sentence. "No one... and I mean NO ONE, will be able to harm Jon. He will be protected by the safest fortress in Westeros, my Lord, I swear to you. Your promise would be kept, from here, until the end of his days..." The Angel. "... How many men-at-arms would it take?" Ned. "... At least three thousand to constantly patrol both the Moat and the forty forts. About 1,000 men minimum for the fortress and another 50 for each tower along the river. But... I''d rmend doubling that figure for safety." Duncan. "Six thousand?... Where am I supposed to get that? I have a total of seven thousand men, in direct service to House Stark... The crown will not allow me to double my numbers. The request would be taken as a deration of war." Exined Ned Stark calmly, reasoning. "The men are there, my Lord... They are not quite Stark, but they will be true to their name... Well to be precise, to the name ''Snow''." Duncan. "You''re thinking of the Mountain ns?... I can''t convince them to abandon theirnds altogether. It''ll be five thousand fighters at most among all the ns." Ned. "Not all the ns, but only a portion of them... Possibly the ns with the least hatred for the Wildlings... I will help you find others, my lord. I also n to summon men with the blood of the First Men in their Southern veins." Duncan. "Why the Wildlings?... Wait what do you mean by first men of the South?! You''re not talking about the Valley ns?!" Ned. "Yes, my Lord. The n of ck Ears, Burned Men, Painted Dog, Moon Brothers, Sons of the Tree... All ten of them. Together, that will be another 3,000 fierce warriors... I will recruit them myself, trust me, my lord." Duncan. "But they... They are savage fools, Lord Duncan... Jon Arryn tried for years to negotiate with them... he wasn''t very sessful." Ned replied. "I am confident we will seed. I''m not Jon Arryn, Lord Stark... If your brother Benjen and your ''son'' Jon show them respect and strength, breaking bread with them, worshipping the Old Gods, and even offering prosperity to those people neglected for centuries in those barren mountains... They will follow them to the end, even if they have to suffer the pains of the Seven Hells... The Crown will not breathe a word about it... On the contrary, they will praise you for solving the ''gue of the dreaded Barbarian raiders of the Valley''. Ahaha." Duncan. "... No... You are not Jon Arryn... Let me tell you, Lord Duncan. Your mind is more devilish than I could ever imagine... May the Old Gods protect the poor wretches who will be afflicted by your plots... You are certainly worthy of the name you bear, Bloody Snow." Said Ned, more as an affirmation than an insult orpliment. "No argument there, my lord. I am kind, fair, and hospitable to friends, but I have no mercy for those who dare choose to be my Enemies... You may also call me ''Monster'' if you wish... But always remember that I am the ''Monster'' the North needs." Bloody Snow. "... Aye. Only one problem left... I don''t have that much gold. Not even that if the trades were to double in the next two years, I could raise that kind of money. Not without selling all of Winterfell and Wintetown..." Said Ned. "How much can you raise without aggravating the stability of House Stark too much?" Bloody Snow. "... Half. Half if I can convince Ser Haymitch to stop drinking. Pfff... " For the first time in the evening, Ned tried to make a joke. The air was beginning to lighten and a bond of mutual trust was beginning to forge between the two. "... We cannot lend you such a sum at present, my Lord... My House still owes a debt to the House of Lannister. Besides... we have spent a very considerable sum on the Silk Road project... But there is someone... or rather, an ''institution'' to borrow money from. I had already anticipated such a possibility..." Duncan. "I don''t want to go into debt to the Iron Bank if that''s what you''re thinking... " Ned. "Not the Iron Bank, my lord... but the Bank of Never Winter." Duncan. "Bank of Never Winter? WAIT, NEVER WINTER? The Never Winter project is a bank?!?!! When did you build a bank?! "A distraught Ned asked. "I... I thought Lady Dustin had already mentioned it to you a few weeks ago along with the invitation to her wedding... She... She will be opening her bank during the celebration of her wedding to Lord Jorah..." Duncan. "WHAT?! L-Lady Dustin is going to own a bank?!" Ned. "Not exactly... She''s gonna be the senior partner and CEO of the bank... mmm...Yeah, she owns it. I''ve already told her about this project... emm... My Lord Stark. Lady Dustin will always be happy to offer soft loans to all the people of the North... " Duncan. "But?" Ned held his breath. "But... she '' wishes '' that you, when you get the chance, go to her in person to ask for the loan... " Duncan. "... What trap are you leading me into, O my faithful vassal? Lady Dustin will never give me a loan. Guaranteed. If I''m lucky, she''ll simply m the door in my face andugh with gusto!" Replied Ned wisely. "No... I don''t think she''d go that far, my Lord... Mmm if possible, be sure to give her a warm congrattory wish... It would also be a case of protecting Lord Jorah carefully and steadfastly during this militarypanion... If Jorah should ever fall in the field... No, he will not fall. I will protect him with my life if necessary... I swear it." Ned remained silent, contemting the matter carefully. He too, now that he knew that the House of Dustin, was more powerful and influential than expected, feared for Lord Jorah''s fate. Barrowton''s golden ax would fall on both House Tallhart and House Stark... "All right... I will. I''ll plead with Lady Dustin if I have to... "Ned Stark said. "Well, my Lord! d to have concluded the most sensitive use with you." Said the boy cheerfully. "Are we done then?... the works of Moat Cailin, Jon Lord, Benjen Casten, Mountain n, Moon n, and the loan... That makes six requests... What is the seventh?" Ned asked curiously. "... Emm... my Lord... Those requests were all part of one bigger request... One of seven, my Lord... The first request was the [Moat Cailin Project]... "Ned slumped to the side. He was urgently looking for a foothold in a kissing bowl less than two feet away. The man fell over, spilling red-hot embers onto the ground. "My Lord!!!". End POV. -------------- POV: A concerned father. In the vicinity of the Stark camp. About thirty minutes after a minor incident urred... Lord Helman ran nearly a full mile... A Frost des had alerted him to the small fire involving Lord Stark and his son during a conversation between them. Helman was more worried than ever. He knew his son''s intentions... He knew of the ''Seven Favours'' he intended to demand from that brash, reckless boy he had as his heir. Had it not been for Maester Qyburn''s help, Helman would not have slept a wink the entire march to Lannisport. Now that, in all likelihood, Lord Stark and Bloody Snow had had a bit of a scuffle... at least that was the rumor, Lord Helman decided to intervene himself. He was going to beg his Lord Protector on his knees, begging him to forgive his rebellious and uncontroble son. Helman turning quickly for a tent, met his very target. "Lord Stark! My lord..." Helman said, catching his breath. "Lord Helman... A pleasure to meet you, my lord... Are you all right?" Ned asked in a distressed but still concerned tone. "Yes, my Lord! I... well, word hade to me of a certain '' incident''... I came to see if you and my son were... Yes, I mean is everything all right?" Helman. "Ah, that... Don''t worry, Lord Helman... It''s nothing serious. It''s my fault. I stupidly... tripped... yes, tripped over a brazier at my side. The mes were extinguished almost immediately. Luckily, the ground was damp. No injuries and no harm done, my Lord." Ned. "Phew... d to hear it, Lord Stark... emm... if I may ask, my lord. You and my son... well... Did you have any friction during your talk?" Helman. "... no, my Lord, fear not... Your son and I, we had a... a pleasant conversation... The conversation was full of ideas and insights. We rambled on for so long, there wasn''t enough time. During this march to Lannisport... we decided, by mutual agreement, to have six more... Six more spread out over the twenty days of the journey ahead of us... Yes, we will..." Lord Stark. "I see... Forgive me for asking, my Lord... I have a simr bottle in my tent. The one you are holding in your hand, is it by any chance essence of ''''Dreams and Desires''''? " Helman asked curiously. "Emm... Yes, my Lord... A kind gift from your son Duncan. I was just about to lie down in bed... Do you use it too?" Ned. "I do... I''ve been having serious insomnia problemstely. That vial helps me greatly, Lord Stark..." Helman. "I see... By any chance could you tell me-" Eddard was anticipated. "Three drops, my Lord." Chapter 69: The Key Chapter 69: '' The Key '' POV: Helman Tallhart; Camp one mile from the Seagard. About three days after one man managed to sleep for over seven hours straight... Helman was still angry about the events that had urred that morning. An evening ago, the Northern army had set up camp just before the Twin Towers. The fortress that guarded the ford. Helman already had no sympathy for the House of Frey... During Robert''s Rebellion, House Frey, by a devious and slimy strategy, had managed to remain neutral to the war. All the lords loyal to House Tully had answered the call to arms of the Lord Protector of the Rivends... House Frey had done so too, but only with a Raven. Lord Walder Frey''s four thousand men only came after the battle... "Sneaky bastard. Not only will House Frey not participate in this campaign, but they even charged us 1 stag for each man and horse!!!... If it had been me instead of Hoster Tully... Arghh... Those dirty slimy cowardly moneylenders!!! '' Comined Helman to his son. For the first time in over three weeks, finally, father and son dined together again. "You forget the silver moon for every caravan or wagon, father... Don''t worry... House Frey will repay even this insult. ''We do not forget... '' The answer wille served cold and with interest." Duncan. "Yes. We will... Phew. I''m feeling more and more guilty about Lord Stark... Did you see the look on his face this morning when he came back from his negotiations with Lord Walder?" Helman. "Yes... He looked distressed, disappointed, and angry. Just as well... I will hear lessining from Lady Catelyn in the future when '' We will insult House Frey''..." Duncan took a moment, then taking advantage of the meeting point of opinion between the two, the boy asked: "Father... Not that I''mining, mind you... but why did you choose to invite me to dinner tonight? I thought you didn''t want to talk to me for at least a month. This was the punishment." "... Yes it was. Are you going to talk to Lord Stark tonight about the Northernmost Project? " Helman asked. "Yes... We might as well move on to the second key defense of the North now. I tried to ask Lord Stark if he would postpone it for another day... but he seemed determined to stick to the schedule [One conversation every Three days...]... " Duncan. "Then the time hase for the two of us to discuss a topic. A subject I promised myself I wouldn''t mention to you until you came of age... " Helman. "Are you talking about my mother?... My biological mother? " Duncan. "Yes, son... Your mother Varra... Only the Old Gods know how much I loved her. And I still don''t forgive them for taking her from me... As you know, she died the day you were born. It was she who gave you the name you bear... Hehe... How she loved that story. [The Adventures of Ser Duncan and Squire Egg...] It''s not the time to tell you everything, son, but I will tell you one thing. A few seconds before she closed her eyes forever, your mother said these exact words to me: [He will be the key Helman. The ''key'' to a chance for peace between my people and yours]. I never doubted her words for a second... but I never imagined that the day woulde so soon. You, my son, are the [Key]... Never forget that. Only you can end this endless cycle of hatred and bloodshed between the Wildlings and the Northerners... and I do not doubt that you will seed." Helman said, expressing confidence and trust in every word he spoke. Duncan smiled lovingly in response, then rose from his chair. "I had better get going, Father. Lord Stark is a very punctual person to hismitments and duties. ... Thank you, Dad." Duncan said, tearing a happy memory from the man in front of him with hisst word. Before leaving the tent, the boy greeted his father, saying: "... I firmly believe that both you and Lady Varra were mistaken eleven years ago." Helman replied with a look of doubt and iprehension at these words. Then the boy exined. "I am not the only one who could have seeded in this endeavor. Besides, they were never ''two'' people, but only one. One People... The First Men." End POV. --------------- POV: Lord Eddard Stark; Promontory 800 feet from camp. About 30 minutes after a boy emerged from the tent... "Wee back, Lord Duncan." Eddard. "Good evening, Lord Stark. I am d to see you so much more rested since ourst meeting." Duncan said to the man dressed in more formal attire. The event at House Frey had stiffened the Northern Protector for good measure. As if he had just remembered that thisnd was not his home... This was the South. "All credit to you and maester... Emm " "Qyburn, my Lord." Replied the boy swiftly, helping his Lord. "Qyburn, right. As soon as I get home I''ll send him a gift and well deserved praise for his work." Eddard. "I''m sure the praise from the Protector of the North is more than enough. He would never admit it, but he basks in his way when he receivespliments for his work. Ahahaha." Duncan. "If you think that''s the most appropriate gift, then I''ll write him a scroll ofpliments. Ahaha." Ned. After a shortugh, the air became tenser again. The second battle was about to begin. "So... Where do you want me to start? Do you have any questions for me before I begin?" Duncan. "Yes... I would prefer that you, from now on, begin with the '' Title '' of your suggestion-project." Eddard. "As you wish... The project is entitled [The Call of the First Men]." Duncan. "... I thought we had covered this topic before. Continue, Lord Duncan." Eddard. "The first Project concerned our defense in the south... Now it is time to discussnds further north." Duncan. ''He''s not talking about The Wall, is he?... May the Old Ones forgive me for what I may say or do!'' Ned thought urgently. No one could estimate the total value of that architectural structure. It was simply ssified as a [Wonder of the World]... "If you intend to discuss the structural condition of The Wall, know upfront that, now more than ever, I have no intention of investing in the renovation of Castle ck, The Shadow Tower, or the Eastern Fort... House Stark cannot help the Night''s Watch. At least not until I''ve finished repaying the rancorous and powerful Lady Dustin." Said Ned immediately cing a border g. ''First, he attacks me from the south and behind from the north!'' Thought the poor, penniless Warden of the North. "... None of the neen castles is the subject of discussion this evening. It will be House Tallhart who will offer financial sor to the Night''s Watch, I promise you." Duncan said, reassuring the tense man in front of him. Ned breathed a sigh of relief. He was almost ashamed of the gesture he had just made. After all, House Stark had always provided aid to the honorable order of The Wall. "It is thends of the Gift and thends beyond The Wall that interest me, Lord Stark." Duncan. "... I don''t think you''re talking about conquering or increasing thend held by House Tallhart... Therefore. State your thoughts clearly." Eddard. "You are correct. Before I exin my request in detail, I would like to anticipate that to meet most of it, we will need King Robert''s help." Duncan. "... I tremble at the thought of what you are asking. I''ll be damned and cursed with curiosity... What do you want me to ask King Robert?" Ned. "Two requests. One of them you will not like. Do you want me to start with the more '' wee '' one or the undoubtedly unpleasant one?" Duncan. "Wee..." Ned. "I would like thends of the New Gift granted to a house in Westeros. A house that has served House Stark for thousands of years and must continue to do so... To do so will require the approval of Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and King Robert. I''m confident I can negotiate with Lord Mormont, but I''ll need your help to convince Robert Baratheon." Duncan. "Who? Which House are you referring to?" Ned. "House ckwood." Duncan. "ckwood?... The ckwoods have been loyal to House Tully since the days of Aegon''s conquest... Your request isn''t as simple as you''re making it out to be, Lord Duncan. You forget your negotiations with Lord Hoster Tully and Lord Tytos ckwood. Why would either of them agree to change Lord Protector?" Ned. "Fair and wise words, Lord Stark. It won''t be an easy feat, I grant you, but I will seed." Duncan. "How will you do it?" Ned. "I am pleased to note from your words that the addition of Lord Tytos to the possible ranks of your Lord Vassals is not unwee," Duncan said, smiling slightly. "It would not. I would be a fool not to want House ckwood here in the North. They are one of the most honorable Houses in Westeros. Their military strength is equal if not greater than that of House Tully, plus Lord Tytos is an excellent military leader and strategist... All good points thatpel me to ask: [Why would Lord Hoster give up having House ckwood as his loyal vassal?]" Ned. "Excluding for a moment the problem [How to convince Lord Tytos], let me make my point. Lord Hoster Tully, like many of his ancestors, has always found the eternal feud between House ckwood and House Bracken a gue on the Rivends. For hundreds of years, countless peace agreements and arranged marriages were made in the name of a chance for peace between the two Houses. The longest period of recorded history in more than a thousand years in which no bloody diatribe between the two sides urred was 13 years of peace... All attempts failed and continued to be futile. Lord Hoster has chosen neutrality between the two. He cannot act withoutpletely extinguishing one of the two oldest houses in the Seven Kingdoms... and even if he wanted to, he would not have the political or military power to carry out such a massacre. The only remaining alternative solution is for one of the two Houses to cede itsnds to the other. If House ckwood leaves behind at least two-thirds of its military forces and Raventree Hall intact, House Tully could do nothing but rejoice at this. I will further sweeten the proposal with Lord Hoster to ensure that any possible bitter pill is overlooked. Lord Hoster may be a man of honor and duty, but he is also greedy." Duncan. "Two-thirds of the armed forces? You would have Lord Tytos leave behind almost the entire legacy of his ancestors?.... If, and I say ''if'', you can convince Lord Tytos... Yes, that could work. I''d be happy to wee Lord Tytos, and Ser Haymitch would certainly be, too. The man had no trouble leaving Raventree behind... but he often speaks fondly of his cousin. House ckwood was originally from the North at one time. Most of them still worship the Old Gods... It won''t be a problem to wee the Lost Wolf back into the pack. Besides, it would be a blessing to finally have a Lord who can guard and take care of those almost abandonednds... The threat of attacks from the Wildlings." Ned was interrupted. *Author suggestion: [Soundtrack - Winter Is Here (Extended)]* "The Wildlings are the second part..." Duncan. "What do you- Wait...You don''t mean-" Ned. "I''d like you to open yournds to Free Folk." Duncan. "... The answer is ''No''. I will not back down on this point." Lord Eddard Stark. "I see... Might I ask the reason for that answer?" Duncan. "Yes... You may. Forgive me for stating the obvious on some points, it is no coincidence that all the people of the North know the Wildlings. They are more barbaric and savage than even the ns of the Vale. Their culture and their endlessnguages make any kind of negotiation impossible. They answer to no one, they bow to no one, and they will never follow thews of man. The hatred the North has for the ''Free Folk'' is only matched by the hatred we feel for the Iron Men. They are raiders by nature. They hunt, steal and kill... that''s their culture. Dozens of good rangers from the Night''s Watch are attacked and hunted down like animals every single year... I can believe in a possible reconciliation with the Valley n, but I will never believe in peaceful coexistence with the Wildlings. If I open the gates in the Nortnds to the ns of the Wildlings, I will only bring suffering and death to thends I am sworn to protect. This is my answer, Lord Duncan." Ned Stark exined with strong conviction and rity in his words. "You are not wrong, but you are not right either." Duncan. "Where am I not right?" Lord Stark. "They hunt and steal and kill... The simplification of their culture. Many of them are also farmers, fishermen, wool weavers, leather hairstylists, animal tamers, miners, carpenters, builders, and even healers... That''s only part of the list. They are also the best explorers and climbers the world has ever seen. There are also qualities in the Free Folk when viewed from a more neutral and objective eye." Duncan. "That doesn''t mean-" A question stopped the Lord Protector''s words. "Who is the enemy of the Night''s Watch?" Duncan. "... The Night''s Watch fights against the Wildlings. They''ve been fending off the Wildlings'' attacks for thousands of years. The Wildlings hate them and consider them sworn enemies... "Ned Stark exined in a slightly annoyed tone. He felt like he was talking to a real eleven-year-old boy at that moment. "So the Night''s Watch swear to fight and repel the Wildlings until the end of their days?" Duncan. "Are we ying game?" Ned. " [Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold nonds, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night''s Watch, for this night and all the nights toe]... I can''t find any part referring to the fight against the Wildlings in these verses... " Duncan. Ned Stark thought for a few seconds in total silence, his gaze more serious than ever. Then he said: "Shield that guards the realms..." "Of men... Aye [The Realms of Men]... Those men are also part of it. Men in whom the purest blood of the First Men flows in their veins... The Starks have been Kings of the First Men for millennia. The Targaryens and now the Baratheons call themselves Kings and Protectors of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and... the First Men. So why are we fighting them instead of protecting them?" Duncan. Ned Stark didn''t know what to answer. "Just because they''d had the misfortune to live in those northernmostnds when your ancestor built The Wall?... Let me ask you, Lord Stark... Why did Brandon the builder build that great wall of rock and ice? "Duncan. "For... " Ned paused to process his answer. Duncan allowed him the time he needed. "To protect thends of Westeros from all that was dangerous beyond The Wall. " Ned. " Might I ask you to be more specific? If my logic and historical information do not betray me, it was not to separate us from the Wildlings, Shadowcat''s, Direwolfs, Sons of the Forest, or the Giants... because thetter two peoples helped build it with their own hands. So, what does The Wall protect us from?" Duncan. Dozens of tales of Old Nan flooded back into Ned Stark''s head. "... The Others." Ned. "Indeed. Creatures who brought death and destruction and the Long Night with them... Creatures who were repelled in the historic Dawn Wars. I''d like to emphasize ''repelled''... not destroyed to extinction... The Others existed, and the proof of that is 700 feet high and over 200 miles long. The order of the Night''s Watch was created over ten thousand years ago to protect the Realm of Men from these creatures... and not to kill Wildlings." Duncan. "The Others haven''t been seen for thousands of years. "Ned. "Is that why The Watch fights the Free Folk? Because otherwise it would have nothing to fight with?"Duncan. "The men in ck and the people of the North, they fight the Free Folk because they keep invading and raiding us.... Throughout history, the North... House Stark has repelled six invasions by Wildlings. We''ve always been at war. We''ll never be able to reconcile, let alone fight alongside each other. No one-" Ned was interrupted abruptly this time. "Wrong. You are wrong, Lord Stark. You forget history. I''m not talking about the six Kings-Beyond-the-Wall invasions... but of fighting together. This event happened in the past. I have dozens of written historical sources to prove it. During the Age of Heroes, there were two Kings who fought side by side in the fight of amon enemy. ording to some sources, this ''Enemy'' was thought to be a Lord of the Night''s Watch... The thirteenth Lord to be exact. There are different rumours as to who this might be. The mostmon im is that this individual could have belonged to House Bolton , Magnar , Umber , Flint, or even Stark... The story goes that this man sold his soul to a mysterious evil entity... That this man had acquired dark powers, powers of necromancy. And he had invaded the Nightfort to make it his domain along with an army of Undead. This individual has since been called [Night''s King]... Two men from the North, despite their differences and cultures, joined forces to fight evil... and the name of these two men was: Brandon Stark The Breaker & Joramun the King-Beyond-the-Wall. The same Starks and Wildlings fought together, trusting each other. It is not impossible and it has already happened." Said Duncan, activating a good deal of his will during his speech. Ned Stark was disarmed. The man was trying to gather his strength and find other means in his defence to try and resist this authoritative and immovable presence, but he could not... The only option left to him wasplete silence. A silence full of nces thatsted more than three minutes... A silent battle based on the strongest conviction. A battle Lord Stark could not win... Finally Ned, lowering his eyes first, said: "If hypothetically... and only hypothetically, I were to consider this n... How would you implement it? What is the n for Free Folk and my people to live together in peace? I anticipate that House Umber and n Wull woulde after you with weapons in hand for even uttering the words ''Enter'' and ''Wildlings''... " Ned. "Mance Raider is the key." Duncan. "Mance Raider?! The traitor in the Night''s Watch who attacked and mutted Qorin the Monk?" Ned. "Yes, Mance Raider... Two years ago he escaped the Shadow Tower to live with the Free Folk. He is currently amassing arge following behind him. Over 7,000 people are already following him and have proimed him King-Beyond-the-Wall. He will soone into conflict with the other five kings... I know he is the key, for he will, in less than ten years, rally more than 100,000 wildlings. One hundred thousand people, and one in four of them knows how to wield a weapon. At least an army of 20-25,000, if not 30,000 warriors. That army will have one purpose, to attack The Wall, but the motive behind that attack is the real matter of interest. They don''t want to cross the Wall to conquer and invade the North, but only to take refuge behind the Wall. I have seen it." Thest words echoed like a war-horn inside Ned Stark. It wasn''t the first time he''d heard them-and he couldn''t help but give them credence. "A hundred thousand? No king has ever been able to reach a number like that... Take shelter from what? What would they run from?" Ned. "If I told you, my lord, you would not believe me. Not because you don''t think it possible, but simply because your body, your mind and your most unconscious desires would scream at you to deny my words in every way..." Ned''s eyes widened. Not at the words spoken, but at the boy''s unchanged tone. The earnestness and will that expressed confidence in those words had not changed.... "I would still-" Ned only tried to say, [I wish I knew that reason,] but was stopped. "No you wouldn''t. Not now, not without seeing it with your own eyes first. Words would be wind. Only hard evidence could convince you... We''re not talking about simple magic. We are talking about a threat of global proportions. A threat far beyond simple wars to decide who will sit on a piece of metal and who will not." Said the boy. "... Even with that... Mance Rayder is still a traitor who has broken his oath. I could never trust such a man, nor will I avoid dropping my de on his head." Ned. "You could. You could if you wanted to. All I ask is that you convince King Robert to grant Mance Raider a royal pardon... If you do that I''ll see to the rest." Duncan. "Take care of the rest? And what are you going to do? Ally yourself with Mance Raider and march with an army to armed struggle against the Wildlings? I''m sorry, Lord Duncan, I cannot let the fate of the North be decided by a roll of the dice. I do not believe that forgiving a traitor will bring the peace you dream of." Ned. "... I dream of it, it''s true. I also dreamed of a road once... a road that would help the North through the darkest and coldest times. Presently I dream of a fortress that could defend a loved one and repel armed threats from invaders... The Dream is the beginning of every great endeavor worth telling. I also have this dream, a dream, not just mine, not just ours... but of thousands of children. Children who do not want to see their parents die because of stupid, unfounded fights between the same people. Children who don''t want to be orphans just because their vige full of food was plundered by a group of people dying of cold and hunger... It is not only the children of today who dream of this... but also the thousands... no... The Millions who have not yet been born. The chance to fulfill that dream exists, my Lord, I swear to you. It''s already happening." Duncan. "What do you mean?..." Stark. "In Sea Dragon Point, for over three years now, and far from the eyes of the North, a small tribe of Free Folk has been living peacefully on ournds. In the beginning, we only offered shelter and food during the time of Winter. In return, one of their magical Wargs would work for our House. 324 of them came to live on the small patch of uninhabitednd. Today that number has grown to 353... Two old souls passed away peacefully in their sleep with the love of their own family members by their side and thirty-one new souls who dream of a life of peace and prosperity, Lord Stark. All of them wish to stay and live working in peace... Werragh and eight other volunteers have joined the Tallhart forces to help repel the Iron Inds invasion. Without Warragh''s help, I would not have been warned of the attack a day in advance. A day that would have cost the lives of at least 700 Bear Inders. Werragh is a hero, not because of his name, where he''s from, his history, his culture, or who he is... but just because of what he did. We are all barbarians and marauders when we are cold and hungry. The Wildlings suffer these two gues more than anyone else in Westeros. They know Winter-- the Real Winter, better than anyone, better than House Umber, n Wull, or the Night''s Watch. The real reason true peace has not been found is not for ideological or cultural reasons... but a reason of resources. Mere, vile, necessary, and few resources. We have those resources now. You, me and King Robert, have to help our people." The boy finished his magic for the second time in three days. Ned Stark was no longer the Lord of Winterfell at that moment. He was just a father worried about his children. This was no longer the time to retort with words of honor, justice, and reason... Ned was only afraid... Fear of the future. An uncertain future never before explored. Fear of the unknown and what he didn''t know... The man took a few steps away to look at the mes of a bonfire burning a few feet away. At times when his thoughts were dark or full of turmoil, Ned found sce in watching a fire. "A great speech, Lord Duncan. I''ll give you that... You''re right. The conflict with the Free Folk is meaningless now. Nevertheless, the decision I am about to make will determine the fate of thousands of lives... Your experiment with that small tribe may have worked, my Lord, but can you guarantee the same with muchrger tribes? Tribes, that constantly seek conflict with each other? How do I know which of the two choices is the better one to take?.... There''s nothing certain about your n... You''re asking me to trust someone I don''t know. To trust a man who has gone against all the principles I believe in." Ned turned, seeking the boy''s gaze again. Duncan Tallhart approached his Lord Protector and stared at him closely. "We are also tribe, and we are not much better than they are. We are currently marching to seek conflict with another tribe. Peace is not in our nature. We will always seek conflict in whatever period of history we live in. The periods we call ''Peace'' are nothing more than short times in which we lick our wounds and gather strength for the next conflict. I am not asking you to trust Mance Raider... I''m asking you ''To Trust Me''. I''ll ride north from the Wall and meet the man! I won''t win him over with violence, only with words and the sweat of my brow! Give me a chance! Just one chance to try and find that peace... Believe in ME, Eddard of House Stark. Together, we can break this endless cycle of senseless hatred." Said a boy. The man, having heard that plea, full of hope and expectation, returned to seek out the gaze of the mad revolutionary. Ned saw no sign of relenting, hesitation, or doubt in those silver-tinged green eyes. A part of him envied that stubbornness, which seemed more tempered and sharpened than the ancestral sword of House Stark, [Ice]... After a few seconds, Ned returned to watching the fire. The Quiet Wolf remembered the words of the former beloved Alpha of House Stark: ["Brandon, Ned, Benjen, listen to me carefully, my sons. Throughout your lives, you will find yourself faced with choices. Whatever trialse your way, you must always remember one thing. You''ll always have three paths to choose from: The right way. The easy way. The wrong way. You will never have to choose the third because you are Starks. Alpha Wolves cannot lead their packs down that path. As for the second one, just promise me that no matter how much morefortable, shorter, and safer it may seem, you will only take it, only when you have tried and tried again, without sess, to go through the first one"]. '' It''s not an easy road... It is arduous and full of danger... '' Thought the new Alpha Wolf. After concluding his thought, in a defeated but calm tone, the Wolf said: "Exin to me in detail how we are to travel this arduous and long road, Duncan of House Tallhart." Chapter 70: A Titan and a Lighthouse Chapter 70: '' A Titan and a Lighthouse '' Hello everyone, sorry for the dy. These chapters to follow will be the most difficult andplex chapters ever written. I have done a tremendous amount of research in order to write them. I hope this chapter turned out well. Please forgive the dy in responding to yourments. Unfortunately, myputer is not powerful enough to respond quickly to all of you. Whenever I type more than three letters on the Webnovel page, it crashes.... As soon as I''ll get my hands on my mother''s I''ll answer you all, I swear. Happy Reading! PS. I made some changes on the final part of the previous chapter. --------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. Three days after a man and a Northern boy discussed a n for a people... The temple of wood and stone dedicated to the Seven had all but copsed. It must have been built at least a hundred years ago along with a vige that no longer exists... The Land of the Rivers was at the center of Westeros. The location most exposed to conflict among other great Houses of Westeros. That''s why House Tully has always been very strict about alliances and marriages. They would always have to have an alliance with at least one of the neighboring great Houses. Currently, House Tully was tied to the North and the Vale of Arryn. A powerful alliance at the moment... until Lysa Arryn goes mad. I was still very indecisive on the topic. The subject of ''House Tully'' was far moreplex than I thought. I wanted to get rid of Lysa and Peter Baelish right away... but in the end, I had decided to wait and do it when the time was right. Technically Peter hadn''t done anything wrong yet. He currently had a position as a chief customs officer in Seagull City, and he was working hard, withmitment and wit... In about two years he would be the new Master of Coin. From there, his climb would begin. I was still torn between making him a possible ally or an enemy to be milked and used to my advantage. As devious, slimy, and responsible for Ned''s death and the fall of House Stark, I had to admit that Petyr had a very sad history. He was a perfect case of a bad guy forced to be one. The environment and the events of his past forced him to mutate into something much darker and more ruthless than the simple, honest boy full of dreams and hopes that he was... The fall broke him... and he to survive and take revenge for all the pain he had suffered, chose to get back up and slowly climb higher than the others to take revenge on all those who pushed him. Qyburn had a simr past, though the dark paths chosen were different. But now was not the time to think of him... Petyr Baelish was still at the bottom of my list. Three far more dangerous enemies were still disturbing my sleep. Today was the day to discuss with Lord Stark one of them... perhaps the most dangerous of all. I had made a grave miscalction, one that might have cost Ned dearly. If six days ago I had talked to him about even the three items on my list at one time, at the very least I would have induced the poor man into a mental breakdown... or maybe even aa. I had overestimated the moral fiber of the individual and underestimated the burden he was already carrying. To crush him with another seven hundredweight all at once would have torn him apart... Poor Ned and Helman... I must stop throwing too heavy burdens at men... well just in ordinary people who have human limitations... I am a monster after all. '' I thought inwardly as I recalled the pains I put my father through the day I exined the true enemies of the North... And I didn''t mention the topic of ''The Others and possible supernatural beings created by yours truly '' at all... It was on that asion that Ser Qyburn created ''Essence of Dreams and Desires''... Poor Helman couldn''t sleep without at least two drops of ''Sweet Sleep''. A powerful narcotic not rmended for use more than two nights in a row... A voice interrupted my thoughts and reflections. "Lord Duncan, forgive myteness." Said Ned as he entered the facility. "No dy, my Lord. I have been here less than five minutes. It is I who must ask your forgiveness for inconveniencing you all the way here, Lord Stark." I said, bowing respectfully. "... From now on, when we are this far from the eyes of the world, you may call me Ned, from now on if you please, Lord Duncan." Ned. "Ah... Thank you, '' Ned''... Ahaha, what a coincidence. Tonight I promised myself I''d scold you for not calling me ''Lord Duncan'' anymore. I am not yet a lord, after all, my lord. However, if you agree, I''d like a little more time to pass before I abandon the formalities altogether... How would you like to call each other by the names the world has given us?" I proposed, smiling. "Mmm... as you wish, Bloody Snow. [Etiquette and courtesy are not just armor for the Lady...] My grandmother, Lady Marna, was the first person to teach me that." Said Ned, smiling back. "A very wise woman, Lady Marna, Quite Wolf." I replied. "Yes, she was... Wise, and ruthless when I failed to remember one of her teachings. But of course, she didn''t hit as hard with words as you, Bloody Snow." Ned. "... Unfortunately, I''m afraid that in this third conversation, I''m going to hit harder than any of the others we''ve faced so far... Probably even more than the others that remain... If any remain, '' Quiet Wolf ''... Even if you respected my condition [Disarm and Rx for the Third Meeting], tonight is the night you might decide to attack me, have me executed, or even worse, break all rtions with me, Lord Eddard." I exined in a more serious tone than before. "... You must teach me how you manage to find every single time, before you get to the heart of the matter, to convey a terror that prates your bones more than a blizzard in the middle of Winter... " The Quiet Wolf. " I love honesty, Quiet Wolf... The truth is hard, bitter, unforgiving, and has no regard for anyone... We are not creatures created to endure such atrocity... We are emotional, we always want to hope and dream for a better future... We wouldn''t have invented the sweet, persuasive,forting lies otherwise. The business of Fairy Tales and Songs is an industry that should always be invested in my opinion. Mankind will always need Dreams and Fantasy Worlds to take refuge in when the truth bes too heavy a burden to bear... "I said. "... Before I left Winterfell, I was a staunch believer in the raw, bitter truth... But then I met you. I should start paying more attention to the fairy tales I read to my children before I put them to bed... "Ned walked over to the table set up and sat down. On the wooden table was a pitcher with two empty fine cups of terra cotta and ivory enamel. "I know you don''t like to drink much... But I also know that when you are forced to, ckberry wine is your favorite... What you''re looking at is the best Westeros has to offer. Those leeches at House Redwine, made me shell out 2,000 golden dragons for a single 5-gallon barrel... I hope for their sake that it is of the best vintage of them all...I swear I will bankrupt them before the end of next summer. " Ned seemed stunned by my statement. A little scared by myst words, but very pleasantly intrigued by the first ones. I poured the wine into the two sses offering one to Ned. "A little liquid courage before we begin? Could you help me decide the financial fate of House Redwine, Quiet Wolf?" I asked Lord Stark in a slightly wry tone. "I will only drink it if you promise me that you will have no friction with House Redwine even if the wine should be rancid... " Ned replied in a slightly worried tone. "Ahahahahah... I make no promises, my Lord. You are not alone in treating thieves and moneylenders as they deserve. However... I am also very flexible and open to dissenting opinions. "I took my first bite and enjoyed a rich sip. Ned seemed to be genuinely concerned about the fate of House Redwine. The man waited silently and breathlessly for my judgment... "... Mmm... It seems House Redwine will be able to keep its monopoly on fine red wine for a generation or two more... Yes, a very good vintage indeed. Ahaha! Try it, Ned. "Ned didn''t let it go to his head twice and took a sip of perhaps the finest and most expensive wine on the market. "... Delicious... I feel like I just ate a bowl of freshly picked ckberries. "Ned couldn''t stop himself from finishing the cup. I did the same. "... Shall we find out what color the bottom of this pitcher is before we begin?" I proposed. "... Do you think we really need to? The '' Enemy of the North '' that you mentioned three days ago, is it really that terrible?" Ned. "... I''m afraid so," I replied. After a few seconds spent digesting the dreadful information, Ned stood up from his chair, extending his arm towards the jug. "I see... If we''re going to do this, then let''s do it right." Ned took it upon himself to act as cupbearer, then settled into the cushion-lined chair in a much less ''''etiquette'''' position. "Well said, Granson of Lady Marna Stark," I said, squatting my braided feet on a corner above the table. After a quiet minute spent just savoring that liquid delight with relish, The Quiet Wolf asked: "May I ask you a question, Bloody Snow? It''s more of a curiosity than anything else. You don''t have to answer it if you don''t want to." Ned. "Please. I''ll be d to do it if I can." I replied. "I am well aware of how it was at Bear Ind, during the battle and duel against Denys Drumm''s forces, and I know how it was. Seeing the armed forces of House Tallhart in person, everything seemed easier to exin... " Ned. "But?" me. "But... You did not have such forces before this Winter, did you?" Ned. "You are correct, my lord. It has taken time, gold, effort, andmitment to get the army up to these standards." Me. "Then how did you achieve such a victory against those mercenaries, the '' Brave Companions ''? If I''m not mistaken, House Tallhart managed to win the battle against an enemy that was three times more numerous. You had only lost eight men in total... How did you manage that?" Ned. "... I could exin details to you for hours, my Lord. Let''s just say that the right man, in the right ce, at the right time, can safely prevail against even fifty enemies. If you know, Who, Where, When and What your enemy wants, and they are unaware that you are aware of it... Total defeat is the only fate in store for it. We had that advantage...the rest is just details and creative ideas." Me. "As much as the World may refer to me by that nickname, '' Quiet Wolf '', people don''t know that '' War and everything about it '', are my favorite topics. I''m a soldier, raised among soldiers. Those '' details '', are my favorite spicy steaming bread. Please tell me about them." Ned. "As you wish, Quiet Wolf." Me. About thirty minutester... "... Ruthless genius strategy... Not even Ser Haymitch, my trusted war advisor, could have done better. ... I was wrong." Said Ned as he poured them both the third and final cup. "About what?" I asked curiously. "The name ''Bloody Snow''... Even that name doesn''t do you justice." Ned. I epted the insult without denying or confirming anything. I chose a deep, thoughtful silence in response. Ned also wisely followed my choice. We both sipped on a wonderful third cup of Arbor red wine, enjoying, in total peace, an enchanting starry sky in which we could see a shining full moon. End POV. ------------------------------------------------------------- POV: The Quiet Wolf; In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. Two minutes after thest drop of ckberry wine was consumed... "I am ready... Strike hard and without dy, bearer of bitter truth." Said Ned repositioning himself with his back straight on his back. "All right, my lord. Shall we begin with the title?" Bloody Snow. "Always." Ned. "The name of this request [Turn your gaze toward the true enemy of the First Men]. Originally it was '' the true enemy of the North''... But since you agreed to the second request, I have made the necessary adjustments." Bloody Snow. " Describe to me in detail who he is, but more importantly, why you believe he is our enemy. " Ned. "To do so I will first have to exin to you the bnce of power in the Known World. Not even with my ''Skills and Blessings'' have I been able to get clear and urate information on that subject... It took time, a gargantuan amount of work, and money to get all the key information... I ask you for a moment to be open and understanding, even though you will have strongly opposing views on this matter, Lord Stark. I will exin my reasons as clearly as I can. I promise." Bloody Snow. "... Go ahead. I won''t interrupt you until you tell me when it''s time to ask questions." Ned. "Thank you, my lord. So... Shortening the list on the first six '' Powers '' of this world, those that most concern us, let us begin by talking about the [Iron Throne], or to be exact, [He who sits on the Iron Throne]. If able to properly manage and lead the Seven Kingdoms, the King of Westeros holds a power that can only be ranked 5th." Said Bloody Snow resting a wooden miniature of the Throne on the table. As always, I underestimate the threat in front of me... Ned thought bitterly, before nodding silently, signaling to continue. ''''I will not follow a proper order of these organizations or Kingdoms... But still, I would like to move on to the World''s Number One Power... Braavos, or to be exact, The true ''Titan of Braavos''... The Iron Bank." Bloody Snow ced a second miniature on the table, depicting a miniature replica of the Titan that protected the city gates. The two miniatures disyed were separated by about two feet apart, so they could fill the power gap in the middle. '' The Iron Bank is certainly a powerful organization... Even my father warned us to try to enter into as little dealings with it as possible... Both my father and my grandfather were fearful of anything involving Braavos. Is the Iron Bank the most powerful organization in the world? '' Ned reasoned inwardly. "Before I go any further, Lord Stark, I would like to at least promise you something. A promise that I hope will help you deal with your future anxieties and concerns." Bloody Snow. "I''m all ears, Lord Duncan." Ned. "If you follow my next four requests, the First Men in the future will be able to face the first two powers of this world." Bloody Snow. "... I don''t know whether I should be happy or bitter about it, in all honesty." Ned. "Words of wisdom, my lord. Power is a burden and a responsibility, not an end. Only the wisest people can ept this reality." Bloody Snow. "Continue your speech, Lord Duncan." Ned. "In no time at all, my lord. The Iron Bank is the most entrenched power in the known world. It is no ident that the motto of that institution is [The Iron Bank shall have what is due to it]. The Iron Bank is richer and more powerful than the othersbined and enjoys a fearsome reputation in collecting debts. When princes or kings default on their debts to other banking institutions. The bankers who own these smaller institutions are forced to sell their wives to brothels and sell their children to vers. Instead, when princes or kings default on their debts or are foolish enough not to honor their agreements with the Iron Bank, the Iron Bank supports the emergence of new princes and kings. These new princes and kings then honor their previous debt and return the money the bank loaned them to im their new power, lest they suffer the same fate as their predecessors. Not even the powerful Targaryen dynasty, the undisputed rulers and forerunners of the Iron Throne, were immune to such political pressure. Your great-great-great-great-grandfather Lord Cregan Stark, the legendary ''Wolf of the North or Old Wolf'', was thest of the Starks to apply for a massive loan from such an organization... The winter thatsted over 5 years, had brought the North almost to its knees, Lord Cregan asked for help from the Iron Bank to feed his people ... That debt was not paid off in its entirety until two generationster. Your great-grandfather Beron returned thest piece of copper owed to the Titan of Braavos. Hence the lesson passed down to you of [Never go into debt to the Iron Bank], Lord Stark." Ned nodded, proving that everything that had just been said was true. "Postponing the ''True Story'' of the monster''s origin to another time, wee to the present. Of the original twenty-one founders, as a result of internal power struggles hundreds of years ago, only ten remain.... No one knows who they are or where they came from. The identity of the ''Keyholders'', are protected at the highest levels of secrecy. These individuals, could be princes or Magisters from smaller cities, their advisors,mon merchants, families living on the edge of the Known World or even here in Westeros. No one knows. Only the House of ck and White and the highest establishing figure of the Iron Bank know the secret. And neither is willing to reveal it even when threatened in the most fearsome and treacherous ways. The Iron Bank controls most of Essos.... The nine Free Cities are part of their total domain. They also have a fair amount of influence over ve Bay and the Red Desert. The Dothraki Sea is an exception to the rule, but the Braavosi still manage to always profit and exploit the disputes and decisions of the various Khals who lead the Dothraki people. The Bank ns, within the next 100 years, to extend theirwork of influence even into the Summer Inds and Whale Bay. The Bankers of Braavos are in no hurry, only moving when the numbers are in their favor. They only love to bet when the odds are in their favor at least nine times out of ten. Not to mention that almost every Sellswords Company is under their tight control, even though many leaders still don''t know it. The Golden Company, is their most trusted militia. An elitepany of 20,000 swords, 10,000 warhorses, and 300 elephants. A force never to be underestimated. From what we have been able to estimate, The Iron Bank, if forced to move urgently to clear a ''Significant'' threat to their Domain, can deploy over 150,000 thousand swords in a short time. Swords yes, paid for by gold, but always in the hands of those who are skilled at using them. Moreover, they can easily gather more than 2,000 ships. Should the unforeseen and rare event ur, that such armed forces are defeated in their entirety, the Titan will still be able to reorganize, at a much higher cost, to put together such a force. A frightening entity, Lord Stark. And I''m not mentioning the fact, that Braavos has many friends from whom it can call in favors. The closest ''friends'' are undoubtedly the Faceless Men... Here, I regret to inform you, that House Tallhart has already attracted unwanted attention and slightly disturbed the Titan''s sleep... "Ned Stark swallowed hard when he heard this. The Protector of the North was truly shocked by the information. It all made sense to him now... The fear his father and grandfather had of the Iron Bank was well justified. "Yes, Lord Stark? Please don''t be shy about asking." Said Bloody Snow as soon as he noticed the need for the man in front of him. "In what way are you... ''Undesired'' by the Bank? Have you incurred a debt?" Ned asked in a fearful tone. "No, no. Nothing of the sort, my Lord. The Bank wants ess to most, if not all, of the market monopolies that House Tallhart owns. A short time ago, they already made a move. The Titan of Braavos was behind the Iron Fleet''s attack on Bear Ind. They consider my existence a... ''Possible Threat''. They wasted no time as soon as the protective shield protecting my House and the North came down. I will be forced have to respond to this stone thrown at me. I am a staunch believer in the philosophy of my father and grandfather. [When a stone is thrown at you, and you don''t want the same individual to try again, you respond by throwing a flower in turn...but you must never, ever forget to throw the vase containing it as well while doing so.]" Ned was shocked for the second time in a row this hour. "They... You mean they have..." Ned was interrupted. "Yes, Lord Stark. They have taken the opportunity of this senseless and stupid rebellion of House Greyjoy, to try to get others to remove a pebble inside their boot. Balon Greyjoy''s original ns of attack only included Lannisport and Seagard. A good golden incentive from Braavos, had Bear Ind added to this list. Think about it, my Lord. Why would the Iron Inds have attacked with such ferocity an ind even before the riches belonging to the House of Mormont? To prove to the World that 112 ships and 5,300 axemen can easily prevail against 700 swords at most? Such a war effort was unjustified unless there was a juicier booty behind it... I am very ''''juicy'''' in the eyes of many these days, to my deep regret." Bloody Snow. "... So is The Iron Bank the enemy you speak of? What was the '' shield '', to which you referred earlier?" Ned. "All in good time, my lord. The shield is another organization that at present holds the fourth ce in the hierarchical scale of powers in the Known World... I will tell you about itter. And no, Lord Stark... The Iron Bank is not the arch-enemy I was referring to. Thank the gods we have not yet reached this level of contrast. No... the real enemy of the First Men is an enemy that is, in my opinion, more dangerous than the First. An enemy that, while weaker than the Titan, is not by much. He currently holds the second position, in this hierarchical scale. Where Braavos has control over the East, it has control over the West. This entity and the Titan, although in slight rivalry for the first position, do not conflict with each other. Under no circumstances should we allow these two forces of the World to ally together against us... Or, I fear, it will be the end of the First Men. This enemy has been fighting with us for millennia, and they still are. They have simply shifted their focus to another enemy in thest three centuries. They have focused their attention on a Dagon dynasty... A dynasty that carries with it, the magical blood of Ancient Valyria. I speak of the Andals, Lord Eddard Stark... The most feared enemy for our people is The Andalus People ... The power center of this enemy is far to the south of King''s Landing... Oldtown is the greatest enemy that the Realm of First Men has ever faced." A Lighthouse-shaped miniature appeared at the side of the Titan of Braavos. Chapter 71: The Watcher & The King in the Yellow Chapter 71: '' The Watcher & The King in the Yellow '' POV: Duncan; In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. Five seconds after a third miniature was ced on a table... "I know, Lord Stark. It''s hard to believe what I just told you." I said, waiting for a reaction from the man. "... In this past week, you have managed to make me reconsider on many issues, Lord Duncan... I will not make any judgments until I have heard your reasons regarding your previous statement. Go ahead... " Pronounced the man with deep judgment and wisdom. "I thank you for the trust and patience bestowed upon me thus far, Lord Stark... However, I will still have to warn you that the final statements I will bestow upon you in the next few minutes will alter you quite a bit... Ned." I warned the man in front of me for the second time, calling his name. "... I won''t lose my temper to that breaking point if that''s what you''re afraid of... Duncan." Said Ned in a slightly offended and disappointed tone at the slightck of trust I showed him. "Unfortunately... I''m afraid you will, Ned... The subjects I will touch you deeply. And I''m not talking about Lord Eddard Stark, the Protector of the North... I''m talking about the loving and friendly Ned Stark, the boy who was born and raised for most of his life by a wonderful family... " I said, warning the man for the third time. "... I will bear this burden, and I will try with all my will and self-control not to utter words or perform actions that I will regret in the future... This is a promise, Duncan son of Helman. ... Please. Exin to me now what my family has to do with all this talk." Ned was much tenser than before. Probably his sixth sense, his paternal, fraternal, and maternal instincts, had been shaken. "That''s good enough for me, Ned... Before we touch on the most sensitive and obscure subject we''ve ever discussed so far, I''d like to start with hope if that''s okay with you." I said. "You can get to that point by choosing whatever path you see fit. I''m in no hurry." Ned. "Well then. Let''s relieve some of this tension that could send a pack of angry wolves running with their tails between their legs. You asked me before who the Shield was... Let me introduce you to the leader, who doesn''t want to be but is in fact, one of the most powerful organizations in the world. An organization that few people know about or are part of, but that has awork of influence second only to that of the Titan of Braavos, or at least I think so... Meet '' The Watcher''." I ced the fourth miniature on the table next to the Throne miniature so that it would symbolize the fourth most powerful organization in the world. I had carved the miniature myself. Iughed at the idea of the face Zick would make if he learned how I had depicted him. The humanoid figurine''s eyes were three timesrger than normal. The face was also disproportionate by a huge smiling mouth. '' Ahahaha! How much would I pay for Zick to be here right now.'' I thought as I looked at Ned''s troubled face slightly surprised and confused. ''The Watcher?... I''m afraid I''ve never heard of it." Ned. "Good thing that didn''t happen. Only those the organization epts as, ''Friends and Students of the Master'', can call him by his real name. Ah... Of course, you can also call him by his name if he asks you to. If you ever meet a man in his fifties with gray hair, skinny, very peculiar eyes, and who introduces himself as ''Zick'', always be sure to be respectful and jovial to such an individual. And if possible... try to force yourself tough at some of hisme jokes. The man may be number one at his craft, but he''s terrible with jokes. I far surpass him, at least in that department. Ahahahahah... ... Never mind." Ned didn''t seem in the mood for jokes at the time. With a gesture of pure politeness, he simply replied: "... I''ll keep that in mind. Because... The Watcher is so influential? " Ned. "Good question... So, believe it or not, in less than forty years that man has traveled far and wide, visiting many ces and cities in the Known World and beyond. Even Asshai of Shadows, Merchant City of the ins of Jogos Nhai, crossed the Strait of Five Forts and reached the unknown city of K''Dath... and many, many other ces. During his travels, Zick has met thousands of individuals. Many of whom owe him a great deal of favor. Zick''s mastery is that he is the greatest martial master known today. Not only is he the best weapons master one could ever hope to have, but he is also a man with unique abilities that can bring out the best-hidden potential an individual possesses. He needs only one nce to know who is really in front of him. His ''eyesight'' has reached limits that a normal individual could never hope to achieve. No one can hide from the gaze of ''The Watcher'', not even the leader of the House of ck and White sect. Even the Faceless Men and the entire creed of the God of a Thousand Faces hold him in high regard. Zick is part of the list of 26 names that [cannot be offered to the God of a Thousand Faces]... I assure you, that is a very, very difficult goal to achieve. Zick does not seek fame, glory, or riches, but they inevitably, and despite himself, haunt him. By bestowing advice and favors far and wide without ever asking for anything in return, the man has unwittingly created awork of individuals, influential and mostly very, very dangerous individuals, who want to protect and help him until the debt that, Zick hardly ever collects, is paid off. Ned, I think you''re in a position to make a personal judgment about my ability to gather information... Am I right?" I asked. "Yes, I can certainly say that you can get relevant information..." Ned. "Well, you should know that although several high-ranking members of this organization have tried and tried to exin to me thework and list of favors that Zick can call in, I have not been able to understand it on my own. Imagine abyrinth of intertwined threads that stretch everywhere and seem to never end... I only know of 845 direct favors... Each direct favor can be connected to about 6 or 7 indirect favors, which in turn can connect with other possible favors to be requested... Even Qyburn had great difficulty in studying such awork... In his opinion, Zick could easily request the help of tens of thousands of people he has never met or doesn''t even know exist. He doesn''t think or care about this organization. It is his most trusted students who continue to extend and fortify it for him. I assure you, Ned, that if Zick one day had the crazy idea of wanting the Iron Throne for himself, in many castles across Westeros, the Lords and Lady would find themselves reading a message that hade from King''s Landing. The contents of which would be [His Grace, King The Watcher, orders you to report to the capital as soon as possible to swear eternal allegiance to him]. And many Lords and Ladies would shriek [What the fuck happened in thest month?]...." I waited for a spontaneous reaction from the iceman. "... Pff... Ahah... uhuh... Ahahahaha!" Nedughed. "I finally got it! Ahahahaha!" I smiled cheerfully at the hard goal I had just achieved. About two minutes ofughter and futile conversation to lighten the moodter... "The way you describe him, he sounds like a great guy." Ned. "Best man I ever met. You''d like him, Ned, I''m convinced of that. Even Robert would love him. If Zick ever talked to King Robert, I''m pretty sure he''d abdicate the Throne to follow his dream of ''Founding his own Sellsword Company''. Ahah..." I replied. "Ahah. You know that, too? May the Ancients save us. You might as well take the Spider''s ce on the Small Council." Ned. "Yeah, I''ll admit it. I''d have a good chance of getting the job of Master of Spies..." It was time to return to more serious talk. "... So ''Zick'' is our ally?" Ned. "Yes and No. Zick hates conflict. He doesn''t take sides with anyone and loves the most serene and reconciling [Neutrality]. He does not like to judge the choices of others and is always flexible and open about everyone''s lifestyles and opinions. His desire is only to advocate his pursuit of Martial Art. We can say that he is more of an artist than a fighter. However. It will certainly be possible to request favors from him. I can easily request his help if needed. Of course... within reasonable limits." Me. "I see now... You are a pupil of Zick''s?" Ned. "I am, Ned. I''m a ''Special'' pupil. '' [The Pupil of Zick] to be exact... Don''t look at me like that. I assure you it wasn''t me who chose that nickname... In any case, I am indeed a special casepared to all the other students. A short while ago Master Zick himself named me his ''Heir''... I know what you are wondering. And the answer to that question is : [I have no idea]. I don''t know what it means to be [The Heir of The Watcher] either... I honestly don''t think that if Zick ever leaves this life one day, all the organizations left behind will pass right to me. We''re not talking about a Throne or an Empire... it''s something much moreplex and profound. But let''s not talk about that now. I''ve already informed all the lords of the North, and now that you know The Watcher, it''s time for you to be warned, too... Always remember, Eddard of House Stark. If you ever encounter an individual carrying this symbol, you must never, ever harm them. Under no circumstances, even if that individual were to kill your most beloved before your very eyes... Never... ''NEVER'' harm a direct pupil of Zick still in training. That is the one limiting rule of The Watcher. If ever there was someone in this world who dared to vite this rule, not even all the knights of Westeros united together would be able to save him from the disturbing fate that awaits him. No one and I stresses '' NO ONE '', should ever harm that pupil who carries the seal of Zick behind him. Under no circumstances would Zick ever forgive that individual. He and all that he loves most would be swallowed up by dark and imcable forces. The Watcher considers his disciples, [Not yet ready to face the challenges of the World], as his beloved children. Not even the sworn murderous rampage of Balerion, ''The ck Dread'', obsessively searching for [The One Who Stole His Eggs], would be a sufficient example. Do I make myself clear, Ned?" I ced a piece of paper on which was depicted the image of two open hawk eyes on a ck background. Ned nodded and confirmed that he had received the message in a "loud and clear" manner. After a few seconds, Ned asked: "Forgive me for asking, but... I don''t know. If what you say is true, then logically, both Balon Greyjoy and The Iron Bank should have... [Vited this limiting rule]. Or is your training alreadypleted?" Ned. "d you asked, Ned. It means you''re paying close attention to the subject. That''s exactly why I''m considered a '' Special Learner''. So, no. They didn''t break that rule. Master and I have mutually agreed that my training is not finished, but on the other hand, the challenges of the world are my next training ground. The Iron Bank is aware of this rule of Zick''s, but they were unaware that, should they seed in the enterprise of killing me, Zick''s fury would strike them anyway. Both Balon and the Bankers of Braavos took big risks without even knowing it. If Denys Drumm, or any other ironmen, had been the cause of Zick''s Pupil''s death, it would not have been King Robert''s army that invaded Pyke. The fate of House Greyjoy, and most likely all the inhabitants of that ind, would have been only death and suffering. The Master would then turn all his forces against Braavos. The Titan would manage to win that showdown, but not without losing at least an arm and a leg in the fight. This is why Braavos did not dare toy a single finger on me or my House during the six years Zick was a guest in the North. They don''t want a direct conflict against The Watcher''s organization. They would be ousted from the top spot in the world''s hierarchy after facing that storm." I replied. Ned was shocked by the answer. He was probably remembering all the times when he or his wife were discussing the possible threat '' Bloody Snow ''... "Robert and the Southern Lords should be warned about this too! If they..." I interrupted Ned knowing where he was going with this. "No, Ned... Don''t worry. I''ve made some rules with Zick. My master would only act should I fall under some devious plot. For example, if Denys Drumm had won the duel fair and square, Zick would only mourn my death by bearing that burden without seeking revenge. House Drumm would not have been affected either if any of his men had managed to take me down during the battle. We even established rules with the Faceless Men. The House of ck and White could safely attempt to offer my name to their God." I exined. "Why? If you had that ''Divine Shield'' you speak of, why would you want to risk expert assassinsing after you?" Ned. "Because I would be able to stand up to them, Ned. I want my enemy to believe that he can act freely against me. It is only a matter of time that the Titan will seek the aid of the House of ck and White. I''d rather they squander mountains of gold hiring those assassins in an attempt to kill me than the people I care about. Don''t get your hopes up Ned. If The Iron Bank knew that the shield was actually still in ce, they would aim to hit me where it hurts most. My family, my friends, etc. None of them have the same privilege as I do. I''d rather face the enemy in my chosen terrain by preparing myself properly, rather than remain in the perpetual doubt of ''Who, Where, and When?''..." I said. Ned seemed to greatly appreciate my response. "I apologize for all the insinuations and insults I have unfairly bestowed upon you thus far, Duncan of House Tallhart. You are an honorable man." Ned. "Not as much as I would like to be, Lord Stark. Let''s just say I try." I replied, epting thepliment. "I understand the extent of the '' Fourth Estate'', do you finally want to tell me about the second or do you want to talk about the third and sixth first?" Ned. "The sixth first... Briefly, the sixth power currently concerns us little. [Vaes Dothrak]. The Dothraki people are more savage and untamable than the Wildlings. Yet, if all the Dothraki people were to unite into one great Khsar and under the leadership of one Great Khal, that power would rival that of the Crown. Though barbarians, the Dothraki people are a necessary evil for the ve trade. The vers would not allow that people to reunite, but neither would they allow themselves to be extinct. There is a delicate andplex bnce to the Dothraki military force and its economy. While cruel to the fate of all civilizations oppressed by the horse lords, at this time we cannot afford to give offense and unwanted attention to the Dothraki. The most dangerous individual is certainly the young Khal Drogo. He is currently undefeated in any conflict with other Khsars. He is already inmand of a current force of 30,000 Dothraki screamers. Let''s just say that we don''t need to unnecessarily fuck with Khal Drogo first." I concluded by cing another horse-shaped miniature on the table. "Now let''s move on to the third one. I already anticipate, Ned, that this third world organization is one of the keys to peace and prosperity in the North. We should perforce forge asting alliance with such an entity, no matter how evil it may appear.... Let''s talk about ''The King in The Yellow''. The Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation of Magic and Supreme Lord of Carcosa." End POV. ---------- POV: The Lord of Winterfell; In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. Three seconds after thest miniature of the six world powers was ced on the table... "A Sorcerer King?... Was I so careless in my history sses that I didn''t remember that there is a Sorcerer King in the world?" Ned asked with sincere disbelief. "Well... Let''s just say that the Measters don''t like to discuss Magic and Sorcerers... Truly few in Westeros know of civilization further East than the great Dothraki Sea... There are worlds and knowledge beyond the borders of the Bone Mountains. Almost unknown cities and coastlines rising on the shores of the Jade Sea. Magic...is not highly valued and present here in Westeros or the nine free cities, Ned. But I assure you, beyond the Bone Mountains, there is almost a magocratic in thosends. There the connoisseurs of arcane power are esteemed and valued. Any lord of a fortress or protector of a city in thosends has at his service a magician belonging to the Confederation of Magic. The headquarters of the Confederation resides precisely in Carcosa. Some call it ''The Capital of Magic''. Carcosa and Oldtown have been bitter enemies for over four thousand years now. Currently, the two cities are in a truce that has not been openly dered. Before the fall of the Valyrian Empire, the agreement between the two superpowers was that magic would be quietly free to flourish from the Qohor and Naath borders. The Free City of Qohor was exactly the borderline. It was divided into two main districts, one of which was allowed to study and experiment with spells. I know all this will seem strange and unfamiliar to you, Ned. I only ask you to keep an open and flexible mind." Said the boy. "I''ll try. Do you also know this... The King in the Yellow?" Ned. "No, not in person. But he is good friends with my Master, Zick. Zick is currently traveling specifically to meet up with his longtime friend. The King in the Yellow is himself a person that many would consider evil and ruthless, but he is also very polite, respectful, and true to his word. Zick is one of the few ''''Guests of Honor'''' in Carcosa. The Watcher and his retinue would be treated at every point under the rule of the Confederation of Magicians as The Hand of The King would be treated at Kings Landing. The King in the Yellow himself owes Zick a favor or two. That''s why I strictly warned you to never, ever piss off The Watcher. If need be, Zick would have no problem calling in the favor from him to unleash the arcane power of The King in Yellow and all the power of Carcosa against the poor unfortunate who harmed the ''Son-Disciple of Zick''... That person, Ned, is perhaps the deadliest humanoid individual in this world. I am not joking when I tell you that that '' Sorcerer '' will prevail in a deadly fight against a well-armed and trained militia of 1,000 men... Moreover, he has a more lethal and trained armed escort than the Royal Guard... I''m not talking about King Robert''s Guard, consisting of Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blount... No, I''m talking about ''12'' sworn guards each at least as deadly as Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur Dayne in their heyday. Zick himself helped them with their martial training. They are the ''Twelve Arcane Shields''. Magical knights armed and d to the teeth in pure Valyrian Steel. The only individuals in this world to wear te Armor made entirely of Valyrian tes. Their equipment alone could easily buy half a continent. This is only part of Carcosa''s power. Do you now understand the value of this individual?" The Boy asked. '' I praise and thank the Old Gods for giving me the readiness and swiftness to stop Cat that day in Winterfell... The world I''m sure I knew doesn''t exist anymore.'' Ned thought, feeling anxiety, relief, and fear all at once. He recalled in detail the moment his wife had ordered her men to arrest and imprison Zick''s student who was under the protection of thews of hospitality. "Yes, it is clear to me. When you tricked my wife into going insane that day, House Stark truly risked extinction... " Ned. "No, I would never... Emm... Well, you''ve made your point." The boy. After a brief pause to catch his breath and drink some water, the boy continued: "Now Ned. Zick has departed to meet The King in the Yellow and bring him in person the invitation to Lady Barbrey''s wedding... But it shall not be Barrowton who shall host the ''Sorcerer King''... It shall receive hospitality from House Stark in Winterfell..." Said the cheeky boy. "WHAT?! I''m supposed to host such an individual?! Why would you do that?" Ned shot back in concern. "Well... Technically, the Head of the Wizarding Confederacy, ording to the truce treaty signed and sealed about 1,000 years ago, between Oldtown and Carcosa, can only set foot in thends of Westeros if invited directly by one of the Seven Royal families that ruled Westeros at the time... Yes... Only House Stark, Lannister, Haw and Martell are currently allowed to host members of the Wizarding Confederacy. This... was one of the minor requests today." Duncan. "... Do I have the option to refuse?" Ned. "Of course... emm... Only... emm, how should I put this." This was the first time Ned had seen ''Bloody Snow'' so ufortable. "Tell me what? Speak up! " Ned. "... Yeah... Technically, Zick left about three months ago... So... I''m afraid he already reached Carcosa three or four days ago, barring dys and unforeseen circumstances... But, since Zick and his group are rarely gued by dys and unforeseen events... and also since I have gifted him with the best ship and transportation... I fear they are on their way there by now... It would be very... ''Not rmended'' to offend the King in the Yellow... After all, he is a person, very, very old and fond of etiquette and manners. The master warned me that his friend... emm yes, let''s say he would react like Zick himself in case someone crossed a certain line... " Duncan. Ned took a sip of water before saying: "Do you remember when, a while back, I called you a ''Man of Honor''?" "Yes, my Lord." Duncan. "Forget it." End POV. ---------------------------------------------------- POV: Zick; About a hundred miles from the Morning Mountains, Arcane Tower, Carcosa. About four days before a boy exined to a Northern lord the bnces and forces of the known world... "How many years has it been since yourst visit?" A dark voice asked. "Mmm, I think 11 or 12 years... I don''t remember exactly." Zick. "What?! 11 or 12!? What year are we in?" The King in the Yellow. "289 After the Conquest of Aegon, Chai. Seriously, you should stop locking yourself up in that world-forgotten trap you call a Research Laboratory... Enjoy life a little more." Zick. "I''ve already enjoyed life, Zick. Now it''s time to devote me to my Art. At least you should understand me. Those bootlickers of my assistants keep pestering me with requests and invitations and papers to sign... I am sorry to inform you, that I am still far from finding the solution to your ''problem''... Those ipetent Qohor and Asshai made a real mess with that ritual... Idiots, if they had asked me, I would have even permitted them to perform the ritual here near the tower... How much time do you have left?" The Sorcerer. "Five... ten years at most. It doesn''t matter anymore, my friend. Don''t waste your time. I finally found what I was looking for." Zick. "No. A deal''s a deal, I promised I''d help you find a cure... Wait... YOU FOUND AN HEIR?!" Chai Duq. "Yes. Ahahahahah! The crown jewel! Pay up, old man." Zick. "And who is this man or woman? Essos or Westeros? Ah... Right. Remind me, how much did we bet?" Chai Duq of the Chai Dynasty. "Seven Pentosys silver coins, and make them brand new, please... That old hag keeps using me of being a thief and a cker unable to get a job... Westeros unfortunately... but you might get a chance to meet him if you want." Zick. "He''s here? What are you waiting for let me meet him?! I really want to see what kind of person he is. Race, age, physical peculiarities, and... " Former Emperor of the Yi Ti Empire was interrupted. "No. You will not do any experiments on the boy. Nor will I allow you to make him yourb rat." Zick. "My friend, I would never do any harm to the boy. What do you take me for? Some quack from that hovel House of the Undying?!.... Ah by the way... Maybe I had a date a decade or two ago with those disrespectful, arrogant, and unhinged blue-lipped bald kids... I hope my assistant Quaithe took care of that... There''s never enough time, Zick." The King in The Yellow. "Youe and tell me, that time is not enough for you?! How old are you? Honestly." Zick. "I''m still young... I lost count before that Valyrian kidnded in thends of the Andals... I honestly don''t know. Eight maybe nine hundred... Certainly not more than nine hundred, otherwise this body would have rotted by now. Ah, about it, Zick! Do me a favor, if in the next few years you see a redet in the sky, let me know, even if I should have given instructions not to be disturbed. My master had promised that crazy old Druid who lives on that ind that we would double-check the arrays on that wall of ice. Themitments just keep piling up... AH! I almost forgot! Please take a look for me at the descendants of the Wolf lineage! If they were to be extinct, it would be quite a mess... I couldn''t set foot in thends of the First Men without starting a war otherwise... By the way, the First Men still exist, don''t they? The Andals didn''t exterminate them all, did they? What were we talking about before?" The Sorcerer. "... Seriously, Chai. You could really use a breath of fresh air..." Zick. "Look, I already got out of the tower a little while ago!.... Oh right... 289 A.C... Yeah, you''re probably right. He should be three or four years old now... He should already be able to talk... Maybe I could... " The Sorcerer began to speak to himself. "Who are you talking about?" Zick. "Ahaha! You don''t know how much I hate to have to pay you those seven coins. I''ve found a probable pupil heir too! He should be three or four years old, now." Chai. "And who is he?" Zick. "Ah, I have no idea. All I know is that he''s in thends of the First Men, at the moment. The arcane energy hasnded there." Chai. "Exin yourself, please. I''d like to remind you that I''m not the best Arcane Artist here." Zick. "Yes, forgive my manners. About three years ago, another foreign interference from another world breached our dimension andnded in the northernmostnds of Westeros. Even my disciples sensed it. It was the purest and most immense arcane energy. Even more powerful than that of my master. He must have found a host. Only a descendant of the First Men or a child of the forest could have contained such energy. And it would have to be a newborn host. The body would have to adapt like a symbiote, otherwise the energy would have alreadye out. Trust me it didn''t. Not even a thousand tons of that green soup of the so-called ''''Alchemists'''' could have recreated such an explosion. Since no natural disaster has been reported to me, the host is still alive. Someone with powers foreign to this world must have uttered a Word of Power that summoned this energy from who knows where, Zick. That individual, if well-bred and educated, could be a Sorcerer equal or even superior to my ancestor. You remember the story of my ancestry don''t you?" Exined and then calmly asked Chai. "Yes, yes, all you do is brag about it. You''re a little too obsessed with this [Ancient Descent] thing, my friend. You are descended from the legendary and very powerful The God-on-Heart, the only son of The Lion of Night and The Maiden-Made-of-Light, the greatest arcanist history has ever known. " Repeated Zick for the third time in an hour. "That''s right! That''s the one! d you remember him. Ahaha." Chai. "Back to the topic [Maybe I found an Heir]... Tell me more, you remember right that I was in North Westeros a while ago, right? I think that was the second thing I told you as soon as I walked in here." Zick. "Of course, I remember that! Watch how you talk to the descendant of The God-on-Heart, Boy! What do you take me for? For one of those forgetful old farts from Oldtown maybe?!" Chai. "... I wouldn''t dare." Zick. "And I should like to see that!... Anyway, Yes. I was going to ask you. Zick, did you see anyone in particr while you were up North at that time? When you said you''d been there?" Chai. "... I was there for six years. I left thosends about three months ago." Zick. "Perfect then! Zick, have you by any chance met my possible future Heir?!" Chai. "That depends... Hard to tell with this little information you''ve given me. You mentioned a ''Word of Power''... By any chance... No, I meant: Could you at least repeat that '' word '' for me?" Zick. "Sure thing, my friend. You know very well, I never forget anything, especially that which pertains to the arcane! haha." Chai. "... So? What is that word." Zick. "I was getting to that! Damn it, Zick, what has happened to you? I remember you being a much more patient guy in the past. You almost look like you''re going to die any minute... Anyway... As I was saying. The power word is this: { ELMINSTER }. Have you heard that word anywhere by any chance? ... Ah, about that. You had mentioned something to me about an invitation and a favor a little while ago, right? " Chapter 72: A Magical Fairy Tale... Chapter 72: '' A Magical Fairy Tale... '' POV: Duncan; In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. About a minute after a boy managed to convince a powerful Lord to host a Mighty Sorcerer in his manor... "So, Lord Duncan... Shall we finally talk about this famous ''Sworn Enemy'' of the First Men?" Ned asked with a tone of annoyance and deep weariness. "Yes, my Lord... But before you do, let me show you something. In the arcane tower of Carcosa, it is called the '' Mana Stone'', the most valuable trading currency of gold beyond the Bone Mountains." I ced a piece of ck stone engraved with red symbols. "I would like to tell you a story, Lord Stark... A story in which Magic is the protagonist. As much as this story will seem like a bedtime story to tell your children, I would like you to listen to it until the end. Know that this story has no well-founded basis or documented evidence. It begins long before people learned tomunicate, read or write. However, this story certainly has a basis of truth. No one in this day and age will be able to tell you what is true or what is not." I predicted. "If it''s a story you think will help me better understand [The Greatest Threat in the North], go ahead." Ned. "So... This story, will be primarily about five people. They are the ones that most concern us: The Children of the Forest, the Children of Ice, the Children of Fire, and the Children of Light and Shadow. I will start by telling you legends about the origins of the world, up to thending of Aegon I, the Conqueror... From there on, I''ll tell you about the second greatest force in the world. Originally, long before the Age of Dawn, it is said that the world was created by three powerful and magical Gods. The World Tree, The Dragon God, and The Phoenix. World Tree had dominion over the magic of Earth, Water, and Air. The Dragon God, dominion over the magic of Fire and Ice. The Phoenix, dominion over the magic of Light and Darkness. The three deities created the world on which we now rest our feet. Countless yearster, the Three Gods abandoned the earth they created, leaving it in the care of their children. The Children of life, the Children of ice, the Children of fire, and the Children of light and shadow. All the Sons divided the earth equally, living in total peace and harmony with each other. They were industrious, peaceful, and helped each other. The Sons of Life created the life of countless lesser species. The children of Fire and Ice maintained the bnce between heat and cold, and children of light and shadow gave night and day... Countless generationster, an event urred that upset that harmony. The Children of the Phoenix who created love had a contrast between them. A son of the night, who loved his twin sister, the daughter of light, immensely. He did not want his beloved to share her love with any other creature than him. Therefore, he moved as far away as possible from thends of the children of life, the creators of such beings. Three creatures, madly in love with the daughter of life, followed the couple. They, ording to the legend, were simr to what we would call today: Monkey, Horse, and Bird... The Three creatures, uniting in love with the Daughter of Light, generated three creatures, one son or daughter each. These ''impure'' children, were a human, a six-legged quadrupedal equine creature, and a harpy... When the Son of Night discovered this. Feeling deprived of that love, he decided to deprive those beings of something respectively. He cursed the children of his beloved saying: [You '' Stallion '', from now on you will never again be able to appreciate the beauty! You ''Harpy'', from now on you will never again feel Love! And you ''Human'', from now on you can never use Magic again!] Soon after, The Stallion, unable to appreciate the gifts of the world and its creations, became much more ''''wild and furious''''. He ran impetuously destroying everything he came across, destroying what other creatures thought was beautiful. The Harpy, no longer able to feel Love for other living creatures, plundered and imprisoned other creatures. Man, no longer able to create with Magic, decided to try to do it with his own hands. He did not let himself be defeated by what he could no longer do but worked to find other ways to create. He could still feel beauty and love for other creatures and creations. He was able to regain his harmony by living in peace with other creatures. Thousands of yearster... Man united in love and union with all magical creatures on earth. Uniting with the Children of Life, he begat what we now call the Children of the Forest, Children of the Water, Children of Air, and Children of the Earth. Many believe that the Rhoynar, who were once the experts in water magic, descend directly from these Sons of Water. Others that the Giants descended from the Children of Earth. The First Men, from the Children of Ice. Some think that the name of the First Men was not because they were the first to set a foot in thends of Westeros, but rather because the first true love of the [Man] of an [Ice Daughter]... And the Valyrians, from the Sons of Fire... Primarily, we''ll focus on five main peoples, four magical and one non-magical... Rhoynar, First Men, Valyrians, Magicians, and... Andals. The Magicians, Lord Stark, is a collection of multiple peoples mixed, and currently live primarily in thends of Asshai, Yi Ti, ins of the Jogos Nhai, Mossovy, and Jade Sea Inds... The Magicians, or also called [ Descendants of the Children of the Phoenix ], are all under the rule and authority of Carcosa. The Andals, Lord Starks, or far to the east of here, also called [Non-Magicians], are a people that tens of thousands of years ago formed because all the other magical children united by man, drove out the [Non-Magic Bearers]... Those peoples thought that the more they united with the descendants of the sons of man, the less their children or grandchildren would be able to use magicter on. There was a natural selection of magicians and non-magicians. The magical ones joined quietly with each other, but the non-magical ones could only join with the non-magical ones. Only the descendants of the Sons of the Harpy and the Sons of the Great Stallion weed the Sons of Man... A people was created, very ancient and forgotten, which was called [Cursed Triad]... Blood mingled, time passed... Three different cultures were born: The descendants of the Sons of the Harpy, who formed The Ancient Ghiscararian people. The descendants of the Sons of the Stallion, who formed The Ancient Dothraki people. And the descendants of the sons of the man... that today we call, Andals. All peoples who had acquired ws and imperfections from the Three Great Founders... Both the Dothraki and the Ghiscarians inevitably lost their magical abilities but learned even a small amount about loving and building. The Andals, although they valued beauty, creation, and love more than the other two peoples, also learned to destroy and master all that they learned to ''Not Love''... Magic. Now let''s move on to more well-known periods, my Lord... I don''t know if you''ve noticed but rarely do history texts mention magic. It''s only told that it was once a great force in the world and then that''s it... All texts concerning magic, are mainly kept in two ces. Carcosa and Oldtown. Now, believe it or not, Lord Stark, from here on out I have texts written that deal with what I am about to tell you. Texts that my master Zick managed to obtain for me fromnds far away. Before the Long Night. When the First Men had just established a truce with the Children of the Forest and the Giants, there were mainly five human peoples who ruled the world through magic. In Westeros, the First Men and Sons of the Forest. In Essos, the Rhoynar, the Valyrians, and The Magicians. Three major magical societies prevailed over all peoples. The Druids: Composed mainly of Children of the Forest and First Men. Skilled in Life magic and the ability to attune with all living things. The Forgermasters: Mainly Valyrians skilled in the creation of magical artifacts. And the Knowers of the Arcane, known as Mages: Those who lived the furthest east of all and had the lowest concentration of Human Blood. Many peoples such as the Jogos Nhai, have unique traits that some maesters mistakenly call '' Deformities''. All three societies cooperated. Do you know what the main weapons of the children of the forest were made of, Lord Stark?" I asked, interrupting myself for a moment. "... Obsidian." Ned. "Correct. Do you know why there are no natural Obsidian mines here in Westeros?" Me. "No...that information escapes me." Ned. "Because Obsidian, or... ''Dragon ss'', is not produced by the earth, my Lord. But rather produced by a magical process. Dragons... Dragons are creatures that many believe to be the legendary first children of the Dragon God. The only beings that carry magic. In truth, this is not exactly correct... Magices from the Blood of the First Gods. Even the blood of the Children of Life is just as magical as Dragon''s blood... The Children of Life, the direct descendants of The World Tree, are those whom we now worship as [Old Gods], Lord Stark... As for the Children of the Phoenix, only very ancient noble lineages im to have the blood of the Phoenix God in their veins. The King in The Yellow, the one you''ll be hosting Lord Stark in a couple of months, is one of them. Zick suggested that I tell you, constantly make appreciations of his lineage when you meet The King in The Yellow.... " Me. "... I''ll keep that in mind." Ned. "Anyway, getting back on track... It was the Valyrians who supplied the Children of the Forest with Obsidian. The First Men, thanks to their Ancient Ice magics, helped the Valyrians transform Dragon Fire. An ''essence of magical power itself, into [Frozen Fire]... And the Children of the Forest, in return, helped the Descendants of the Children of Valyria control the Dragons. The Descendants of the Children of the Phoenix, the [ Mages], learned thenguage of magic. They taught the Valyrians and the Druids part of a secret magicalnguage, called [Draconic]. The Rhoynar contributed water magic. Helping in the formations of underwater mines that could contain the crystals and prevent the Dragon Fire from melting the Rock. The Rhoynar even helped the people to fertilize the desert fields and supply them with extensive water supplies. It was a magical time, Lord Stark. What you see before you, my Lord is proof of that coboration. This Obsidian stone, engraved with Draconic runes, was the material most often used to perform magic. Even magics of which others were not experts. Currently, only Carcosa holds the secrets of the Runes... But itcks Obsidian. Oldtown, on the other hand, hasrge stocks of Obsidian well guarded butcks the means to turn them into Mana Stones... The stone in front of you, my Lord, currently has a market value of about 300 golden dragons. " Me. "... Almost as much as a precious gemstone." Said Lord Stark with a surprised tone scrutinizing for a moment the ck stone that was slightly less than the size of a shell. "That''s right, my lord. However... The Andals have always hated one particr people... The descendants of the children of the Phoenix. In particr, the wizards and sorcerers who favored the magic of Shadows and Blood. Those who were descended from the Children of the Night. It is no coincidence that the ''Stranger'', the deity of the sects most feared and despised by the creed, is rather dark, gloomy and the bearer of outcast loneliness. The Andals were very familiar with craftsmanship. Their greatest weapon was wrought iron. The sons of the warrior marched against the wizards and fought for millennia against the children of the night. Finally, the Andals were pushed back further west... They asked the Valyrians for help. They revealed to the Valyrians the secret of Steel in exchange for their contribution against the wizards of the East. The Valyrians did not keep those deals... And not only that, thanks to the secrets of the Andals'' hard work, they created a better Steel. The Steel of Valyria... Feeling betrayed, the Andals swore revenge against the Valyrians and managed to convince the Rhoynar and Ghiscarians to join them against the Valyrian Empire, promising thends and riches of that empire to their allies. Before that happened, a historical event came to the world... The Long Night. It wasn''t just, the First Men, the Giants, and the Children of the Forest, who repelled The Others, Lord Stark. The Valyrians provided their allies, obsidian weapons, and Valyrian Steel, though they could not focus their efforts too much on thosends. The Ghis Empire was constantly at war with Valyria, and the Andals, allying themselves with the Dothraki people, still put pressure on the Magicians. Those two weapons, my Lords, Obsidian and Steel of Valyria were the only ones able to kill The Others. Carcosa herself helped the Druids with troops of Magicians. And the hero who led the allied forces to victory was a man who many believed had Valyrian ancestry and had grown up in the distantnds of Asshai... Azor Ahai. The Valyrians, strong with their dragons and their new Steel, defeated their enemies in the field. Even there, the Rhoynar, who had good rtions with the Valyrians in the past, surrendered first to the descendants of the Sons of Fire. The Andals were betrayed for the second time, swearing revenge on the descendants of a certain dynasty. An ancient dynasty whose name is still passed down from House Martell today. The Nymeros... Anyway. The Andals fled and chose to set their sights on othernds. Westeros... Thends of Druids, First Men, and Giants. As you well know, almost all the kingdoms of Westeros surrendered to the Andals, converting to the Faith of the Seven. Only the North and most of Dorne managed to resist. Also in that period, half of the Rhoynar people, who were tired of wars and massacres, sailed with 10,000 ships to newnds. The legendary Princess Nymeria joined House Martell. One of the houses where the blood of the First Men was still strong in their blood. It is said that Dorne was subdued in blood, Lord Stark... This is not entirely true. Many Kings of Dorne bowed to the Nymeros Martell for other reasons. This was erased from the history books... Many Rhoynars, connoisseurs of water magic, made fertile thends of Dorne, gued by a deep drought. The river that is now the lifeblood of Dorne, was increased and lengthened by spells... The Rhoynars didn''t want more wars. They just wanted peace and prosperity. And it was because of that prosperity that two kings out of six, surrendered without a fight... The invasion of the Andals was fierce and almost lightning fast. The First Men, still strong in their magic, could have held out much longer if a certain City... A city originally founded millennia earlier, thanks also to the help of the Valyrians, the Magicians, and one First Man in particr... Brandon the Builder. Oldtown was at the time a key point of defense. Built and surrounded by high walls. Walls that many schrs admit have many Valyrian simrities... Walls protected by strong spells created by a once allied city... Carcosa. A small lineage of First Man kings, lovers of knowledge and learning, invited schrs, healers, musicians, wizards, druids, and schrs from all over the known world and founded what we now call Citadel... Carcosa and other cities of the magical peoples thought it wise that all cultural, scientific, exchanges between all peoples be archived in a protected ce. A ce that would not forget history. That city, Lord Stark, could have been a key point of defense for the people of Westeros. The rulers of that city, however, chose to surrender to the Andals without a fight. The Andals, frightened by that powerful enemy, proposed a deal to that knowledge-loving family. A very advantageous agreement. If that royal family, had opened the gates of the City without resistance, not only would have been spared, but they would have made him a gift of all the knowledge that the people Andalus had collected in those thousands of years... Including Andalus military and magical knowledge known only to Carcosa. Light magic that the Andals could not use, but still retained over time. The Andals, my Lords, are convinced that they are children of Man and descendants of the Maiden of Light. Their holiest mother, she who opposes the Son of Night. Every relic or knowledge of the Daughter of Light was preserved by the Andalus people. Knowledge was even unknown to the Arcane Tower of Carcosa... If that household had bent the knee, and betrayed the Sons of Life, and revealed their weaknesses, they would have remained the masters of that city. Moreover, they would have remained the only family in the future that would be able to study arcane knowledge... as well as maintain magical bloodlines. Only Blood and Shadow magic would be forbidden. That family agreed... They revealed every secret of the powers of the Druids and the Children of Ice and how to counter them... The Andals began by cutting down every Heart-Tree they could find... Then the rest is history. One by one, the kingdoms of the First Men fell under the sharp steel of the Andals. Do you know who those First Men were who first betrayed their people?.... Descendants of a House that ruled over Oldtown, First Men, strong in a powerful magical bloodline as well as powerful Sorcerers... The Hightower family..." I paused, clenching my fists for a moment... Then, regaining myposure, I concluded: "A House that changed its motto on the same day it opened the magical gates of Oldtown... They weed the Andals by uttering these first words: { We Light the Way } " Chapter 73: Historys Greatest Forgotten Hero Chapter 73: '' History''s Greatest Forgotten Hero '' POV: Bloody Snow; In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. Ten seconds after the motto of a house loyal to House Tyrell was spoken... "I know what you''re thinking right now, Ned... [All bullshit. Even if there was some truth in what you''ve told so far, House Hightower is one of the most honorable and respected houses in the Kingdom]. Did I get close to it?" The boy asked, noticing the look full of doubt and confusion on the man in front of him. "... Something like that." Said Ned giving him a sign to keep talking and exin himself better. "Good. It means that the maester who taught you history did his duty withmitment and fidelity." Said the boy causing the man to frown more deeply. "Please, Lord Duncan... Speak more clearly." Said Ned in a tone that was always polite, but a little more annoyed. "Certainly. Unfortunately... to get a clearer idea of what I''m about to tell you. That is, the next part after the surrender of Oldtown, I will have to exin some notions to you...let''s say more numerical and bloody. How are you with numbers, my Lord?" Bloody Snow. "Fairly well, I dare say. I''ve spent thest five years flipping through stacks of papers filled with numbers almost every single day... " The Lord of Winterfell replied. "Excellent, Lord Stark. Here... Some paper and ink to help you follow the speech. A faithful associate of mine, named Ronan, studied for a while in Braavos... Not many people know that The Iron Bank holds to a second, longer unofficial motto. The guideline if you can call it that. It reads: [ Words are wind. A very difficultnguage to interpret. Actions are a map. Easier to see and understand, but still too imprecise. But numbers... Numbers never lie. ] Very wise words, upon which the Bank''s founders built an empire. Although. I would change thest sentence to: [Math... Math never lies.] If a friend of mine ever asked me: [Duncan, whatnguage do you think the Gods speak to each other in?] I would confidently answer: {Mathematics}... Let''s start with the basis that you should always have a clear number in mind, Lord Stark. { 3 }. A number that pops up everywhere in magguages and prophecies. You''ll also need to have two figures clearly in mind. A { Circle }, and a { Sphere }. What is the easiest unit of measurement for you for measuring liquids, weights, and lengths? I''m talking about small to medium measurements right now." The boy asked after drawing a fairly precise circle on a piece of paper and cing a ck dragon ss sphere on the table. "... Gallon, cup, spoon, and drop are clear to me. Weights...I would prefer ounce, pound, and quintal... Length...thumb and foot if possible." Ned. "Well... Phew... Professor Carter, how I miss you and your metric system... " The boy sighed quietly. "Excuse me, Lord Duncan? " Ned. "Nothing, my Lord! Forgive me... The ckberry wine is beginning to take effect. Nothing to worry about." The boy. "I see... Carry on, Lord Duncan." The man. "Well... Let''s start to get back to the subject of Magic... Magic, especially here in Westeros is frowned upon by the people andmoners, even the nobles. Blood Magic is the most despised. Believed to be evil and against the Gods... But, few know that every Magic has a ''Price'' to pay. And the price to pay, my Lord, believe it or not, is the blood of the Gods... We are all descended from the Gods, and no matter how slight the trace or purity, everyone, and I mean everyone here in Westeros has a tiny bit of magic in their blood. Yes, my Lord, even you. Especially you. Only the schrs of magic and the upper echelons of Westeros and Essos know how to ssify the '' Purity of this blood ''. I would point out to you, that anyone who goes to the Iron Bank to ask for funding for a war... Almost certainly, those bankers will start a conversation about how expensive war is in terms of ''BLOOD and GOLD''... Very few know, that the Faceless Men of the House of ck and White, set the [ Price ]of the Name to be offered to the God of a Thousand Faces, based on the blood to be offered to the Gods... Not only the victim, my Lord... but also how much blood would be spilled should that name be offered. The Leaders of that sect, God''s only know-how, can calcte every single drop... That''s why there''s a big difference in price between asking for the death of an ordinarymoner and a King. If that King were to die, and war were to break out over it... rivers of blood would be spilled. And that''s not all... Every individual in the known world has a degree of purity of { Divine Blood } in their veins. I will forewarn you, that these names may seem distasteful and discriminatory to you...but that is how Carcosa, Braavos and Oldtown ssified them. Sure... there''s a millennial verbal diatribe over the naming of the first and second... but since House Hightower avoids the ''Sons of Man '' as if they were afflicted with the gray disease, I''d say use Carcosa''s ssification. Divided into {Three} Hierarchies. In the 1st Hierarchy, in ascending order, we have: [Low Blood]; [Dirty Blood]; [Common Blood]; [Non-Common Blood]; [Rare Blood]; [Very Rare Blood]; [Semi-Pure Blood]; 2nd Hierarchy [Pure Blood]; [Purest Blood]; [King Blood]; [Legendary Blood]; [Blood of the Sons of the Gods]; [Semi-Divine Blood]; [Divine Blood]; The third Hierarchy is a little different. There is only one type of blood in this list.... {Blood of God} Each of them has a market value. With the exception of thest three... For a single drop of God''s Blood, a worldwide fight would break out to thest man. Suffice it to say, Ned, that one drop of God''s Blood...could be enough...I''d say it could offset the ancient spells ced on The Wall. Now, Lord Stark... You may wonder why I am speaking on such bleak and discriminating subjects. As previously stated, every magic... '' EVERY KNOWN MAGIC'' needs a tribute of Divine Blood. All magic could be ssified [ Blood Magic ]. Think of a sword without a handle, Ned.... A dangerous weapon, but a weapon nheless. With each sh you''ll inevitably spill blood if you wield the edge of the de instead of afortable leather handle... So where''s the way out?.... The stone you have there in front of you, my Lord.... That is the handle, hilt and pommel of all spells used to date. That''s right, Lord Stark. That [Mana Stone] or also called ''''Reserve of Magic'''' is the solution to have no side effects on the spellcaster''s body... To create a Mana Stone... you need threeponents. Dragon ss. Divine Blood. And Runes... Runes are those symbols you see etched into the stone. Each spell dissolves and partially consumes a stone. The one in front of you, Ned, is called the Base Stone.... But...let''s do a little practical example first. Just a moment, my Lord." The boy rose to reach a small trunk. A few secondster, he ced three ck candles on the table.... "These are Candles of Valyria... also called [ Candles of Affinity to Magic ].... Based on them, all schrs and masters of the Arcanum are able to determine how good an individual is at magic. I would like you to test for yourself to understand, Lord Stark." Duncan. "... You want me to perform magic? I already tell you that I tried many times as a child ying with my brothers.... I assure you I am no Wizard." Ned. "Who knows Lord Stark...there are not only Wizards or Sorcerers in this world." Duncan. "... Do I have to?... I mean... Cougff... coff... It''s not that I don''t trust you, Lord Duncan, but... honestly, your nickname, Bloody Snow, worries me a bit... " Said in a slightly worried tone, Ned. "... If you do as I say, you won''t spill a drop of blood, Ned... You''ll be forever cursed by gods or men for trying... Honestly, I''m a little offended, ''My Lord.''" Ned after a few expressions of doubt and shame was convinced to try. "What should I do?" Ned. "Take that stone in your hand, move three fingers this way ... Yes like this. And immediately speak the word { DHUGRAR } "Bloody Snow. "... { DHUGRAR!!! }"... A blue me lit on the first candle to the man''s left. A portion of the ck stone dissolved. "Mmm... Not bad Ned... And you didn''t even pass out." Bloody Snow. "What do you mean passed out?!!? You said there was no danger!!!" Ned. "No, I didn''t say that. I said you wouldn''t shed a drop of blood or be cursed by the gods or men... MY LORD! Please!... I assure you that at most you would have fainted! I''d have you back on your feet in no time, I swear!" Ned, after clenching his fists and gritting his teeth a bit, sat back down and regained hisposure. "So... Do you want to exin to me what that me means and why I might have fainted?" Ned. "Of course, my lord. The blue me means that you have a ''Rare'' affinity for the Divine Blood. You have [Rare] blood in your veins, Lord Stark. There are seven colors, which I prefer to call ''''Wraiths of Light''''. Seven colors are repeated for each candle. The third candle is more for tradition than for use. If that candle had been lit, my Lord, perhaps even I would have attacked you to steal your blood... Seven colors of three different mes. For the me respectively: Infima attunement = Red; Dirty tune = Orange; Common tune = Yellow; Nonmon attunement = Green; Rare Attunement = Blue; Very Rare Attunement = Purple; Semi-Pure Attunement = White; And so on repeating for the second. The color of the third me is a mystery to the world. Everyone thinks it''s Red...but who knows. For the fact that you haven''t suffered physical or mental setbacks.... well that''s a bit moreplex. Some alchemical reagents can help lessen physical and mental stress, but now is not the time to talk about that. Remember, Lord Stark. Magic is an artposed of three factors mostly. 1) The Word, or the correct pronunciation and design of the Magic Rune. 2) Knowledge, which is the ability to understand the secrets of the World...the secrets of Magic. 3) The Blood, of which we have already spoken. Let''s say that based on your oue. If you abandoned the path of the sword and from your duties as a Lord to devote yourself exclusively to the study of the arcane, you would seed in bing a wizard, Ned. As you can see, your younger self had an insight. Ahaha!... Anyway... There are three types of magic, Lord Stark. 1) Arcane Magic or [Draconic Magic]. What you just did. 2) Divine Magic or [Singing Magic]. 3) Nature Magic or also called [Life Magic]. Each individual is born with a specific attunement to one or more particr types of magic, depending on the factors that characterize that individual. To give you an example, Lord Stark... Wizards of Sorcerers, like the one about to visit you, use Arcane magic. Intelligence and wit distinguish them. Priests or Venerators of the Gods, are distinguished by their ability tomunicate with their God. A ''Charismatic'' factor if you will. The Druids or also called '' Warg, Shapechange and Green Beings '', are distinguished by their affinity with Nature. ... I would have bet you were more of a Druid than a Wizard, but as they say '' Life is full of surprises! '' Ahahahahah... ... Anyway. There are hierarchies even for spells, Lord Stark. The one you just performed, was a minor spell... I like to call it [Parlor Trick]. More useful than dangerous. It can hardly be used as a weapon... Well at least on our continent. Who can say. Each type of magic has different Runs or Languages. Only Druids know thenguage for spells. All others, unless they have an affinity with nature at superhuman levels, cannot remember or even pronounce thenguage of the World Tree. The Chants or Prayers of the Priests are peculiar and different from each other. There is no specifguage that characterizes them and they are the only ones that do not need runes. The more a priest can make himself heard by his God, paying the necessary blood tribute, the more powerful a spell will be. Divine magic has a peculiarity of its own that the other two do not have. Namely, the [Blood Power of Kings]... but at least for today, it does not concern us. There are primarily 9th circles of magic, Ned. That magic you just performed is not within that scale. We could call it level 0 if that helps you more. It is 9 circles since that is the most powerful magic recorded by man... It is said that the three Fathers of Creation, The Dragon God, The World Tree, and The Phoenix, were able to perform 12th Circle magics. Magics that could reduce mountain ranges to dust, sprout a forest in the middle of the desert, or drain oceans... There are three main hierarchies. All are divided by hierarchical subcategories: Minor, Intermediate, High. When you ever hear a priest serving deities other than the Seven or Drowned God faith, and it bears the title High... always offer warm hospitality, my Lord... 1) Mages; Druids; Priests. Able to use spells up to the 1st-3rd circle. 2) Great Wizard, Great Druid, and Great Priest. Able to use to cast spells of the 4th-5th-6th Circle. 3) Archwizard, Archdruid and Archpriest. Monsters in human form that can use higher-level spells... Now, the third hierarchy is very, very rare... Luckily for us, our enemies should not have such beings. Phew... Praise be to Seraphi..." The boy bit off thest word realizing he was about to make a mistake. "You were going to say Seraphine?!! Then it''s true! Do you know the name of an Ancient?! Are those words thenguage of the World Tree?!!" Ned asked immediately with deep curiosity and excitement. "No, no... I wasn''t going to say... emm..." Duncan. "Don''t lie to me, Lord Duncan! Please talk!" Ned. "LORD STARK!... This is not the time, my lord. Dark possibilities loom over us! I am trying to exin in detail a world unknown to you... " Said the boy shamelessly defensively. "... We''ll talk again, my Lord" Ned. "Yes... As I was saying... The King in Yellow is a powerful sorcerer. The strongest living Archwizard at the moment. A minor Archwizard... but don''t use the word minor as much as you will address him. That being is capable of using 7th Circle magic... very dangerous magics, Lord Stark. In his blood, flows the blood of rank [King]. Blood of a dynasty even older than that of House Stark. The words [Respect] and [Honor], will be the shields that save you and your family from very... very hard to break Arcane curses... "Bloody Snow. "Now Ned Stark, know that stone... that Greedy Usurious and Cheating Bloodsucker Josua of Jh sold me for 289 golden dragons!!.. is a Base Stone. But before we talk about Gold, Stone, and Blood... I''d like to tell you another story. A story that connects to a mythical and fierce figure, a Guardian if we can call it that. A story of love. The story of a young hero who changed the fate of the world. A squire named Pod... Podrick of House Lann." End POV. -------------------------------------------------- POV: Bloody Snow; In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. Soon after a squire''s name was mentioned... "Podrick of House Lann?... Unfortunately, I don''t even know the name ''Lann''... but I''m getting used to it now." Ned. " Good for you and your family, my lord... My master, Zick, did not tell me this story until he was certain I could, at least in part, bear the consequences. This is a story that only seven people at the moment should know. Three Sorcerers... a Druid... a Banker... a Watcher, yours truly... and soon you, Lord Stark. Not even the Three-Eyed Raven could glimpse that time. Powerful curses and spells were cast to disrupt and hinder The View. A story that only Zick could tell... Agreements some twenty years ago were renewed. Because a new and powerful organization had made its way to the top, upsetting the bnce of the world. Do you need any more of my admonitions to know ''What'' would happen, if you ever shouted out this story in a crowd, Lord Stark?" The boy asked, disturbing poor Ned for the umpteenth time. "If that were the case... Why would you want to tell to me? Wouldn''t you get yourself and your loved ones into trouble ?" Ned. "It would increase the risk sure, but this story is essential to exin to youter the events that involved your family..." Duncan. Ned sighed inwardly, thinking of how many burdens he was already carrying...but would he be able to bear one more for the sake of his loved ones. "... I''ll keep your secret. I will listen to your story, Lord Duncan." Ned. "Well... Love and stories move the world, Lord Stark. Stories... are the most powerful force that spurs people to action. Stories of lineage, war, and blood, stories of cultures and beauty, and stories of ''Love and Magic''... Love... is the most powerful of all magic. ... But as much as it illuminates, Love generates very long shadows. Many say that The Knight''s Watch cannot have children and wives to prevent them from feeling the love. Love is the death of duty... Not that it''s wrong. But I think instead that they cannot feel love because of those shadows. Returning to the time of the [3] curses cast by the Son of Night. A curse to deprive Three Children of Love, Beauty, and Magic. A legend rises from that story. A legend that willter tell of a prophecy... A prophecy was created to break that curse. The cause of all evil and disharmony in the world. All who try to change the fate of the world will have to face it. {... Before seeding in seducing the Maiden of Light, to generate the three sons the Harpy, the Stallion and the Man, the three fathers the Bird, the Horse and the Monkey, fearing that their minor descendants were not equal to the direct daughter of the Great Phoenix Mother. They asked a friend of theirs for help. A Guardian of lesser beings... A direct son of both the Dragon God, the Tree of Life, and the Phoenix. A half-brother of the Maiden of Light... A figure with mighty scales, lion-like features, and phoenix wings. A son of both Fire, Light, and Life. One of the most powerful children of the Gods. Perhaps even on par with the Three Great Founders... He granted his three friends help. He taught the bird a love song. The most melodic song that had ever been created. [The Phoenix Song.] He helped the horse build the most beautiful gem ever made. A gem as ck as night but imbued with tiny infinite points of light. [The Gem of the Stars.] Finally, he handed the monkey a chalice. A chalice made of pure wood from the World Tree, with the Blood of God inside. [The Chalice of Life.] The Maiden of Light receiving these magnificent gifts, She wept with joy and love hearing that song... and fell in love with the bird. Her heart throbbed when she saw that gem... and she fell in love with the horse. She was breathless when she saw the sacrifice made by thest one... he could have lived forever drinking from that cup, but the monkey decided to perform the most powerful magic of all... The sacrifice of love... If the monkey drank the blood in that cup himself, he could be an eternal being. A being worthy of the Maiden of Light. The monkey renounced to drink from the Cup of Life and promised that blood to all the children that the Maiden would beget. The Maiden fell madly in love with the monkey. But the Son of Night was about toe... The three lesser fathers, fearing for the safety of their children, ran to seek the help of their friend... The Guardian. The Guardian answered their call. Unfortunately, before he arrived, the Son of Night managed to curse the three learners. Knowing that Harpy''s father sang a love song, the Night stole his daughter''s voice and used it in turn to sing the curse that deprived her of Love... Knowing that the Stallion''s father had bestowed the most beautiful gem ever created, Night extinguished the stars of that gem and used her power to deprive him of Beauty... Knowing that the Monkey''s father had performed the greatest and most powerful magic ever created... The night was defeated for a moment, not knowing how topensate for that power. A great sacrifice was required. Night grabbed the chalice of life, opened a wound dripping with Divine Blood, and offered his blood as a tribute to deprive the man of his magic... Not one, but many [3] cups of blood. He tripled the offering to replicate the most powerful spell ever created by the sons of the Gods. } From here, Lord Stark, you can exin why the descendants of Man especially despise Blood and Shadow Magic... The schrs and wizards of history who wanted to find a way to break this curse all agreed on one point. The third curse is the most powerful of them all... Therefore, many believed that if they could find a way for Magic to return to the descendants of man, the world would regain its harmony. By chance... The Phoenix Song... The Star Gems... and the Blood of God, do they remind you of anything?" The boy asked, pointing to a clue near the man. "The mana stone... " Said Ned looking at what was left of the stone. "That''s right... The magical and non-magical people were not always at war with each other. Peace and harmony were finally found. The Magical People joined forces to find a way for the Non-Magical to benefit from magic as well. The Mana Stone. A magical object that contained the attributes of all three Artifacts stolen by the Son of Night... At that time the Andals, Ghiscarians, and Dothraki made peace agreements. Asting peace No one knows why the Andals decided to invade Westeros to start a new world war. But back to the events of a certain Guardian... [He rode with pleasure to the First son of their protgs, the Harpy... When the Guardian reached the Harpy, he saw the suffering and hatred that her actions caused to all beings. No longer able to feel love, the Harpy betrayed even her blood. Even the Bird was captured and tortured by it... The Guardian intervened. A song had spawned that curse, and only a song could break it. The Guardian gathered all the warmth and light within him and sang magical verses to rekindle hope. As soon as the Harpy was hit by that song of joy, love, and life, she cried. When the Guardian came to the Man, he didn''t know what to do. His power was not enough to help him. Having lost his magic, Man was vulnerable and ostracized by everyone. The Guardian stayed by his side to protect him. A hundred days and a hundred nights passed and the Guardian found a way to help the Man, now his closest friend finds his magic again. He asked his twin brother for help, the only one who could extinguish his light forever. The Keeper wanted to sacrifice himself to break the curse of the Night.... ] Do you know the legend of Azor Ahai, Lord Stark? " He asked immediately after concluding the Guardian''s story. "... I know it is the name of the Hero of Dawn. The one who is supposed to have led men to victory against The Long Night. I don''t know much more than that... "Ned answered truthfully. While still skeptical of what the boy in front of him told him, the man found the story very pleasant to hear. "Legend has it that Azor Ahai, before bing the hero he was, worked on a sword. A sword that could defeat the bringer of the Long Night. There is controversy and discordant points as to whether or not he was a follower of R''hollr the Lord of Light or also called the Red God. This sword was called the {Lightbringer}... To forge this legendary sword, believed by many to be a divine artifact, Azor Ahai made [3] attempts. He worked on the sword for thirty days and thirty nights, but when he attempted to temper it in water, it shattered... The second time. He worked on the sword for fifty days and fifty nights. He tried to temper the sword by plunging it into Lion''s heart, but it shattered after Lion roared a death rattle... The third time... Azor Ahai wept knowing what had to be done... The third time, with a heavy heart, because he knew in advance what he had to do to finish the de, Azor Ahai worked for a hundred days and a hundred nights until it was finished. This time he called his wife, Nyssa Nyssa, and asked her to uncover his breast. He drove his sword into her living heart, her soulbined with the steel of the sword, creating Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes. As you see Lord Stark...this pesky [3]es out often." Duncan. Ned didn''t answer. He had noticed the coincidences and simrities in the stories told. Many simr or identical factors came up often. "Now that I have mentioned to you the events of perhaps the most famous Hero in history... I would like to tell you about the Greatest Hero forgotten by History." Chapter 74: Word of Power Part I Chapter 74: '' Word of Power '' Part I Hello everyone forgive the wait. A recovery day to recover from the vine and the moreplex chapters written so far have contributed to the dy. Fear not, I will soon do a supporting chapter with all the lists to make it easier for you to remember the magic, numbers, and the market. Now I understand why Big George always attached a hundred or so supporting pages to each of his books. Ahaha. Thank you all for your support. s for those who are not sympathetic to the numbers or who are anxious to see gallons of Greyjoy blood flowing will have to wait. Happy reading! -------------------------------- POV: Duncan; In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. After a few seconds of pause... Ned was beginning to feel tired, but he continued to focus all his attention on my words. I began the story... "During the Age of Heroes, history has almost forgotten that even the worshipers of the Ancients had warriors consecrated to their faith. Warriors anointed with the red sap of very ancient trees. The Druids, they were the priests of the Ancients... You too, Lord Stark, have for your vassal a Lord descended from a line of Green Knights. Lord Manderly... At the time, the Reach was the green eye of the worshippers of the Old Gods. Most of the Green Knights defended Oldtown. A city guardian of all the secrets of Love, Beauty, and Magic. There was even a text, written by the chief Archdruid himself, in which all the runes and spells of Nature were kept... Without the Archdruid''s permission, any being attempting to remember the runes read will only remember the sounds of winds, leaves, and chirping. Even the secrets of the Draconic Runes and Divine Songs were all kept there. Even the form of Valyrian Steel... [At that time, just before the Andals invaded Westeros, there was a famous Green Knight, nicknamed ''''The Beast'''', and his faithful squire Podrick of House Lann. No one knew the true name of that Knight. He had never shown his true face to anyone. Although his face was always covered by his helmet, made of oak and deer antlers, his banner was visible. A winged Chalice on a midnight blue background covered in stars. A banner very, very simr to that of an old knight-errant who, millenniater, took with him a young orphan in King''s Landing whose chronicles are told to this day. A banner acquired when he was invested with the title of Knight by winning the tournament of the Love of Beauty and Magic...] I don''t know if you''ve noticed Lord Stark, but the custom and tradition here in Westeros are that to seduce a Lady Maiden, you usually do it with: Songs, Jewels or Crowns of Beauty and Pledges Of Love... But let''s give more space to our dear friend called {Coincidence}... [ ''The Beast'', was in the direct service of the Lord Protector of Oldtown. His most valiant and trusted knight. Lord Hightower had always respected The Beast''s choice to never remove his helmet. Never forcing such an obligation on his vassal. Podrick Lann, a young descendant of a minor lineage loyal to House Hightower, whose dream was to one day be a knight as strong, loyal, and valiant as The Beast, had received the honor of serving as his direct squire. The greatest honor of his life. When the Andals army was about toy siege to Oldtown, the First Green Knight, The Beast, rode fearlessly to the side of his faithful Lord, who had called together all the Green Knights and Druids of the Reach. When the Green Knight, and his squire Pod, were safely inside the enchanted walls of the city, The Beast ordered his squire to return home to his family. He justified this choice by telling young Pod that he was not yet ready to face the horrors of war... Pod, embittered by this decision, did as he was told. When the Andals invaded the city, a massacre urred in Oldtown... Thousands of Green Knights and Druids perished under the edge of the Andals'' steel de... When Pod heard the shrieks of the massacre in the city, he immediately emerged from his family estate armed to the teeth and ready to fight. Not knowing where the fight was taking ce, Pod asked a traveler for directions. Only when he arrived in front of the old man did Pod notice that he was blind. The old man, without even being called upon, sang a song to the young squire "Three fires will you light, young Pod: One for Life, one for Death, and one for Love. Three Harts you shall ride: One for Pleasure, one for Death, and one for Love. Three Betrayals you shall know: One for Blood, one for Gold, and one for Love." No sooner had Pod turned away from the old fool with the urge to join the fray then he found a steed. A crazed Stallion with no rider in panic. Podrick managed to tame the beast the way his Lord had taught him. He sang, stroked him, and gave him calm and serenity. Wasting no more time, the brave Podrick rode with vigor, eager to prove himself to bring glory and honor to his House, his Lord, and his City. When Podrick finally arrived, what awaited him was the horror and misery of war. The enemy had already ughtered all of the city''s forces... At that point, Podrick rode with fury and terror. Terror for what might have happened to his Hero. Not being able to find him, Podrick cried thinking about the fact that, almost certainly, the Green Knight had already fallen... At that point Podrick rode back to his home, wanting to at least protect his House and Family. Returning home, Podrick discovered that his father had already bent the knee to the Andals... He felt betrayed by this choice, and fled, hiding in the slums of the city. One hundred and fifty-one days passed since the conquest of the city. Podrick spent that time organizing and nning a n of attack, for the defense of the First Men and all the magical people. He had discovered that the Andals hade into possession of three key texts: The Text of Magical Runes, which held all the information needed to recreate Mana Stone and recite all spells known to man. The Text for Refining. Which contained all the water and earth magic forms and processes key to synthesizing and purifying Dragon ss. And the Text for the creation of Valyrian Steel. The most powerful conductor and channeler of magic known. The Andals, taking advantage of the secure foothold of Oldtown, were preparing for a world war against the magical people. Strong in the fact that now, besides the sword, they could also count on magic. The Ghiscarians were already pressing on Valyria and the Dothraki on the confederation of wizards. The Druids and the First Men, already disadvantaged, were on their own... The squire spent 10 days finding safe shelter. A shelter that would hide him from the eyes of the guards still searching for him. Fifty days to find two fellow adventurers to help him...] Forgive me, my Lord... Gihih... sprrr... ahah... I need a moment to continue... fiuu... some water will help. Yes... better. Much better. I can do it... As I was saying... [ Pod found two worthypanions willing to help them in their quest. A mercenary ver killer named Bronn, and... a deformed-looking wizard skilled in shadow magic. Out of respect for a known person, we will call him only by the nickname given to him in the city slums... Demon Monkey]. I swear to you on my honor, Lord Stark, that when I visited Oldtown in person for a few days, I also sought information about these three names. Even now among themon people, it is thought that the names Podrick, Bronn, and ... ''The Unnamed'', are names of ill omen to be given only to bastards of birth. But... back to the story. [The young squire had struck a deal with the two individuals. The former was looking for some precious Ancient blood. If he returned to his homnd with that loot, he would be considered a hero. A hero loved and respected by all. The second sought gold so he could afford to buy what nature had never granted him - beauty. After another 100 days of training and preparation, the trio was ready. The first target was the tower where the text of the runes was kept. After being stunned they tricked the guards with sounds and tricks to spread fear. The guards were distracted, but before they could retrieve the first text, Bronn betrayed the trust of the twopanions. He tried to kill them to recover the ancient text for himself by bringing back the book instead of the agreed blood. Podrick and Demon Monkey confronted the traitor and won the challenge. The squire was forced to destroy the text instead of bringing it back to its owner. He used the only magic he was able to use, minor fire magic. The text caught fire turning into ash. From there, the remaining duo arrived at the second chamber where they found Mages intent on refining Dragon ss. It was an arduous battle. All of the maesters were skilled arcanists, but the two managed to prevail. Before thest maester fell, he proposed a deal to Demon Monkey. Having recognized the famous powerful demonic wizard of dubious loyalty, the maester offered triple whatever sum he had been offered to betray the squire. The deformed wizard epted and betrayed hispanion. Podrick, who was surrounded by more enemies now that the rm was given, threw all the gold coins offered to the traitor into the air to distract the enemies. Immediately after taking down the traitor, he burned the second text fleeing for his life. Despite being alone, Podrick did not give up and went on to thest mission. The boy secretly loved a Valyrian princess. A princess he didn''t sing for when he first saw her, fearing his voice wasn''t worthy. A princess to whom he had nothing to offer as a gift for her beauty. Although he knew he was acting for the good of the magical people, the boy hoped within himself to at least retrieve thest text, so he could finally offer a worthy gift to his beloved. When he reached thest chamber, the boy was stunned by what he saw... Guarding the text was his lord and master. The Green Knight. The boy''s heart stopped, his breath caught. The Knight, recognizing the intruder, removed his helmet. It had never been a he, but a she... A monstrous-looking woman. With two boar tusks instead of teeth, red eyes, and thick fur all over her face. The Knight wept in turn because of the shame she felt at having broken her oath as a knight. She had betrayed the nature she had sworn to serve and protect. She tried to justify herself to her beloved squire by telling him that she had done it for her Lord. The only man she had ever loved, but Podrick was blinded by rage. He brandished his sword with everything he had. It was the hardest of fights. After a fierce and perpetual exchange of blows, Podrick gathering thest remaining energy lowered his two-handed sword roaring with all the breath he had in his body. The woman was so shaken by that blow that she was shocked and helpless. Podrick had defeated hisst enemy, but he didn''t find the courage to leave thest blow. The Knight with thest of her strength shouted: "Do it Podrick! I am a knight without honor. I don''t deserve to live! I no longer have any reason to live... The Lord will kill me anyway for failing! Do it! I have failed in my duty..." Podrick seeing that his esteemed hero had done all this only out of love, spared her and said: "If you believe that this text is the only way to get his love, then take it, Ser." Podrick gave up on retrieving Valyria''s steel secrets and fled. ''The Beast'', shocked by her former squire''s pure gesture of love took the text with her and fled the city as well. Let''s pause for a moment, Lord Stark. Notice anything familiar so far?" I asked. "... A strong analogy between the squire and the Guardian. The Keeper has also cried, roared, and performed an act of love for the sake of others." Ned replied after thinking about it for a moment. "Correct answer Ned. The Guardian also had to suffer three betrayals...but we''ll discuss that another time... Now I''d like to stun you with a few more numbers before we return to our young hero. Do you think you can handle that?" I asked. "I think so... " Ned. "Good. Now, let''s talk in detail about Blood and Dragon ss. In the magic market, unknown in Westeros and little known in Essos, three key figures protect the trade. Three Guardians of the World. All three figures are neutral to the three superpowers Braavos, Oldtown, and Carcosa. They maintain peace if you can call it that. Each of them holds with them a key secret to creating mana stone. The Keeper of Beauty is a powerful Archdruid still alive without a name who still resides to protect the Eye of the Gods, here in Westeros. He was the one who, more than 8,000 years ago, forged a pact with the First Men, thus contributing to the end of the war. He guards the secret of refining Dragon ss. The Guardian of Magic, Lo Tho, is called Lo Longspoon and Lo the Terrible. He was a God-Emperor of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti and the twenty-second ruler of his dynasty. A very powerful and dangerous character. He loves and respects magic and was the master of the Yellow King... Unfortunately... he has a bit of a memory problem, but he is still neutral and faithful to his task as Guardian. He guards the secrets of the Runes to produce mana stones. And the Guardian of Love, The Watcher. Who snatched the title from the Iron Bank about 22 years ago. The Bank was turning the tables by incentivizing the two sides to fight for war. It was settled, after long and arduous agreements that the task would pass to another powerhouse, Zick. The master... well not him exactly. My master''s organization guards the secret of refining Blood. I don''t know if Zick knows or doesn''t know that he holds one of the most lucrative businesses in the known world...but I don''t think he cares. All three cities can acquire mana stone from Carcosa, which receives Dragon ss from Oldtown and Blood from Braavos. The Guardians simply resell their production monopoly exclusively to their city. Everyone buys and resells at agreed-upon market prices. If someone in need of mana stones wanted to acquire a mana stone in Oldtown, obviously the price would be higher. The closer you get to Carcosa, the more the price drops. There are currently four types of Mana Stones avable on the market. Basic Mana Stone. Low Mana Stone. Medium Mana Stone. High Mana Stone. The remaining ss types-Pure, Ancient, Legendary, and Mythic-are simply not sold by anyone. All three superpowers jealously guard them in case a new war should break out. Each spell from level 0 to 12 is three times more powerful than thest. And so it is with the Mana Stones. Each one has three times the magic reserve of the previous one. A Basic Stone itself has the power to cast nine 0th level spells, three 1st level spells, or one 2nd level spell as needed. With all higher stones, you can always cast a lesser spell, but that would be a waste. With the High Mana stone, in its entirety, you can get to cast a 5th spell. They are even called directly by the names of the magic circles in Carcosa. Base Stone= 2 Low Mana Stone= 3 Medium Mana Stone = 4 High Mana Stone = 5 Are you there, Ned?" I asked. "Yes...I''m up to here, Lord Duncan, thank you for your concern." Ned replied signaling a slight offense to his intellect. "Good. Shortly, the High Mana Stones will also go off the market. And do you know why? There''s starting to be a shortage of one of the threeponents... Dragon ss. A material that could only be produced by the breath of Dragons. Now that the Dragons are extinct... Oldtown, which holds the highest amount of said treasure well guarded in its warehouses, is beginning to be more reluctant to sell said material to itspetitors. Since it is still possible to obtain blood more easily, they have a market advantage. There are eight known rank categories of Dragon ss. For now, I will list the ones respective to the sold stones Each one is associated with the production of Mana Stone. The runes and magic blood needed to create them are: Base ss + Rare Blood + Runes 2 = Mana Stone 2. Low ss + Blood V. Rare + Runes 3 = Mana Stone 3 Medium ss + Pure Blood + Runes 4th = Mana Stone 4th High ss + Pure Blood + Runes 5th = Mana Stone 5th Now, why emphasize this. The fact is Ned, that there is a treasure in the North that none of us have tapped into for thousands of years. One example is your blood, my Lord. Currently, a cup of your market would be worth.... 81 silver moons. That is 2 golden dragons and 21 moons. If you had known this when you were young, Lord Stark, you might very well have chosen to leave for thends of Carcosa and live off your blood. You would also have one more means to repay Lady Barbrey if necessary! Ahahahaha... No?... Come on, my Lord, at least that was funny!... Anyway, magical blood is an asset that every being in Westeros could take advantage of, but it''s taboo. No one is supposed to know about it. If some poor guy not associated with the big four world organizations blurted it out, after denying the rumors, he would simply be made to disappear. Only in thends of the magicians'' association is it more widely known. This is the agreement made and renewed for over a thousand years. Both Blood and ss have a market price up to the Sons of God levels. That is the level before the Semi-Divine God. Everyone thinks that Harrenhall is cursed and that the ind of faces in the eye of the Gods is haunted. But in truth, that sacred ce is still home to Children of the Forest." I said. "Children of the Forest? The Children of the Forest have been extinct for over... Even if they weren''t extinct, it''s not possible that in all these years no one has ever seen them." Ned. "It would be impossible if there was no Archdruid capable of using 9th level magics, my Lord. I assure you that the Sons and the one you would consider the King of the Sons of the Forest still live there. No weapon made of iron can enter that ind, and even if an individual could, he would be riddled like a pincushion by arrows tipped with Dragon ss. Only Weapons that can kill the Others can enter. In a few days, I''m going to meet such an individual in person. I will have to ask him a couple of favors and ask a few questions... if and only if he receives me of course. You said it yourself, my Lord, the world you once knew no longer exists. Ahaha... " I said. "He is the Guardian of Beauty?" Ned. "That''s right he is. Oldtown currently wouldn''t dare make a move against him. He has had no friction with the Andals for over 4,000 years. He has Sons of God blood in his veins.... a being unique in the world today. A cup of that blood would be worth about.... 950,000 golden dragons if my mind does not deceive me. " I said. "What! A single cup of his blood is worth nearly a million???" Ned. "Yes, my lord. From what I understand, the '' King of the Sons of the Forest'', pays in tribute a cup every century or two in Oldtown if I''m not mistaken. The market prices of blood triple up to the very rare rank, and from there on it increases sevenfold up to the Blood Sons of Blood, my Lord. Obsidian has a simr market as well." Chapter 75: A Word of Power Part II Chapter 75: '' A Word of Power '' Part II POV: The Boy Fixated on Math. In an abandoned temple near Riverrunn. Five seconds after a new marketce opened in a man''s eyes... A cup of the lowest blood is worth = 1 moon. I assure you that in the temple of the House of ck and White, they do not waste a single drop of anybody they receive in tribute. Do you remember the previous story, Lord Stark? The cup of blood, the song, and the jewel?" Ned nodded. "The Night sacrificed three cups of blood to be able to use the 12th spell. That meant that one cup of his divine blood would be enough for an 11th spell... The cup of the chalice measures exactly the volume of two jewels. The jewel made of Frozen Fire produced by the Dragon God himself weighs exactly twice the weight of the blood. I know this because each Mana Stone has the same size, which is the same as the Star Jewel, and it takes exactly one cup of the blood of the relevant level to create the Mana Stone. When The King in Yellow arrives in Winterfell, Lord Stark, and you negotiate with him in person... You will have a most powerful medium of exchange in your hand to gain his favor and alliance. And it will be crucial, my Lord. He will even be able to help us protect the Moat Cailin with defensive spells. The only weakness of that manor is magic. We must forge a rtionship with that arcanist at all costs." I exined. "What means of exchange? What do I have to offer the sorcerer? I don''t give a damn about the 81 moons, I won''t sell him my blood." Said Ned Stark putting a period to his tone. "You shall have Blood, ss, and a very, very special number, my Lord. I don''t know if it was done to throw off the enemy or if the information was lost, but... The number 3 on which Carcosa bases the model of circles and spheres is wrong. Any spell above 3 for more than 3,000 years has be very risky for those who do not have at least rare blood in their veins. The ratio of Dragon ss to Blood is in itself wrong. And the fact is that they base all proportions on a partially wrong number, my Lord... I know that number. It was in everyone''s eyes until recently... I believe that someone has put his hand, and modified ancient texts, and destroyed others... Math doesn''t lie, my Lord." I exined confidently. "What do you mean? What number?" Ned. "On the texts I read, there was specified that Night bled profusely when he wounded his arm to get the blood. And there, there was also specified information, which read: [A drop of blood dripped from the wound for each day spent reciting the three curses.]. The times quoted were the same, as Azor Ahai''s to forge Bringer of Light. 10 days the first attempt, 50 the second, and 100 the third... But the information is certainly wrong... the exact days are: 1 day the first, 40 the second, and 100 the third, which added up to 141. Another 141 drops of blood were used for that spell. The measurement of the radius of the circles of the spell and the amounts of Dragon ss and blood are based on 3... but the real number is 3.141. Still an imprecise number, but the most you can get with the current measuring tools in Westeros. If you show that number to the King in the Yellow, he might even kneel before you and call you ''Master Stark''. " End POV. -------------------------------------------------------------- POV Ned. In an abandoned temple less than two miles from Riverrun. After three seconds a gentleman was called ''Master Stark''... Ned never ceased to be amazed the more he was surprised after every word from that boy. "... How certain are you of this, Lord Duncan?" Ned. "Quite certain, my Lord. When I exined the theory of that number to Ser Qyburn it took more than a week to convince him to stop calling me ''Archmaester Lord Duncan ''... But let''s not discuss that benefit now. Let''s get back to talking about treasures. Do you know where the greatest treasures in Westeros are currently located, excluding Oldtown, for now, my Lord? " I asked. "Casterly Rock, Highgarden, or your manor?" Ned. "... No, unfortunately, I assure you that even the Tallhart family has its fair share of expenses at the moment. The greatest treasure is to be found in the North and at Dragon Rock, my Lord... Do you know why after the And War, at least one heart tree was left in every great fortress in the South?.... It''s not because of religion, Ned. Each of those trees contains blood of at least [semi-pure] grade.... The current value of that blood is 56 golden dragons a and 21 silver moons a cup. And every three months, in some sixty castles in Westeros it is regrly milked without the knowledge of all the lords. A fortune for someone who knows, and a theft for someone else who doesn''t. Information is power, my Lord... House Stark''s most lucrative treasure is right in God''s Wood, Ned. House Stark''s tree is one of the oldest in all the North. Only one scale down from the main one present Isle of Faces. The God''s Trees of at least 12 lords of the North is of rank [Purest]... The one of House Stark is of rank [King]. You could easily collect a cup of tree sap every Moon without damaging it.... About 19,500 gold dragons every month, Ned. The blood of the Northern People is richer in magic than the South here. If, for example, in the South the average of the People was between rank [Dirty] and [Common], in the North it would be [Umon], at the very least... In the North beyond the barrier, the average would certainly be on the [Rare] rank. Wildlings have been intermarrying for thousands of years. They have more magical blood than the entire North put together.... And north of here, there are many magical creatures and trees." Duncan. Ned was interjected and shocked for a moment after discovering those numbers.... Then the man immediately asked: "But if that were true, why don''t vers, pirates and ingredient hunters attack the Wildlings people or the North. Such treasure would appeal to anyone." Ned. "Good question Ned. The South or foreigners, has neverid a finger on a single drop of magical blood from the North for a very specific reason. The Archdruid and other Druid circles have protected the children of the forest, the giants and the first men with a powerful curse. Currently only two dynasties of kings can grant permission.... From thends of House Reed to the pasting, only House Stark, and north of here, only descendant members of the dynasty of Joramun... A gift bestowed upon the King Beyond The Wall long ago, when he helped repel the forces of the Night King... If someone, were to use a single drop of the tree-digit in yournd Ned, without your express permission, would be cursed by three horrible curses. One that deprives the unfortunate of love, one of beauty and another of magic... Any being who were to use magic, or even profit from it would be afflicted.... Another treasure also has the same protection, unbeknownst to many, even their own owners. Ned. One of the greatest treasures in history since the disaster of Valyria, lies just a few hundred yards from the castle of a lord who thinks he has punished him by giving him barrennd... Dragon Rock." Duncan. "Lord Stannis? What treasure do you speak of?" Ned. "Dragon ss. Not a few stones of it, Ned, but a whole mountain. Perhaps--and I would not exaggerate in my supposition--only The Iron Bank could dispose of a sum sufficient to purchase everyst ounce of it. An ancient treasure, Ned. Over 8,000 years old. From the records I was able to find, at least 9 dragons the size of Balerion ''The ck Terror'', a hundred or so smaller Ancient or adult dragons, and 3 semi-Wyrm Dragons. Beasts of a higher and more dangerous rank than Balerion, they breathed fire for exactly 141 days and nights in a row. That was one of Valyria''s contributions to fighting the Long Night. And currently... the magical right of ownership of the Isle still belongs to the Targaryen dynasty. Only Aegon Sixth of his name can grant that right at the moment. " Duncan. "No one knows for certain if Rhaegar''s son is alive, and even if he is, no one knows where he is at the moment. As for Joramun, he lived more than 7,000 years ago. Wildlings do not follow birthright, only force. If there were descendants I doubt very much that they would be aware of it." Ned. "Trust me, Lord Stark. I think I have a good if not excellent chance of finding these two individuals in the future." Duncan. "... Do you... You know where Rhaegar''s sons are?!" Ned was shocked for forty-sixth time in a row in thest week by the same individual. "Yes, I know where they are hiding. It is not yet time to disturb their enforced exile. The two children live in peace and harmony with their mother. I would not mention this to King Robert if I were you, Lord Stark." Duncan looked seriously at the man in front of him. "... Do you want to start a war against Robert for the crown?" Ned. "Absolutely not. Robert is the North''s lifeline at the moment, Lord Stark. The longer Robert sits on that throne, the more time we''ll have to strengthen ourselves to face the North''s true enemies." Duncan. "... You will add to the list, House Baratheon and House Lannister to those enemies, Lord Duncan, should you ever openly choose to support the Targaryens in the future." Ned. "My lord? Do you believe that?" Duncan. "It''s nothing to be convinced of, it''s a certainty. Lord Tywin would never allow the Targaryens to return, it would be open warfare that would drag the whole continent into chaos again." Ned. "... I would say the time has finallye to conclude the story of our young hero Podrick." Duncan. "This is no time for fairy tales, Lord Duncan. I am speaking seriously. Now answer me. Do you intend to drag the North into a war for the throne?" Ned. "Not for the throne, but the world, Ned. You can only begin to understand after I finish this tale." Duncan. Ned looked closely at his counterpart''s face. As always, he could find no trace of a lie in his voice or any expression. After a few more seconds, the man again armed himself with much patience and said: "Continue your story, Lord Duncan." Ned. "[Young Podrick, having defeated and spared his master, fled the city, giving up thest text. Although the boy knew that with that act of weakness he had probably condemned thousands, if not millions of people to a horrible fate, he did not regret his choice. At least, the only text of the Runes and Dragon ss had been destroyed. He set off as quickly as he could toward the north. A few hours after the squire left the city, Lord Hightower learned of the very serious loss he had just suffered. Through interrogation and magical means, the protector of the city found the person responsible. He immediately sent out search parties to capture the fugitive. Podrick, with means of misdirection, disguises, and various tricks managed to distance himself from the enemy. When Lord Hightower, the most powerful sorcerer of the kingdom, discovered that allmon means had failed, he used magic. He, sacrificing a drop of divine blood, chanted. "I curse you Podryck of House Lann. As long as House Hightower lives, you and your lineage will be deprived of three gifts. One gift for every treasure you have taken from me. As long as the Citadel lives, every member of your House will forget your name. As long as the creed of seven exists, at least one descendant of yours per generation beauty will ever find. And as long as House Hightower lives, at least one member of House Lann the magic will never find." After weeks of fruitless searching. Lord Hightower''s fury fell upon House Lann. A House that had long ago disowned the boy and forgotten the existence of their young member. All members of House Lann were ughtered. Because the boy was thest of the Lann, Podrick began to turn into a deformed beast, and what little magic he had left dissipated. Removed from everyone, the hero who had saved the world from all-out war holed up in a cave. A cave at the top of a cliff, remainingpletely alone and abandoned by the world. But on the other side of the world, another monster rode in his favor. Riding for pleasure, terror, and love. Three Guardians were made aware of the actions of the young hero. A hero who snatched three weapons of mass destruction from the hands of the Andals. When Lord Hightower''s men found the hiding ce of their prey, they besieged the cave at the top of the mountain. But the first help came in the boy''s favor. An enchanted golden cloak instantly tore through dozens of enemies, killing on the spot all those who dared try to harm the hero. The Guardian of Magic, Lo Tho, a God-Emperor of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, came to Podryck''s aid. And he sang: "Young Lann, the witticisms of your deeds have reached as far as Carcosa. You, Lann ''The Cunning'', have protected the secrets of my dynasty. And Carcosa shall henceforth protect yours. I give you a song, Podrick. As long as Carcosa stands, three of your descendants will exist to remember your name." The sorcerer left the enchanted golden cloak of his robes, still stained with crimson blood, to guard the hero, and took his leave. The second aid from the Guardian of Beauty came. The Archdruid decreed: "Podrick of House Lann, you and your courage have saved all that I consider beauty. I give you beauty, Podrick. As long as a child of the forest exists, two of your descendants will always know beauty. The druid mmed his staff into the ground and gold mines erupted from the earth. The young man''s appearance returned to normal and the golden cloak took the form of a lion. Then the second visitor took his leave. A third visitor arrived... The daughter of the Guardian of Love. A princess of a noble Valyrian dynasty. And she said: "Squire Podrick, your messiah hase to our House bringing back the secrets of our steel. For to three Dragons, your love has saved. Three gifts shall be bestowed upon you. As long as my dynasty exists, A legendary sword to defend your name will be there. A word of power your lineage from here on out shall bear. And at least one member who feels love it will have." No sooner had the princess finished speaking. A shining sword was left at the squire''s feet. A word of power was spoken investing the squire with a power other than magic power of the dynasty of Kings was bestowed. A princess went in marriage to a new young king, a king who had just found love again]. History has forgotten the name Podrick and the House of Lann. But I assure you, at least three of his descendants exist today, and they all remember the name of their founder... { Lann the Cleaver. } A very famous Valyrian ancestral sword that the dynasty lost, but still exists somewhere... { BrightRoar. } His stronghold stands on a mountain filled with gold mines. Whose motto reads the words: { Hear Me Roar. } And the name of Power of the Dynasty of Kings is: { Lannister. } " Chapter 76: Never Enrage the Quiet Wolf Part I Chapter 76: '' Never Enrage the Quiet Wolf '' Part I POV: Ned Stark; In an abandoned temple about two miles from Riverrunn. Ten seconds after the word ''Lannister'' was mentioned... "Assuming I believe this story or not, this is the secret the world shouldn''t know? The Lannisters'' lineage?" Ned asked slightly annoyed every time the name was mentioned. "Yes, in case you want to keep the peace. Oldtown and House Hightower would like to see the Podrick Lann dynasty destroyed as soon as possible. Carcosa is the exact opposite. The peace agreements stipte that the true history of Magic and the Hero of the First Men will not be spread. In return, Oldtown will not act directly against House Lannister. House Lannister is a sworn enemy of House Hightower... only Lord Tywin doesn''t know it yet." The boy. "... I don''t trust the Lannisters. They think they''re above everyone. Lord Tywin wouldn''t hesitate to ughter every Targaryens he could get his hands on." Ned. "That is true, Lord Stark." Duncan. "His son, Jaime Lannister..." Ned was interrupted. "Ser Jaime is a hero." Duncan. Ned was stunned by this inane statement. "A hero?! Ser Jaime stabbed the king he was sworn to protect in the back! He is a knight without honor. He only acted when he risked nothing." Ned replied fiercely. "... Ser Jaime Lannister sacrificed his honor for the sake of over 500,000 citizens of King''s Landing, Lord Stark. His ''dishonorable act'' also saved your life and the lives of all the Northmen inside the city gates." Said the boy in response. "... What are you talking about?" Ned. "Do you know what the Wildfire is, Ned?" Duncan. "Of course I do. King Aerys burned my father alive with a pyre of Wildfire..." Ned. "If I told you that the city was overflowing with barrels of Wildfire scattered at every key point in the city and that Aerys the Madman wanted to set it on fire, sacrificing every inhabitant within the walls so as not to deliver it into enemy hands, Would you believe me?" Ned did not know what to answer. "If you, Lord Stark, had been in that knight''s ce, and had tried again and again to plead with him to surrender to the enemy at the gates to avoid a massacre, but your king, the one to whom you swore your oath, ordered you to hand over your father''s head... What would you have done?... '' More seconds of silence passed. "What if I had been there when Aerys was ordering his Pyromaniac Hand to blow up everything, including the Red Keep? Hearing a madman yell [Burn Them All!] repeatedly. What would you have done, Lord Eddard Stark? Would you have kept that oath? Would you have, My Lord? Was your honor worth more than all those lives, Ned? Would the words of that oath have been enough to silence the thousands of screams of pain from innocent men, women, and children?! ... Well? The answer, Ned!" The boy asked, deliberately provoking his interlocutor. Ned could only steel himself against the blows without any possibility of defending himself. His silence was apanied by a look that expressed pure indecision and internal conflict. The boy stepped back to give the poor man some breathing space and a few moments of reflection. After almost a minute, Ned asked: "Is what you say true? He... Did Ser Jaime kill Aerys for these reasons?" Ned. "That is the truth, Ned. Thousands of Knights would have boasted of such heroic deeds, yet he did not... He acted as a true Hero. He is the Hero without honor. To this day there remain hundreds of hidden barrels of Wildfire under the streets and buildings of the city. I dare not act without the help of the Alchemists'' Guild. It only takes one mistake to turn King''s Landing into the greatest hearth the world has ever seen." The boy. "... I had no idea. I will apologize to Ser Jaime." Said Ned, thinking back on all the moments he had spent misjudging the poor knight. He had even suggested to Robert that he send him to the Wall... "There will be an opportunity, my lord." Duncan. "In any case, Lord Tywin ughtered thousands of innocents during the sacking of King''s Landing... He would have killed Targaryen children as well. The man cannot be our ally. He hates the Targaryens more than Robert. The way I see it, I''d much rather ally myself with House Hightower, ''the potential enemies of the North,'' than with House Lannister." Ned. "... Ned, I would be more afraid of facing House Hightower than all the other Houses of Westerosbined. Even if it holds first ce, the Iron Bank doesn''t have the military resources that House has... To give you an example, my Lord. If, at the Trident, you, Robert, and Jon Arryn had faced an army of 40,000 from House Hightower rather than Targaryen-Tyrell-Martell, you would have been decimated in less than an hour... Even if we had the full support of House Lannister, we''d have no chance of winning in a war against Oldtown in its current state. Even with all the power of House Tallhart and the North, I couldn''te up with a realistic n to sessfully attack that City. If the Hightowers really wanted the Iron Throne, they would simply get it. Currently, there is no army in Westeros that can stand up to them." Duncan. Ned considered those words carefully. The boy looked bloody serious. Showing equal seriousness, the Lord of Winterfell said: "... Prove your previous assertions to me. I find it hard to believe that such an enemy has been hiding so well for millennia without anyone in Westeros noticing." Ned. "Certainly... Prepare yourself, Eddard of House Stark. All that has caused you difort these past few days was nothingpared to what I will tell you in the next few minutes." Duncan. "May the Old and New Gods protect me, Duncan of House Tallhart." End POV. ------------------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; In an abandoned temple about two miles from Riverrunn. Seconds after a very brave man prepared for the worst.... "Let''s start by saying, that there are and have been people, who don''t belong to the top four centres of power, who have understood, or at least had a strong intuition of Oldtown''s true potential... Two of them are still with us in Westeros, and they''re very old. Maester Aemon Targaryen, the third son of King Maekar, who currently serves at Castle ck. And Lady Olenna Tyrell, the mother of Lord Mace Tyrell, who is also known as ''The Queen of Thorns''. I know for a fact that Lady Olenna, the true undisputeddy of Highgarden, fears the Iron Bank and House Hightower with the proper amount of awe that they deserve. I don''t think she''s aware of the magical world, but she''s certainly smelled a giant hiding in Oldtown. A very wise move to force her tender and naive son to marry Lady Alerie Hightower, Lord Leyton''s third child. A strange marriage in the eyes of many. In short, the only son and heir of Hightower marrying the second daughter of one of his vassals. I don''t know if you know this, Lord Stark, but the House of Hightower is the only House in Westeros that has the right not to answer the call to arms of its lord or king. They enjoy a unique privilege, as they are considered the keepers of knowledge and belief. The ten thousand soldiers defending Oldtown could remain there for another hundred wars without anyone noticing or making aint. They are also currently the wealthiest House in Westeros. Lord Tywin is trying to maintain the same high standard of living as the House, but... Queen Cercei, Lord Tyrion, and a hundred other Lannisters, including cousins, uncles, and distant rtives, are quite an expense to bear. The Casterly Rock mines are running out. My ountants estimate that House Lannister should have no more than 20,000,000 G.D. set aside at present. The mine can only produce another four or five million... House Hightower however... has never had to go to war, they have always focused on trade and prosperity. They don''t get attacked, and the ports of Oldtown are always bustling. The citadel tower is quite an expense, but they have other ies not widely known to the rest of the world that can easily offset those outgoings... Even Zick''s organization couldn''t give me an urate estimate, but ording to them, House Hightower has no less than 400,000,000 G.D. in their underground coffers, and that''s just gold... The Iron Bank should have about 500 million of its own and ess to just over a billion in outside funds... Fortunately, Carcosa also has its fair share of coins... phew... I assure you that these numbers are correct. I''ve taken a look at some of the Oldtown militia myself. I have a good eye for individual talent. We might call it "another skill" to give you an idea. How do my boys look to you? I speak of the Guardian of Winter." I asked. "... Impressive. Ser Haymitch thinks those 150 men-at-arms of yours could win against at least 1,000 of mine." Ned. "Ser Haymitch has a good eye, Lord Stark. Imend you for getting him on your side. Giving you an approximate scale of fighting skills of ten levels. Therefore a rating for each individual from one to ten: Level [1] , equals a peasant with nobat experience or training. Level [2] = A page who dreams of bing a squire. Level [3] = A novice squire. Level [4] = A squire about to be a knight. Level [5] = A novice knight, more experienced in jousting than in fighting. Level [6] = An experienced knight who knows how to use a sword. Level [7] = An experienced knight, worthy even to be part of the personal escort of an esteemed Lord, or even an honest Kings Guard. Level [8] = An experienced warrior, who has lived many experiences in the bnce between life and death. Whose sword is an extension of his own limb. Level [9] = Ser Haymitch. Level [10] = Ser Arthur Dayne, or Ser Barristan Selmy in his heyday. If you care to know, you''re at the top of level [8]. You''re a very good sword, Ned. Of course, there are many other factors to consider in determining the winner of a battle. Strategy, equipment, supplies, physical condition, troop morale, terrain, and differences in numbers are among the most relevant. But for now let''s just focus on the numbers... Most of your militias are at level [4]. Most of House Tallhart''s militias are at level [5]. The Winter Guardians currently hovers between level [6-7]. Now let''s talk about the military forces of House Hightower. Excluding the topic of magic for the moment... Let''s just talk about steel-armed military forces. You yourself fought against the former Lord Commander of the Kings Guard, Ser Gerold Hightower, Ned. How would you rate his performance?" I asked Ned. Eddard thought about it for a few seconds and then answered: "Lord Gerold was a fine knight. Despite being just in his early fifties at the time, he was a tremendous opponent. I''m pretty sure that if he had been even fifteen or ten years younger, he might have even been able to hold his own against Ser Arthur." Ned. "Ser Gerold, Lord Leyton Hightower''s uncle, was by no means one of the best among the armed forces of House Hightower.... Carcosa is set on {3}. Oldtown is {7}. From what Zick tells me, there are three teams of seven warriors or assassins, called ''The Seven Keepers'', ''The Seven Secrets, and The Seven Pdins'', who are at the same level as the personal guards of the King in the Yellow. They are knights who using only the sword, reach a skill level of at least [10]. Zick also gave a hand to House Hightower to train them. My master is apletely neutral person and well disposed to follow the art. If his help is requested in the right way, Zick refuses no one. The Watcher is one of the main glue that avoids conflicting fractures in the world. For this he has earned the title of Guardian of Love. Both Oldtown and Carcosa have great respect for my Master. However, among those seven former students of Zick, there are two individuals who surpass even Ser Arthur Dayne. Each of those Warriors is inmand of six elite men-at-arms. I managed to cross paths with one of them by pure chance. Level [9], my Lord. Probably, the remaining 41 are as well. ''The des of Seven'' who, together with the Pdins, form the sworn guards of the priests of the Starry Temple. Lord Hightower and the Citadel also have a simr militia. A squad chosen for each power centre in Oldtown: The Hightower, The Citadel and The Creed. They never leave the city. They don''t participate in any tournaments and they never show off. Then wee to the elite squadrons. These belong only to the Citadel and Hightower House. 700 men chosen for each of them. All at least level [7]. These forces may already be enough to defeat all the forces of House Tallhart... Then we have the veteran army of House Hightower: 3,600 soldiers trained and ready to fight at any time. They are mostly at level [6]. And finally, wee to the regr army... 10,000 soldiers at the same level as my father''s army. Now... these are just the soldiers defending Oldtown, my Lord. Oldtown has over 300 masters of arms, 400 cksmiths ready to train and arm an army in unprecedented time, a team of over 1,000 healers ready to receive the wounded in the best hospital facility in the Kingdom, and barns always overflowing capable of withstanding a siege of at least 5 years... The troops of Oldtown are well equipped, Ned... These soldiers, they don''t waste time just patrolling the streets and walls... No. They practice constantly by holding a simted battle training every year. They regrly rotate units by sending novices to Sothoryos for their first field experience. I assure you they would know their way around a real battle. There are always 20,000 unenlisted recruits among the citizens of Oldtown. In times of war, House Hightower could add another army of superior training and equipment to its ranks in no time at all. If necessary, they could add 20,000 more within six months. And then there''s the creed... One of the most powerful weapons in Oldtown. If forced to do so, they could call the people of Westeros loyal to the Seven''s creed to arms.moners, soldiers and knights from all over the realm. They wouldn''t need permission from the crown to do it... They''d just sing the right song at the right time. Many a fighter in Westeros would have no qualms about betraying their Lord and King in the name of the Gods. On an honestly realistic estimate, the creed could field at least another 100,000 swords in less than a year... These are just the forces on our continent. There are currently 20,000 swords in Sothoryos that reside there permanently and are loyal only to Oldtown. They call themselves ''Sons of Light''. Theypete in a constant but regted fight against the forces of Carcosa, the ''Sons of Night''. Of course, Oldtown has the means and capabilities to engage many... many more swords in Essos, should another open war break out. And then there is magic, which we have decided not to consider so far.... Tell me, Lord Stark... if what I''ve just told you were true, what would you say is the richest and most powerful house in Westeros?" I asked in a slightly ironic tone. Ned did not answer. He could only stare at me with wide eyes full of anxiety and concern. "Do you believe me now when I say, I am more afraid of Oldtown than I am of Braavos?" I asked. Ned nodded... "How did they manage to hide from the eyes of the world?" Ned. "... Mainly in three ways. By bending the knee to any ''''mighty'''' king or lord who came with an army in front of their city. By choosing in most cases, neutrality and prosperity in any major conflict in ournds. And the Citadel... The order of Maesters is loyal to House Hightower, my lord... Another power as dangerous as belief. In every castle in Westeros, there''s a Maester who sits by a lord''s side and whispers wise suggestions in his ear. They teach us history... They write the texts that we keep in our libraries... they tell us what is real and what is not... they read all our messages ... And they have ess to all the information of our house..." I waited for an outsized reaction from the man. Ned just stood there and stared at me with a very serious look. Then he said: "Are you serious, Lord Duncan? ... Are your usations well-founded? Do you have proof of what you im?" Ned. "... I''m afraid I do, Lord Stark. As far as I know, there are only four Maesters in Westeros who aren''t loyal to Oldtown-- One of them serves me. In addition to my own and Lord Qyburn''s testimony, I have hundreds of records of evidence-- detailed reports collected from all the great Houses in the North. House Dustin, House Mormont, Manderly, Glover, Cerwyn, Hornwood, Umber, Karstark and many others, can testify in my favour if necessary... I have long since given warning to the great Lords, and they, making due verification, have found the evidence for themselves. ... Every three moons, Lord Stark, all the Maesters of Westeros send a report to the Citadel. In each report, there is key information. I discovered the treachery of my former maester, Golbarth, when I was less than three years old." I said. Ned''s real trauma was upon us... He simply asked: "Maester Luwin?... "He waited for an answer with his eyes closed. "Aplex matter... I have a couple of agents in Winterfell who are diligently monitoring the maester. Every three months they cull a raven and rece it with a new one to discover the information sent... " I replied. " We will discuss your '' two agents '' at another time.... And?... Is Maester Luwin betraying me? Speak, Lord Duncan." Ned. "Yes and no, my lord... In the early days he was very detailed in his reports. For about two years now, he has been sending less clear and precise information.... I believe he is growing fond of your family. He''s more concerned with preventing you froming into conflict with Oldtown than he is with being loyal to it... In any case... yes, he also sends reports to the order of masters." I said in an even and bnced tone. Ned massaged his fountain and temples, trying to keep calm andposed. He clenched his fist a couple of times to vent some of his anger and frustration. After a couple of minutes of silence, I poured myself another cup of water asking my counterpart if he liked it. "Yes, please." He filled Ned''s cup as well. After a few sips, Ned asked: "Who are the ''Unfaithful'' Maesters in Oldtown?" "Maester Qyburn, in the service of my house, whom I hold in the highest trust and esteem. Maester Aemon Targaryen, in the service of the Knight''s Watch. Achmaester Marwyn, the ck sheep of the order, a lover of magic and a secret supporter of its return. He''s currently lending us a huge hand down in Oldtown. And Maester Endry, in direct service of Lord Rodrick Haw, also known as ''Rodrick the Reader''. The elder Maester had never agreed with Oldtown politics, and was sent to die in the Iron Inds because of it. He did, however, properly educate young Rodrick, and ever since, the boy has been more interested in books than axes. Lord Haw is secretly on our side in this rebellion. There is also Maester Wolkan, in the service of House Bolton... But... there he is, a bit of a special case... Let''s just say he was more afraid of Lord Roose Bolton than of Oldtown..." I exined. "Shouldn''t House Targaryen have known better? After all, they were from Valyria... They didn''t know anything about Oldtown?!" Ned. "... Aplex matter. I have medium and minor evidence on some Kings and theories on others. This is the most delicate point of the evening, Lord Stark..." I said. "I want to know everything." Ned. "... So be it." Chapter 77: Never Enrage the Quiet Wolf Part II Chapter 77: '' Never Enrage the Quiet Wolf '' Part II POV: The Quite Wolf. In an abandoned temple about two miles from Riverrunn. Right after Lord Stark''s request-order... "I believe at least six Targaryens were aware of the threat from Oldtown... Aegon I [the Conqueror]. Jaehaerys I [The Wise Conciliator]. Baelor [the Blessed]. Daeron II [The Good]. Aegon V [The Unlikely]. And... Rhaegar Targaryen. There''s no evidence for this, but the Valyria disaster wasn''t such a natural disaster either. Not as history would have us believe at least... There were 14 primordial fires of Valyria sealed with powerful spells. Spells of a simr if not higher level than The Wall. Carcosa suspects that one of them had beenpromised... And the Free City of Braavos, acquired many Valyrian artifacts a decade before the catastrophe came... As well as being very quick to fill that power vacuum in Essos of course. I suspect there was a close coboration between Braavos and Oldtown at the time. I hope I''m wrong, because if I am... Oldtown four hundred years ago had the means topromise a 9th-10th ancient spell... When Aegon arrived with Balerion and his army, he had alreadye back from two major fights. The field of fire and Harrenhall... You should know, Lord Stark, that the walls of Harrenhall Castle were also enchanted. Not Oldtown or Carcosa, but they had defenses. When Aegon reached Oldtown he waited seven days before the town surrendered and opened the gates without a fight... Both forces were weighing the pros and cons of conflict. Neither Aegon nor House Hightower was confident of prevailing... In my opinion, House Hightower was more afraid of taking enough damage to allow Carcosa to make a move. Harrenhall Castle was more of a test for them than a show of power. The fire of Balerion, an Ancient Dragon at the height of his rank, was capable of damaging the city walls and the three main towers of Oldtown. The story of the High Septon who prayed for seven days and seven nights is just a good song to cover their war meetings. There too, House Hightower bowed the knee swearing allegiance. They don''t like to get directly involved and expose their true nature to the world. At the time, maesters were already in use in most of the seven kingdoms. Hundreds of years of work would have been thrown to the wind. Aegon epted their surrender, and it was there, in that city that the year 1 After the Conquest in the history of Westeros officially began. House Hightower has only once been directly involved... Do you know what period I am referring to, Lord Stark?" The boy asked. "The Dance of the Dragons," Ned answered promptly. "Exactly... The greatest civil war Westeros has ever known... House Targaryen was very powerful before that conflict... Too powerful ording to some. The reign of Viserys I, thanks to the great hard work of his granfather Jaehaerys I, was the heyday of House Targaryen. But the king, on the strong advice of his Hand, Ser Otto Hightower. The rest is history, but even here mathematics helps us read details that many people miss... At that time House Targaryen had control over 20 dragons. By the end of the Dance, only four remained. And each lived in captivity under the close supervision and care of ''loyal'' citadel maesters... Dragons began to be born with deformities, and it was around this time that the story spread that magic was leaving the world entirely... The fact remains, those weapons of mass destruction were Oldtown''s greatest threat. Once those dragons were gone, only others remained... less dangerous and vulnerable to fire: The Targaryens. I strongly suspect that Baelor wasn''t as mad and devout as everyone would have us believe. He tried to wrest the power of faith from the hands of Oldtown. This, however, is only my unfounded assumption. The Targaryen kingdom has always been poised between stability and chaos. After a just andpetent king appeared, another with crazy ideas immediately followed... Dragon''s sickness, they call it. When a Targaryen is born, a coin is tossed and the world holds its breath. The fact remains that a worthy and loyal Maester is always there to look after his King, Lord Stark. And Grand maester Pycelle was no different... The reign of Daeron II also was very prosperous for the kingdom, despite the first ckfire rebellion. The only king who managed to annex Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms without spilling a single drop of blood. Sadly... a great gue-infested the Seven Kingdoms. A gue that could be cured. Wiped out a third of Westeros'' poption... Oldtown weathered it well thanks to the thousands of Maesters who stayed sealed up there. Maester Qyburn found documents in his youth that confirmed his hypothesis. The citadel had the means to prevent that disaster, but they did not act... The Targaryen bloodline was decimated. So much so, that the fourth son of a king who was himself the fourth son of a king, King Aegon V, the younger brother of Maester Aemon Targaryen, took the throne. The reign of Aegon V, the famous and celebrated King-Shield who traveled the seven kingdoms with Ser Duncan The Tall during his childhood. I''ll have to ask Maester Aemon to confirm this sooner rather thanter, but I suspect that ''Egg'' had smelled a grave threat to his lineage and the kingdom... After all, his brother had studied there. Many did not want Aegon to be king. He''d grown up among themoners for over ten years, traveling all over Westeros. He had too many revolutionary ideas. One of them was making sure that themon people learned to read and write. It was thanks to the sacrifice of Maester Aemon, who joined the Maester order renouncing all rights to the throne, that yet another civil war over the session did not ur. In any case, Aegon understood that the power of House Targaryen was not strong. Many lords were threatening the crown with signs of rebellion. The king became obsessed with the quest to awaken the dragon eggs. He was convinced that the Dragons were the key to stability and change. A serious incident narrates the death of Aegon V to this day... The Summerhall Incident. A fire in which ''Warlocks'' and ''Maester'' were present... Two great men perished that day, King Aegon and the most heroic royal guard the world has ever seen, Ser Duncan The Tall. But hope was not yet lost... Out of that fire, a child was born. Born amidst the mes, the smoke, and the salt, Aerys II''s eldest son, Rhaegar Targaryen. From here, we move on to the reign of Aerys II, where for the first few years he was prosperous and at peace. His childhood friend Lord Tywin Lannister was doing a great job restoring stability to the kingdom. An even too good a job... Aerys first began to develop mild jealousy and suspicion of Lord Tywin... The wise Grand Maester was always at his side, and he, who had been taught by the man since childhood, had great trust and esteem for the man... The Grand Maester had been poisoning Aerys'' already unstable mind for years, Ned... I have proof of that. "Manticore sighs. An extract made mostly from herbs and manticore saliva. One drop every week to alter and numb the victims'' minds. Mostly used by torturers to extract information from their victims. An odorless, tasteless veil. King Aerys began to scoff at his childhood friend, Tywin. He touched his Hand where it hurt most. His wife Joanna Lannister, the only person capable of bringing a smile to the man''s face, was one of those spots. Aerys began to pay to harass attention to the woman. So much so that he had to force Tywin to send her safely back to Casterly Rock. The final straw was the addition of his eldest son Ser Jaime to the Kingsguard... Rtions with loyal House Lannister broke down and the Mad King acted like a madman. And here you need to know a key piece of information, My Lord... As long as the peace treaty remains in force, Oldtown cannot take direct action against the Rhoynar people, the First Men, the Valyrians and the descendants of the hero, Podrick Lann. Of course... it would be great for Oldtown if those people were the ones killing each other. Nothing would please Oldtown more than to know that House Lannister and House Stark would one day go to war with each other. It was a close call, if I''m not mistaken, that House Martell and House Lannister might have a fair amount of conflict... Ah, there''s nothing more peaceful than knowing your enemies are killing each other." The boy took a pause. Ned''s eyes were bloodshot. A great pattern was beginning to appear in his head. Everything was beginning to make sense. Everything except something... "And Rhaegar?... My and Robert''s rebellion?" Ned almost trembled as he asked. Part of him didn''t want to know if he was being maneuvered into being the means that led to the downfall of the Valyrian line. "Before we get to that point, let me give you at least a sliver of hope, Lord Stark. We can grow and obtain defensive and offensive assets worthy of the top four superpowers. If you follow all my guidelines, within five years at thetest a new world powerhouse will arise... a city to rival Braavos, Carcosa, and Oldtown. And it will be less than a mile from the greatest and oldest fortress in the North. Wintertown will fall, and from its ashes will rise the jewel of the North... { Neverwinter }." Duncan ced another miniature beside the others. A snowke-shaped miniature with a direwolf''s head in the middle. The boy continued. "If we do that, my Lord, we will block the maneuvers of Braavos and Oldtown. They will be caught between several fires. The crown, though weak, is still an entity not to be underestimated. Unfortunately, King Robert is killing himself with alcohol and prostitutes... when he dies, chaos will break out. A war that will make the Dance of the Dragons look like a simple y... If Zick falls in the next ten years, the stability of Essos will also erupt. I fear that I am the cause of the scale of such disproportionate instability... After the calm, whether the world wants it or not, wille the greatest Storm the history of the world has ever seen. Robert and Zick, if these two binders of the world should break... a World War will break out. The North... The entire North will have to be ready, Lord Eddard Stark." Ned did not answer. He could only look at the table with a gaze gued by bleak memories... Memories he did not want to surface. Images and sounds that haunted him even in his nightmares. Ned didn''t want his children and grandchildren to be tormented in the same way in the future. He felt so weak and powerless. ''I am supposed to be one of the most powerful men in the Kingdom. So... why do I feel so powerless and helpless? I am just a grain of sand in the middle of the desert of history...'' The man thought with sadness and anger. He wished he had the means and the ability to stop this from happening. Ned wanted to protect his family and his people from these horrors of the world... but he did not know-how. "Now let us speak of Rhaegar. Ser Barristan Selmy, one of the Prince''s most loyal and trustedpanions and one of the most honorable knights in the Seven Kingdoms, knew the man better than anyone. In his youth, Rhaegar had always been a bookworm. A boy who loved reading more than wielding a sword... Recently I discovered a truth that was unknown to me. Rhaegar had been visited in the past. A visit from a Witch of Asshai who was banished from thends of the wizarding confederation. Banished because of a crime... She had read pages of forbidden texts that she was not supposed to read. Part of one prophecy in particr. The witch, who was already a loyal supporter of R''hollr''s cult, converted to his beliefs and became a Red Priestess. This priestess went to visit a prince. A ten-year-old boy whom she believed to be the chosen one of the prophecy. From that day on, Rhaegar went to his weapons master to tell him these exact words: [It seems I must be a warrior.] Rhaegar has spent most of his life believing he is ''The Promised Prince''. The one who would save the world from the Long Night and bring peace to all the kingdoms of man. But then... Rhaegar realized that he was not the Chosen One, but that it would be one of his sons who would guide the destiny of the world. Rhaegar married Elia Martell, a woman who carried within her the lineage of an ancient magical people. Unfortunately, the woman was in weak health. After her second childbirth, the maesters imed that she would no longer be able to bear children. But the Dragon had to have three heads... A head for every evil in the world. I do not yet know the verses of that part of the prophecy that Rhaegar and the Witch knew. I do, however, know its title. {A Song of Ice and Fire.} Fire and Ice, Ned. Rhaegar believed his third heir should have the blood of the First Men in his veins... In a great tournament at Harrenhal, Rhaegar met a woman-- your sister Lyanna. One look at Rhaegar and he knew she was the woman of his destiny. Like the three ancient founders: Rhaegar sang for Lyanna... And she wept, moved by the gift. Rhaegar gave Lyanna a jewel. A crown of blue roses, [The crown for the queen of love and beauty]... and she was moved by the gift. Finally, Rhaegar gave his heart to Lyanna... He gave up all he loved for her... Rhaegar never stole Lyanna, Ned. The two loved each other... "Said the boy with deep sadness. Ned jumped up from his chair and said. "No! Even if Lyanna had fallen in love with Rhaegar, she would never have run off with him without warning her family. She was no fool! She knew there would be serious consequences if she chose to voluntarily run away with that man! She... she would have at least sent a raven..." Ned''s tantrum died away on its own. The man was pondering a possibility.... "She did, Ned. Only that maester didn''t send the ravens to the required castles.... Lyanna wrote two messages. One addressed to Winterfell and the other...to Eagle''s Nest. I have two documents with me, Ned. They''re not the original texts. Those scrolls were either burned or stored in ces I can''t ess. But an Archmaester has read and heard the words within, and he has a good memory. It may not be his handwriting, but I hope that at least in this you can recognise her words. Only you can tell me whether these are or are not the words of your sister. For the letter was addressed to you..." The boy ced two pieces of paper on the table, moving one of them further forward. Ned, with a trembling hand, took the piece of paper and opened it... The first two words of the letter were: { Dear Ned... } Ned read the letter, rereading each sentence and word over and over again. The song in those lines was too painful for him. The man began to cry... After just two minutes of sobbing and tears, Ned returned to his seat. He put down the letter soaked in wet spots and grabbed the other... He found the words he was looking for in that paper, too. Duncan broke the silence by asking: "Do you recognise them? Are those your sister''s words?" "They are Lyanna''s words..." Ned. The man''s gaze was painted with extreme pain, sadness, and suffering. Ned grasped the lighthouse-shaped miniature with his ungloved right hand. and clenched his fist... Small sounds of friction and broken wood could be heard. Blood dripped from his hand... But the face remained unchanged The eyes were still moist with no sign of anger. Only deep sadness. "My Lord... You want me to cure you..." The boy managed to finish his sentence. "No... The pain helps keep me sane." Then Ned continued. "How long have you known?... Did you know before my father and brother died?" "Yes, Ned... I knew it before." The boy answered truthfully. "... You could have prevented this... They''d... They would still be alive. YOU... You could have saved them, Duncan." Ned. "Aye, I could have saved them... but how many lives would I have sacrificed if I had? Who would have believed me? I would have exposed those I loved to far greater danger. Jon wouldn''t have been safe either. Don''t think you''re the only one who has suffered, Ned. The lives of your father, your brother, your sister, Lord William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Ser Mark Ryswell, Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Went, Ser Arthur Dayne, my friend and mentor Tom, hundreds of men in service to House Tallhart, thousands in the North, tens of thousands in Westeros... all of them a burden I must bear. A price to pay so that hundreds of thousands around the world might live. Do you think a child of five could shoulder that responsibility? To go against forces much greater than himself without wreaking havoc on the world?! Do you me me for all the evil, Lord Eddard Stark? If you truly believe I am responsible for the tragedies that have befallen your family. You will find no resistance from me. If you believe it is the right thing to do, then do it. DO IT, NED!" Ned remained still, the grip on his right hand growing stronger. The force in his hand could easily have crumbled an apple. Ned closed his eyes and wept silently. The pain really helped him to keep his wits about him and prevent him from doing things he would regret for the rest of his life. After another minute, Ned recovered. He dropped the three bloody pieces of wood, which had once depicted Oldtown, on the ground. Then Ned stood up and turned to leave the building... but before he did he said: "Tomorrow night you''ll tell me about the remaining four topics." Ned. "Are you sure, Ned? This could be a very long and tiring conversation." Duncan. Ned continued to have his back to the boy as he answered: "You won''t have to convince me...you''ll just have to exin them. Are you my sword, Duncan of House Tallhart?" Ned asked. "I am, Lord Stark." Duncan. "Now and forever?" Ned. "Now and forever." Duncan. "Then do whatever needs to be done to protect my family and our people." Ned. "I will, my lord. Tomorrow I will exin the remaining three points... but if it is all right with you, I would need at least five or six days for thest one.... I would like you toe with me to make a little diversions to Harrenhall." Duncan. "... I''lle. Do as you think best. Good night, Lord Duncan." Ned. "Lord Stark! Before you go... I would have you tell me. My actions over the next few days will lead to future events that cannot be changed. Actions that could even cause wars... "He warned the boy. Ned stopped his pace... and then turned slowly in search of the look to which the voice belonged. The man''s eyes... were pure ice. A murderous aura ready to explode at any moment shed across the room. Only that boy could see that a numerical change was taking ce at that very moment... A number [8] was slowly changing into a [9]. A man more apt to wield a sword than to try to convince others not to draw theirs was awakening from a long sleep... The owner of those murderous eyes replied... He answered calmly and clearly. "If the ''World'' wants the Quiet Wolf to go to war... so be it, Bloody Snow." End POV. -------------------------------------------------- POV: Helman Tallhart. Tent of the leader of the Tallhart forces, less than a mile from Riverrun. About an hour and a half after two people finished a conversation... "Has he epted then?... He... Lord Stark, how did he take the news?" A father asked a son. "Badly, father. He took it as any man who loves his loved ones would have done... With deep sadness, grief, and anger... Lord Stark agreed to all seven points of our program if that was the question." The son. "I see... As for thest one? Are we going to make it in time? I thought it would take at least another ten days to arrange." The father. "... We will make it in time. I have already sent the emissaries. Within five days they should all arrive. Tomorrow I will go and speak to Lord Umber myself." The son. "Are you sure you don''t want me to go? Lord Umber-" The father. "I''m sure, father... If you had asked me a couple of hours ago, I might have agreed." The son. "What do you mean? What happened in this short time?" The father asked. "Well... let me put it this way. Let''s always remember a valuable guideline from here on..." The son took a few moments to find the right words. "Which is?" The father. "Never enrage the Quiet Wolf." Chapter 78: Fifteen Blades & Five Words Chapter 78: '' Fifteen des & Five Words '' POV: Wy Snow; White Harbor. The day after Lord Stark epted the first request... The formermoner of the Wesnds had just delivered the message, which had arrived at the aviary of New Castle by an eagle, to her mistress Lady Barbrey Dustin. "From Lord Duncan, my Lady," Wy said, stepping back to give thedy proper privacy. "Thank you, Wy. Please stay... I''m afraid I will need you soon." Replied Barbrey in a slightly annoyed tone. "Yes, mydy." Wy. It was now three days since Wy, Lady Barbrey, and all of Barbrey''s retinue had been guests at New Castle. Wy still did not know for what purpose they hade there. Lady Barbrey read the message from cover to cover. Then she said in a sour tone: "And so, Lord Stark has agreed... Part of me still hoped he''d object. Damned Starks... Wy", she called to Lady Barbrey. "Yes, my Lady?" Wy. "Has everyone arrived?" Lady Dustin asked. "Yes, my Lady. Lord Hond Reed arrived at the gates of New Castle two hours ago. Lord Wyman informs us that the ships are ready to sail at any time. The voyage to Maidenpool should take no more than six days ording to the captain." Promptly informed Wy. "Good. We shall have to leave at once. Inform my father and the other lords to prepare to leave. Send a raven to Seagard. Jorah and the other Northern Lords should have arrived by now. And Wy--" Barbrey. "Yes, my Lady?" Wy. "Make sure that damned sword is present among my personal effects..." End POV. -------------- POV: Squire Jerha Ged. On Lord Wyman''s gship, less than two miles from White Harbor. About six hours after Wy had a raven sent to Seagard... The ship had sailed less than half an hour before. Ten minutes earlier the ''Trident of the Seas'', Lord Wyman''s gship galley, one of the strongest and fastest ships in the North, had passed through the harbor gates. All three mainsails had just been unfurled and the ship was gaining more and more speed. In less than seven days, that ship would reach Maidenpool. Jerha, Lord Wyman Manderly''s squire, was standing on the port side so as not to get in the way of the crew at work. The forty best sailors from White Harbor, together with the Lord''s personal escort of over sixty knights and as many squires, made up the crew of the ''Trident of the Seas''. It was not only thergest ship in the North but also one of the fastest. The galley could easily have carried twice the crew. Three other galleys and two caravels sailed a few hundred feet away. Three for escort and two for transport. The danger of pirate attacks was minimal. The squire admired the beautiful view in silence, finally enjoying a moment of well-deserved peace. ''It has been six years since I was appointed squire... When will the daye for me to prove myself? I have been training in the fighting arts since I was five years old. I will never be a knight by continuing to clean Lord Wyman''s dirtyundry... '' Thought the seventeen-year-old aspirant of glory and honors sadly. "JERHA!... JERHA! WHERE ARE YOU BOY?!" The stillness shattered. "Yes, my Lord! I''ming!" Jerha began to run towards his Lord''s voice. A few secondster... "Here I am, my lord. How may I be of service to you?" Jerha. "How can you be of service to me?! You can start by telling me where my sword is! Where did you put it, boy?!" Lord Wyman. Jerha was momentarily disarmed by the question. Lord Wyman already had his sword with him. It was the first thing the young squire had prepared. He would never make such a mistake. "... Emm... my Lord. Your sword is there. You carry it with you, Lord Wyman." Jerha. "... Do you think I am an idiot, Jerha? Or maybe you think I''m blind? Choose, boy. Idiot or blind?!... I KNOW MY OLD SWORD IS WITH ME!!! I MEAN THE OTHER SWORD JERHA!!! THE OTHER!!! THE ONE LADY BARBREY BROUGHT ME AS A GIFT THREE DAYS AGO!!!" Shouted Lord Wyman, disheveling the seventeen-year-old in front of him. The wooden boards at Jerha''s feet were about to open, and a deep, dark chasm was about to swallow him... Jerha did not think Lord Wyman would want to take that sword with him as well. He had hung that exquisite Valyrian steel-like work in the ceremonial hall of New Castle that very morning... "... My... m-my Lord... I... I fear... " Jerha. "Yes, Jerha? Do you fear? What do you fear, boy?" Lord Wyman. Jerha took courage. "... I fear I did not understand that you wished to take ''That Sword'' with you as well, Lord Wyman. The sword remained in New Castle, my Lord..." The boy braced himself for yet another iing shriek... The shriek did note. The squire opened his eyes slightly. Lord Wyman was peering at him with a murderous look, but he was calm. "Go retrieve that sword, Jerha. Lucky for you, you''ll still make it in time... " Lord Wyman. "Of course, my lord! I will take a lifeboat and ask Captain Worren of the ''''Golden Foam'''' toe back for... " Jerha was interrupted. "No... you will not ask Captain Worren anything... All ships will proceed. You will row back to White Harbor. From there you will ride day and night to Harrenhal. In nine days you should make it, my dear "I-Would-Be-Knight". Be careful on the Freynds. That stretch of road is full of bandits. Eyes open, boy." End POV. ------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Garoan; Lord Jon Umber''s tent, Northern army camp. Some six days after a squire set out on horseback from White Harbor carrying a sword ... The young vice-captain Garoan, Greatjon Umber''s most trusted assistant and guard, was on guard that night. Half an hour earlier, an emissary from House Tallhart had arrived, bringing a request for a personal reception for Lord Duncan. Bloody Snow wanted to speak with Greatjon in private. His lord willingly agreed. It was not yet midnight, Greatjon slept at most four or five hours if he had not drunk himself into unconsciousness the night before. The night was still young for the Lord of the Last Hearth. Garoan was looking forward to meeting the northern legend in person. Unfortunately, during his previous brief visit more than four years ago, Garoan was not part of that legendary banquet. The banquet where he might as well have lost his virginity to one of the most beautiful women in Westeros and Essos... Despite waking up in his bed the next day with a gold coin in his hand, Garoan cursed himself almost every night for his weakness. He wished he could have been part of it too... He wished he had the strength to celebrate with the entire Last Hearth. But at least, he would meet Bloody Snow soon. A few minutester... An eleven-year-old boy was standing in front of Garoan. "Lord Duncan! It is an honor for me to meet you in person. I am Garoan, Lord Umber''s assistant and escort. My lord is ready to receive you at any time." Garoan. "Thank you, Garoan. It is an honor to meet you as well... Emm... Might I ask you Garoan, if by any chance my little request for the weapons has also been granted?" Bloody Snow. "Yes, my Lord! As per your request, any des or blunt objects have been removed from Lord Umber''s quarters." Garoan replied promptly. "Phew... Thank you very much, Garoan. ... May I leave my sword with you?" Bloody Snow asked, handing over a beautiful red case adorned with dozens of tiny white pearl bows. "T-That... Emm... Couff... Coff... Forgive me, my Lord. Is that by any chance the famous Red Rain?" Garoan asked in amazement, almost choking from the excitement of the moment. Bloody Snow was distracted. He kept staring at the entrance of the tent as if there was a ferocious beast inside. "Huh?! Ah, yes. Forgive me Garoan, I was distracted for a moment. It is Red Rain. Can I count on you, my friend?" Bloody Snow asked. "Of course, my lord!!! I will guard it with my life. I swear it!" Garoan. "... Hope it won''te to that... but thank you. Erm... Garoan." Bloody Snow. "Yes, my Lord?" Garoan. "If you should hear any screams or disturbing noisesing from within... Pay no attention." Bloody Snow. "... I understand, my lord. I wish you good luck then." Garoan quickly understood the underlying message. Greatjon''s uncles, Mors and Hother Umber, often made simr rmendations before going to argue with Greatjon. It was almost always up to Garoan to clean up the ughterhouse immediately after the fight. Bloody Snow nodded with satisfaction and then prepared to enter... but before he could, Garoan stopped him. "My Lord, a moment!" The guardian. "Yes, Garoan?" Bloody Snow. "... Here... I would like to ask you, my Lord, if... I might by chance during the wait admire your sword? Perhaps even taking it out of its scabbard?" Garoan dared to ask. "Of course, you may." Bloody Snow. About ten minutester... Garoan was too distracted by the sword. He was cleaving slow blows through the air like a fencing lesson. Perhaps that was the best moment of his life. He was so focused on the experience that he no longer paid attention to the shouts and screams just a few feet away. Many Umber soldiers hade out of their tents to find out what was causing the ruckus. But Garoan couldn''t hear screams like: [ ARE YOU CRAZY, BOY?!! DO YOU THINK I WOULD LET YOU DO SUCH A THING?!!] Or like... [THANK THE GODS THAT I''M HERE TO LISTEN TO YOU, AND NOT MY UNCLES! CROWFOOD WOULD RIP OPEN YOUR BELLY TO FEED ON YOUR ENTRAILS!] Or even... [NEVER!! THOSE ANIMALS WILL NEVER GET THROUGH!! I DON''T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR AlCOOL! YOUR NAME! AND YOUR HOUSE!] Or... [WHAT?!... DO YOU DARE TO CHALLENGE ME?! DO YOU THINK I''M LIKE THAT SISSY FROM THE DRUMM HOUSE?! STEP FORWARD IF YOU DARE, TRAITOR OF YOUR BLOOD!!!] End POV. ------------------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; On a raft less than 300 feet from the shore of an ind in the middle of ake. About four days after a rough fight ended... The boatman continued to pass the semi-tensioned rope over the pivotal point of the raft. The man was in his sixties, silent and dutiful. The route cost a gold dragon. Although exorbitant, the cost included a return trip. The man would wait as long as it took. The boatman was a faithful believer in the Old Gods. It was said that his own house was blessed by the Old Ones. One of the few wooden dwellings immune to the horrors of war. No bandit or drunken soldier dared to joke in the hut of old Tom ''the Boatman of the Eye of the Gods''. "Remember, young lord. Your sword, or anything made of iron and bronze, cannot go more than three feet from the point of docking. Many have not taken my warning seriously, and none have ever returned." The old man. "I thank you for the warning. Even though my sword may pass, I will still leave it before that threshold. Everything else is just skin and de." I said. "Good. I''ll await your return then." Old Tom. "Thank you, boatman Tom," I replied. About ten minutester... I had already walked more than twenty paces into the interior of the woods. My head was exploding. The call of the Old Ones had never been so intrusive and urgent. It wasn''t just the dozens of heart trees less than a hundred feet away from me, but one tree in particr. A very Ancient tree imbued with power... I had activated my breathing technique to the max. I could still muffle those voices for the most part. After another dozen paces, the voices suddenly fell silent. This had never happened before. I became noticeably rmed at the anomaly. "Better now?" Said a sweet, childlike female voice. "Who''s there?... Forgive me... Yes, thank you. Whoever you are." I said politely after correcting myself. "... I won''t tell you my name if you don''t tell me yours first. Who are you, Green Knight? How can you hear the voices of the Old Ones?" The child''s voice. "My name is Duncan. Duncan of House Tallhart. I am not a Green Knight. How do you know I hear voices?" I asked intrigued. "... I am Druantia. My Granfather, told me, Duncan of House Tallhart, . He always knows everything about anyone who steps foot inside his domain." An emerald green child four feet tall suddenly appeared. She had always been within five feet of me but was invisible to the naked eye. She had pointed ears, dark lips, hair of a dark shade of green, and a fluctuating number of shades other than the usual Level... '' That''s a CR... she is considered a creature with a degree of challenge instead of a level. Challenge rating [10].. Yes... she could undoubtedly reduce me topost, if she wanted to... '' I thought with astonishment. I wasn''t scared. That female being didn''t emit any hostile intention towards me. "Druantia, may I ask how you managed to silence the voices? Magic of silence by any chance?" I asked with extreme curiosity. "No, no magic at all. I simply asked the trees if they could stop talking for a while." Druantia answered as if it was the most basic thing in the world. I had never actually tried that... I felt like an idiot just thinking about it. "How long have you been following me, Druantia, if you don''t mind me asking?" I asked. "Since your fourth step... My Grandfather knew you wereing. He asked me to be your guide. Follow me Duncan of House Tallhart. He is waiting for you." Druantia. "I thank you for your guidance, Druantia. Please, lead the way. And if possible, stay within ten feet from me... Everything is green here and your footsteps don''t make a sound." I prayed, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the only visible portion of the green hue. "... Mmm... All right. But you''ll have to move faster then. I like to run." Ten stressful minutester... I briefly caught my breath. I had arrived in front of granite pirs filled with ck runes. The inside of the stone carvings was made of dragon ss. A heart tree at least five times the size of Torrhen''s Square was less than three feet from the altar. A face with a circumference of at least six feet stood at the base of it. The face seemed to hold a serious expression. "Wee, heir of Joramun." A sweet, ancient, overwhelming voice, overflowing with a power hit me full force. ''He knows!... Could he know everything about me?'' I thought with rm. I recovered a momentter. ''''Thank you for receiving me... King of the Sons of the Forest. It is an honor... "I was interrupted. "I am no king, young First Man. I''m just a druid. You may call me ''Druid'' if it pleases you. Or even Guardian of Beauty if you''re morefortable with formality. It was kind of you to leave your Dragon Steel weapon outside mynds. Which form do you prefer?" The voice asked. "I beg your pardon?" I didn''t understand what he meant. "You humans are always afraid of my true form. I can change my appearance and get semnces that are easier for you to ept. So what form?" The voice. "Emm... Any humanoid form will do for me. I have no preference, Guardian of Beauty ." I replied in a polite tone. Every sense of danger in my body was screaming at me [Monster Alert] at every moment with the whistle of an air raid rm. A slender old man less than five feet tall, long gray hair, with extremely wrinkled skin, as if made of tree bark, covered in a robe made entirely of twigs and leaves. A stirrup made of pure heart-tree wood supported him. The stirrup was undoubtedly magical. A leaf floated in the middle of the top of the staff and was surrounded by a green aura that gave off pure energy... I couldn''t stop me from my involuntary exit: "Challenge Rating [22]?!! Coff!...Emm... I beg your pardon." "... What is a ''Challenge Rating'', young man?" Asked the monster with a higher challenge rank than amon Lich of Forgotten Realms. "Nothing important, Lord Druid. I beg your pardon... Please forget my previous words, if you can." Me. "As you wish, ... So, blessed by the Ancients. What are the three requests you wish to make of me?" The Druid went straight to the point. "May I ask how you know there were three?" I asked curiously. "My eyesight is almost as good as that of the Guardian of Love, Duncan of House Tallhart. You who are his disciple should understand what I am talking about. I only have to feel the weight of your footsteps on the grass to know that you carry three burdens in your mind." Another bucket of icy water hit me. "Of course... I understand. Yes, Guardian. If possible, I have three favors to ask you." Me. "Three favors, require a pledge of as many three from you, young man. Are you aware of this?" The Druid asked politely. "If it is within my power to return the favor, I will do so. I swear it." Me. "Good then. Fear not. I will only request what you can give me. I will listen to your demands first. Then I will tell you the price. Please..." The Guardian of Beauty. "First, I would like to get your permission to bring in thirteen iron des inside your domain. The owners will enter the ind within three days." Me. "... Only the Green Knights can carry weapons other than Dragon ss and Steel. I''m sorry, but for the sake of this ind, I cannot reverse the spell." Replied the Druid in a firm tone. ''''I would never dare to ask you to do that, Guardian of Beauty... This second request is rted precisely to the first." ***** About a minuteter... "Your three requests can be fulfilled." The Druid. "I thank you, Great Druid. ...How can I repay you?" Me. "I want you to ask your Master to arrange a meeting with the Magic Guardian''s disciple. I know that within three moons he wille to the North. I have much to discuss with the Chief Sorcerer of Carcosa. Within six moons at most of his arrival, the King in Yellow muste here to the Ind of Faces to visit me. The Guardian of Love shall also be present to guarantee the meeting... You too may attend this event, if you wish. I want the exiled King of the First Men and the King of the Giants toe here within the next 90 moons. The agreements made over 9,000 years ago have expired. New pacts must be made. Finally... I wish you to grant the Ancients'' wishes. You must go to the great tree and increase your power by nightfall. Can you do this for me, Duncan of House Tallhart?" The Druid asked. "... All right. Yes, I can do that." Me. "Well then... Grab my arm, young man." I did as requested. He grasped my arm, and to the touch, the skin felt like it was made of hard oak. A warm sensation, like the flow of thermal waters, pervaded my body. The druid whispered something unintelligible to my ears. It sounded like the rustling of a bush. A dark green circr rune appeared on the back of my hand. From it, small lianas of the same color appeared and began to wrap around my arm. The tips prated my skin and made their way through my flesh. From my wrist to my shoulder, all the way to my heart. The most disturbing thing was that I felt no pain, just a slight tingling... "The pact is tight. Should you miss the deadline, your heart will explode under the pressure of the power of the Great Tree''s roots... You should hurry young man. Within three hours the sun will set..." Said the monster. "WHAT?! BUT... Couldn''t you have told me earlier?" I asked with shock and concern. "Were you going to break the deal?" The monster. "No... I didn''t mean that. That was not my intention at all. I apologize... But when you meant [ask your master], it means that I just need to ask Zick if he can do it right? Not that he has to do it..." I asked to rify this little legal quibble. "No, I meant that the meeting will have to happen. If The King in Yellow and The Watcher don''t get here within six moons, your heart will explode, young man. Is there a problem?" The damned Druid asked quietly and casually. "No... No problem." Me. "Then what was the point of telling you, young man?" Druid asked quietly. " It doesn''t matter... Out of curiosity. Why do you want me to increase my powers?" I asked. "Because my Granddaughter, Druantia, wishes to increase hers." Fine POV. ---------------------------------------- POV: Eddard of House Stark. Isle of Faces. Some three days after a pact was made... The Lord of Winterfell had just stepped off old Tom''s raft. He and his vassal, young Duncan Tallhart, had had to pay a golden dragon each for that stretch alone. Not that he wasining. As a young man, he had always wanted to visit the ind where the pact was made thousands of years ago between the First Men, the Giants, and the Children of the Forest. A true believer in the Old Gods, he should have visited that ce at least once in his life. "This way, Lord Stark. You left every iron or bronze object in the raft, didn''t you?" Ned rechecked every inch of his body for the fourth time. Old Tom had rmed him greatly. When Ned asked the boatman how many had broken that rule, and how many had returned, he was noticeably impressed when the old man answered with two round figures: 440 & 0... "Yes, I hope that no arrowhead fragments remained inside my old war wound..." Said Ned with concern. The Maester serving Eagle''s Nest had reassured Jon Arryn several times that the wound was fully treated. But now the doubts began to resurface... "Ah, even if that were the case, my Lord, I''m sure the Keeper wouldn''t mind... At least I hope not." The boy whispered thest words, but Ned had heard them anyway. The man gathered his courage and prepared to take the fourth step... Nothing happened. **** About twenty minutester... "This is the ce?" Ned asked as he admired the Big Heart Tree. It was at least twice as big as the one in Winterfell. He thought it was beautiful. What Ned would have paid to be able to meditate there in total solitude. Apanied only by the sounds of the woods and the nking of his whetstone on his family ancestral sword. "This is the ce, Lord Stark. I would say the time for the seventh request hase..." Said the boy. "Go ahead, Lord Duncan. As I told you before, I do not need convincing." Ned. "Words are wind, Eddard of House Stark..." Duncan. The man was disturbed by that statement. Was the boy indirectly using him of not being a man of his word? Or did he mean something else? Ned heard the sound of rustling and presences all around him... Fourteen figures approached the duo. Ned did not recognize them. All of them were armed, hidden by night''s favor, and hooded. There were open fires all around him. The only sources of light other than the starry sky that night. "Who are you?! Introduce yourselves and make your intentions clear!" Warned the Protector of the North in a clear and serious voice. One of the figures took a few steps forward, approached one of the fourteen lit hearths, and said, uncovering his head: "Ser Helman Tallhart. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant of the Old Gods and First Men." The first. The rest followed suit. "Ser Domeric Bolton. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant of the Old Gods and First Men." The second. "Ser Wyman Manderly. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant to the Old Gods and First Men." The third. "Ser Rickard Karstark. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant to the Old Gods and the First Men." The fourth. "Ser Jon Umber. A Green Knight. Protector and servant of the Old Gods and the... True First Men!" The fifth. "Ser Halys Hornwood. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant of the Old Gods and First Men." The sixth. "Ser Medger Cerwyn. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant of the Old Gods and First Men." The seventh. "Ser Galbart Glover. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant to the Old Gods and First Men." The eighth. "Ser Robin Flint. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant to the Old Gods and First Men." The ninth. "Ser Rodrick Ryswell. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant to the Old Gods and First Men." The tenth. "Ser Ruber Magnar. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant to the Old Gods and First Men." The 11th. "Ser Hond Reed. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant of the Old Gods and First Men." The 12th. "Ser Jorah Mormont. A Green Knight. Protector and servant of the Old Gods and First Men." The 13th. "... Ser Barbrey Dustin. A Green Knight. Protector and Servant of the Old Gods and First Men." The penultimate. "Ser Duncan Tallhart..." Ned turned behind him. "A Green Knight. Protector and Servant of the Old Gods and First Men." Last one. Ned noticed that his ''loyal vassal''s left hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. He looked into the boy''s eyes to understand his intentions. The face stated nothing that he could understand. ''''What is the meaning of this, Lord Duncan? You said that no iron weapons could enter the ind... What are your intentions?" Ned. "I did say it, Eddard of House Stark... But I left out the part where I was supposed to exin to you, that only Green Knights can carry man-made weapons... Unfortunately, you are not a Green Knight, Lord of Winterfell and Protector of the North..." The boy said loudly so that all present could hear his words. The boy continued before the tense man a few paces away could retort. "All will be exined to you shortly, Lord Eddard... Please, a moment''s patience." Ned remained silent with a serious look taking a step back. ''I am surrounded... I have no way to retreat. '' Thought the soldier inside Ned. The nearest danger began to walk in a circle around Ned. The '' Green Knight '' continued to speak loudly. ''''Six challenges have been presented to you, Eddard of House Stark. You have faced six points of a star and prevailed against each of them. You prevailed against {The cksmith }... by agreeing to repair and rebuild the shield of the South. The instrument that will protect us, bring wealth,fort, and prosperity to each of us... You prevailed against { The Mother }... managing to show mercy, love, protection to those you now consider part of your people... You have prevailed against { The Crone }... by seeing the right path to follow in this dark and treacherousnd... You prevailed against {The Father }... judging sternly and forcefully what was right to do to keep us all safe. You have prevailed against { The Maiden }... by empowering all minds in the North to enjoy the infinite possibilities, joys, and pleasures worth fighting for. And you prevailed against { The Warrior }... by wresting from the Seven their exclusive control over the knighthood. it will be to your credit, Lord Stark, that the Green Knights can once again return to Westeros. But now your greatest challenge awaits you, Eddard of House Stark. The test of { The Stranger }, the trail most feared by all. The final test to prove to the greatest lords of the North that you can lead us in this future war against the Andals. That you are worthy to lead the First Men and all the servants of the Old Gods to a better future. House Stark has failed many of us over thest millennia... Allowed an enemy to enter ournds, turning us against each other, starving us and leaving us to freeze to death. Our enemy has never broken his siege... If here and now you, Eddard of House Stark, you will prove to us all that we still have a leader worth following on the battlefield... a Leader worth dying for. Six years ago, you failed this trial... Today you will be given another chance to seed where dozens of your predecessors have failed. Here before fifteen members of a new council, created to fight rival councils... the first members of the {Green Order}. Are you ready, Eddard of House Stark?" The boy asked, drawing his sword. "... Shall I face this test unarmed, ''valiant'' Green Knight?" Ned asked with a look that expressed disgust and pure betrayal. ''Even Hond...'' Thought Ned with deep disappointment. "No, ''Lord'' Stark, your swords are right here." Said the boy as other figures joined the group. An older, more powerful figure shed his arm with a crude ck dagger. Dark green blood dripped and was collected by other smaller figures. Ned Stark had no idea what was happening... Fourteen green children ran with a crude, poorly carved wooden basin towards each of the Green Knights. The ebony-colored figure with huge deer antlers and eyes as ck and dark as night drew a rune on the boy''s forehead himself. Finally, the leader of those beings walked in a circle, creating a perimeter marked by his blood. The five words the man heard afterward in hisnguage were iprehensible to his ears... End POV. --------------------------------------------------------- POV: A Blind, Deaf and Incredulous Woman. Ind of Faces. About twenty seconds after the Hand performed the ritual... Lady Barbrey didn''t know what to do. It was powerful magic... older than her dynasty. Once the deed was done, there was no escape. Her nephew Domeric had just finished... Barbrey could not hear a word he said. Then it was Lord Wyman''s turn... still nothing. Lady Dustin could not even see the glowing thread of runes gathering in the center of the altar. It was her father''s turn... again nothing. Lady Barbrey could only stare with hatred and contempt at the standing figure in the center of the altar. Her beloved Jorah''s turn came... there Barbrey felt something. She looked away from the man for a moment and turned to see the now shorter figure leaning with closed eyes on his Valyrian steel sword. Then Barbrey heard a childlike voice. "The sword." Barbrey looked into the eyes of the bloodstained child of the forest. Before she listened to the creature, the Widow of Barrowton searched the man''s eyes again and found them. Not even she could deny the unmistakable signs of deep sadness and repentance in those eyes... Lady Barbrey Dustin held the defiant gaze for a few more moments before giving up and drifting into oblivion... The woman drew her custom-made ceremonial sword of Damascus Steel and bowed, pointing the de at the ground. The son of the forest engraved a rune with the blood of Sons of the God, and then said: "Speak the words, Green Knight." Barbrey shouted the five words that, six years before, she would never have uttered even under torture. "The King In The North!!" Chapter 79: 5-6 PER WEEK OR 1 PER WEEK. (This is not a Chapter) Chapter 79: 5-6 PER WEEK OR 1 PER WEEK. (This is not a Chapter) Hello to all dear readers. I apologize for this false chapter. I have to tell you that on 31 January (Monday in a fortnight) I will, unfortunately, be starting a job. This Tuesday I had an interview, and the day before yesterday I was told that I had been hired. It will be a job that will take me at least 8 hours a day, five days a week. I will not be able to write the story with the same consistency and speed. I assure you that I work on the story 10 hours a day, six days a week, to publish 5-6 chapters a week. Each chapter contains at least twice as many words like most other novels. If you''ve made it this far, it means you''ve already read over 630 actual pages of my fanfiction. To give you an idea, it is as if you have already reached the end of the third book of the Harry Potter saga (The Prisoner of Azkaban). Thanks to all of you. I will start in a fortnight, but I promise that in this free time I will continue to write as hard as before. I should be able to publish another 10-11 chapters before then. I am also writing to ask for your support. I am currently still living at my parents'' expense in their house. For this reason, I cannot choose whether to refuse work or not. I would really like to do this (write crazy fantasy ideas) for a living. It''s the greatest job in the world! But to do it I need funds. If I can reach a sum sufficient to support my work and my writing training, I swear I will quit that office. I don''t want to spend my time doing a job that allows me to survive but not to live. One way or another I will continue to do what I want to do, WRITE. I am still a beginner, and I suck both grammatically, formally, and especially in the Englishnguage. I would like to ask for your help to improve my work as well. I have estimated a sum. If I can raise that amount of money, I will drop everything, leave home and find a remote ce in the world to lock myself up and write, I swear. The sum I need is 30,000 euros ($34,200). A sufficient sum that will allow me to work without interruption for at least one year. I need at least one year to finish this work at this rate. I am about 1/5 of the way topletion. With that amount, I will be able to pay myself: - A decentptop for work. (1,000 euros at least) - A professional Editor to clean up my work. (6,000 euros minimum. On average, they require 2,000$ for every 250 correct pages...) - A Mother-Tongue Trantor. (From 3,000-4,000 euros just to trante the 632 pages already written). - A Graphic-Designer to help me create all the crazy images I have in mind, Zick, Seraphinus, and Mc at least... First of all, I''d like to change the main cover. It doesn''t belong to me. For the designs I have in mind, it will take at least another 1,500-2,000 euros. -A Fantasy writers course. I found a very good one, but it costs 1300 euros. This will only be the first course among many that I will have to do to reach an eptable level. - Room and board for at least 12 months. I will need at least 1,200 euros per month in basic expenses, to pay for: the rent of a room or studio, electricity, water, heating, inte, and groceries. (Around 14,500-15,000 euros) - Netflix & Prime Video, Sweets, and Cherry Coke to ovee my moments of creative block and depression. (Analyst not needed guys, sweets, TV series, and anime are the key!!!... Well at least it works for me) About 150 euros a month. - Unforeseen expenses. Those are always there... I estimate a minimum of another 200 euros per month. With 30,000 euro I should be able to pay all this, and maybe (just maybe), there should be another 300-400 euro left in the current ount at the end of the year. Once I reach that threshold, I promise I will immediately quit my job and dedicate myself to writing. In addition to this Fan Fiction, I would like in the future (not before 6-9 months) to start publishing an original Fantasy story of my own. I would like to make one point clear to everyone... I am not in a desperate financial situation. Of course, I don''t have a penny in my bank ount, but I have a roof over my head, warm meals, and a loving family to support me. I am more fortunate than many others. With a bit of effort, my parents might be able to finance all this for me... but I don''t want to ask them. I want to be able to get these funds without their help. If this is not the case, I will find another way. I will slowly put aside the money I earn from this work if it is needed, but it will take time. The donation is ABSOLUTELY voluntary, I don''t want to ask you for ******* or other subscriptions to read the chapters. I have created a page on Ko-Fi (Buy me a Ko-Fi). Below is the link to my page: /duncanrandargotpdin Remember, I don''t need a bowl of rice from some of you (always appreciated anyway), but a grain of rice from each of you. If every person in China gave a grain of rice to a homeless man, that man would be able to eat three hearty bowls of rice every day for the rest of his days. Thank you all in advance! As in an old chapter, I am proposing a small multiple-choice answer, so I will have a rough idea of whether or not I will be able to obtain the necessary means by this route in the future. If you can honestly choose which of the three choices you are most in tune with: 1) You filthy leech! Now you want my money too?! Isn''t my time enough for you? You disgust me you''re just like all the other writers who write for profit!!! You won''t see a penny from me, you filthy pig. Tell you what. I''m gonna do a little research of my own to see if this is legal. It is, after all, fan fiction. Get ready! I''ll make you waste every penny you earn on legal fees!!! ---- 2) I understand what you mean and I respect that, but... honestly I have my expenses and difficulties. I also read Web Novels so I don''t have to pay $10 per book every time... Tell you what, if I can get a raise at work this month, I''ll pay for that coffee. ---- 3) Oh Fuck!!! I only have $4 left in my bank ount!!! Wait a minute, I''ll be right back! I''m going to get my dad''s credit card!!!.... Here I am!!! So the card number is 5264, 392... What!? NO!! DAD LEAVE ME!! LET GO OF THE CARD!!! NOOO! GIVE IT BACK!! YOU DON''T UNDERSTAND I HAVE TO DO THIS!!! IT''S A DRUG!!! I NEED IT!! I CAN''T WAIT A WEEK FOR EACH CHAPTER DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!?!! ARRGHH NOO!!! COME BACK!!! GIVE IT BACK TO ME!!! FOR SER DUNCANNN!!!!!!!!! ------------------------------------------ Fifteen days from... Now!!! Thanks again everyone, and forgive the interruption, I''ll get the next chapter out as soon as possible. I promise! Chapter 80: Spoils and Strategy Chapter 80: '' Spoils and Strategy '' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. I would like to thank to [moku8]!!! I don''t know who you are, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. Donating is a spontaneous, unforced gesture. Otherwise it would be more like coercion. Ahaha P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -14 days!!! ( Damn how time flies!!! AAARGGHH!!!) Happy reading! ------------ POV: Tywin Lannister; In a mansion in Lannisport, Hall of War Council. Year 289, the twelfth day of the fifth moon. Some twelve days after a man secretly became King... The Protector of the West was inside the hall set up for the council. Arge table with arge, finely detailed map above it, specific to the westernmostnds and coastlines of Westeros was spread out on the table. Along with it, there were miniatures of ships and shore troops to symbolize allied and enemy forces. It was just past noon on that cloudy day with the sea as t as aboard. Present with the Lord of Casterly Rock was his son-inw King Robert, the King''s brother and Master of Ships, Lord Stannis, Lord Paxter Redwine, and two of the King''s Kingsguard: Ser Barristan Selmy and his son Jaime. All of them were awaiting the arrival of two other members of the council: Lord Eddard Stark, themander of the army, and Lord Jorah Mormont, the admiral-in-chief of the Northern naval forces. The Northern army was already camped outside the city. A Stark emissary had already announced the arrival of the two members of this council. The wait was unnerving. Tywin found the King of the Seven Kingdoms annoying. The most powerful man in the West was forced to put up with the King''s every stupid joke. Fortunately, Tywin had already been tempered many times by his brother Gerion, and his son Tyrion. The man had acquired a remarkable resilience for such annoyances. Stannis Baratheon was almost a living statue, far more tolerable andposed than his brother. Barrystan spoke only when spoken to, and Jaime followed his example, remaining silent and hiding his disdain for having to serve and protect such an idiot. A knock was heard on the door. "Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Jorah Mormont, Your Grace." Said Ser Mandon Moore, another member of the Kingsguard who was guarding the doorway. "Let them pass!" Robert thundered, smiling happily. The man, almost 6 feet 6 inches tall, a stout, muscr build with the beginnings of a swelling on his abdomen, pitch-ck hair, and beard, walked briskly towards the doorway, stopping about 10 feet from the entrance. No doubt Robert wanted to be the first to greet Lord Eddard Stark, his childhood friend. A man two inches shorter entered the hall, he had long brown hair pulled back to the sides, a long face well shaved, dark grey eyes that could change depending on that person''s mood. Those eyes could be soft and calm like fog, or hard and cold like stone... Tywin remembered well the cold, contemptuous, judgmental look Ned Stark had given him after the sacking of King''s Landing. What appeared to be Lord Jorah Mormont followed close behind. Lord Eddard entered. As soon as he saw Robert, he bowed and said: "Your Grace." Ned. "Your Grace." Jorah quickly followed suit. "Lenti... Slow to bow to your king and answer his call to arms. Come here only when the battle is done... "Robert kept a hard look on his face, but Ned Stark was not intimidated. He yed Robert''s game until the end. "Pff!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! COME HERE YOU!!!" Robert vigorously hugged his dear friend, and Ned responded with pleasure to the gesture of affection. "How long did you want to keep me waiting! Huh?! You know how boring my brother and father-inw are!!! Ahahahaha!" If he hadn''t been the King, but just a lowly Lord Protector of the Stornds, Lord Tywin would have had his throat cut open right then and there... "Too many have answered the call, the bigger an army is the slower it is. Ahaha. Your Majesty... Do you remember Lord Jorah Mormont?" Ned asked immediately after breaking the embrace with Robert. "An honor to meet you again, your majesty." Jorah. "Of course, I remember! You fought valiantly in both the Battle of the Bells. It is a pleasure to have you with us, Lord Jorah." Said Robert in a more serious, and respectful tone. The Fighting Stag appreciated and respected true warriors, and recognized Jorah as such. Jorah nodded silently showing signs of appreciation, but also humility. "Come forward, the council awaits. Help me teach those octopuses what a True War is." The two nodded and prepared to follow their King to the center of the hall. "Lord Tywin, an honor to meet you again. Thank you and your House for hosting us within the city of Lannisport." Surprisingly, Ned Stark showed respect, humility, and courteous gestures towards him. "Lord Stark... House Lannister is honored to wee all of its friends and allies to itsnds. You and all your retinue will be our esteemed guests for as long as you wish." Tywin replied, still holding a tone and gaze as hard as the foundations of his castle. "Thank you, my lord. We will ensure that we cause as little disturbance as possible in yournds, and hope in the future to be able to return the favor you are offering us." He replied in a sincere and respectful tone, Lord Stark. Tywin had greatly appreciated the man''s gesture of peace. House Stark, and all the lords of the North, were growing stronger and more influential. They did not yet equal thends of the West in wealth, but they could certainly hold their own militarily. The North had fewer men, but they were also fiercer, more loyal, and better prepared than his own. Winter had just tempered another batch of warriors. It would have been unwise to antagonize the North. Especially not now that they were forming excellent trade rtionships with many Northern Houses. Thanks to thepasses, the Tallhart ships, and the fine produce harvested in Waterdeep, House Lannister had quadrupled its naval trade revenue in thest two years. House Tallhart had been true to its word. It had never failed to meet a singlemitment of their agreement. And that meant a great deal to Tywin of House Lannister. "Lord Stannis, Lord Paxter, it is a pleasure to meet you again, my Lords." Ned. "Lord Stark." They both returned the greeting in session. "Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan, it is an honor to see you as well." Said Ned in the same tone, and courteous manner. Both Jaime and Tywin were noticeably surprised and somewhat confused by Eddard Stark''s unusual attitude. It was well known, that the honorable Lord Eddard Stark, had no sympathy or regard for the ''''Kingyers''''... Barristan replied promptly, but Jaime was undecided for a moment. Perhaps his son wanted to understand if there was deception in Ned Stark''s actions and words. "Lord Stark... the honor is mine." Jaime. The Quiet Wolf did not seem bothered by theck of trust Jaime showed. Immediately he said: "Well, my King and my Lords, Lord Jorah and I apologize for ourte hour. Please let us begin... " About three minutes of formalityter... "How many Northern men and ships can we count on, Lord Stark?" Stannis asked, drawing the curiosity of many. "In total, not including crews, we have 18,900 men-at-arms. 3,000 mountedncers, 10,000 pikes or swords, and about six thousand archers and crossbowmen. Lord Jorah, I will leave the specifics of the fleet to you." Lord Eddard. "Yes, my Lord. We have 110 Ships, 79 in excellent condition, 25 in good, and 6 in fair condition. 30 War galleys, 12 of which are equipped with long-range catapults, and the remaining 18 primarily with harpoons. 60 sturdy caravels. Excellent for resisting and escaping a line of naval fire. They are the safest and fastest ships for transporting andnding troops. Finally, we have the 30 longships of the former Drumm fleet. They are mainly the ships in good and bad condition, my Lords. Unfortunately, we haven''t had much time to fix them up properly. They would be good to use as a vanguard in case we find a naval blockade during the attack. Each ship has apetent crew of about 35-40 men. At maximum capacity, we could average another 100 men per ship. More would be risky." Admiral Jorah exined in detail. "An excellent support for our forces, Lord Stark." Stannis praised sincerely. Ned nodded politely at thepliment he received. "Ahahah! Ned! You didn''t have to drag the entire North down here! Are you trying to disfigure House Lannister and House Baratheon?! Huh?! Ahahahahah!!!" Robert roared, toasting his friend''s health. Robert''s words had a kernel of truth to them. Tywin was also noticeably shaken by those numbers. House Lannister had contributed only 15,000 swords and 30 ships. The Starks far exceeded the Lannisters'' contribution to this campaign. "That was not my intention at all, Your Majesty. Even I estimated 12,000 swords at most... but the aggressive and surprise attack of the Ironmen''s in ournds has touched the hearts of many in the North. I even had to force House Manderly, Locke, Reed, and Flint to withdraw part of their forces to remain in defense of the North." Ned. "Lord Tywin, House Mormont thanks Casterly Rock and all thends of the West for your help on my Isle... You will always be wee on Bear Ind, My Lord. Please give my regards to your brother Lord Gerion. He was a hero and a savior to everyone on Bear Ind." Lord Jorah. "I thank you, Lord Jorah... House Lannister will alwayse to the aid of those who serve the king and the crown. I will give your respects to my brother." Tywin. Ned Stark waited politely for a few seconds before asking: "The sea battle of Fair Isle? Did we manage to stop Victarion and Euron Greyjoy?" Stannis took the floor. "Lord Redwine and I, we just arrived this morning to report the details of the battle we won, my Lord... Euron Greyjoy has fallen squarely into the trap. We sacrificed 43 of our ships and 2,000 good men in the battle... but in return, 129 Greyjoy longships burned or sank. Another 82 ships were captured. Seventy of them are still in good enough condition to be used again. 6,000 ironmen fell, and 2,000 were taken prisoner. Euron Greyjoy is currently our prisoner..." Stannis paused. "An excellent achievement. My congrattions, my Lords on your achievements." Ned said. Even Lord Tywin nodded in congrattion. "Not all is good news, Lord Stark... Victarion Greyjoy managed to escape along with over forty longships. We do not know how it was possible, but almost supernatural phenomena helped Balon''s brother escape the encirclement..." Lord Paxter. "Supernatural phenomena?" Ned Stark intrigued. "Yes, Lord Stark... Mists and not-naturals sea currents havee out of nowhere. There are a couple of survivors from one of my ships who swear by all the gods that they''ve even seen Victarion Greyjoy fight walking on water... Others im to have seen his axe light up and summon lightning from the sky.... He managed to spread panic in the left wing of my formation..." Lord Paxter. "... Until a few months ago I would have doubted these rumors, Lord Redwine. Other strange events havee to my ears not long ago." Ned. "What events? Even in yournds, some people summon lightning from the sky, Ned?! Pff AH! I will not believe it until I see it with my own eyes!" Robert. "... no, your majesty. Nothing like it, but still something equally inexplicable. I''d rather not discuss unsubstantiated rumors if that''s all right with you." Ned Stark. "Ah, speaking of unexined! Your vassal! That Bloody Snow. The hero of the North. Did hee here to Lannisport, too?!" Robert asked with heated curiosity. Several others, including Tywin himself, were interested in the question. "He is in Lannisport, my King. I have instructed Lord Duncan to takemand of the army while I wait." Lord Eddard replied in a confident tone. "Lord Duncan should barely be eleven years old, Lord Stark," he said. I, too, have heard rumors of his great deeds, but don''t you think it''s a bit of a stretch to entrust such a burden to such a young boy?" Lord Stannis. "I understand your concerns, Lord Stannis... but the praise and chants dedicated to that boy do not do him justice, trust me. Before I came here, Lord Duncan gave me the gift of his advice on possible war strategies... And I must admit, they are valid points. I would like to receive your views on the matter if possible, my Lords." Even Robert looked surprised. He knew Eddard better than anyone else in there. The man knew that Ned would never praise someone unless he truly deserved such apliment. Tywin himself was intrigued by what Bloody Snow might be able toe up with... The Lord Protector of the West replied: "You are wee, Lord Stark. Prove to us all if the rumors of this valiant leader of the North are well deserved." End POV. ----------------- POV: Ned Stark; Stark tent. Northern army camp. About half a mile from the gates of Lannisport. About three hours before the meeting was to begin... Ned was in thepany of his Kingmaker, Bloody Snow. It had taken him days to recover from the events of that night on the Isle of Faces... After the ritual ended, the archdruid Son of the Forest had requested a meeting with him. He wanted Ned to restore the pact of non-aggression and mutual coexistence between the Children of Life and the First Men. Ned agreed and sealed his name with his blood on a granite rock used more than 9,000 years ago for the same agreement. The next day he had tried to attack the boy for putting him in a no-win situation. When he had asked him: [Why did you want me to be King in the North?!] Duncan replied: [Because the First Men need guidance. It must be a Great man who guides them. A great man doesn''t seek to lead. He''s called to it, and he answers. You''re that man, Ned. I''m sure of it...] And Ned asked: [And why do you think I''m that man? Just because I bear the name Stark?] And he: [ No... I think it because I know you''d want to answer {NO} to the call... Reigning is a duty, a danger, and a responsibility, not a right. A man should be afraid of such a task, not seek it out as an endgame... You Eddard of House Stark possess the qualifications to be a great king and your people need you to be one, your majesty]... "So, your majesty... I beg your pardon. So, my Lord. In a few hours, you will meet King Robert, Lord Tywin, and the other members of the war council. Please... be respectful and helpful to all Lannisters within the hall. I suggest you make a personal apology to Ser Jaime when you are in private..." Said the boy. "Agreed." Ned nodded. "During that council, you will discuss two things primarily... Attack strategy, and spoils of war. Ned... it will be critical for us to get a good share of the spoils, and to do that, we will need to contribute a good deal both strategically and militarily. You''ll also have to fight by feigning interest in gold and riches." The boy. "BUT... We need gold and riches! I''d like to remind you of Moat Cailin and the demands '' Four '' and '' Five ''..." Ned. "No Ned, for us gold is not the most valuable thing in those inds at the moment. The crown and the Lannisters will aim for that for sure. There''ll be at least two or three million to raid in those Inds... but we''re after something nobody wants. The people-- Think about it, Ned. The North has the mostnd of all the six kingdoms. There''s plenty of uninhabited farnd. And in the Iron Inds, many are used as ves but are not, by right... The Thralls, Lord Stark. The servants caught in the ironborn raids. The Thralls, the salt wives... On the seven main inds, there must be at least 400-500,000 people captured in the past, or children of them. All of them perform the bulk of thebor in thosends. They do the work that the ironmen consider ''Unworthy'' of their lineage and strength... Miners, farmers, craftsmen, fishermen... and many other professions. And most of them know the sea... They''re skilled sailors and shipbuilders... They''re worth more to us than gold, Ned. We will offer those poor wretches freedom, protection, equality, a home, and honest wages. In doing so we will not only strengthen the North, we will greatly weaken the Iron Inds by forcing them to give up the ''Old Way'' ... They will have to adapt to a new and moreborious way of life. The House, true to the motto [We do not sow], will no longer be able to lead the Ironmen. The Iron Inds will no longer have to live by raiding. They will have to roll up their sleeves. Bend over and adapt to the new way of life, or die and be forgotten along with it." The Kingmaker. "You mean we''ll have to exterminate all of House Greyjoy? Even the younger sons of King Balon?" Ned asked visibly disturbed by the idea. "No, not exterminate... But to cripple and weaken it so that it can never rise again. Even if Balon and Euron were to bow the knee to King Robert, they would not hesitate for a second to rise and rise again as soon as Robert perished... The only option is [Death] or [The Wall]. If it were up to me, I''d send Balon to North of the Wall to freeze his balls off. If he survives the next battle, his eldest son Maron will have to be sent there as well. He has just turned sixteen. Theon Greyjoy and Yara Greyjoy must be held as protected hostages. The future of the Isles will be entrusted to a new Lord Protector of the Seas. A much more cultured man, a lover of books andmerce... " The boy waited for Ned to guess the individual. "You mean... Lord Rodrik?" Ned. "That''s right, my lord. Lord Rodrik Haw '' The Reader '', is our key to curing this gue of the realm called [Ironborn]. House Tallhart and House Haw have been working together secretly for four years. It was Lord Rodrik''s men who first informed our agents of the attack on Bear Ind. Lord Rodrik does not want to fight this war. He hates and despises King Balon''s methods, and has long since learned that ''The Old Way''... ...is just old. It will have to be one ironman who leads other ironmen to change. This is crucial, Ned." Eddard nodded in agreement. He found the boy''s ns eptable and reasonable. If they could deal with the Ironmen problem once and for all, then in addition to a safer North, they would also achieve a more prosperous North. The naval trade would grow by leaps and bounds without the risk of iron marauders. Although the n was a good one, Ned was still reluctant to im even a small amount of gold. At least the amount to recoup the costs of the campaign! Ned tried to attempt... "Are you sure we shouldn''t demand even a small portion..." Ned was interrupted. "FORGET THE GOLD, NED! It''s not gold we need anymore! We need people! They will yield ten times as much in the long run! The North barely grows past 3.5 million, Lord Stark. Even Dorne has more people than we do. The Andals have decimated us for thest two millennia. Do you know that I''ve found very old census records dating back 600 years before Aegon came? Do you know how many of us there were in the North then, Ned?" Ned shook his head. "THIRTEEN MILLION!... THIRTEEN, NED. Now we are three and half... In the Reach alone there are more than 20 million inhabitants. They outnumber us six to one... and they have and three times smaller than the North... We need to get that number down to ''Ten'' Million within the next eight years at the very least." Said Bloody Snow without any possibility of negotiation. Ned nodded sadly. Lady Barbrey had already alluded to their future meeting for the [Loan Application and Approval]... The woman seemed impatient and ted with anticipation of that event. She looked like a hyena ready to receive her due pound of flesh... The flesh of the poor King in the North... Ned was afraid of her. "... All right. No gold... As for strategy?" Ned asked after shedding an inner tear. End POV. -------------------------------------------------- POV: Stannis Baratheon; In a mansion in Lannisport, Hall of War Council. About three hours after a boy exined an attack strategy. "Come on Ned, you have our full attention. Surprise me as you did ten years ago in the Valley." Incited Robert, remembering the good old days when he and Ned, along with Lord Robar Royce rode to Jon Arryn''s aid. "I will try, Your Grace... First of all, I would like to ask how many ships in poor condition are we in possession of?" Ned asked, turning to Lord Paxter and Stannis. "The royal fleet has seven ships that require urgent repairs. Lord Paxter... Ten if I''m not mistaken, correct?" Stannis. "Correct, Lord Stannis." Paxter Redwine. "I see... With the captured Iron Fleet ships, can we get to at least 50 expendable ships?" Ned. "... Possibly. What do you have in mind, Lord Stark?" Stannis. "Assuming Victaion Greyjoy returned to Pyke with those forty ships. The Iron Fleet should have no more than 200 ships remaining in its entirety. Balon Greyjoy will surely use them as his main means of defending Pyke. Ironmen always boast of their superiority in waterbat. They will not squander this advantage. Landing on Pyke will be our greatest difficulty. But we can minimize our losses if we sacrifice fifty badly damaged hulls. All we''ll need is some ck paint, oil, a hundred good sailors, and... an onion knight. We''ll need your best man, Lord Stannis... The one who managed to escape the eyes of the Redwine fleet and save Storm''s End from starvation, my Lord." Ned looked up from the map, seeking the gaze of Robert''s brother. "Ser Davos?" Chapter 81: Ser Davos Seaworth Chapter 81: '' Ser Davos Seaworth '' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. I would like to thank to [moku8]! and [Patrick Rodriguez]!! I don''t know who you are, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. Donating is a spontaneous, unforced gesture. Otherwise it would be more like coercion. Ahaha P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -12 days!!! ( Damn how time flies!!! NOOOO!! I DON''T WANNA GO!!! HELP ME!!) Happy reading! ---------------------------------------- POV: Ser Davos Seaworth; Northern army camp. Less than half a mile from the gates of Lannisport. Some four hours after a powerful Northern Lord joined a council of war... The Onion Knight, the head of House Seaworth, captain of the ck Betha, and the most loyal and honestnded knight in the service of Lord Stannis Baratheon, had just arrived at the camp of the allied Northern army. There was his son Dale apanying him. A boy of just fifteen with features very simr to his father. Brown hair and eyes, normal dry face, well-proportioned joints, both almost six feet tall. They even wore simr clothing. A brown leather tunic with a green wool cloak. The distinguishing feature of the duo was the leather purse hanging on the older of the two. A purse that held bones... The four first phnges were amputated by Lord Stannis himself as punishment for Davos'' past crimes. A well-deserved and merciful punishment ording to the victim himself. Davos kept the bones of his joints in a bag around his neck because he believed they were lucky, having bought a future for his family. Davos stopped a soldier decorated with emblems of House Tallhart. "I beg your pardon, my good man." The soldier stopped and noticed the well-kept, though not too shy clothes of the duo. "Can I help you, Ser?" The soldier. "Davos. Ser Davos Seaworth. Knight in the service of Lord Stannis Baratheon. I have been ordered by my lord to meet with Army General Tallhart. Lord Duncan Tallhart. Could you by any chance point me in the direction of his tent, soldier... your name good man?" Davos asked politely. "Edmund. Vice-Captain of the crossbow unit of the Third Legion, Ser. Of course. I''ll lead the way, Ser Davos. This way." Vice-Captain Edmund replied. "Thank you, Vice-Captain," Davos replied gratefully. About five minutester... "Ser Davos, wee. My Lords, I beg your pardon. Might I ask you to postpone this meeting until after dinner? I had an appointment with Ser Davos." Said a young man with white hair. Six men prepared to leave the tent, paying their respects and greetings. The boy personally thanked each of the northern nobles. "Please take a seat, Ser. Jansa, would you please take care of our guest''s son who is waiting outside? Food and drink in goodpany if possible." Said the young lord to a woman in her thirties dressed in military clothing. She did not look like a simple servant... Davos had never been a good fighter, but he could tell from a nce whether someone in front of him was dangerous or not. The Onion Knight''s rm bell was going crazy... "Of course, Lord General. Ser Davos." Jansa stepped out of the tent to fulfill his duties. Davos bowed and gave his respectful greetings to the polite woman with eyes as sharp as des. At that point, Davos stepped forward and approached the table. ''I thank you for the offer, Lord Duncan. But I would prefer to follow your example and remain standing if that is not a problem for you, my Lord. I always manage to have a clearer mind ready to respond when I remain firmly on my feet." Ser Davos. "I understandpletely, Ser. In that case... I will not allow you to refuse a sip of my favorite drink. A concoction of my devising, Ser Davos. It helps to keep your mind fresher and your body''s energy restored." Said the boy, filling a cup from the carafe beside him. "I would not dare refuse, my Lord." Davos politely epted the cup and tasted the drink. He sensed a slightly sour taste of lemon, the sweetness of honey, and slightly spicy contrast. The drink was cool, but at the same time, it also warmed the pte. "An excellent drink, Lord Duncan. I would even venture to say that it would make an excellent seafaring ratio. Does it happen to have a name?" Davos. "Not yet, Ser, but I shall have to find one for you soon. Several Northern Lords have already shown interest in wanting to purchase such a mixture... In any case. Thank you foring so quickly, Ser Davos. Allow me to say that it is an honor for me to meet in person one of the world''s best known smugglers and the hero of Storm''s End." Said the boy. "My honor to meet you, Hero of the North. I thank you for your praise... but I would beg you to refer to it more if possible. They are belittling in the face of your aplishments, Lord Duncan. I am a man who is very susceptible and unprepared for awkward situations." Davos. "Ahahah! As you wish, Ser... You are probably wondering [Why an eleven-year-old northern noble desires my advice]. Am I wrong perhaps?" Duncan. "Almost exactly, my Lord. You would have fully guessed it simply by recing '' Northern Nobleman of eleven years '' with '' The legendary Bloody Snow ''." Davos. "Ahah! I love the way you talk, Ser. You have an excellent mixture of sincerity, humility, irony, and speech acumen. I''ll make you a deal, Ser. I love my partner''s honest and truthful point of view. Therefore, I propose that we both drop the niceties and throw down the omissive shields that protect us from those we do not trust. What do you think, Ser?" Davos thought about it for a moment. The knight was quite afraid of such an offer. Several times Davos had been reprimanded by his wife Marya for being too loose with his tongue. The poor woman feared that in the future she would lose her beloved husband because of his bad tongue. "... I will only ept if, should I overdo it, I can y the [I am in the service of the King''s brother and enjoy the privilege of his protection] card, my Lord." Davos. "Deal." End POV. ---------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Tallhart Army General Tent. About ten seconds after a deal was struck... "Well, Davos Seaworth. I would start by asking: '' How much is the Onion Knight paid by Lord Stannis Baratheon? '' I know you own about 200 acres of fertilend and a modest butfortable manor on Cape Fury. About seventy gold dragons a year?" I asked already knowing the answer. "... Frighteningly correct and urate, Duncan. May I ask how you know that?" Davos. "Ah, forgive me. I''m always well informed about people of interest to me. And you, Davos, are one of the people at the top of that list. I would like to try and triple the offer if it does not offend you. Two hundred gold dragons a year plus a manor house with a sea view three times the size, better equipped and overlooking 600 acres ofnd. I admit the climate is colder, but I assure you that thosends are just as fertile..." I proposed. "Most honored by the offer, my Lord. I will face the wrath of my Marya for what I am about to say... but, I fear I must respectfully decline. I serve Lord Stannis. I owe that man everything I own, Duncan of House Tallhart." Davos said, bowing his head in apology. "Phew... I was expecting this, Ser. Forgive me... but I had to try to curry favor with you on the cheap." Davos was slightly disturbed by my words. The man was confused. "Do not look at me like that, Ser Davos. I know your true worth and I am fascinated and admired by you. You are a precious jewel that I would like at all costs to add to my collection. Ahaha. I have done my research, Davos. I know who you are and what you are capable of. You would be incredibly useful to my House and the entire North." I exined. "... You overestimate me, my Lord. I am but a humble former smuggler who was fortunate enough to be knighted. My nine-year-old son, Matthos, wields the sword better than I do. I''m more of a sailor than anded knight. I do not deserve such praise and expectation from you." Davos. "You disappoint me, Ser Davos... I thought the deal was ''Honesty and Truthfulness''. If I have to do this, I will... You''re no ordinary man, Davos Seaworth. I know a lot about you and your past. You were born in Flea Bottom in King''s Landing in 257 A.C. and lived a life of hardship until your teens. Early on, you found employment on the ship called Cobblecat, captained by Roro Uhoris, a smuggler and Tyroshi pirate. A few yearster, Uhoris was captured by the Night''s Watch fleet from Eastwatch, where he was executed for trading weapons with the Wildlings. Despite this, you still managed to maintain good rtions with the brotherhood in ck... After leaving the Cobblecat, you made your way by captaining a small ship with a crew of ten men and in a few years became one of the most notorious smugglers in the Seven Kingdoms and Essos. You escaped the eyes of many fleets. Rival pirates, Braavosians, Tyroshi, the Iron Fleet, the Royal Fleet, the Fleet of Lys... The vers had even put up a bounty of a hundred gold honors for your capture. You must have annoyed quite a few Braavos merchants because up until six years ago, your head was worth five hundred Braavosi gold coins in all thends of Braavos. Despite this, hardly any of your coborators and business partners have ever betrayed you. Pirates, poachers, and many other smugglers respect and honor you. You have made many not very illustrious men rich. You have sailed on many seas: the Narrow Sea, the Sea of Sunset, the Sea of Thrills, and Summer. There are even rumors that you have managed to sail the Crocus Strait across the Jade Sea. Are those rumors true too?" I paused for a moment to satisfy my curiosity. "... In truth, I may have done no more than five leagues of sailing in those shores. That''s the distance it would take to outrun a small fleet of a Wraith Herb lord. I had identally gotten my hands on a cargo of skins and tusks of ferocious beasts from the continent of Ulthos. That cargo belonged to a sorcerer from Asshai, and he wanted my blood for one of his rituals in response... They have exaggerated those rumors a hundredfold." Davos confessed, throwing his mask to the ground. "Did they send a pack of mermaids after you and call for a magical storm to sink your ship?" I asked curiously taking advantage of the opening. "No... never seen or heard a mermaid sing, lucky for me. As for the storm... I''m not sure if it was magic, but a small storm in the middle of the clear sky appeared. We used those very ck clouds to escape their eyes." Davos. "... I don''t think there is a man with more experience of the world''s seas than you in those Iron Inds, Ser Davos Seaworth. Now I think you understand me when I say that I long to add you to my collection of loyal vassals. Your prowess at sea is matched only by the loyalty andmitment you show to the lords you serve. You are a rare jewel, Ser, and I need you." Me. "... I thank you for your praise, Lord Duncan, but my allegiance is to Stannis... I cannot ept your kind offer." Davos. "You cannot ept it now, Ser Davos. I will try to steal you from the hands of Lord Stannis if I can. I intend to deal with the man with business proposals. Honest proposals that will benefit both Torrhen''s Square and Dragonstone. If you will give me your permission, Ser, I will also put your good name on the bargaining table." Me. "Ahah. That much I can grant you, Lord Duncan. I am at the full service of Lord Stannis. If he decides in the future that he no longer wants my services, or can trade me for goods and benefits that will give him more value, then I will ept your proposal." Davos said with a slight smile. "Send a raven to your Marya then, Ser Davos. Warn her that noter than one year from today you must move. I will have you in my service even if I have to pay ten times your weight and that of your family is gold." I said with a firm tone and look. Davos was visibly impressed by my previous statement. He remained silent, not knowing how to reply. "... Fear not, Ser Davos. You are still Lord Stannis'' trusted vassal. It will still take me some time to seduce you and your lord. I promise I will be aggressive but gant. Ahahahah!" I said. "...Ahahahah." Davosughed in good taste. "YES! I finally found someone who appreciates my jokes!!! I''ll have to have you by my side, Ser!!!" I said euphorically, unconsciously admitting that I couldn''t make everyone elseugh... "No promises, my Lord... I don''t mean to be tactless or rude, Lord Duncan, but... I believe Lord Stannis and King Robert sent me here to you to discuss invasion ns." Davos. "Ah! Right!... Cogh! emmm... Yes. Well said, Ser. Thank you for reminding me. I had requested your presence here primarily to discuss a naval offensive idea with you. I could use some tips and refinements from a master craftsman like yourself, Captain Davos." I said, opening the map on the table. "I am at your service, Lord Duncan." End POV. ----------------------------------------------------------- POV: Captain of the ck Betha. Tent General of the Tallhart Army. About ten minutes after a n of attack was exined... "I''m going to need some more of that honey and lemon mixture... Your n... Yes, even I would say it is mad, my Lord." Said Davos with wide eyes and a dry throat. The sailor poured himself another generous cup of the soft drink and drank greedily. "Undoubtedly, Ser Davos... But is it feasible in your opinion?" The madman asked. "Highly unlikely and very suicidal for the poor fools who will have to sacrifice themselves to aplish it... It would be much more ''Feasible'' if two huge problems could be solved." Davos. "And they would be?" The suicidal madman. "The most significant one is moving over ten miles without any source of light. If the starry sky were to be even minimally covered by clouds on that new moon night, the 50 ships would bepletely blind... We couldn''t reach the naval blockade of the harbor without losing at least half those ships in idental collisions... and it wouldn''t take just two men per ship. I''d say at least five... The second big problem is the lookout ship. There''s bound to be at least one Greyjoy lookout with a mast as tall as the quarterdeck. That ship would be able to spot our fleet. Even if we were to paint every inch of our ships with a perfect mixture of ck dye and ocean blue... The lookout ship will be at least 2,000 feet away from the fleet. One warning light and our little trick won''t work. It might have been possible with three or four ships at most, but fifty... impossible. Even if they were invisible, fifty ships would create ripples in the water and wave shifts perceptible even to deaf sailors. We wouldn''t have the manpower to make those ships go unnoticed even if there were two at a time. We might as well light those fires at that distance and try our luck." Davos. "Unlikely, Ser Davos. The word impossible should be erased from man. However small and invisible, the possibility still exists... Now let''s turn your ''Improbable'', into ''Feasible''. It won''t be a big problem to increase the number of men per ship from two to five, one lifeboat will be enough to bring everyone back. How many men do you think will be on that lookout ship?" Duncan. "... I''d say thirty-five or forty, but no more than fifty. She''ll be among the fastest of the longships, but not that big." Davos. "How close would you be able to get without one of our ships on target without being seen?" Duncan. "With just one good ship and a good silent crew? Three hundred maybe even two hundred feet." Davos. "I''ll settle for three hundred.... I''ll be able to neutralize the crew of that ship, Ser Davos." Duncan. "And how are you going to do that? One waving of a torch would make it all worthless." Davos. "By swimming with twenty good des, and as many warriors capable of wielding them. Trust me. If you can get us that far from the lookout ship, we''ll be able to swim silently over there and silence those forty mouths forever... If we neutralize that lookout and find a way for you and the other forty-nine captains to find your way around safely even at night, then the n would be feasible?" The boy asked in a confident and determined tone. Davos was speechless for a moment. He was trying his best to solve the mystery ''How to find your way at sea in the middle of the night without a light or a signal'', but even though he had seen and heard everything, he could not find a way. ''''Extinguished the fires of these two very dangerous ''IF''... Then yes. The n would be feasible." Davos. "Well then... Might I ask you, Ser Davos, to go and select forty-nine trusted captains and their four most intrepid andpetent men at once? We have only seven days before the new moon arrives... We shall also have to equip at least two thousand dyers as soon as possible. Leave it to me to find the twenty mad des that will apany mine." Said the madman. Davos could only think of two words when he saw the excitement and confident look of that intrepid young nobleman from the North. ''Bloody Snow.'' Chapter 82: A unit of crazy Heroes Chapter 82: '' A unit of crazy Heroes '' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. I would like to thank to: [moku8]! [Patrick Rodriguez]!! [Sdri]!! I don''t know who you are guys, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! Thanks again. For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. Donating is a spontaneous, unforced gesture. Otherwise it would be more like coercion. Ahaha P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -10 days!!! (The emission control trainee office is approaching... HELP ME!!!) Happy reading! ---------------------------------------- POV: de [3]; On a ship newly christened ''First ck Swan''. Crag Coast, about 70 miles from Pyke Harbour. The night before the new moon came... the 50 ck Swan was ready. Every inch of sail and nking had been properly painted so that at night all the ships would be perfectly camouged in the water. The fleet onlynded on the coast near the Iron Inds at night. No fires were allowed. The Greyjoy scouts on the coasts were not supposed to spot those ships. The Royal Fleet, on the other hand, consisting of about four hundred ships, was in in sight about a day''s sail behind. The enemy should have known of the impending attack and would have been ready for it. But the fifty Swan ships that would be attacking the day before was a different kettle of fish. Admiral Stannis would have faked a pre-battle overnight stop in Banefort, but as soon as the Swan ships struck, he and his four hundred warships would join the fray as soon as possible. The precision of that attack had to be surgical. One mistake and all would be in vain. But if the n seeded, of the more than two hundred and thirty ships left in King Balon, at least a hundred would be trapped in the harbor and unable to join the fray. {Divide & Destroy }. That was the name of the n. The lives of thousands of Allies were in the hands of those few heroes. In about twenty hours, less than three hundred men could either seed and allow King Robert''s army an easy victory, or fail and let every inch of Greyjoy coastline be taken at a heavy price. de [3], one of only two women to pass the first ''Frost des'' selection program, was one of the top three assassins in House Tallhart, and probably in the North. Zick himself hadplimented her. The grandmaster had even praised her, telling her that in five or at most ten years she could reach the level of instructor Ramas... Janes had never dared to shed a tear during Sir Ramas countless tortures during that hellish year, but at that moment, she wanted to shed tears of joy... de [3] was certainly not on the same level as de [1], who had an innate talent for this job, but she was certainly not too far behind de [2]. Now among these twenty-four chosen warriors, she was the leader. Even Lord Duncan, the Grandmaster''s protg, would be her deputy in this mission. Janes wasn''t the most experienced of the top three, but she was the one who held the record for the most targets removed... After the year she''d spent training the Queen des, the fourteen female assassins in the service of Lady Barbrey Dustin, she''d returned to the field to dispose of House Tallhart''s toughest and most troublesome targets. Forty-six missions in just thirteen moons and six days. An unbeaten record... The most satisfying mission was undoubtedly [Captain of the City Guard Janos Slint]. That pig not only extorted coins from the poor beggars at Flea Botton but also kidnapped and molested at least one orphan every two or three months for his gain... Ser Qyburn had specified that she could have full authority over the modus operandi of the subject''s death. Janes would only have to de-list the subject within a maximum time frame of forty days. Janos Slint suffered excruciating pain and suffering for twenty-six consecutive days... She promised herself she would make it at least thirty days, but she was tired of the suffering and pleading voice of that cowardly toad. Over the next three days, more than six hundred golden dragons in pieces of copper and silver were redistributed among many of the children who lived in Flea Bottom of King''s Landing. But now de [3] didn''t have time to think about those good times... She had to think about creating new ones. The Deputy Commander of the Winter''s Watch, William, Sir Ramas''s protg, was part of the twenty-five-strong team of assassin-sweepers. The boy, who was not yet seventeen, was a talent on a par with de [1] ... Janes had tested the boy''s abilities herself, and he could already safely be part of the Top Ten of all Frost des in the service of House Tallhart. There was only a hierarchy of skills for the top ten Frost des. The remainder would retain their assigned number until the end. Currently, throughout Westeros and Essos, there were thousand two hundred and thirty-six active Frost des. Awork almost worthy of The Watcher''s organization. In two, or perhaps even a year at most, William would reach de [3]... Only the Old Gods knew the kind of techniques, training, and torture Instructor Ramas had tempered that boy with. Standing next to the Vice-Commander, General Bloody Snow followed. Neen more veteran Frost des were lined up behind those two. Finally, four individuals in the service of House Reed followed... Crannogmen. Humanoids were no taller than five feet. Thin arms and legs, webbed feet and hands. Only the face appeared human. ording to Lord Reed, those four were among the finest warriors to inhabit the swamps of The Neck. "By now you know all the details of the mission. You know what we will face tomorrow night. The fate of many is in our hands... No mistakes or failures will be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?" de [3], themander in charge of that mission, asked. "Yes, Sir!" Twenty voices answered in unison. Although they understood themonnguage, the four Crannogmen did not utter a single word during those two days and nights of travel. "You four... You will be our firing units. Lord Hond Reed has informed me that you are the best hunters and marksmen among the Cranngmen... At what distance can you urately hit the target with those peashooters?" de [3]. A Crannogmen simply pulled out a flute-shaped barrel and fired a shot upwards. A secondter, a seagull that was perched on the mast at least thirty feet up in the pitch-ck fell dead with a poisoned needle in the middle of its neck... Many eyes stared in discreet amazement at the scene. "... An excellent demonstration. I want the four of you to concentrate your line of fire on all targets holding a torch or anyone who tries to approach any kind of light." The four humanoids nodded in silence. "Well... Lord General. Are you sure you''ll be able to handle the lookout in the main tree by yourself?" de [3]. "Yes, Commander." The boy replied confidently. "All right... Then it''s settled. There will be a difference of at least ten feet in height between the stern and the bow of the ship. It will be at the stern that we will concentrate our attack. The ship will most likely turn its back on the Greyjoy fleet. If a single light signal reaches those enemy ships... we''ll all be doomed. We won''t have time to reach the ten support ships waiting for us over a mile away, nor will we have time to signal them for help. We''ll be swimming about 300 feet away. We''ll use these breathing apparatus and these protective ss masks. The water will be freezing. We will not be able to stay in the sea for more than thirty minutes. We will swim slowly and quietly but never stop. Four initial grappling hooks. It will be me, Lord Duncan, William, and Guriush who go up first." Said themander, pointing to the chief warrior Crannogmanst. He then went on to exin "As soon as we give you the go-ahead, you will use the remaining six to board from the stern as quickly and quietly as possible. Remember. The priority is to get rid of the lookout man thirty feet up. Defending the stern will be the second priority. Only from high points will they be able to send out light signals. If we act cleanly, we won''t allow a single breath to escape those mouths. Always aim for the throat if possible. The 21 of us, we''ll only have a couple of throwing knives and a long knife each. Make good use of every weapon. There must be at least 40 experienced warriors on that boat. With luck, at least half of them should be asleep by then. If not, give up the surprise to be deadliest in the shortest possible time. All clear?" The Commander asked. "Yes, Sir!" Twenty voices answered in unison with four more heads nodding for thest time that night. "Now you all go and get some rest. I want you all fresh, shiny, and bloodthirsty tomorrow." End POV. ----------------------------------------------------- POV: Ser Davos Seaworth. Less than a mile from Pyke Harbour. About twenty-four hours after the pre-mission briefing ended... This was surely the most dangerous maritime adventure the man with over twenty years experience of sea and smuggling had ever taken part in... The instrument named [Compass], had certainly removed many fears from the mind of the captain of the First ck Swan, but he was still full of anxieties and doubts. The forty-nine captains and two hundred sailors he had selected were all good men with at least ten years of maritime military experience. All had been well trained, and although frightened, none of them flinched. Davos had told each of them that if this mission seeded, they would not only be rewarded with ten golden dragons each, but that they could save at least twenty soldiers andrades each by their actions. They would forever be called war heroes.... '' It''s good that all of them are well motivated... and also scared. Fear on many asions has its usefulness. '' Davos thought as he remained at the helm of that ship. ''Li, Captain! That''s the lookout ship." Said a sailor in a low voice pointing to a spot with a dozen points of light. "Yes I see it, Dennis... Alert Lady Janes and Lord Duncan. On your toes sailor, and with your head down." Davos. "Yes, Captain." The sailor replied with a whisper. They were at least eight hundred feet from their target. From that distance they could see the lights of the Pyke coast. There were at least one hundred and twenty ships outside the harbour and another hundred ind. The sea was slightly rough and the wind was blowing just enough to cover the low voices a few dozen feet away. Lucky for them... Even Davos wouldn''t have suspected a thing had he been inmand of that ship. He certainly wouldn''t have counted such an attack among the enemy''s possible strategies.... ''If the strike team fails, we''re all dead.... If we dy reaching that ship with the lifeboat after directing the Swan ship... we''re dead. If we do everything perfectly, and even manage to recover five more sailors, there''s still the risk of a Greyjoy ship reaching us before the Royal Fleetes to our aid, even then, we''re dead... The fault is yours, Davos. You let that madman''s enthusiasm for adventure carry you away. You''ll leave five sons and an unborn child behind without a father. At least Lord Stannis promised to invest me with the title of Knight Dale. ''A fate not too dark for House Seaworth... but certainly dark for Davos Seaworth and the two hundred and fifty poor sailors I dragged along with me.... '' Davos thought bitterly. ''Trading and fishing... If by some miracle I make it out of this alive, I will ask Stannis to allow me to honorably retire from my military career. I swear it Marya." He whispered, speaking to himself Davos. About three minutester... The ck Swan had reached four hundred feet from its target... As agreed, the forty-nine ships of the fleet had fallen about a thousand feet behind. They were to wait for the signal light on the bow of the conquered ship. From that moment, the attack would begin. Each ship had been well oiled and loaded with barrels full of coal dust. Sparks were forbidden on board for more than one reason. If all had seeded, House Greyjoy would have witnessed a light show that would have put the fireworks disy at Lannisport to shame a few months ago. A boy approached the Captain, still carefully maneuvering the helm... The sea manoeuvre had been carried out to perfection. The sails had already been lowered so that the boat moved slowly by inertia. "Soon it will be your turn, Lord Duncan." Davos said quietly. "Good work, Ser Davos. Fear not my friend. We shalle through this safely." The half-naked boy replied, dyed ck from head to toe. That dye would remain for at least a couple of days. Two or three hot baths wouldn''t have been enough to return to a normal colour. "Can you promise me that?" Davos. "... Mmm I''d say no... but I''m definitely the one taking the biggest risk between the two. Ahaha!" Replied the boy almost letting a too high tone escape. "Are you sure you want to leave your sword with me?" Davos. "Of course. Take good care of it and try not to forget our weapons and armour. I''m sure I left Red Rain in good hands.... Just try to carry it with your right hand. Ahaha... Sorry, that was in bad taste." Jester. "Pff... Ahah. You''re a fool, Duncan of House Tallhart. In a few seconds we''ll reach three hundred feet.... Be sure to have a ship ready with you alive on it when I arrive." Davos. '''' Said the madman who followed the mad boy. Pfff! That was a nice one... The right joke at the right time. Fear not, my friend. You''ll hear even better ones in the future!" The boy said finally, joining the group, ready to dive at any time. Davos replied. Although the boy was already too far away to hear him. "Good luck... Heroes of the North." End POV. -------------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Out to sea less than a hundred feet from the target. About five minutes after a boy saluted a captain with a limp hand... The water was freezing. The spring sun had not yet done its work. Now I understood why Rose didn''t want to risk stepping aside and making way for that poor fellow called Jack... Soon those thousands of cold stings would turn into des. You couldn''t stop the body from moving. Five minutes at a standstill and your limbs would go numb to the point of no return. But none of mypanions seemed to be stopped by this obstacle. Already voices could be heard...ughter and shouting. As I swam and dipped my head intermittently with the leather and ss mask, I could already catch a glimpse of a small group of five to six men on the bow, drinking and ying with axes. The Dance of the Fingers... what a stupid game. '' I thought, trying to distract myself from the constant torpor of the cold. I had already counted at least twelve men in the bow and at least four in the stern. About twenty at the most. Luck was on our side. It would be a silent attack... About a minuteter... The first grappling hook wasunched and hooked into a decorative wooden recess in the ship. A few feet below the floor. The sound of impact was faint. de [3] climbed up first. That woman-sicary, she was dangerous. She was on the same level as Syggha, though her [9] had a slightly less heated gradation than thetter. Nevertheless, she was on a higher level than William... Janes was a morepetent assassin than me. In an alley fight at night, I might even have lost bitterly to her. Janes hooked two more grappling hooks into a foothold in total silence. I handed her thest one and she deftly grabbed it, hooking it between two posts at the base of the dock fence. William, Guriush, and I prepared to follow the captain up the short stretch of rope. Janes signaled with his fingers that there were four immediate targets to be eliminated and indicated the approximate location. We prepared our throwing knives and blowguns, each choosing a target. He caught a glimpse of mine... His back was turned and he seemed ready to turn in a few moments. Themander gave the signal. I threw the throwing dagger and hit the target squarely between the trachea and the sternum. Three gurgling sounds simr to those of my victim followed in minute intervals... Slow footsteps could be hearding up the steps. A fifth man would arrive shortly. Janes and I were the closest. I acted as a decoy waiting for the target... As soon as the man saw me, he widened his eyes and prepared to unsheathe his ax... but a handheld his mouth and stifled the sound of moaning until the blood gushed from his lips. I helped themander to ce the body on the ground and drag it to the side. William and Guriush acted as lookout posts and signaled the all-clear. "Get on soon." Janes, aka de[3], ordered in a low voice. Six more grappling hooks anchored themselves firmly at several points on the fence. In a few seconds, a dozen of myrades climbed aboard the enemy ship. We were now outnumbered, but we still waited for a few more fish to take the bait. In a couple of minutes, two nice squids were attracted to the bait... "Jerrit! Ahahaha! Come and see! That idiot Gaston has amputated his little finger! Ahahahah! Where the fuck are you?!" The two men walked briskly past twenty-one des and four loaded peashooters. None of us could tell which weapon gave them the fatal blow. But the real danger was about toe... That sailor''s call was attracting the attention of the boatswain''s mate more than thirty feet up the mast. I had been keeping my eye on this man, my chosen target, from the moment I stepped on board. I sprinted to a suitable spot for my maneuver. Now that I had leveled up to the 5th level, I could use the spells of the second circle. And there was one that was very unique to the Pdins of Life. {Misty Step}. I focused on the exact spot where I wanted to appear, and in the blink of an eye, a silvery mist enveloped me and I reappeared a beatter at that spot thirty full in the airnding in that exact little piece of empty crow''s nest. I was less than a foot away from the Ironman with my eyes wide and face in shock at having just seen a demon in ck appear. "What a Fu&#... Glupl... coff..." I turned the de on his neck violently and decisively. No mercy, no honor... pure and simple murder. In ast heroic gesture, the man tried to move his hand towards the burning torch, but I prevented him. ''Eight''. I counted inwardly.Every man down before the real assault began was an extra chance of sess. That crew certainly had no chance of winning the fight, but with a little effort and luck, they would have been able to alert the fleet less than three thousand feet away. Then only divine intervention by Seraphinus could have saved us... Even I had to admit that this was the craziest, riskiest n I had ever devised. I made a hand gesture visible by the light of the torch one step away from me. The group slowly tiptoed forward, spreading out on either side of the ship. I prepared to disembark, refreshing the knife in its case. As I descended, I noticed that a crannogman and another frost de had managed to cleanly eliminate two more targets. Ten,'' I thought. All the shooters had positioned themselves at four different central and high points of the ship. Where they would have a better view. William and ten des, had stayed behind to defend the stern. I joined the main assault group. There were a dozen men in a circle watching another performance of the "Dance of the Fingers". We were less than fifteen feet from the group... "Hey look at that!" He pointed at an ironman in an indecisive but high tone. de [3] lowered his arm. Four needles and a dozen throwing knives ran over the group of fourteen men. Six had instantly fallen to their deaths... "WE''RE UNDER ATTACK!!! ARGHH!!!" Another knife pierced that ironborn''s chest, missing the heart section by half an inch. Four of those seven remaining men managed to pull their weapons from their scabbards and attempt a strenuous defense by shouting battle cries as loud as they could. I charged towards the target who had even managed to grab a shield in addition to his one-handed ax. I took advantage of the darkness to get around him, dodging an inurate sh. I shed the wrist of the hand wielding the weapon, cleanly severing half the limb. The ax fell to the ground without even giving the man time to curse in pain. He finished off my enemy by driving more than a foot of de through his exposed ribcage and into his vital organs... The man fell to the ground. de [3] was already on her second target. A few men in the galley were rmed and six or seven men attempted to join the fray but were quickly decimated by poison darts and throwing daggers. William''s crannogmen and rearguard had our backs. He managed to shoot down another enemy, thest one insight at the time. I had counted thirty-one downed enemies on my Death List. "RISE AND SHINE! IN FORMATION! WE MUST SEND THE SIGNAL AT ALL COSTS! WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE! ATTACK!" shouted one man. "WHAT IS DEAD MUST NEVER DIE!!! ARGHH!" another dozen voices shouted. The main door at the stern of the ship swung open and fifteen heavily armed menunched into a desperate, but more organized, attack and focused the offensive on William''s group. What appeared to be the ship''s captain was shirtless and wielding a two-handed, two-pronged ax. "EXTERMINATE THEM!!!" thundered ourmander in response, leading the charge at the head of our group. The real battle began... but the enemy had already counted their steps. They were surrounded on three sides, outnumbered, and with warriors less experienced and less prepared to fight. There was no match. It was one-sided carnage. One man tried to throw a torch overboard, but it was immediately intercepted by four sharpshooters... However, the Longship Captain managed to seriously wound a Frost des to my incredible surprise. The man in his forties must have been a true Ironborn warrior, his number [8] glowing above his head was proof of that. I rushed over to my woundedrade-in-arms who was trying to stop the bleeding with both hands. In an instant, with a green glow radiating from my hands, Ipletely healed that mortal wound. Only three other minor wounds had been inflicted on our group, but they could only wait a couple of minutes. The captain, badly wounded in several ces, fell to his knees. He gave up all hope when he saw the only achievement of his crewe to their senses as if they had just awoken from a sweet sleep... "Who... Who are you?" The captain asked, spitting blood. He was the only crew member still alive. "A unit of Crazy Warriors of the North." Chapter 83: The Courage Of The Few Chapter 83: '' The Courage Of The Few '' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. I would like to thank to: [moku8]! [Patrick Rodriguez]!! [Sdri]!! I don''t know who you are guys, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! Thanks again. For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. But if you feel the visceral urge to do so... Well, do it. AHAH! P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -9 days!!! ( Job is Coming)) Happy reading! ------------------------------------- POV: Captain Ser Amon Fury; On the Third ck Swan less than 200 feet from the Greyjoy lookout ship. About five minutes after a light signal from the First ck Swan was cast... It was the moment of truth. The limit distance had just been reached. From that point, they could have sessfully hit the target. Time slowed down for Captain Amon... The man relived all the most important moments of his life. House Fury was just a small House of Nobility of recent origin. They owed their allegiance to Stannis Baratheon. Amon himself was invested with the title of Knight when he saved more than forty souls from the storm at Dragonstone that had nearly sunk the entire royal fleet five years earlier. He would not have wanted to take part in this mission. He had a wife and two children waiting for him in a small manor. Amon had lived more than thirty years of hardship. What he had was more than enough. He did not know why he had epted... He didn''t have to. Only volunteers could take part in this almost suicidal mission. At the time, when Amon tied a rope around his chest and jumped into the sea to save those castaways, he did it out of instinct and not because he saw an opportunity... His hands and legs had moved on their own despite a voice in his head screaming at him not to. It was the same for his tongue when Ser Davos came to him to ask if he wanted to be part of that group... He wanted to answer [Forget it Ser Davos! This is a suicide n! I''d have a better chance of surviving the assaultnding on the front line!] ...Instead, the answer he gave was: [I will go with you, Ser Davos...] "Captain! We''ve cut the anchor lines and the sails are set!" "Wex, Edd help me with these ropes! We''ll have to tie them to the rudder soon. You two! Start lowering the lifeboat!" Ser Amon ordered. "Yes, Captain!" The four members of the crew alone replied. The direction had been set. The rudder had been tied, and the ship would arrive at its destination. The final touch was missing... The captain tinder lit a torch hanging in a safe position. This single source of light was the only reference point their archer would have to hit the target in the pitch ck. As soon as the torch was lit and the lifeboat touched the water, the Captainmanded: "Abandon ship!" About three minutester... "Captain, the signal!" Said Wex pointing to a bolt of fire in the sky. "NOW WEX! You three paddle with me as hard and fast as you can! We have to cover the fastest half-mile of your lives! REMATE!!!" Amon. "YES, SIR!!!" The three men answered in unison, oar in hand. Wex, the best archer of the group lit a small brazier on the boat and dyed his arrowhead in the mes. The ship was about eighty feet away. Not too difficult a target. Wex drew his bow, aimed at the still visible target, and fired the bolt of fire... A few secondster, more ming arrows appeared in the sky... Fifty arrows to be exact. It was a masterly deed... as no more ming arrows were fired. All the archers in the lifeboats had hit their targets... A spectacle of dancing red and orange lights radiated for nearly a mile radius. Fifty ships caught fire, all pointing in one direction... The mouth of Pyke Harbor. Wex stood still and admired the spectacle with satisfaction. The moment of glory and spectaclested until the archer heard a voice... "EXCELLENT SHOT WEX! Well done... Now put out that damn brazier and grab an oar if you don''t want to kill us all!!!" He praised and scolded Amon at the same time. "Y-YES!!! I beg your pardon, Captain Fury!... But..." Wex noticed something. "BUT?! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING WEX?! The Greyjoy ships are going to swoop down on us if you don''t turn that light off now!" Amon. "... Captain! I see a signal from Ser Davos. They need help. We''re the closest... What do we do Captain?" Wex asked. The other crew members stopped their actions to all stare at their captain. Amon bit his tongue. He didn''t want to say those words. Not this time... ''NO! Not this time! Don''t do it, Amon! Don''t do it! Think of Cassy! To Jory! Little L! NO! DON''T DO IT! That will be the decoy ship! It will be suicide! DON''T DO IT! DO NOT SAY THOSE WORDS!'' shouted a voice inside Ser Amon Fury''s head... Never would he have boarded the ship that was to be the decoy for the Greyjoy fleet! That would have been a certainty of death. "FUCK!!! Fuck me and fuck whatever is wrong with my rotten head!!!..." Said the captain cursing himself. Finally, Amon sighed in a surrendered manner... The four crew members had been waiting for an answer for almost twenty seconds... "What are your orders, Captain?" Edd, the second inmand, asked. Amon grasped his Captain''s status with both hands, and with it all the duties and responsibilities that title carried. In a firm tone, and without a trace of doubt, he said: "Ourrades need us... Set course for ''The Beacon of Hope''!!!" End POV. ------------------------------------------------------- POV: Ser Davos Seaworth; On the newly captured and renamed ''Lighthouse of Hope'' Longship. One minute after a lifeboat answered the distress call... There was still hope. Davos glimpsed and identified the captain who had responded to the distress call. ''Bless you, Ser Amon!" praised Davos inwardly as he gave instructions to his reduced crew. The Longships of the Iron Inds were among the best ships in the Seven Kingdoms, both for speed and stability. But they did have one w... They needed at least a crew of twenty-five to thirty able-bodied seamen to maneuver the craft to maximum efficiency. Davos had selected thirty able-bodied seamen to take with him on the ''Lighthouse of Hope''. That is the ship that was supposed to draw the full attention of the Iron Fleet behind it so that the other two hundred and forty-five brave souls could join the ten support caravels behind them. Unfortunately, at the decisive moment, ten of his sailors had escaped. An unforeseen mutiny... but at least the mutineers had not brought with them the weapons and equipment the warriors from the North would have needed. Davos could not have outrun the Iron Fleet with only twenty sailors. And he couldn''t have asked for help from the twenty-five warriors who had just fought their way onto the ship. Those heroes needed to dry and warm their bodies, or they might freeze to death. They had the necessary skills to help. The Onion Knight needed at least five more sailors... And lucky for them, they found them. "SET THE SAILS! LIGHT THOSE FIRES! AND THROW EVERYTHING YOU DON''T NEED OVERBOARD! INCLUDING PROVISIONS AND KEGS OF BEER. We''ll have to be brighter and faster than a shooting star to get back to our families safely!" Shouted the Captain as he prepared to turn the helm with his own hands. "YES, CAPTAIN!!!" Twenty able-bodied sailors replied in unison. Bloody Snow and his twenty-fourpanions were stripping off all their wet clothes and drying by a brazier, before dressing in the clothes and armor that Davos'' crew had brought with them. "MOVE!! THROW A ROPE TO OUR REINFORCEMENTS!!!" Davos ordered when he saw that the lifeboat was already less than fifty feet from the ship. They didn''t even have time to admire the sess of the first part of their n. At least, even if all of them had perished under the Iron Fleet''s vengeful wrath, their sacrifice would have already saved thousands of lives. Pyke had just lost at least a third of their defensive power, and the remaining hundred ships would be no match for the Royal Fleet. About two minutester... "We owe you our lives. Thank you for answering our call, Captain Amon." Ser Davos said, gripping the arm of the man in front of him tightly. "Let''s not waste time on small talk, Ser Davos! You owe me your gold, yournds, and at least one of your sons, should the gods ever take one of mine from me! GET TO WORK, MEN! Why the fuck hasn''t that contraband been untied yet?!" End POV. ------------------------------------------------------ POV: King Balon Greyjoy; The Great Keep, Isle of Pyke. About five minutes after thest sail of the ''Lighthouse of Hope'' was unfurled... The King of Rock and Salt, Balon Greyjoy, stared pensively into the firece at thatte hour of the night. The leader of the Iron Inds could not afford to show any hint of doubt or fear. And indeed, Balon showed no sign of relenting even to his wife or children. The same confidence and stubbornness in his decisions was as irond as the name he bore. Despite this, even the foolish Balon knew that words could prevail against numbers to a certain extent. Of the original five hundred and twenty-seven warships he had built or assembled from all the inds during those six long years of preparation, only two hundred and thirty-four remained avable. After that huge loss on Bear Ind, House Drumm had withdrawn their support in this campaign. Not a single one of their men had responded to the king''s call to defend Pyke. What troubled Balon the most was that not even House Haw, one of the most powerful and great houses in the Iron Inds, had contributed anything close to a pittance. nny Haw''s husband had hoped that at least his brother-inw, Lord Rodrick Haw is known as ''The Reader'', would provide at least three thousand good Ironmen and fifty of his ships. Instead, Lord Haw had sent only seven hundred men - and not the best seven hundred. Only twelve longships were currently anchored in Pyke harbor... Without House Haw''s support, less than five thousand men were defending the harbor and beaches. His brother Euron was currently a prisoner in the cells of Casterly Rock. His favorite son Rodrick, his pride, had died at the hands of Lord Jason Mallister in Seagard... But the thing that stole Balon Greyjoy''s sleep the most was the gold coin he clutched in his left fist. A Braavosi gold coin still stained with blood. At first, Balon was not frightened by the threatening message he had received along with those two thousand tortured bodies. But after the Iron Bank''s contacts dissipated like mist in the wind, he began to fear the unknown... The name ''Bloody Snow'' was far more redundant than Robert Baratheon''s... The King of the Iron Inds was not as clueless as many thought. While he may have put on a big, swaggering voice towards the emissaries of Braavos, Balon would not mess with the true Titan of Braavos. He knew that if the Iron Bank wanted him to, he might as well have assembled a fleet of three thousand ships... A monstrous number. Not even a thousand longships with good ironmen leading them could prevail against such an enemy. And now it seemed that the Titan had stepped back as if in fear of something... What was stealing the King of Rock and Salt''s sleep was the fear that he had awakened arger giant. A giant he did not know... And the only clue he had was that very nickname ''Bloody Snow''... That bloody coin was a clear message to him: [I know you were aiming at me and that the Iron Bank asked you to do it. I aming for you.] Balon was tired of anxieties and doubts. Now he felt only anger and frustration. You may have been lucky on that ind, but Pyke is an Iron Ind. My domain and even I have a secret weapon... two to be exact. filling your lungs with water, salt, and blood... Come, Bloody Snow. Victarion and Aeron await you.'' The King''s sadistic thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. "Who is disturbing the King at thiste hour?" Balon. "Father, it is Maron! Come and see the harbor, quickly!" Said the King''s sixteen-year-old second son hurriedly. "The harbor?... What''s happening at the harbor? Has the Royal Fleet arrived yet?" Balon. "No father... For the moment, only the signals of an enemy ship are visible." Maron. "And youe to disturb me over one ship?" Balon. "... No, father. The enemy had at least fifty ships... Useless to exin it in words, my king. Come on deck and see for yourself..." Maron. About two minutester... Balon was staring wide-eyed at the scene less than two miles from his fortress. The Castle promontory was the highest point on the Isle of Pyke. The bridge was about three hundred feet above sea level. The horizon could be seen well over thirty miles away. The first bridge of the four towers of the Greyjoy fortress faced right towards the harbor. The screams at the harbor could be heard from there. A wall of me, at least ten feet high, stretched the length of the harbor entrance. Dozens of burning wrecks blocked the only way in and out of Pyke harbor. A port that currently housed half of King Balon''s offensive Fleet. A surge of anger and despair made the man lose his mind... "NOO!!! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?!! WHO DID IT? I WANT THE ENEMY RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS DISASTER TO BE CAPTURED ALIVE!!!! I SHALL PERSONALLY DROWN AND BAPTIZE THOSE UNBELIEVERS!!!... MARON!!!" He finally called to Balon. "Yes, father," Maron answered instantly. Balon managed with an enormous effort to regain some of his lucidity. "Have the Iron Victory send a message... By order of the king, that enemy ship must be captured at all costs. ... Tell your uncle Victarion that failure will not be allowed." End POV. --------------- POV: Bloody Snow. On the Lighthouse of Hope, about two miles away from the Greyjoy Fleet. About two minutes after a light message was transmitted to a gship outside the harbor... The ship on which fifty-one heroic individuals were resting their feet was in full motion towards a dark but well-charted course. Duncan had just heard a sailor shout. The speed that the ship had just reached was nine knots. A truly remarkable achievement. Enough speed to outrun most enemy ships. A dozen ships had already left in pursuit of theirs. Bloody Snow hoped that number was at least thirty. But even twelve was better than nothing. At this rate, those twelve enemy longships would be headed for a fleet of over four hundred ships ready to greet them. All the sailors in the lifeboats, even the cowards who had abandoned Ser Davos, were already safe in the ten support caravels provided by House Tallhart. The Iron Fleet would not have been able to reach those ships. In a fair wind, a caravel could even reach a speed of eleven knots. An unattainable speed for the Ironborn Longships. By now, the distress beacon must have reached the Royal Fleet stationed just over thirty miles away. A chain of dozens of fishing boats had been ced along a line to send out a signal light as quickly as possible. Now the Lighthouse of Hope, the former Greyjoy ship, was traveling at full speed towards the Allied Fleet. In less than two hours they should have been able to reach their third and final goal of the n. Entitled [Saving the Brave Heroes from the Drowned God]. If they had managed to evade the enemy ships for more than an hour and a half, they would have had a chance. Five hundred versus fifty, that was a tough challenge even for the heir to The Watcher... We''ve had a tough time of it this time... Luckily there are still a few Heroes in this rotten world. My father, but especially my mother, must never know how much we risked. If Ser Amon Fury and his four men had not answered our call, we would most likely have made it halfway before we were caught. Every good sailor had more than ten good soldiers in this particr situation. I swear, if we make it out of this in one piece, I''ll make sure those five Heroes of Westerose out of it showered with gold and honors... I will make sure that history will never forget their deeds.'' He promised himself, a boy who never forgot anything. By now his body and that of his twenty-fourrades-in-arms were dry. They were no longer in danger of hypothermia. The boy thought it was time to put on his new armor. Only after the cold had passed did he notice that his sword, Red Rain, was missing from the unustomed pile of weapons and armor. As soon as he finished putting on his armor, which consisted of the firstyer of fine chain mail, ayer of boiled fine leather, lined in silk and linen, steel leggings and armbands, triple-scaled shoulder straps of basilisk skin, and the usually studded leather gloves standard issue for all Winter''s Watch, he reached Ser Davos. "Ser Davos, can I trouble you or should Ie backter?" The boy asked the man who continued to grip the helm. "You must disturb me, Lord Duncan... I need a distraction to keep me from shitting myself. I''ve managed to maintain a decent image so far after all." Ser Davos replied as he continued to shift his gaze between thepass, the horizon, and the sail. Every inch of canvas was tightly stretched and bulging in one direction. It was proof that a good captain was always holding a course with the wind in his favor. "Ahaha! d to be of help, Ser... I''d like to ask you a question. But I''m beginning to think I shouldn''t ask... It would be a blow to me to receive an answer like: [Because of that regrettable incident called ''Mutiny'', where I thought we were all doomed, I haven''t had time to think about your steel sword of Valyria. It''s probably lying 50 to 60 feet deep near Pyke harbor by now]." The boy was half ironic and half-seriously concerned. "Ah, right your sword!" The Northern hero nearly copsed upon hearing the first part of the reply... but then Ser Davos continued, saying: "I have it right by my side, my Lord. Fear not." Davos uncovered part of his velvet cloak showing a very, very familiar handle and scabbard. "Phew... Thank you, Ser Davos. I..." Bloody Snow was interrupted by a shout from the boatswain''s mate on the main ship. "CAPTAIN!!! SHIP APPROACHING!" The boatswain. Davos turned sharply behind him, but with that darkness, he couldn''t make out the ship among those dozens of lights in the distance. "WHAT SHIP, NYMOS? DESCRIBE IT" Davos shouted to get an idea of the possible threat. "A DOUBLE-SAILED DROMON! A FLAGSHIP, CAPTAIN DAVOS. IT''S CATCHING UP. ABOUT 9-10 KNOTS OF SPEED! BANNER GREYJOY ON BOTH SAILS!" Nymos. "Do you recognize her?" Bloody Snow asked with concern. "...THE FIGUREHEAD, NYMOS! CAN YOU SEE THE FIGUREHEAD?" Davos. "NO FIGUREHEAD! IT LOOKS LIKE... AN IRON BRIDGE FOR ATTACK DOCKING!!!" Nymos. "...it''s the Iron Victory. The fastest ship in the Iron Fleet. Victarion Greyjoy will be joining us." Davos announced that gloomy information while keeping his cool. The experienced sailor, a veteran of dozens of life-and-death experiences, looked for a solution before panicking. "How long before he reaches us?" Bloody Snow. "... An hour if we''re lucky. The Royal Fleet won''t arrive for another hour and a half." Davos. "Can we gain a few more minutes? If it''s just Iron Victory we have to hold off before reinforcements arrive, we can do it." Affirmed the boy confidently. "Just the Iron Victory? That is thergest ship in the entire Iron Fleet. Victarion Greyjoy has at least a hundred men in his crew." Davos. "A hundred men and a great warrior is a challenge we can still hold our own against... So is there any way we can get just that one ship to board us without the other twelve backing him up?" Bloody Snow. Davos thought about that for a moment... "There is... but it''s a gamble. If Stannis is only a few minuteste we''d all be fish food." Davos. "Do it, Captain Davos. Let us warriors do what we do best." Said the boy, grabbing the hilt of the sword still attached to Davos'' belt. Chapter 84: Roll for Initiative Chapter 84: '' Roll for Initiative '' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. I would like to thank to: [moku8]! [Patrick Rodriguez]!! [Sdri]!! I don''t know who you are guys, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! Thanks again. For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. But if you feel the visceral urge to do so... Well, do it. AHAH! P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -7 days!!! ( Job is Coming)) Happy reading! ------------------------------------- POV: Cleric Of Drowned God; Iron Victory is about eight miles from Pike''s Harbor. About half an hour before Iron Victory managed to reach the enemy ship... "Balon''s defeat is at hand." Said a young prophet of just twenty-two with long hair and a beard. Since the day of his first blessing some six years earlier, Aeron Greyjoy, the youngest of the sons of the former Lord of Pyke, Quellon Greyjoy, had not cared about his physical appearance. The days of loving beer, song, and women were over for the sixteen-year-old ironman. Aeron''s divine transformation had made him devoutly devoted to the god in his watery halls. Now he is an austere, humorless young man who sees every breath as a gift that is wasted if not used to extol the virtues of following the path of the Drowned God. "He should have listened to you... A mistake I will not make in the future." Said the chosen champion of the Drowned God in response. Aeron''s older brother, captain of the Iron Victory, and lord admiral of the Iron Fleet, Victarion Greyjoy. Since the day they were both imed by a voice in the sea, the brotherly duo had be closer than ever. Both the priest and the champion of their God had shown some minor skills to their brother Balon, to impress him and gain further privileges that would serve their true purpose. They met in great secrecy to discuss matters that only they could understand... Victarion made sure to protect his guide and the voice of his God. Aeron to lead the chosen ones on the right course across the seas. "A very creative trick to halve the Iron Fleet''s naval power. Are you sure we can''t at least make our prisoner the mastermind of that n? He might prove a useful booty in the future... " Victarion. "No... He is an enemy of our God. Balon is still our king by all thews of the sea. We will not disobey hismand. When he falls, we will pursue another course." Aeron. "How many captains will follow us on that course?" Victarion. "Fourteen captains and fourteen ships." Aeron. "A small number... " Victarion. "Only the most worthy believers of our God will serve us in this mission entrusted to us by the one true God." Aeron. "Aye, but we''ll still have to find others in the future to give our god what he demands..." Victarion. "We will... but before we embark on that journey, let us carry out our King''sst order. The Drowned God also ims that tribute before us." Aeron. "Nothing will save that tribute from its fate... Unless a stormes." Victarion. "The Drowned God has heard my prayers, brother. The Storm God will not hinder your hunt." Aeron. "What do Naga''s bones say? Good omens or bad?" The Captain. "Both... Can you see it too, Brother?" Aeron asked, pointing to a small green halo less than seven hundred feet from the bow. A glow that only two Iron Inders could have noticed. And they were both aboard the same ship at that exact moment. "Yes, I see it... Another chosen one? What god does he belong to?" Victarion. "False Gods... There is one and only one true God that matters, brother. The Drowned God. I believe he is a man from the North. A chosen one of those who call themselves ''Old Gods''... Gods who are made of wood." Aeron. "Wood is used to make ships, not to be worshipped. The tree-lover stands on foreign soil that is poisonous to his saplings. We will cut him down." Victarion. "You may underestimate the worshippers of the Old Gods, but do not underestimate the one who defeated Denys Drumm." Aeron. "So that little boy, Bloody Snow, is their champion... That''s why he managed to beat Denys in a duel. How many blessing processes do you think he underwent?" Victarion. "He seems to have the same intensity as you... I think he has already been called back five times. Just like you..." Aeron. "It doesn''t matter... I have defeated Denys before and I possess divine powers on par with his. His tricks won''t work against me. I have my ax, our god, a better ship, twice the number of their men, and you... There will be no sunrise for the Champion of the Old Gods. He will awaken reborn in the dark abyssal halls of the Drowned God." Said the 30-year old wearing his helmet in the shape of a Kraken''s head. Victarion always wore full te armor in any fight. He was one of those few Ironborn who was not afraid to fall into the sea and be dragged into the depths of the abyss under the weight of their armor. Aeron also wore armor. The Drowned God had also granted him the ability to adapt to heavy armor, as well as giving him the martial knowledge of the trident and the. Aeron had not yet been imed from the sea for the fifth time, like Victarion. He was not yet ready. He would have to face another test. He was sure that this was the test his god had assigned him to be worthy of increasing his powers one more time. The divine magic of the second circle was powerful, of course, but the priest felt that at the next step he would have ess to powers incredibly superior to these. Powerful weapons and means to serve the Drowned God more effectively. A holy mission had been entrusted to him. The world was to know and worship their God. It was time for false idols to fall. All peoples had to worship their God if they were ever to set foot on a beach. The Sea and the Oceans belonged to the servants of the Drowned God. This was the message Aeron had tranted when he prayed for three days and nights on the open sea in total solitude. His brother Balon was a faithful believer in the Drowned God and the Old Way, but he was not the chosen one. The True King of Salt and Stone was not Balon. That was why the Iron Inds would be drowned in blood in this war. But after that necessary sacrifice, they would rise again. Aeron had informed his brother of the likely fall of the Sea Throne and their brother. He had already epted that hard truth. Victarion also knew that it would be his turn to lead their people in the future. He was to be the chosen one of the Drowned God to sit on the throne of salt and stone. Only then would their people and their faith prevail. "What is dead may never die," Aeron said, waiting for his future king''s reply. "... But rise again, harder and stronger." End POV. ------------------ POV: Pdin Of Old Gods; Hope Lighthouse, is about ten miles from Pyke Harbour. About thirty minutes before Victarion''s ship managed to reach their target... By now, all we could see was Iron Victory. It was still a couple of hours before dawn. It was certainly the darkest part of the long night. The fires burning on the enemy ship gave us a clear view of the Iron Victory. We had lost the remaining twelve ships in that small fleet by at least two miles. Even if the battle had started at that exact moment, the Ironmen reinforcements would not have arrived until ten minutes after the battle began. ording to Davos, Victarion would not reach us for another twenty to thirty minutes. It was a constant head-to-head on speed. Ser Davos had the harpoons dropped and everything that wasn''t extremely necessary emptied. The ship was beginning to feel too light. By sacrificing stability and risking massive damage to the ship''s hull, our great captain had managed to gain another half-knot of speed. Of course, there was a price to pay... By now, almost half the Frost des and a quarter of the crew had given up. The jolting of the hull was so violent it made even experienced sailors seasick. At least a dozen waves had already hit almost every crew member on our ship, including myself. But we had to hold on... If wested at least another thirty minutes, our realistic estimate was that our reinforcements would also arrive at the same time as Ironfleet. Then victory would have been ours. But the bloody price we would pay for that victory was yet to be decided. After a couple of minutes, I noticed something that troubled me deeply... A couple of lights that stood out from the others and that I hadn''t noticed before... Two lights that could not be generated by ordinary light sources. ''Fuck!... I knew that Victarion could be a possible ''''Pdin of the Drowned God'''', but I didn''t think that Aeron would also apany him in this fight! How could I have missed the double light! This miscalction could have cost us all our lives.'' I thought while keeping a cool head. It was no longer the time to hide the cards. I would soon have to y everything. If Aeron had already reached the fifth cleric level, he would be an even bigger threat than Victarion. The area spells of the third circle were not to be trifled with... Luckily for us, it seemed that one of the two lights was less intense than the other. There was still hope. ''If we fought in a 2 vs 1, I don''t know if I would be able to win. If well-coordinated, a Cleric + Pdin party can be deadly. Even stronger than a Mage + Warrior of the same level in this specific situation. We''ll have to fight dirty and dishonorably to get out of this alive...'' I thought with slight shame. In the past, I had already thrown a few nasty punches at my opponents, and I would have no problem using even dirtier means. But in this situation, I really should have brought out the worst in myself...'' I thought. ''Good thing Zick won''t be here to witness this dishonorable debacle.'' I thought out loud. "Excuse me, Lord General?" William asked beside me. "... The enemy is more dangerous than I imagined, William. We must bring out the heavy weapons." I exined. "Do you mean ''The Casket'', my Lord?" William asked with astonishment and a slight hint of fear. Indeed, we had only practiced this kind of tactic in theory. The practical exercise would have cost too much in gold and resources. It had taken Qyburn six months of work and over eight thousand gold coins of rare materials to create that one-off chest. I had exined to him in broad strokes what kind of weapons were inside that chest that only the key currently hanging around my neck could open. "Yes, William. We will use Ser Qyburn''s chest... How many goggles and protective masks do we have with us?" I asked. "... We have enough masks for everyone, but we only have thirty-four goggles left, General." William. "Then Ser Davos, and the sixteen sailors least fit forbat, are to remain tightly sealed inside the Captain''s cabin. Begin distributing the goggles to everyone and foretell what will happen in this battle, Vice Commander William... Pandemonium will break out on this vessel shortly." I said stating a certainty. "Yes, General!" William did not hesitate for a second. He prepared to carry out my every order to the best of his ability and in the shortest possible time. When I made sure I was alone, I said in a low voice in the direction of Iron Victory: "You like to y rough, venerators of the Drowned God? Dirty game it is. You may have more divine power at your disposal, but I''m far more experienced in this game than you are. Go ahead, take your dice and ''Roll for Initiative''." End POV. -------------------------------------------------- POV: Pdin of Drowned God; Iron Victory. Less than a hundred feet from their prey ship. About twenty minutes after a chest was opened with great care and attention... "ARCHERS, FIRE!" Shouted the ship''s quartermaster, Nute ''The Barber''. He was Ironman''s best marauder under Victarion''smand. A boy in his early twenties who was so adept at throwing an ax that he could even cut strands of hair without drawing a single drop of blood. It was already the fourth wave of ming arrows the Iron Victory had fired at the ship. The fire had hardly taken root anywhere. In all likelihood, every inch of that ship was soaked in seawater. The enemy had not yet responded to the attack. A few sailors and men could already be glimpsed taking cover in many ces on the waiting ship. They''re looking for a melee so... You should never give the enemy what he''s looking for. But... I prefer a melee too!'' Victarion thought excitedly. Every inch of his body was protected by a thick sheet of steel. That armor alone weighed at least seventy pounds. A more than bearable weight for the mammoth Victarion Greyjoy. He was only three inches short of seven feet in height. His chest was as broad as a bull, his arms long and thick. He was probably the strongest man in Pyke. Immediately after the battle against the Royal Fleet, in which the Iron Fleet was defeated, Victarion was summoned for the fifth time by his God. The same painful process that increased his divine gifts. And for the fifth time, a numerical list appeared before him. Willpower and charisma had increased from five years earlier. His statistics cited: Strength: 20 Dexterity: 12 Constitution: 18 Perception: 14 Will: 16 Intelligence: 11 Charisma: 15 Victarion was always a little annoyed by that eleven in intelligence, but he was also aware that he was never the most cunning and wise of the Greyjoys. As a young man, he only had an interest in reading texts about maritime notions and warfare. Everything else was unimportant and boring... He could leave everything else to the cowardly rats in the libraries. He was a man of action, not knowledge. Luckily for him, he could also count on the help of his brother Aeron. His younger brother knew every sacred Drowned God text by heart. Not surprisingly, Aeron had an honest [15] in intelligence. "FIFTY FEET TO IMPACT!" Shouted the boatswain. "All right... MEN! PREPARE! LET''S REMIND THOSE FLEEING COWARDS WHY THEY SHOULD NEVER COME NEAR OUR SEAS!!!" Incited Victarion, gathering over fifty men ready for the assault. "YEAARGH!!!" Replied the marauding Ironmen. "THIRTY FEET!!!" Warned the boatswain. "READY WITH THE BRIDGE!" Victarion. The men obeyed. Immediately four crew members positioned themselves at the edges of the two levers. ''They still maintain a high speed... They do this to lessen the force of impact between the two vessels... They have a capable captain. But that still won''t save them... '' Victarion''s bloodlust was through the roof. He was one of the few warriors from the Iron Inds who could maintain control of his emotions and unleash a murderous aura at the same time. Only Denys Drumm was a real challenge for him on those inds. And he couldn''t wait to cross axes with the warrior who had imed his life. Nothing was more thrilling than this moment. Facing a true warrior in his chosen terrain, with the smell of the sea breeze, the salt spray on his face, and the cold wind helping to cool his steel and leather-d body. The man had been born to raid and fight at sea. "TEN FEET!" Boatswain. "Now brother..." said Victarion picking up his shield and ax. Aeron prepared to perform the first support spell. A second circle spell that didn''t require concentration. The duo had to be careful not to get too far apart. If they were more than sixty feet away from each other the spell would end. Aeron performed the first divine magic. [Warding Bond.] The Drowned God''s priest could only use a maximum of two more spells from the second circle and four from the first. But they were more than enough for this battle... "IMPACT!" The boatswain. A bump shook the craft, causing a couple of men to lose their bnce, but they promptly got back up afterward. "NOW! LOWER THE DECK!" The levers were released. An iron harpooned bridge lowered onto the enemy ship, hooking firmly into the wood. "ATTACK!!!" A dozen men in the front row charged across the twenty-five-foot-long bridge at the far end of the bow. "Nute. I always want you and at least six men to stay behind to protect Aeron. Clear?" Victarion. "Yes, Captain!" Nute unsheathed his double-throwing axes remaining a few steps behind his captain''s brother. Victarion charged forward. It was already his turn to board. The Iron Victory was at least five feet taller and almost twice as long and wide as the Longship stolen by the enemy. They could easily dock at the top of the stern. And so they did. The docking was simple and clean. Even too clean for Victarion''s taste... Already on deck, the man hardened by a hundred battles on enemy ships sensed that something was wrong. He could not yet hear the ng of steel or the usual cries of a fierce struggle. Together with ten other trusted men, the Pdin of the Drowned God had finally arrived on the enemy ship. All his men were still there safe and sound. But they seemed to have regrouped and stopped for some reason. No need to ask... Victarion was also slightly impressed. The enemy had gathered waiting at the bow in full formation... but that wasn''t what stopped the pace of the ironmen charge... It was the faces. All of them wore strange, never-before-seen masks in the shape of bird beaks and strange ss visors. A very disturbing and peculiar sight. There were at least thirty armed men in five rows, with one boy wielding a prized red bastard de at the head of the group... Victarion stepped forward. "Ready to greet us, smiling tree lovers. Are you Bloody Snow?" The Captain asked, taking the opportunity to meet his future opponent in person. It was an event more unique than rare. Never before had an Iron Victory assault been so ''diplomatic and calm''. "I am, squid lover." The boy replied. "Why are you wearing those masks? Don''t you want to show your terrified faces during the fight?" Victarion asked, taking a few steps forward. Several of his menughed with predatory looks. The two sides were well aligned. The Ironborns had also had time to gather, but unlike their enemy, there were more than sixty of them. Aeron was safely in a high position above the quarterdeck at the stern along with his chosen guards. From that position, he could easily have a clear unobstructed view for his spells. "Partly yes, Captain..." The man was surprised and confused by the answer he had just received. But then the boy added: "Another of the reasons is to protect all of us from blindness and the unstoppable urge to vomit up our entrails as well... NOW! FIRE AT WILL!!!" Chapter 85: Drowned God Vs Old Gods Chapter 85: '' Drowned God Vs Old Gods '' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. Sorry for the dy. Yesterday I spent most of the day doing paperwork for work... I''ll try to catch up before the big day arrives. I would like to thank to: [moku8]! [Patrick Rodriguez]!! [Sdri]!! [scared_potatoes]!! [AvidReader962]!! I don''t know who you are guys, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! Thanks again. (Fear not. I will stop and thank only the first ten! Ahahah! ) For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. But if you feel the visceral urge to do so... Well, do it. AHAH! P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -5 days!!! ( Job is Coming)) Happy reading! ------------------------------------- POV: Pdin of Drowned God; Enemy ship. About two seconds after the enemymander gave an attack signal... There were less than twenty-five feet of distance between the two opposing front lines. The ship, in its entire length, measured about seventy-five to eighty feet. Not among thergest and longest in the Fleet. The Iron Victory measured over a hundred and ten feet and was at least ten feet wider. The marauders of the Iron Inds'' seas were unmatched in battles fought on the water. Theycked coordination and discipline, but they made up for it greatly in their ability to move and fight on a ship. Axes were the best weapons to use in that confined, undting space. And no one could use short axes better than the Ironborns. They were not seasick and they knew how to keep their bnce. Sea air was the best those warriors could breathe during a battle. But now... unfamiliar, much more inhospitable and unexpected terrain wasing their way. Victarion could see through the slit in his helmet, half a dozen orbs descending over their heads. ''Oil? Do they want to set us on fire on their ship?'' He thought instinctively, believing that his enemy had made a major misstep. "SHIELD!!!" Roared the captain. A score of men wielding the rectangr shield with Greyjoy crests raised their shields to protect their heads and those of theirrades in arms. The spheres shattered as if nothing had happened... The containers were very fragile. Several greyish clouds red up in several ces... The effect was instantaneous. Victarion felt a zing fire form in his mouth, throat, and lungs. His eyes stung and burned like never before... Beyond that, the stench of those clouds was unbearable. Even rotten fish mixed with horse dung and left to rot for days in the sun couldn''tpare to that unbearable stench. It was certainly the most unpleasant smell that had ever touched his nostrils in his entire life... and Victarion rarely lived among the smells that the upper sses of Westeros rated as ''Pleasant''... "MY EYES!!!", "Bleeearghh!", "Burn!!! Cough! Cough! Argghh!!!", "I CAN''T SEE!!!", "What the fuck is that smell of shit?!" "Sputh! Blearghh"... A cacophony of harassing, suffering, and cursing noises erupted between the first three lines led by Victarion... At least thirty of his fellow soldiers had been seriously affected by the poisonous cloud. Another dozen men were desperately trying to get as far away from it as possible. A couple of men even charged forward in the direction of their enemy as desperate and confused as they were. Aggressive gagging, which prevented many from even breathing, undermined at least half of that vanguard. Some even began to vomit blood - chaos, pain, stench, and despair everywhere. Others threw themselves into the sea... The protective spell his brother Aeron cast on him before the battle began helped Victarion to a great extent... But he was suffering damage as well. And if he was suffering, it meant that his brother was also in the grip of the same damage. His divine support was transmitting half the damage to the spellcaster protecting him. He had to do something, and fast. ''FUCK! I CAN''T RESIST! ...'' Victarion thought, instinctively activating one of his divine abilities. {LAY OF HANDS!} The Drowned God Pdin immediately used 2/5 of the reserve of that skill. Two adverse conditions: blinded, and poisoned, were instantly cured. However, the captain was still in the middle of that fog, which not only continued to poison him and his men but also made his vision obscured. Victarion was forced to use a second circle spell as well. {Protection from Poison} A feeling of relief washed over the pdin''s entire body. Now the poison waspletely neutralized, and his body would withstand further doses of poison much more effectively than before. It was as if, before the spell, he was walking barefoot on a beach full of small sharp stones instead of sand, and now that the spell was active, he was wearing stiff leather boots. "CROSSBOWMEN... SHOOT!" thundered a voice familiar from who knows where. Victarion instinctively raised his shield, though he did not know from which direction the arrow darts mighte. A dart impacted Victarion''s shield, one of the few still left in the front line. The enemy had no clear target either, but they would have decimated his men if they had stayed there long. They were at an absolute disadvantage... "BACK!!! RETREAT TO THE STERN!" Victarion roared. He only saw three or four figures who still managed to find the strength to obey themands. At least twenty men remained on the ground, groaning or even vomiting their entrails. What kind of weapon is this! I''ve never seen anything like it! Will they have more spheres at their disposal?!!'' Thought the captain urgently. Victarion was backing away, trying to breathe as little as possible. His eyes continued to be bothered by a slight burning. Now that he was clearer, Victarion recognised simrities to the effects of hot chilli peppers. A spice that, when used in high doses, could even blind you for brief moments. He had raided many a spice ship in the past. The most expensive spice on the market was the chilli pepper. One of the most sold ingredients in Dorne. "STEP FORWARD!... AIM... SHOOT!" About twenty figures were within thirty feet of Victarion... The enemy was approaching the cloud. Now they had a better view... "ARGH!!", "UGH!", "HELP ME!", "DART!!!"... The huddled ironmen began dropping like flies. Victarion parried another pair of arrows. Another pierced a sheet of metal in his shoulder strap. The point did not reach flesh, but it was close. Even for the pdin''s heavy armour, reinforced by a protective spell, the prative force of a close-up dart was too much. ''Shit! I have to retreat!!!'' He shouted a veteran warrior''s instinct when he saw that at least five crossbows were aimed at him and ready for a third offensive discharge. Victarion threw himself behind mast for cover, and immediately activated a second spell from the first circle. {Expeditious Retreat} The pdin''s walking speed doubled. He had no choice, he wouldn''t have wanted to leave his men at the mercy of the enemy, but he couldn''t face twenty enemies armed with weapons capable of wounding him alone. Not to mention the fact that another pdin armed with the Steel of Valyria was waiting to greet him somewhere. The battleground was too much of a disadvantage for Victarion. He had yet to execute a single sh, and already he was forced to use almost a third of his supernatural abilities... ''Damn that vile brat... Only cowards, women, and dornians use poison!!! YOU WON''T GET A QUICK END, BLOODY SNOW!!!'' End POV. ------------------------------------------------------------ POV: Pdin of Olds God; On the Lighthouse of Hope ship. About ten seconds after the third volley of arrows was fired... It was time for the melee attack. William and de[3] were at my side. We were the three best des among the eighteen warriors who were about to face the bewildered enemy. Six were left behind with bows. Soon the fog would be lifted. The two ships were still moving, albeit slowly, and a light wind was blowing from the east. It was a matter of seconds before Qyburn''s weapons were thwarted. We had only two more smoke bombs. Each had two separate mixtures inside it, which, as soon as they came into contact due to the breaking of the ss sphere, would immediately change from liquid to gas. A biochemical weapon mainlyposed of two nts: ''Peponia Rancida'', a rare herb that only grew in the bordering marshes of the Sea of Sighs, near the ruins of Valyria. A grass that had adapted to the high concentrations of sulphur in the air. No herbivorous animal approached such a nt. Its secretions gave off a stench far more ferocious than those produced by a skunk... If someone had generated fumes by burning that nt and had inhaled at the top of his lungs, he would have vomited his soul even if that man had been born without an olfactory apparatus. Vomiting is more ferocious than a stomach pump. And ''Zamettar pepper''. Chilli is more unique than rare, which would have driven the Scoville Scale crazy. Probably even three times hotter than the ''Carolina reaper'', the hottest chilli in my old world... It was only grown among the nefarious and inclement savannahs of Sothoryos. With a current market price of four hundred golden dragons an ounce... Even a veteran fire-eater from Dorne would cut out his tongue if it so much as touched the skin of such a berry. Having particles extracted from Zamettar''s chilli oil in my eyes and digestive tract must not have been pleasant. I could already see the beginnings of swelling on the faces of many of the ironmen. Those two dozen men who had had the misfortune to inhale a couple of puffs of the poisonous mist were already doomed. If they had not been killed by a de, it would have been by dehydration andck of oxygen due to the constriction of the pharynx. Less immediate than the Wolfbane, but just as effective in the long run. I activated a Buff spell on myself, William and de [3]. {Bless} Now our trio was deadlier than ever. Our des were bloodthirsty. Now we were ready... "ATTACK!" I shouted, pointing my sword forward. All the Frost des threw down their crossbows and drew their new short des of Damascus steel, following me in battle formation at a rapid pace. We had to draw attention to ourselves... Twenty-six ironmen left at the mercy of the fog were ughtered like cattle. The fog was almostpletely lifting... Fifteen feet away, the enemy was also regrouping. Of the formerly valiant seventy warriors, about half had already been neutralized by poison, arrows, and des. A couple had even thrown themselves into the sea in a panic. Victarion managed to regroup by gathering more men. About forty or so. Plus another dozen aft who were setting up with bows and arrows. I still couldn''t catch a glimpse of Aeron... "ARCHERS! DISCHARGE!" Our eight bows were already in position, and ready to fire unlike them. The eight archers fired a volley at the enemy bows, destabilizing the line of fire. At least three were hit, giving us precious seconds. All my fellow soldiers had been warned not to engage Victarion in battle. He was mine... Our des reached the target. An enemy with a blue [9] at the height of its size and brightness was waiting for me. That number was more peculiar than all the others.... The nine was positioned in the middle of five bright circles of different sizes. Each circle was an acquired pdin level, while nine was his basic fighter level. Even without the divine abilities, Victarion was a slightly stronger fighter than Denys. "COME TO ME BOY! TASTE THE FURY OF THE DROWNED GOD!" Shouted Victarion, bringing down his first sh from above. His one-handed axe was wider than ordinary. I dodged the blow, moving to my right side. I was forced to plunge my de into another enemy ready to support his captain from behind. I pierced his throat without hesitation... But Victarion took advantage... he had activated his second pdin skill: {CHANNEL DIVINITY}. The effect of that ability was obscure to me until his shield struck me from the side... It was a battering ram to my left side. I have swept away for almost ten feet and bumped into one of mypanions. "Argh"... I groaned in pain de[18]. I touched the man briefly, giving him a minimum of care. I was also bruised, but the damage wasn''t as extensive. He even managed to keep his concentration on my spell. "GENERAL ALERT!" de[18] sidestepped me and interposed himself between me and my opponent. All I saw was a blue-lit axe sweeping away my faithfulrade-in-arms... Victarion had immediately sought a winning blow by even activating [Divine Smite]. de [18] died with a single sh. "BASTARD!" I directed all the adrenaline of my rage at my legs to get up. I charged at that seven-foot-high pir of steel named Victarion... This was no time to hold back. [Eleven Gate Closures] My joints lengthened and flexed in an almost unnatural way. I spun around, taking four sword blows in quick session. One of them was parried, the other three reached the joints of my armour. With Zick and Bless'' technique, those blows were more urate than ever... However... an unnatural repulsive force stopped each of those shes. It was as if there was another invisible armour protecting Victarion''s body. ''He''s got [Shield Of Faith] on him!'' I thought immediately. Now Victarion was a real living tank. But I didn''t give up. I pelted Victarion with blows. The man could not keep up and almost gave up the fight. Nine... Ten... Eleven... No sh could prate that defence... I even managed to decapitate an ironman in range of my Deathzone, but barely managed to leave a few scratches on Victarion''s armour... At least my opponent was backing away. "AHAHAH! Hit all you want, boy! Nothing will hurt me!!!" Victarion. "Watch your step, my lord," I said, cleaving a whish from the Eighth Gate on one leg. There was a thick pool of blood with some guts less than a few inches away from Victarion''s left foot. The Captain lost his bnce. With incredible survival instincts, the ironborn rolled over in an instant, dodging a lunge that could have hurt him. But now I had the upper hand - it was time for more lethal blows. I wasn''t going to let him get up without paying a blood toll... After another burst of six blows, all set to create an opening, I sunk a seventh aimed at the joint of his left shoulder holding the shield. I gave up one of my three remaining first spell slots... [DIVINE SMITE!] The de passed through and sank into Victarion''s flesh at least half a foot in length. "ARGHHH!... you snotty bastard... You''re done dancing." Victarion relinquished his grip on his shield and weapon to grasp with both steel gloved hands, the red de of my sword. I hadn''t expected such a move - it was a premeditated trap by Victarion. I had certainly wounded him, and his hands were also bleeding... but it seemed the damage was less severe than expected. ''The asshole is also under the influence of Warding Bond!!!'' I understood an instantter. No human could have moved an arm when half of the shoulder joint had been severed... Unless half of the damage had been absorbed by someone! "UAAARRR!" The man managed to lift me into the air simply by thrusting the de. I was forced to relinquish my grip on the hilt. I rolled backwards... I saw my enemy tending to his serious wound. "As if I''d let you!" I drew my dagger and threw myself with the full weight of my body into the most ferocious lunge he could generate. I sessfully plunged two inches of the de into Victarion''s right knee. "The man was forced to urgently withdraw his leg on which too much weight was resting. I slid a sabre-rattling blow onto the new supporting leg, causing the giant to fall backwards onto the ground. Red Rain escaped from my opponent''s grasp. I managed to retrieve my main weapon. Victarion managed to back away just enough to escape the imminent danger... Then a thunderous and iprehensible voice reached the man, illuminating him with a blue glow. I turned in the direction of the spring, and there I saw him... The cleric of the Drowned God, Aeron Greyjoy. He was less than twenty feet away on the stern stairs. Four men stood in front of him with their shields raised to act as a wall. Aeron had just used {Healing Word} on his older brother, healing him almostpletely. "Ahahaha.! Good exchange, Tree Pdin... Really, I didn''t expect such a heated fight." Said Victarion calmly picking up the axe at his feet. Around us, the battle continued to rage. Dozens of other Ironborn had fallen on the field. Three or four of mypanions were also down. William was fiercely fighting two opponents at a time on the port side, leading eightrades. They were resisting twice their numbers. de [3] on the starboard side was facing a simr challenge. It seemed that more reinforcements had arrived in the meantime... The enemy had lost at least fifty men in these barely two minutes of battle. But... at least forty more Ironborn men were standing. The enemy still had the superiority of numbers. There was no longer any point in fighting with the mask on. Most of the men had thrown them down to breathe easier. After all, I was going up against a pdin, a cleric, and four of their men by myself. A 6 vs 1 battle... "You fought well, Bloody Snow... I didn''t expect such resistance. But now it''s time to reach the bottom of the deep... You don''t stand a chance. You are outnumbered, and as soon as you fall, the morale of your men will fall along with you." Victarion exined, taking a step forward. "... You are wrong, Squid Pdin." I replied, smiling. Victarion removed himself paused for a moment. He didn''t know if I was bluffing or not. Aeron intervened. "Let''s finish this, brother. A great danger is approaching on the horizon. Stannis''s fleet is less than three miles from us. We offer tribute to the Drowned God this miscreant and retreat." Aeron. "... Or no, no, no... You are going nowhere, my lords..." Me. "What are you rambling about, dead man walking? You have no chance of winning. That fleet won''t be here for at least a quarter of an hour." Victarion. "I''m not talking about the fleet, Lord Victarion... You''re right, you are numerically superior here on the Lighthouse of Hope... but I fear you have left Iron Victory too unmanned. You should look behind you..." I pointed to the stern. "WE''RE BEING ATTACKED FROM BEHIND!" "FORM UP!" "ARRGH!" "DEFEND LORD AERON!" "ATTACK!!!", "UUAARGH!!", "DEATH TO THE SQUID!!". Everything happened in less than three seconds. Ser Amon, along with four Frost des, the crannogmen, and fifteen other able-bodied fighting sailors had sessfully assaulted the enemy ship by attacking from the water without being noticed as they swam to the stern of the Iron Victory. There were only a dozen or so axes left to defend that ship. It was an easy victory. Only Ser Davos and a couple of sailors unfit forbat remained safely in their cabins. The remaining forty-eight sailors and warriors had taken the field. Now not only were the numbers bnced but the enemy was surrounded... Chapter 86: WE WILL DO THE SAME Chapter 86: '' WE WILL DO THE SAME '' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. I would like to thank to: [moku8]! [Patrick Rodriguez]!! [Sdri]!! [scared_potatoes]!! [AvidReader962]!! I don''t know who you are guys, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! Thanks again. (Fear not. I will stop and thank only the first ten! Ahahah! ) For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. But if you feel the visceral urge to do so... Well, do it. AHAH! P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -4 no... now -3 days!!! ( Job is Coming)) Happy reading! ------------------------------------- POV: Onion Knight; Lighthouse of Hope. About five seconds after Ser Amon Fury ordered the attack... Ser Davos, Heller, and Med were the only ones who would not take part in the battle. All three were fine sailors, but very poor weapons men. They would have been good only as arrow meat in that fight. But the trio would not stand idly by. They too had an important role to y in the survival of this crew. They had bolted the door to the ess cabin and were now waiting for a signal. A very specific signal that had to be shouted by one particr group. '' It''s him! Ser Amon has made it!'' ''''That''s the signal. Quick, to the bulkhead!... Heller what are you doing standing there? Did you hear me?" Ser Davos asked a helmsman of barely seventeen. "Yes, Captain... it''s just... Med and I were thinking that maybe... maybe this is the most suitable spot for the ship to take on water, Ser." Med, a deckhand, and apprentice carpenter, mute since birth, not much older than Med, nodded in support of hispanion''s idea. "... Phew... There''s no time to discuss this any further! This keel is made of seasoned oak! UNBREAKABLE! We only have two hammers and a few pickaxes to make a big enough hole. We could never..." Davos fell silent as he saw Med give a simple, sharp blow with a hammer on a piece of wood wedged between a couple of nks... Water began to ssh everywhere. ''Damn me and my prejudiced tongue!'' Davos thought as he observed enough of a hole to sink the ship in less than an hour. It would have been better if the leak had spread to a section of the keel. The ship would have sunk faster. "Well... Good work, young sailors! Forward! Let''s create at least two more holes and then, hurry to the lifeboat!" The two boys nodded and quickly set to work. They had already finished creating a passage between the holes for the oars. The rudder lines had already been cut. The lifeboat to carry the trio aboard the Iron Victory was ready. It was almost time to abandon the ship. About five minutester... A couple of men from Ser Amon''s team helped the trio board their new ship. There were only four sailors left to guard the craft. All the others were engaged in the melee of steel and blood. "Wee aboard, Captain Davos. Your orders, Sir?" Jude Pynkheart, the son of anded knight in Stannis'' service, asked. There were only seven of them, but they were the seven best sailors of the original fifty crew. ''Cut the lines! Four men at the oars. Two ready to raise the deck on my signal!" Instructed Davos with celerity. "Yes, Captain!" End POV. ------------- POV: The Pupil of Ramas; Lighthouse of Hope. Five seconds after an attack signal wasunched... It had been the most delicate part of the n. William, de [3], and the twenty-one warriors under theirmand had to fight on the defensive against Victarion Greyjoy''s crew. By now, the Vice Commander of the Winter Guardians had experience fighting against ironmen. These, by far, were the best axes the Iron Fleet had to offer. Each man was abat veteran. Even if they fought to win, the price in human lives would be high. William knew that his Lord General if he could find a way, would always opt for a victory with as few casualties as possible. And now, to achieve a victory without at least half theirrades perishing, they had to hold back. They had to make the enemymanders believe that victory was within their grasp... if only they could summon more men from Iron Victory. The task of William, de [3], and General Duncan was to hold off the most dangerous opponents for as long as possible. Currently, he, de [3] and their eighteen remaining warriors were holding off forty-one ironmen armed with axes and swords. As soon as the team led by Ser Amon had given the signal, then it would finally be time to unleash. They did not have to fight to win, but only to prate the enemy lines and leave them behind. The Crannogmen, and the crossbowmen, would support their unit from the Stern to cover their retreat. Lord Duncan had not only invested piles of gold in the sess of this n, but he was also currently facing one of the Iron Inds'' most feared enemies alone. But now was not the time to think about that... They did not have long before the Lighthouse of Hope sank. Ser Davos must have already started hammering the hull beneath their feet. "NOW!!! FOLLOW ME, MEN!!! TO THE ATTACK!" Thundered William immediately after plunging his de into the centre of his opponent''s sr plexus. "ATTACK!!! FOLLOW THE COMMANDER!" Roared de[3] immediately after she too had finished ying with her axe juggler. "UAAARHH!" Replied the surviving unit consisting of fourteen Frost des and four sailors. "STOP THEM! Maintain posit... Urgh!" A throwing knife hit the throat of the officer leading those ironmen. William was the arrowhead. He unsheathed both his short des and began to prate the enemy line at the weakest point. A man armed with a pike and another with an axe and shield tried to thwart William''s charge. Themander jumped to the side to find a foothold, and with an acrobatic leap, he leapt behind the duo, ripping open the mouth of the man with the pike. Thetter spun around to react, but as expected, de [3] did not miss the opportunity to stab the throat of the ironman from behind. A pair of needles and a crossbow bolt neutralised three more men on that side... The breach had been made. The twenty warriors of Westeros charged mercilessly like a burning de through butter. With one nce over his shoulder, William noted that at least eight more ironmen had been knocked down in the counterattack... but one man from Davos had not made it through. He had fallen to the ground with an axe in his back. William stepped up the offensive and threw himself at thest brick in that wall of flesh. He leapt at his enemy, plunging his des into the gaps between his neck and corbone. The man died instantly without being able to put up a fight. It was done - the passage was clear. ''FUCK!'' William ducked with all his might downwards... A throwing axe had been perfectly aimed at his face. A single instant and it would be game over for him. The boy even felt the edge of the de lightly scratch the top of his helmet... "Arghh..." Unfortunately, the axe didn''t miss its target behind William... A Frost de that William couldn''t immediately recognize, had been struck in the chest. A fatal wound... ''WHO FUC...'' William didn''t have time to curse. Another throwing axe was about to reach him. But this time William was ready... "SCKIIINGH!" The axe was deflected and countered. His master, Ramas, had been training William to fend off throwing weapons for months. Finally, he found the master axe thrower... He was just over twenty feet away from him. He was in his early twenties, but William knew from one look that he was one of the most dangerous opponents on the ship. His hair and beard were long but well-groomed. He wore only light armour of boiled leather and had three more throwing axes on his belt. He was currently fiddling with arger axe in his hand. That individual seemed more focused on protecting the Ironborn priest than fighting. Even so, the two of them squared off for a couple of seconds, exchanging provocative nces. Then the Ironman, whose name William didn''t know, gave him a mocking smile... "COMMANDER! I''LL TAKE CARE OF..." de [3] tried to say... but was immediately interrupted. "NO!... He is mine. I leave themand to you, de [3]!!" Ordered the protg of Ramas to charge headlong toward his chosen opponent. End POV. ---------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Nute the Barber; Lighthouse of Hope. Two seconds after a Vice Commander charged toward Nute... ''He has epted the challenge! Atst a valid offer to the Drowned God.'' Thought the Iron Victory quartermaster with joy and excitement. ''Come towards my fine axe boy... You need a good shave.'' Thest word of the sentence coincided with Nute''s first melee sh. The blow was dodged, and his opponent moved to the side, throwing a tiny knife straight at his face. Nute easily saw iting and dodged just as easily, but he didn''t see that his opponent had two throwing daggers in his hand. When Nute returned to his position, another knife was waiting for him, less than a foot away. A tenth of a second more and the Quartermaster would have lost his right eye. And the attack was not over. His opponent had already drawn a second long knife, which seemed to be very dangerous... But Nute did not back down. The two of them dodged and intercepted de blows at a rapid pace without giving each other a moment''s respite. The first blood had been drawn by the knife lover... The left wrist had been cut, but not too deeply. "Urgh... Fuck!" For the first time in this confrontation, Nute retreated a couple of steps. "Not bad, kid. I''m Nute... Nute aka ''The Barber''. The right arm of Captain Victarion Greyjoy." Nute said as he introduced himself. He wanted to show some respect to his worthy opponent. The boy remained silent for a few seconds, still maintaining a fighting stance... But then he too replied. "William. Deputy Commander of the Winter Guardians in the service of Lord Duncan Tallhart." The boy. "Well, ''Deputy Commander''. Shall we reopen the dance?" Nute. "Let''s dance." William epted the invitation, not letting Nute have the initiative. The opponent sought a lunge towards the centre of his chest. Nute moved to the left trying to return the blood debt from before. The first attack was a half feint. At thest second, William changed the direction of the blow by changing his grip on the handle... The dagger sank into the wood of a fence to provide a stable foothold for a high kick. Nute gave up the sh and ducked, but this time, he wanted to be the one to surprise his opponent... The Ironborn spun around and threw an axe at that nice, close, stationary target. But the bastard had foreseen it... Not only did he deliberately let himself fall backwards to the ground, but right behind him, there was a fellow Nute who was hit full on the left calf. "ARGH!!... NUTE, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?! NOO!!! URgh..." Wendel... one of Aeron''s three remaining personal guards, had been silenced by a sword strike from an enemy he was fighting with. It was as if Nute had given him that coup de grace... Now ''The Barber'' was pissed off. His opponent had foreseen everything... "BASTARD!!!" Nute charged like a fury towards William. "Now we''re even, asshole!" Replied the Vice Commander with a teasing grin. Nute had lost control of his emotions. He wanted to kill the bastard here and now. "EVEN IF I HAVE TO DRAG YOU MYSELF, I SWEAR YOU WILL REACH THE DEPTHS OF THE ABYSS TODAY!!!!" Shouted Nute as he cleaved axe blows like there was no tomorrow. His opponent dodged them all with ease and even managed to slightly cut Nute''s cheekbone. The Quartermaster drew his penultimate axe to match the des. The battle was fierce. After another minute, both fighters had dodged, parried and shed dozens of blows. None managed tond a winning blow. William had also been wounded, but more lightly than Nute. Time seemed to pass as slowly as msses. Every molecule of adrenaline was pumping. Nute''s survival instincts were beginning to ring more and more... He was losing ground. His opponent was getting too used to his fighting style, and he was falling behind. Then came the moment when William''s foot slipped slightly on a pool of blood... ''AN OPENING!!!'' Nute didn''t think twice. He unbnced himself forward to get a sh into his opponent''s left side. The blow went in... But something was wrong... No ''expression of pain... No vibration of the de tearing through flesh... It felt more like a rigid impact... "FUCK!" It was one of Nute''sst words... It was all a well-yed feint. William wanted the axe to hit that seemingly defenceless spot. But on that square inch of leather, there was a stud in the shape of a throwing dagger case. And it contained a steel de... Nute couldn''t even see the de that pierced his neck at the left blind spot... He didn''t feel much pain... more like shortness of breath due to the blood in his lungs... Nute smiled with a look of shock still on his face. He wanted to sincerely congratte his opponent... but he couldn''t make a meaningful sound. Only a few red bubbles of blood... Everything started to turn ck. ''The Drowned God ims me...'' Nute the Barber managed to think before losing consciousness. End POV ------------------------------------------------------------ POV: Former Captain of the Iron Victory. Lighthouse of Hope. Just after the fall of a Quartermaster... Victarion continued to be harassed by the torrent of shes the tree-worshipping boy kept generating around him. In twenty-five years of fencing experience, he had never seen anything like it. Victarion was forced to maintain a defensive posture with no chance to counterattack. He had managed to activate [Shield of Faith] on himself again, and his brother Aeron had empowered him with the spell [Bless]. But even so, the Drowned God Pdin could only withstand that unpredictable flurry of shes. Now that he wielded only his axe, without his shield of oak and iron, it was harder not to take damage. The brat had even severed a pair of his decorative hardened steel tentacles on his helmet. A deliberate move to force him to move more out of impetus than rationality... But he managed to resist the insult. You can''t keep up this pace forever! As soon as fatigue sets in, I''m going to tear you apart!'' Victarion thought as he parried another dangerous sh with his iron forearm. Even he, a veteran of a hundred battles who had seen death in the face dozens of times, was beginning to feel a sense of dread and helplessness in the face of this abnormal being. It wasn''t just his unnatural movements, but also his facial expression and murderous aura. That boy was not human... "CAPTAIN! THE ENEMY IS RETREATING!!! THEY''RE HEADING FOR OUR SHIP!!!" shouted one of his men, defending Aeron from Poppa''s constant darts. Victarion could barely find the concentration to respond. Every ounce of attention had to be directed at the eleven-year-old wielding Valyrian Steel mercilessly. "NUTE! STOP THEM!!!" Victarion managed to shout with a huge effort. "NUTE HAS FALLEN, CAPTAIN!" Roared his man urgently. "DAMN IT!!" Victarion could not even feel sorrow or resentment at the loss of his best man... Even Aeron could barely support him. If the enemy had approached him en masse, they could have even turned the tide with his brother''s special offensive skill... but the enemy seemed to avoid him like the grey disease. They only attacked him with ranged weapons. And the most valuable weapon that could have turned the tide of events was busy holding back a boy possessed by the Storm God... Victarion had to risk it... Defensive spells would soon dry up as well. He had no time. "MEN, ATTACK! TAKE THE STERN!!! Urgh..." A sh cut Victarion''s forearm deep... but at least his men responded to themand. He still had over thirty men-at-arms in strength. They could attempt another offensive. Then... finally it seemed that luck was about to turn in his favour again. The boy began to feel the effects of his unnatural efforts... He was backing away and panting at the same time. He wanted to fall back towards the stairs. "YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE ME, DEMON!!!" Shouted Victarion even managing to activate [Lay of Hands] to heal his seriously damaged arm. "GURIUSH! NOW!!!" Shouted the little boy. Victarion could see a small man pop out from between a couple of crossbowmen. He had a blowgun in his hand... and fired. A sparkle went past Victarion''s head, missing himpletely. "You should have entrusted your life to someone else, you brat..." Victarion said, advancing with great murderous fury. "You should take care of your younger brothers, Captain... Aeron seems to be in great trouble. Visdath Frog venom is very dangerous... "Said Bloody Snow backing away towards the stairs. Victarion turned sharply, and as announced by that demon, Aeron had been hit. A man was supporting him. He had fainted... The needle had struck him in the throat. He would have had no way to even use healing magic on himself... Victarion had no choice. He was the only one who could save his life... He gave up the chase and sprinted towards his brother, using thest 2/5 of [Lay of Hands] he had left on Aeron. Fortunately, he had made it in time. He had already pulled out the needle over an inch long. He had no time for thanks. Victarion demanded his revenge in response to all those insults and dishonourable acts he had suffered. He sprinted towards the Stern. The enemy was sessfully retreating. More than half of them had to be aboard his ship by now... He did not even notice the dart that had grazed his knee. He hurried up the stairs. Only Bloody Snow remained aboard that ship... The rest of the men were moving backwards on deck at a slow pace, continuing to unload poisoned needles and darts on his men. "MOVE! HE IS MINE!!! DO NOT INTERVENE!!!... FACE ME IF YOU DARE, BLOODY SNOW... OR RUN AWAY LIKE THE COWARD YOU ARE!" Victarion roared, trying to deliberately provoke his enemy. The boy stopped... and turned behind him, giving up on the bridge. "RAISE THE BRIDGE!!!" He shouted in reply behind him. The levers were operated... The bridge was rising and moving away from the ship. ''Now he''s trapped...'' Victarion thought. The Captain granted a nod of respect to his opponent. In return, as promised, he alone advanced towards him to confront him. Victarion charged at him with a sequence of swift and vicious blows. The boy, although visibly tired, still managed to defend himself well... perhaps even too well. Victarion understood immediately. "You''ve also activated [Shield of Faith]... but that won''t be enough! Ahahah... You''re mine!" Victarion said as he continued to push his opponent back. [DIVINE SMITE!] A blue light radiated from the Iron Man''s axe. He had just used thest spell slot in his possession. He wanted to finish him off in style. The glowing blue axe dropped with all the strength Victarion could muster. Surprisingly, his opponent also seemed to use a simr move to parry the blow. His red sword showed a greenish glow... "CLANGGH!!! SPUUNNNGHH!!!" In addition to a mighty ngour of metal, an unnatural sound of energy was heard... Two repulsive forces, one blue and the other green were in full contrast. But Victarion was much stronger physically... He sensed it... The boy would close shortly. "YOU CAN''T RESIST BOY! I''M STRONGER THAN YOU!!! AHAHAH! YOU SHOULD HAVE FLED WITH THE OTHER COWARDS! RHHUAAAAAAA!!!" Victarion pushed with every ounce of strength he could muster. The boy used his steel forearm to try and give his de support... One knee slumped to the ground... But the madman continued to smile. "You... Urgh... You are right, my Lord... Thank you for the advice." The smiling boy''s gaze shifted to frame another view. A middle finger rose from his left hand resting on the t of the de... Victarion had just been gesturing to fuck off. {Misty Step} A silvery mist appeared and the boy disappeared... Victarion''s axe nted itself on the ground... "Where the fuck did he go?!"... "CAPTAIN VICTARION!! I AM HERE, MY LORD!..." A loud voice came in the direction of Iron Victory. Victarion and other men looked out onto the ship''s dock. A boy was waving his hand less than twenty-five feet away from them. He was resting on the half-lifted deck of his ship. The distance between the two ships was increasing more and more... "ON BEHALF OF MYSELF AND MY CREW, THANK YOU, MY LORD, FOR HELPING US THROUGH THESE DIFFICULT TIMES. OUR OLD SHIP HAD SOME STRUCTURAL DEFECTS. BUT THANKS TO YOU AND YOUR BEAUTIFUL ''IRON VICTORY'', WE''LL BE ABLE TO REACH OUR ALLIES QUICKLY AND COMFORTABLY. THE SHIP CURRENTLY SINKING UNNATURALLY LOW OFF THE BOW... IT''S CALLED THE ''BEACON OF HOPE''... IT''S GOT A MANGY RUDDER... BUT WE''VE LEFT YOU THE OARS. WITH A LITTLE ELBOW GREASE... WHO KNOWS, YOU MIGHT EVEN BE ABLE TO ESCAPE THE ROYAL FLEET. LET''S HOPE THE DROWNED GOD HELPS YOU... REMEMBER, WATCH OUT FOR OUR SHIP. TAKE GOOD CARE, CAPTAIN VICTARION! WE WILL DO THE SAME WITH YOUR!!" Chapter 87: Promises are Debts. Chapter 87: ''Promises are Debts.'' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. I would like to thank to: [moku8]! [Patrick Rodriguez]!! [Sdri]!! [scared_potatoes]!! [AvidReader962]!! I don''t know who you are guys, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! Thanks again. (Fear not. I will stop and thank only the first ten! Ahahah! ) For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. But if you feel the visceral urge to do so... Well, do it. AHAH! P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -2 !!! ( Job is Coming) Happy reading! ---------------------------------------- POV: Robert Baratheon; Royal gship ''Fury'', less than two miles from the spot where a longship sank. About half an hour after a boy thanked a Captain... The King of the Seven Kingdoms was waiting for those valuable men in the service of House Stark and House Baratheon to board his ship, ''Fury''. A vanguard of over sixty ships, led by Lord Paxter Redwine, had alreadye into conflict with about ten Greyjoy ships that were unable to escape. The most impressive ship in the Royal Fleet. A three-decker war galley of three hundred oars. Above her oars is a deckpletely covered in scorpions. The upper part has catapults mounted fore and aft. A formidable and fast galley. Her sails are gilded with the crowned stag of House Baratheon painted on them. The Iron Victory, the war dromon currently nking the King''s ship, was also mighty, but could not hold a candle to the Fury. The ship, captained by his brother Stannis, was at least fifty feet longer, and seven feet taller. It could easily carry a crew of over four hundred men. A small procession of knights and lords were waiting to wee the brave heroes who had aplished such a feat. There was no need for verbal ounts. One simply had to look to the horizon and hear the shouts of jubtion and acmationing from a dozen ships. Ships Tallhart, Glover, Mormont, Redwine and Baratheon, were loudly cheering the verses rhythmically: ''BLOO-DY-SNOW'' Almost the entire Fleet and army of this expedition had learned of this mission by now. They had all been breathing down their necks for over three hours. The oue of that mission would determine the amount of blood tribute to be paid for the conquest of Pyke and the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion... A mighty light signal from a great fire could be seen from over there. at a point over fifteen miles away from the port of Pyke. His brother Stannis and his best friend Ned were waiting beside him. A short timeter, a bridge was safely connected between the two boats. A score of men climbed aboard... A boy just over five feet tall, wearing fine leather and steel chain mail armour, his skin and hair still stained with traces of ck paint and blood, stepped forward at a slow but steady pace. He carefully carried a piece of cloth that appeared to be ck and gold. When he reached a distance of about five feet from Robert, the boy knelt with his gaze down, holding out a tapestry as a gift. "The Iron Victory is yours, your majesty. The mission you entrusted to us has been aplished. Half of the Iron Fleet is trapped in Pyke Harbour, my King." Said the eleven-year-old in a humble tone. Robert epted the tapestry and quickly ced it in the hands of Ser Preston Greenfield, the kings guard currently closest to him. Then, with a serious look and tone, he said: "On your feet, Duncan Tallhart." The boy promptly obeyed themand and turned his green eyes with silver streaks in the direction of Robert''s gaze. Ned, too, maintained a firm, imposing presence simr to Robert''s, but unlike him, the Lord of Winterfell could not hold back a slight smile that expressed pride and serenity. "You have rendered great service to my Kingdom, hero of the North... Victory in the conquest of Pyke will belong to you. Ask what you want in return for your services, and if I can grant it, it will be given to you..." Robert said in an authoritative and audible tone. More than three hundred men stood still and silent. They all wanted to witness this scene by hearing every single one. Robert did not really know how to reward the boy... He had already wanted to give him a knighthood just for his victory on Bear Ind, but Ned had advised against it. It would have put both him and the boy in a difficult position. The Old Gods were revered in the North. To renounce them and be baptized in the light of the Seven. Also, for the first time since he had ascended the throne, Ned began to ask for favours. Some were barely mentioned and others asked with great precision... One of them was the matter of knighthood in the North... but they had postponed the matter for the celebratory wedding to be held in Barrowton less than three moons from now. Robert had not expected this. He knew better than anyone else about Ned. He was not the sort to call in ''favours'' for personal interests. He still didn''t quite understand why Lord Eddard Stark wanted a royal pardon for that ''Mance Raider'', or why he wanted to take on the burden of weing all the ''non-ves'' into thends of the Ironborn that no one else wanted. But he would have done this and more for the man he loved most in this cruel, sad, inclementnd called Westeros. He would help his best friend and brother of his beloved Lyanna in any way he could. He would even fight by his side in a deadly sh with no hope of victory if necessary... However, at that particr moment, Robert was in trouble. He knew ''The Quiet Wolf'', but he still didn''t know who ''Bloody Snow'' was really with. That was why Robert had to ask ''Bloody Snow'' himself what he wanted in return for his heroic actions that had saved thousands of lives and tens of thousands of gold resource coins. The boy, after remaining silent for a few seconds, replied: "Your Highness. I would have many requests that only you can grant... but not for me, my King, but the ''True Heroes'' of this war." Bloody Snow. Robert was surprised and intrigued by this statement. "Continue, Lord Duncan. Reveal whatever you wish." King Robert. "I would like you to grant pardon and forgiveness for Lord Rodrick Haw... the House of Haw has never wanted to rebel against the crown. The great victory at Bear Ind was also due to Lord Rodrick. It was he who warned us in time of the impending attack that could have brought about the end of House Mormont, my own, and that of my men. Many innocent lives were spared because of House Haw." Duncan Tallhart said aloud so that everyone could know the truth. Robert, Stannis, and all the other members of the war council had already been informed of Lord Rodrick''s contribution to this war. Even his father-inw, Lord Tywin, had struck a blow for House Haw. Lannisport and Ten Towers had engaged in numerous fruitful and peaceful trade exchanges over the past few years. Lord Rodrick himself had visited Casterly Rock a couple of years ago to negotiate with the Lord Protector of the West and forge trade alliances. House Lannister even received a raven warning of an impending attack on Lannisport. Unfortunately, the raven did not arrive in time to warn Lannisport, but it still gave House Lannister an hour''s head start to prepare aid and reinforcements. Varys'' spies confirmed that King Balon Greyjoy revealed the attack ns only to the Fleet admirals who wouldmand the expeditions. Even Lord Jason Mallister of Seaguard had been warned three hours before the Iron Fleet could be sighted. House Haw''s contribution to this war was indisputable. The King had received a ry from his Eunuch Spider, affirming House Haw''s support during the invasion. The seven hundred men defending Pyke beach would try to persuade and convince as many militias as possible to surrender during thending of the Royal army. Now that the real defensive threat had just been halved, the capture of the Pyke fortress would be the real military challenge. The harbour and the beach had already practically fallen. Resistance would be minimalpared to previous estimates. King Balon Greyjoy''s end had already been carved in stone. Although Robert didn''t let on, he wasn''t as stupid and unarmed in politics as he let on. He simply had no interest in the bureaucratic affairs of the Kingdom. He was a man of action and always had been. He was certain that he would have a brighter career than ''Bittersteel'', the legendary founder of the Golden Company if he had pursued his dream of starting his own sellswordspany across the Narrow Sea. After sitting on that ufortable piece of ironwork called the '' Iron Throne '', he felt lost and empty. He no longer had a purpose in life. Only Lyanna could fill that huge void. Whores, jousting tournaments, and alcohol were only palliatives to dull the pain of that suffering. If he had truly seeded in putting an end to the House Targaryen, so that he could once and for all im his revenge against the man who had dared to take his love away from him, he would have dly abdicated in favour of someone else and left that cesspit of a city never to return. Now, something else interesting had just appeared before his eyes. Robert had a strong feeling inside. That those ''Unexpected and Bizarre'' requests from Ned had been whispered into his ears by someone else. Varys had warned him and Jon Arryn some time ago that the heir to Torrhen''s Square was more than just a boy gifted in swordsmanship. The Master of Whispers had great difficulty obtaining information from thends of Tallhart and House Dustin. And for a little over a year now, he was beginning to have more and more difficulty obtaining it in much of the North. Although he had no concrete proof of his assumptions, Varys had wisely pointed out that all these ''Strangenesses'' and novelties in the North, began to appear right around the time of that individual''s maturity. Before the birth of the ''Bloody Snow'' legend, the spider had always managed to obtain information in thends of the Tallhart. During that three-year winter, the crown had no idea what had happened in the domain of that new northern power. They werepletely blind, and thest news they received about ''Bloody Snow'' was only that of his visit to Sunspear for trade negotiations with House Martell. ''Skilled at fighting and also good at moving in political games...'' Robert thought with a hint of respect. The boy''s open request concealed another indirect one... One that only a few on this ship could reveal. About six days ago, Robert was forced to participate in another boring discussion full of political deals. The most pressing question was [What to do with the Iron Inds after the end of the rebellion?]. If House Greyjoy had surrendered and bowed the knee to the King, perhaps Robert might have even granted a pardon. But Ned suggested a different scenario... The Lord of Winterfellid out facts and opinions of undeniable truth and foresight. It was not House Greyjoy that was the real enemy, but the Ironborn mentality and culture. That was the real enemy to be broken. Even if House Greyjoyid down their arms and bent the knee, it would not stop them from pursuing ''The Old Way'' in the future... There was nothing to stop the Ironmen from continuing to raid and plunder the seas and coastlines of the seven kingdoms in the future. They were not to defeat a king and his armies, but ''One Culture''. Soldiers might have fallen, but ideas would not. They would still be immune to the furious blows of Robert''s hammer. If they wanted to change the way of life of the Ironborns, they could no longer be led by a House whose motto was ''We Do Not Sow''. The Ironborns would have to be led by a man from their world who would guide them to a different path. No name was suggested then... But now, the name of the Lord had been announced and praised in front of many witnesses, thus gaining general approval. A worthy candidate for the title of ''New Protector of the Iron Inds'' had just been skilfully ''rmended'' to him. And no one among Robert''s advisors would oppose him. ''Eheh... The guy has a mind and a tongue as sharp as his sword.'' Robert thought with amusement as he eyed Red Rain''s well-responsive hilt at the side of the swordsman who had felled Denys Drumm in singrbat. Robert remembered well the night after the Small Council meeting, when his wife, Queen Cercei, had given herself to him with great passion and love. Cercei, after caring for her king and performing her conjugal duties well, gently whispered advice and requests to him. The greedy lioness snake wanted the ancestral sword of House Drumm to be given to her uncle Gerion... ''The True Hero of Bear Ind'' in her opinion... Or perhaps, to her brother Jaime, so that he could better protect the lives of the King and the royal family. Robert replied to her with fat thunderousughter that the ''Smiling Lion'', or ''The Kingyer'' could easily get the sword, but that they would only do so when they collected it themselves after beating the boy in a fair duel... ''''Granted. ''The Heroic deeds of Lord Rodrick Haw will not be forgotten... What other requests do you have, Lord Duncan?" End POV. ------------------------------------------------------------ POV: Ser Davos Seaworth. Royal gship ''Fury''. About two seconds after a boy thanked the King for the first royal concession... "My King... My second request is addressed to both you and Prince Stannis. The mission, which allowed your fleet to gain an easy victory, would never have been aplished without the help of the skilled Captain." The boy turned, turning his gaze to the Onion Knight. "Ser Davos Seaworth, one step please." The boy asked, stepping to the side to give the King an unobstructed view of him. Hundreds of eyes were turned towards Davos, who remained motionless due to the unexpected situation. A hand he could not identify pushed him forward slightly giving him the impulse he needed to awaken from his trauma. "My King, thanks to this man''s skills and knowledge, we were able to get within three hundred feet of the lookout ship guarding Pyke Harbor. It was thanks to him that myrades-in-arms and I were able to storm the ship and take it without the enemy noticing. And not only that... After we made our escape, we were quickly pursued by the ''IRON VICTORY''. The ship was captained by Victarion Greyjoy. The fastest and fiercest dromon in the Iron Fleet. And yet... with only twenty-five sailors under hismand, Ser Davos managed to hold his own against that ship, even snatching it from the clutches of the enemy with incredible ingenuity and wit... That is why I wish that ship, which rightfully belongs to you, to be given to that man. Ser Davos took it in your name, my king... And I ask you, Lord Stannis, for a chance to offer Ser Davos a ce at my table. I would like to negotiate an honest offer with you, my lord, for Ser Davos Seaworth''s services and loyalty." Said the boy in a tone of conviction, well audible, humble and respectful. WHAT? THE IRON VICTORY??! TO ME? That ship is worth at least fifteen if not twenty thousand gold dragons! The boy doesn''t have the slightest concept or understanding of the word ''SPUDORED''...'' Davos thought as he instinctively turned to take a single look at the war dromon, still in mint condition, behind him. A real voice suddenly interrupted Davos'' chaotic thoughts. "... I have no problem granting Ser Davos what he has earned through his efforts... but you will rightly have to argue with my brother if you wish to wrest such a valuable man from his hands. Ahahaha! ...Fleet Master?" Robert turned his head, seeking an answer from the man concerned. Stannis maintained his own hard, rough face that screamed ''Duty'' from every pore of his skin. The 25-year-old with balding issues took a step forward and replied: ''We will negotiate regarding Ser Davos'' services immediately after the conquest of Pyke, Lord Duncan. You have my word. Of course, Ser Davos will have to be in favour of this of his own free will. He is in my service, but he is not my property." The Lord of Dragonstone replied impably. Robert, Stannis, and Duncan were waiting for a nod of reply from the Onion Knight still stunned by the course of events. "Y-Yes, my Lord Stannis. I have no objection to that. Thank you, your majesty, for your regal gift." Davos replied, kneeling. Robert''s voice immediately followed the Knight''s reply. "Well then... this matter has also been resolved. Any other requests, Hero of the North?" End POV. -------------------------------------------------------- POV: A brave man of the sea. Royal gship ''Fury''. A few seconds after Davos took an honourable farewell... The Captain nodded with a warm smile at hispanion and friend, Ser Davos. He was genuinely pleased for him. Ser Davos deserved every honour he was given. Davos was a few years younger than him. Yet, although he was certainly more experienced than the man at sea, the man knew that he would never be able to create the same feats as the Onion Knight. Davos had a maritime intuition and knowledge that was hard to match. The ex-smuggler had never missed a breeze in the entire stretch of sea covered by the Lighthouse of Hope. He had even managed to guess the limit of lightness that the ship could withstand when they threw every unnecessary weight on board overboard. A few tens of pounds less, and the ship might even have broken up at that speed in those choppy, turbulent waters. Amon was happy. He had promised himself that this sessful venture would be thest of that dangerous expedition. Fortunately, Lord Duncan had given his word that he, Phil, Ruben, Edward and young Wex would no longer have to contribute to this military expedition. All of them would return safely to their families. And that was what Amon wanted most of all. He wanted to see his wife Cassy, his son Jory and his little L again. But first, he would have to buy each of his men a drink. He had decided that at least one of those ten gold coins earned from the mission, would be invested for fun and celebration with his trusted men. ''The fools who had chosen to follow the fool... If the King does not invest them with the title of Knights, I swear I will do it myself. '' Ser Amon Fury thought, looking briefly at his four bravepanions behind him. Amon thanked the gods for not iming any of his men in the heavens. He did not want to show up at the homes of any of their families to bring the news of their demise. Meanwhile, Davos repositioned himself at his side. "Congrattions, Ser Davos. You have earned it." Amon whispered. "You should not be the one to congratte, Ser Amon," Davos replied quietly, giving a gentle smile. "... What do you mean?" Amon. "Shh... Not now, Ser. Pay attention." Davos. Amon did as suggested and returned his focus to Lord Duncan and the King. The Boy began to speak in a stronger, more charismatic tone of voice, regaining the full attention of the entire ship. End POV. ------------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Royal gship ''Fury''. A few seconds before Davos stood up to take his leave... "Well then... This matter has also been resolved. Any other requests, Hero of the North?" Robert asked in the same tone as before. I knew in my heart that the mighty, authoritative man, d from the tip of his toes up to his neck in splendid, fine te armour, was beginning to get a little bored of the situation. I shouldn''t have overyed my hand. ''Fuck... only now did I think that this way, Myra and Helman will find out. My mother will tear me to pieces... Fuck it, that''s the price of fame... A promise was made. Promises are Debts. Debts are paid. ''And I Never Forget'' ...'' I thought beforeing forward. The Iron Inds business had not yet been closed. I still owed a debt to Balon Greyjoy and five other seamen. I double-checked the location of the man who had been pointed out to me quickly by Davos as we reached the king. Fortune was also in his favour. It was time to get serious bring out all the charisma I possessed, and step into the role of a great herald of a famous film. It was time to recall every teaching of Uncle Leobald. "Yes, my King. I have somest requests to make..." Chapter 88: Four Candles and a Torch Chapter 88: '' Four Candles and a Torch '' Hello everyone, here is a new chapter. I would like to thank to: [moku8]! [Patrick Rodriguez]!! [Sdri]!! [scared_potatoes]!! [AvidReader962]!! I don''t know who you are guys, but thank you very much for your support on Ko-fi!!! Thanks again. (Fear not. I will stop and thank only the first ten! Ahahah! ) For the remaining 14 days of freedom I have left, I''ll attach below the link to my Buy me at Ko-fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all for yourments and advice! Of course, none of you are under any obligation to donate. But if you feel the visceral urge to do so... Well, do it. AHAH! P.S. If you can leave a review for my Fanfiction, I''d appreciate it. Thanks in advance! -1 !!! ( Job is Coming) Happy reading! ---------------------------------------- POV: Jerry Storm. Royal gship ''Fury''. Just a second after Bloody Snow answered the King... The legendary hero Bloody Snow, the noble northern boy whose name Jerry had first heard from a bad, began his third request to the King. For a moment Jerry thought their eyes met. He wasn''t sure... He was in the front row of that circle of soldiers and sailors it was true, but there were many people around him. "Not everyone here knows, that originally, the main assault and retreat team of this expedition was to consist of fifty-six men... TWENTY-FIVE WARRIORS, ONE CAPTAIN AND THIRTY SEAMEN..." The boy stepped back a few paces, addressing the entire ship. The tone of his voice doubled so that all could hear his words. "THIRTEEN HEROES have fallen to this most dangerous undertaking... Seven in the service of the noble house Baratheon, five belonging to house Tallhart and one in the service of house Reed... we could all be dead by now or worse, taken prisoner. Do not doubt that, my friends. The madness and insanity of Balon ''the Usurper'' is such that he will use any means to remain seated on his stone throne and salt to make the worshippers of the Drowned God call him ''KING''... He would hang us on the walls of Pyke and use us as shields to prevent the boulders of our catapults from damaging his manor... Drown us in barrels full of water and salt to offer us as a tribute to the Drowned God, if it would allow him even one more breeze of wind in his favour... After we blockaded the harbour with wood and fire, I and Ser Davos and the fifty-four brave heroes in the service of the one true king would escape. And we would do so... aboard the only means at our disposal to reach you... our faithfulrades in arms. to flee like frightened fish from the hunger of the ''TEMIBLE KRAKENS'' ... and lure them here, where THE FURY OF THE STAGS! THE ICY BITE OF THE WOLVES! AND THE ROARS OF THE LIONS!!! WERE READY TO WELCOME THEM AND FIGHT ON EQUAL TERMS!!!!" "YEEESS!!!", "ARRGGH!!", "DEATH TO THE KRAKENS!!", "OURS IS THE FURY!!" Jerry joined the choruses shouting along with others the motto of House Baratheon. Spirits and emotions red up like a fire. All the attention of three hundred and sixty-six men and one woman was focused on a single point in the centre of the Fury. After the silence returned, the boy resumed his speech. "We had to retreat as quickly as possible by switching on every source of light in our possession. and only in this way could we draw attention to ourselves, and allow forty-nine lifeboats to retreat safely to within a mile of the Iron Fleet... We were to be a decoy... a decoy, which, with Ser Davos'' help, might well have emerged unscathed from such risk... and yet, a tragic turn of events befell us. TEN OF OUR SEAMEN... Ten men afraid of the enemy''s axes... fled... leaving us to our fate. Rather than reinforce theirrades and follow their captain''s orders, they chose to mutiny. A mutiny at the most critical moment of all." the boy was interrupted. "CODARDIES!!!", "TRAITORS!!!", "MEN WITHOUT HONOR!!!", "DEATH TO TRAITORS!!" the fire had just evolved into a ze... "I know, I know... QUIET COMPANIONS... Despite everything, I understand the choice of those men... They were afraid. Their fear outweighed their honour and courage... I bear them no grudge. I only hope that those men choose the path of redemption... and that they beg our King on their knees with all their hearts, that he may grant them the chance to regain some of that lost honour by serving a lifetime in the Knight''s Watch... They did not have to go on this mission in the first ce. They had already made a choice... AND THEY BROKE THEIR WORD. MAY THE GODS AND MEN FIND THE STRENGTH AND MERCY TO GRANT THEM FORGIVENESS..." "AYEE!" many nodded silently and others responded in support of those words. Several times his attention turned to the king, who seemed enraptured, like so many others, by this tale. "At least thirty able-bodied sailors were needed to have any hope of sowing the fastest fleet in the seven kingdoms. one less man to hoist those sails, or to tighten the right knots promptly at the right moment... and all would be lost... And only twenty sailors were aboard that longship. A ship we had chosen to call the ''Beacon of Hope''... Though hope was gone at that tragic moment... But we did not give up... we sent out distress signals, and even if they were not epted, we would still try to do the impossible for as long as possible. AND THERE... IN THE DARKEST HOUR... When not even the light of the moon or the starry sky could reach us... We saw them. FOUR CANDLES... FOUR CANDLES LIT BY A BRIGHTER TORCH! FOUR BRAVE AND VALIANT SAILORS, LED BY A HEROIC CAPTAIN... ANSWERED THE CALL. FIVE HEROES OF HOUSE BARATHEON!" The boy announced loudly, pointing to a spot behind him. The group following Bloody Snow stepped aside, giving way to a smaller group of five men. "YEEESSSS!!!!", "HONOUR TO YOU!!!", "TO THE FIVE HEROES!!!", "FOR HOUSE BARATHEON!!!". The boy took advantage of the wave of jubtion by asking. "DO YOU WANT TO KNOW THEIR NAMES?!" "YEEEAAARRGHH!!!!", "YESSS!!!!" the men shouted. Jerry immediately recognised the man in the middle of the group. He would never forget that face. It was Ser Amon Fury... the man who five years ago saved him in the middle of the sea near Dragonstone when his ship sank in the worst storm Westeros had ever known. Jerry and thirty-five other souls were saved on the high seas by that man''s courage. There was no doubt in his mind that he could be the man Bloody Snow so acimed. "Ruben, Son William, born and bred in the slums of Weeping Town. Edward, Son of Sam, from the vige Rain of the Brume. Phil, son of Philly, from King''s Landing. Wex, son of Emmon, from Bronze Gate. And Ser Amon of House Fury, son of Jed... THE SON OF A HUMBLE FISHERMAN OF ESTERMONT! FIVE HEROES, who had already done their duty to the best of their ability, and who could choose whether or not to retire without in any way being used of dishonour or cowardice... still chose to risk everything they had... their homes, their possessions, their loved ones and their very lives... everything they deserved put on the line to help the crew most at risk. That Ser Davos was able to turn the impossible into the possible. I would not stand before you today and tell you of such heroic deeds... I, Ser Davos and our thirty-three otherpanions would not be alive were it not for the bravery of these heroes... not only did they save us with the strength of their arms and their nautical skills, but they even fought valiantly in the fiercest battle I have ever witnessed. Ser Amon, Ruben, Edward, Phil, and Wex led a direct assault on the ''Iron Victory'', ripping the ship from the Greyjoy rearguard at the point of the sword. They allowed us, a meagre group of twenty men-at-arms surrounded by twice as many enemies, the chance to retreat to safety. Ser Davos may have devised the n to rout the Iron Fleet''s most feared ship, my King, but it was the valour of these five brave men that allowed it to be carried out... Four young heroes, led by a hero who had proven his worth before. A MAN who was given the knighthood and the name it bears on this very ship called ''Fury!'' five years ago... A hero who single-handedly saved the lives of thirty-six loyal fellow sailors during the most frightening and raging storm in the history of Westeros... ... IS THERE ANYONE AMONG YOU WHO CAN TESTIFY TO MY PREVIOUS CLAIMS ABOUT SER AMON?!" The boy asked, looking in Jerry''s direction. Jerry didn''t think a moment to step forward. "I!... I am Jerry Storm, my King... What you say, Lord Duncan is true. Five years ago, I was rescued by Ser Amon. He threw himself into the open sea with only a rope tied to his torso and risked his life in the most dangerous waters I have ever seen. I and my thirty-five otherpanions were saved by Ser Amon Fury. I swear it." Jerry said aloud as he knelt a few paces from King Robert. End POV. ------------------------------------------------------------ POV: King of the Seven Kingdoms. Royal gship ''Fury''. Moments after Jerry Storm''s testimony, he finished... "Your Majesty... I remember the events of that storm well. I invested Ser Amon with the knighthood myself. The heroic deeds spent at Dragonstone are true. I chose the name of the house, ''Fury'', in honour of the name of this ship in which Ser Amon served, and for the Fury of the storm that man did not hesitate to face." Stannis said, stepping forward and addressing his brother the King. "A true hero then... Lord Duncan, what are your demands then?" Robert asked, guessing where this perfect show was going. The boy took a step forward and knelt a few paces away. The tones of his voice remained high but lower than before. "Your Majesty... I ask you to grant honour and glory to the families and names of the Thirteen Heroes who fell in your name... Andstly... I ask you to bestow ''''Honours and Glories'''' that only the King of the Seven Kingdoms can bestow upon such five heroes who, by their actions, have allowed the fallen heroes to be remembered and honoured to be but thirteen... That is all, my King." Concluded the boy with perfect servile and humble etiquette to show a King. Everyone''s eyes shifted to King Robert Baratheon. '' Ahahaha!!! Is that all?... The boy is more brazen than me at his age!!! He yed everyone in the room like a harpist and now they''re all hanging on their every word!... Ned, my friend, I hope you realize what you''re up against in the North. I pity you.'' Robert thought as he looked around for a moment. While the King should have the choice of whether to ept or not, Robert''s hands were tied in this particr situation. The boy had sung the song so well, that even if he wanted to, he could not oppose the inevitability of those events. Ser Amon Fury was already a knight... If he had rewarded him with mere gold, which the kingdom''s coffers nowcked, it would have set a dangerous precedent. A king rewards his subjects with titles andnd. Moneylenders and vers are only rewarded with gold... And it was at this very point that Robert first felt ''politically disturbed''. There was another issue left unresolved in this story... It had not yet been decided, ''WHO'' would in the future take over control of Pyke Ind... House Greyjoy was to be ousted. Balon, Euron, Victaryon, Maron... and all Greyjoys who hade of age were to be deprived of life, or their rights. Death, exile, or The Wall... No other concessions. But the recement would still have to be a worthy party... A man who knew the sea, and could adapt to the lifestyles of the Iron Inds and take control. Someone who had not been given the silver spoon in his mouth, but who had snatched him from the clutches of his enemy with the strength of his hands, paying the ''Iron Price''... And now, not only had that boy forced Robert''s hand in granting the Iron Inds Protectorate to House Haw, but he was also directing all points at the future Lord of Pyke. And he had done it masterfully, bringing honour, respect and glory to the Crown and House Baratheon... If Robert had not made that man a Lord at that very moment, after Ser Amon had been painted as The Hero of House Baratheon, he would have set a precedent that would have undermined the morale of his loyal subjects for the rest of his days. I mean... what else did a poor man of humble origins have to do to earn the title of Lord?!... The spark of hope always had to stay lit. If that spark was extinguished in the eyes of ordinary people, chaos would break out... At best, Robert would be nicknamed from then on as, King Robert ''The Unjust''... ''The perfect man at the perfect time... Glorifying and bestowing trophies before the dawn of a bloody battle that could either raise troop moral to epic heights... or deny it by sinking it. A man from nowhere. who has earned what he possesses through sheer strength... in service to House Baratheon... a man who might be well-liked in the Iron Inds. a man of the sea. a man who has paid the iron price... A man who will be loyal to House Baratheon, but who will forever hold an unpayable debt to House Tallhart... I have the power to grant titles, but in reality, that boy granted them. By the Seven Hells... If this wasn''t a coincidence and that boy had orchestrated this from the beginning... I''d be looking at the ''King of Puppeteers''... the one who makes kings and queens dance in the palm of his hands. The scariest thing of all. It''s the message behind that song...'' Robert thought uneasily. Ten individuals had betrayed Bloody Snow, and ten individuals will be punished and damned for the rest of their days. Five individuals had helped Bloody Snow, and five individuals will be rewarded with glory and honours for the rest of their days. The message was not direct, but its meaning was on everyone''s mind by now. A thin, invisible veil of awe, respect and honour enveloped the name ''Bloody Snow''. Robert looked with concern at his closest friend beside him who was still smiling with carefree peace. Ned knew who his vassal was! Was the Protector of the North aware that he could be moved by the strings of that puppeteer? These were the most urgent questions that flourished in Robert''s mind. Now more than ever, he wanted to drown those nefarious thoughts in alcohol, blood and the virtues of a young floozy. ''And you, Ned, are you vouchsafing yourplete trust for him?! Gods save you, my friend. I don''t know if I can do that in the future... Not after today. I''d rather say: [Gods save us!] I am terrified to even contemte the existence of such an individual. I hope with all my heart that I am wrong.'' Robert no longer had time to indulge in the luxury of thought. "Let the five Heroes approach their King!" Robertmanded while maintaining an authoritative tone. Ser Amon and his men promptly obeyed themand. Bloody Snow stepped aside, leaving the stage to the real actors of the moment. "Ser Amon, step back... You four... Step forward one at a time and kneel. Ser Preston, my sword." Robert ordered. "Yes, Your Grace." The Kingsguard replied promptly. The faces of those five individuals were still shocked and unprepared by the course of events... At least Robert foundfort in that. A few secondster... "You... Your name." Robert. "Ruben, my King." Ruben the first man kneeling on the King''s left side answered. "From this moment until the end of time, you and all your descendants shall always bear the name [Iron]. Now kneel Ruben Iron... In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. Arise, Ser Ruben Iron, a Knight of Seven Kingdoms!" About a minuteter... "Arise, Ser Edward Price, a Knight of Seven Kingdoms!" ----- "Arise, Ser Phil Heart, a Knight of Seven Kingdoms!" ---- "Arise, Ser Wex Unfear, a Knight of Seven Kingdoms!" Thest of Robert''s first tasks had been aplished. Now it was the turn of the second. "By Royal decree... All families of the valiant thirteen heroes who died in the name of the King and the peace of the realm... will be rewarded with one hundred gold dragons each... Since those families have already paid the highest price to be paid, from now on, no member of said families shall pay any tribute to the Crown." Many men nodded in satisfaction and disbelief at this generosity. And the second step is taken... The penultimate step...'' thought the King. "Fleet Master!..." Robert turned loudly to his brother Stannis. "Yes, my King." Stannis. ''Imand you to have the ten traitors and mutineers who abandoned our Heroes in the field imprisoned and brought before me! I want them dragged to my feet before sundown tomorrow so I can dispense them the King''s Justice!!!" Robert. "At yourmand, Your Grace." Stannis took his leave to obey his ruler''smands. ''... And now thest one...'' Robert thought. "SER AMON FURY! Step forward... Your King and the Seven Kingdoms have another task for you, '' Ser ''... Will you answer the call of your King, Hero of House Baratheon?!" Robert asked, gripping his ceremonial broadsword more firmly. Ser Amon knelt on one leg, resting one fist on the ground and holding the second fist tightly to his chest. Only after fulfilling the proper ceremonial gesture did the man reply: "I will, Your Majesty. I swear it. I will answer the call in your name, in the name of the Kingdom, and name of the noble House Baratheon." "Then relinquish the title of ''Ser'', Amon of House Fury... for from this day, you shall be Lord. Arise, Amon of House Fury, new Lord of Pyke and Protector of his Isle... TO LORD AMON FURY, THE HERO OF PYKE!" Robert thundered, raising his broadsword to the sky. Lords, knights, soldiers and sailors... Everyone on the ship responded in chorus to the King''s hymn, raising whatever weapons they had at hand to rhythmically repeat the gestures of their King. "LORD FURY!!!" "LORD FURY!!!" "LORD FURY!!!" "LORD FURY!!!" "LORD FURY!!!" Chapter 89: Protect Lord Jorah! Chapter 89: '' Protect Lord Jorah! '' Hello, everyone. Here''s another chapter! I had already sketched it out a littlest Sunday. Maybe I''ll be able to publish another one this Saturday. From then on, I''m afraid I''ll only be able to post one a week. Please don''t let my bosses know that I ''Hate My Job''! In case any of you can help me, I am attaching my Ko-Fi link. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all and happy reading!!! P.S. I have just reached 300,000 words!!! Yeeaargh!! Thank you all for following me here! ---------------------------------------- POV: Balon Greyjoy; Fortress of Pyke. About three days after a fisherman''s son was made Lord... "Well? Has anyone answered our ravens?" The King of the Iron Inds asked his second son. Little Theon and Yara were also present at the meeting. "... Yes, father. None of the vassals who responded will be sending reinforcements... House Haw, House Drumm, cktyde, Botley, Tawney, Orkwood, and Saltcliffe have lowered their war banners and surrendered to Robert... It''s over, father... We have lost." Maron replied in a dejected tone, his gaze turned to the granite floor. Balon got up from his seat and pped the sixteen-year-old with a violent backhand, knocking him to the floor. "IT''S NOT OVER UNTIL I SAY IT IS! YOU''RE TALKING TO YOUR KING!" Balon shouted as he looked around at the other members in the room. Only a handful of captains had managed to retreat to the safety of the fortress. Maron jumped up with an angry look on his face and replied: "We have lost, my ''KING''!!! The harbour and the beach have been conquered! We have no news of the Uncles, Victarion and Aeron! Euron is a prisoner in Casterly Rock! We have no ships. A dozen of them fled before the enemy arrived... Half our men on the beach threw their weapons ashore before the battle began... We have less than two thousand men left!!!" "We have PYKE! Our fortress has never been conquered! What is dead, shall never die!" Balon. "The fortress?! Open your eyes, father! Lookout and see fifty thousand men preparing to build: Siege towers! Catapults and Trabhi! We don''t have the strength to repel them... Even if they starve us out, we''ll only be able to hold out for two moons at most before we tear each other to pieces! WE MUST SURRENDER!" Maron. Balon struck the boy again several times. "Urgh!", "Argh!", "You''re crazy! AArgh!" Screamed the helpless sixteen-year-old on the ground. "YOUR BROTHER RODRICK!... WOULD NEVER GIVE UP!" Shouted Balon between punches. Then Balon stood up with a murderous look on his face and continued to vent his anger and frustration at his flesh and blood. He kicked the poor boy''s stomach consecutively until Yara interposed herself between the two. "Anf Anf... Get out of my way, Yara! The punishment for your brother''s cowardice isn''t over yet!" Said Balon as he caught his breath. "Stop, father! You''ll kill him! Please, your majesty... Mercy!" Pleaded Yara, embracing Maron''s bruised and unconscious body. Balon stepped back and gasped, trying to regain his senses. Although he knew that the Iron Fleet had no chance of holding out against four times the number of enemy ships, he still hoped that the sea andnd defences of the valiant ironmen would push the enemy back enough to give them more time. Time to call in reinforcements and force Robert into a negotiation... House Haw had betrayed first. A couple of his captains, still loyal to House Greyjoy, had informed him that Rodrick''s men were spreading dissension and fear in the enemy lines just before thending of enemy troops. Of the six thousand men ready to fight and wee the enemy to their chosen terrain, half of them surrendered before the first drop of blood was shed. The madman Robert himself had led the Baratheon vanguard into the field. The men looked like they were possessed by a demon. They were all thirsting for blood, glory, and honours. Two thousand men of the Baratheon vanguard and Umber were enough to break three thousand ironmen even before the allied reinforcements arrived to support the King of the Seven Kingdoms. It was a one-sided massacre. Of those three thousand, over eight hundred ironborn had fallen and over two thousand were taken, prisoner. The enemy had suffered less than two hundred casualties... Some of the surviving men who managed to retreat inside the fortress said that a ''Giant of the North'', wielded a two-handed broadsword of Valyrian Steel and had taken down more than twenty enemies single-handedly. Robert Baratheon''s hammer had also mangled several of his men, but it was Greatjon Umber''s fury that broke the Ironmen''s morale... Not even on the water had King Balon achieved a favourable result. Some traitorous captain had driven fourteen of his best ships to flight just before Stannis and Paxter Redwine''s fleet arrived. Balon would have liked to drown those cowardly traitors himself! Only eighty longships engaged in battle. Eighty against four hundred. The enemy had, if anything, lost barely a dozen ships in the fight. A shameful result for those who imed to be the best fighters on the seas. Only the fortress of Pyke remained. Even if he had wanted to, Balon could not have surrendered so easily. The fortress had to hold out at least long enough to tempt Robert into a negotiation not so unfavourable to Balon. If they surrendered immediately, it would be the end of House Greyjoy. Balon wanted to at least retain control of the Iron Inds... even if he had to bend the knee. He could rise again in time. Harder and stronger than before... But he had to at least find a way to create that possibility. Balon sat on his stone stool and stared at the upants of that room. "Lock that cowardly traitor in the cells! Prepare for battle! I want every axe and bow ready to fight! This will not be the end of the Ironborn! We will make the enemy aware of the values of the old way! IF THEY WANT THIS FORTRESS, THEY WILL HAVE TO EARN IT BY PAYING THE PRICE OF IRON!" End POV. ---------------------------------------- POV: Ser Wyatt Stout; Allied camp less than two miles from Pyke''s fortress. The night before the attack on the fortress. This was four days after King Robert''s army had routed the Iron Fleet and taken control of Pyke Ind. Only the fortress remained, and the Greyjoy rebellion woulde to an end. Onest possible risk to take, and then Ser Wyatt could once again find the serenity to sleep more than four hours a night. House Stout had always been loyal to House Dustin. Wyatt Stout, Lord Harwood''s third son-inw, was currently second inmand in the secret unit created by Lady Barbrey three years ago. ''The Collectors''. A unit currently consists of three hundred and forty-four male and female members. The unit trained for over a year by the best two Frost des in House Tallhart. Ser Breston was the number one man in that unit, but he was currently busy in Essos. It was up to Ser Wyatt, the second-best man among the ''Exactors'', to take on this crucial mission entrusted to him by Lady Barbrey herself. [to protect the future Lord of Barrowton at all costs.] A mission that could not fail. Lady Dustin had personally advised Ser Wyatt and his men that if Lord Jorah fell in this war, they should flee as far away as possible from thends known to man. No ce would protect those men from the wrath of Lady Barbrey Dustin... Despite the rigorous training he had gone through during that year in which he had been through hell, Ser Wyatt was still afraid of that woman. A demon more ruthless and cold than his instructor lurked behind that suit of flesh, bone, and courtesy... The Knight, trained by de[1] himself, led an elite team of thirty Exactors. The best Barrowton had to offer. Lady Barbrey had convinced Lord Jorah to keep him and his team close at all times. Presently, Lord Jorah had passedmand of his Fleet to Lord Stannis. An admiral with more experience than him. And now, Jorah was in charge of leading the armed forces of House Mormont and House Dustin. Abined force of nearly two thousand men. At the previous war meeting, Jorah had volunteered before the King to lead the first attack charge... Inside the marquee used for the strategy meeting, the faces of Ser Wyatt, Duncan Tallhart, and Eddard Stark paled. All three looked as if they wanted to shout at once: [NO! NOT YOU, LORD JORAH!! IT''S TOO RISKY!]. The Protector of the North was unable to object in time before Robert fired the order: [Good! Lord Jorah will lead the first charge as soon as the breach in the walls is created! It is decided]. Ser Wyatt knew why his lord had volunteered first. Since the rebellion began, Jorah had no way to show his worth in the field. Every man in the North has been itching for a slice of Greyjoy flesh since the day the Ironborn set foot on Bear Ind. Lord Mormont in particr felt frustrated and impatient most of all. He had not even been able to fight on his own ind. Stannis had takenmand of his ships, and Lord Stark himself had ordered him to lead the rearguard in thend assault. They should have expected such an event from the man. Jorah should not have participated in that council of war... For the sake of House Dustin, his Lady, his family, his team''s, and his own... Wyatt would have been Lord Jorah''s sworn shield. He would have been his arrow meat if it had been needed. ''For no dying, Lord Jorah will have toe out of this unscathed tomorrow!!'' Thought the man before closing his eyes on what would perhaps be hisst night. End POV. ------------------------------------- POV: Ser Haymitch Rivers. Marquee of the banquet set up for the nobility. About two hours before a ''''Chief Exactor'''' fell asleep with ominous thoughts... Ser Haymitch sat next to a drunken red priest who was Robert''s friend, Thoros of Myr. He and the priest were toasting and cackling in thepany of the king. Ser Haymitch the drunkard was standing with a cup in his hand as he finished telling one of his adventures. "I didn''t have a penny on me! The pouch of money bestowed upon me by Chief Steward Poole the day before had been stolen by who knows what sweet and persuasive hands... BUT! Thanks to my charm and the promise that the noble LORD EDDARD STARK would settle my debt to the kindly matron of the Winter Town brothel... " Haymitch paused to take another sip of well-deserved wine. "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! NED! You''re getting plucked by your Knight!!! AHAHAHAH!" Robert thundered amidst big fatughs as he gave poor Ned''s back next to him a hard pat. Ned merely snickered in moderation as he held Robert by the arm. The Warden of the North was afraid that the King might tip over from his chair. Haymitch resumed... "AND SO! That evening, too, I was able to afford a night of pleasantpany. A sixteen-year-old neer named Rose wanted to join us, trying to convince me to have a double duty that night... And I assure you that Rose is one fine Northern belle! Red hair, clear and silky skin, the biggest and firmest breasts I''ve ever seen! A true challenge of the Maiden herself! But I said: [NO!!! My good name as a Knight does not allow me to vite a young maiden, my Lady Rose! Bethany will be more than enough thanks. ALSO!... I cannot abuse the hospitality of House Stark!" Both Robert and Thoros could not contain themselves. "AHAHAHAHA!!!", "SPURZZZH!!! COUGH! AHAHAH! COFF! COFF!!!" Thoros nearly choked on his beer. The red priest in R''hllor''s service was in danger of being killed byughter. Haymitch resumed... "And so... I, sweet Bethany, prepared to get busy in our private room for the high-ss guests!... There were a few candles lit... Bethany and I were making a lot of noise and a lot of movement! Neither of us noticed that a third presence had snuck into the room... and do you know who it was? THAT''S RIGHT, THE YOUNG, ROSY-WHITE GIRL!!! And do you know when I noticed it?" A dozen Lords and Knights fell silent to listen better to the final part of the tale. "WHEN I SURPRISE SHOVE A FINGER UP MY ASS!!!!" Haymitch. "AHAHAHAHA!", "PHUAAHAH!", "AHAHAH!" Half the long table began tough. Robert and Thoros most of all. "That Northern maiden has ruined me and the finances of House Stark! Ever since that night, I can''t help myself!!!" Said Haymitch giving the coup de grace to some poor noble Lord who wanted to maintain some semnce of demeanour and decency. After several moments of thunderousughter, Thoros got up from his chair and proposed a toast by raising his tankard. "TO ROSE! THE MAIDEN OF THE NORTH! CHEERS!!!" "TO THE MAIDEN OF THE NORTH!", "TO THOROS!", "TO THE RUINED KNIGHT!" Dozens of tankards were raised toasting and celebrating the tales of war and adventure with the female graces of the Seven Kingdoms. An hour after the banquet ended... "Good work, Ser Haymitch. Robert already adores you." Nedplimented. He and his trusted knight were inside Lord Stark''s private tent. It was thest night before the start of the great assault. "Robert is a nice fellow, my Lord. Drinks, brothels and war stories are my chosen ground. " Haymitch. "...Now I have another great favour to ask of you, Ser." Ned''s gaze became serious again, full of concern. "Oh, atst, I shall be given to know why Lord Eddard was so worried from the end of the war meeting until now. You were the tensest and least rxed of all at that banquet, Ned. I feared I had disgraced the good name of the Starks too much." Haymitch replied wryly. "It wasn''t for your jokes. You could have even insulted the King in that situation, and Robert would have let you get away with it." Ned replied with a faint wry smile. "Then what? Is this about the battle tomorrow? Fear not. Your vassal''s n is sound. We will not suffer many losses and the fortress will fall before nightfall." Haymitch. "... I''m not worried about the n, but about one person. A life the North cannot afford to lose, Ser." Ned. "I don''t think you''re referring to the King, yourself, or Bloody Snow... Then who?" Haymitch. "Lord Jorah Mormont. Jorah absolutely must not perish tomorrow, Haymitch... A catastrophe would befall my House and the entire North if that man were to perish in this war." Ned. "He who will lead the vanguard of the first assault on the fortress... Yeah, the man''s a bit of a risk. Are you asking me to assist him tomorrow? Protecting Lord Jorah''s backside instead of yours, My Lord?" Haymitch. "Yes, Ser, I must ask you this. My life is far less valuable right now than that of the future Lord of Barrowton. I know I''m asking a lot of you, I..." Ned was interrupted. "All right, I will. Fear not, Lord Stark. Tomorrow I will prove to you that I have not needlessly spent thousands of gold coins to quench the thirst of a lowly, drunken knight. I will do what I can to keep your bannerman from being gutted to death by the Ironborn." Haymitch. Ned breathed a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, Ser Haymitch." The knight nodded and raised his sk in response. "I''d say it''s time to break out that famous Tallhart-made armour I won as a prize a few years ago." End POV. ----------------------------------------------------- POV: Vice-Commander William. Camp Tallhart Ind of Pyke. A few minutes before the Protector of the North called in a favour from his sworn shield... "No, Lord General! You cannot go alone! You cannot ask this of us!" William replied in an indignant tone. "You and all the Winter Guardians will stay behind and support Lord Jorah, Vice-Commander. I have already given instructions to Captains Eric and Josh. That is an order, William." General Duncan replied without granting any opening for negotiation. "But General!" William. "No buts. I even managed to convince my father. Desist from your purpose, William. You will note with me. The priority is to protect Lord Jorah Mormont! Whatever the cost, Vice-Commander! Do I make myself clear?" The General. "You are clear, my Lord... Could I at least point out to you that not even de[3] will be able to support you in this crazy mission? If we don''t follow you inside the fortress, then who will?" William. "Fifteen Frost des, Ser Jaime Lannister, Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion, Ser Balon Swann, Jory Cassel, and another thirty or so fine Tallhart, Stark, and Baratheon swords will support me. Don''t worry, William, we''re a good team. We''ll hold out until you get here. Ah! I almost forgot. Give this to our best Guardian who can wield a bastard sword." Said the general, setting Red Rain down on the table. "BUT GENERAL!" William. "THAT''S ENOUGH, WILLIAM! Phew... Forgive me. The business of Lord Jorahmanding the vanguard has worried me greatly. I''m not giving you the sword because I don''t think I''ll be back, but simply because I''ll never be able to draw it within the walls of Pyke. I might as well stick an ''I am Bloody Snow'' sign on my chest." Exined the general. "General... can you at least tell me why Lord Jorah''s life seems to be worth more than yours? Why go to such lengths?" William. "You disappoint me, William... You should also know that there will be a wedding between Lord Jorah and Lady Barbrey shortly." The General. "Yes, I am aware of that, my Lord, but..." William was interrupted. "Do you know how much power I have given in that woman''s hands, William?! I''m talking about military power, information, influence, and most of all ''Gold''." Duncan. "I... No, general. I don''t know how much exactly." William. "Think of a rough estimate... and then multiply it by ten. Here... read it for yourself. See what Lady Barbrey wrote me in this letter! Since the first day of the beginning of this campaign, I have been re-reading it almost every night before I go to sleep!" The General pulled out a folded piece of paper inside a small personal trunk. William unfolded the paper and read: [If in any way, Jorah should perish in this war. Whether by a lucky stray arrow, an infected wound, an incurable rare disease, a storm, a lightning bolt that fell from the sky, or even if the gods themselves descended from the heavens to im his life... My vengeance wille upon you, Duncan of House Tallhart. I will use every means at my disposal with the sole aim of making you suffer and destroying everything you love most. I may never be able to touch Stark House again, but I will destroy you, your House, and all the rest of the North if need be. I will pursue anyone who might be held, even in the smallest way, involved in the demise of my husband. Mark my words, Bloody Snow. My Jorah Must Not Die!] Chapter 90: Hero Exchange Chapter 90: '' Hero Exchange '' Hello everyone. Here''s another chapter for you. I would like to officially announce, that in thest two days, I have managed tomission a professional Editor and Trantor to write the Prologue of this Fan Fiction. Soon these poorly written drafts will look more like a real Novel. Oh Mom I can''t wait!!! I''m so excited! I''m finally starting to find stability with my work. I can still only guarantee one chapter a week, but at least I''ve found peace and serenity in the duties that rue to all penniless aspiring writers! Ahahaha! Also. Most importantly. Yesterday Imissioned work on a new custom book cover!!! YEEEEESSSS!!! In ten days I should be able to create another new page of this FF novel in which there will only be well worked chapters. Credit for these two little two milestones goes to [moku8],[Patrick Rodriguez],[Sdri], [scared_potatoes] and [AvidReader962]. Thank you guys from the bottom of my heart. By now I''ve given up on the project: Just think about writing and say goodbye to work, but at least I''m managing to create something that a year ago I wouldn''t have even imagined. Thanks again. Now I''m aiming to get Five Chapters revised and tranted. As soon as I can scrape together 400 euros from other media I''llmission those as well. If you would like to support me in this little endeavor, here is the link to the Ko-Fy. /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks again and happy reading. ---------------------------------------------------------- POV: The Kingyer; Tent of the war council, royal encampment, Isle of Pyke. Year 289, 24th day of the fifth moon. About seven hours before a General showed a letter to a Vice-Commander... Ser Jaime Lannister was on duty that afternoon. He was to rece Ser Preston shortly. His squire, Merlon Crakehall, the youngest of the three sons of Lord Rnd Crakehall, one of his father''s most loyal bannermen, had just finished helping him put on his shining gold-enamelled armour. Now it was the turn of his white cloak, thest piece of the puzzle. "I''m done, Ser Jaime." Said the fourteen-year-old in a humble tone. "You may go and rest Merlon. I won''t need your services until after dinner. Go, find some other squires in a celebratory mood and seek out a sweet maiden of this ind in the mood to hear the stories of the brave squire Merlon Crakehall, personal squire to the Kingyer." Said Jaime in a slightly ironic yet sincere tone. "Thank you, Ser Jaime." Merlon didn''t let himself say it twice. He was fresh from his first battle and was still dying to exchange stories and experiences of war with his peers. Merlon bowed and prepared to leave the tent. Before his squire came out, Jaime looked onest time at that information, which only he could see, above the boy''s head... '' Before the battle, Merlon was a [4 ss: King]... Now he has risen to [5 ss: Page]. Pff... the same level as Ser Boros Blunt. I have yet to understand how that man managed to be part of the Royal Guard... Anyway, the battle was a good experience for, Merlon. Yeah, this is no coincidence. I''m finally getting the hang of this... ''Training and realbat experience help increase that number. '' Jaime thought. It had now been almost six years since the day Jaime was cursed. A curse that struck him just days before King''s Landing was invaded. It was the middle of the night, and Jaime was watching the door to the King''s bedrooms. A small, faint white light struck him in the chest. Countless pieces of information entered his mind. Unknown information. One, in particr, shocked him... ''''magic''''. When he retreated to the White Sword Tower, the tower belonging to the Kingsguard, he was struck by a panic attack. Jaime identally dropped the fraternity''s White Book, which, due to the impact, was slightly damaged at the edges of the leather cover. Struck by the urgency of that dishonourable act that had stained the honour of all the brothers who had served in the Kingsguard, Jaime immediately sought to remedy the damage. And in that moment of need...the book repaired itself. He had done it. He had unwittingly performed magic that instantly repaired the small tear formed at the edge. And, a short timeter, he noticed that when he got within thirty feet of any individual, he could glimpse a white number floating a few inches above his head. In less than a month, he had learned to turn that ability on and off at will. Jaime never told anyone about his peculiar magical anomalies. He had never considered himself a cunning, calcting vixen, but even he was well aware that magic was not well regarded in Westeros. His new nickname '' Kingyer '' could not possibly be apanied by the pseudonym '' Dark Wizard ''. Not even Cersei or Tyrion knew anything about it. It was a secret he was not willing to share. Another burden to bear. Jaime had learned to make good use of one of his two main skills. Evaluate the fighting ability of every individual except himself. So far he had not met anyone with a higher number than Ser Barristan. Therge, glowing number [10] that floated above the head of the more-than-valuable swordsman was another piece of evidence added to Barristan the Valiant''s list. Jaime had named that value [Level 10, ss= King]. Each number had a different magnitude and brightness. He had managed to give meaning to this difference by creating a personal evaluative hierarchy. Severalbat level was divided into five different sses: Page; Squire; Knight; Lord; King; It was not a precise scale, nor did it take into consideration other factors that could determine the oue of a fight. It was just created to rank in a crescendo that value that floated over each individual''s head. For example, Robert Baratheon, currently considered the strongest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, was a [10], but his number seemed to be a faded infantpared to Barristan''s. He was a [10 ss= Page]. Perhaps Robert would still be able to beat the now fifty-year-old knight in a deathmatch, but only because of the difference in age and brute strength. Though age was beginning to rust the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard''s movements, Jaime was still not at his level in melee. They had faced off countless times in sparring with swords in training over those years. From what he remembered, Ser Arthur was slightly more immature than Barristan in the fluidity and stamina of his shes, but he was certain that he was the only one who could surpass Barristan''s legend in time. But now, it seemed that another legend was rising in Westeros. One that Ser Jaime was looking forward to meeting for the first time. The Kingyer had been unlucky four days ago. While Ser Fury was being showered with honours and glory, the knight without honour slept blissfully in a small cabin on the Royal Galley. After twelve hours of guard duty, Jaime''s well-earned sleep prevented him from witnessing those historic moments when a man of humble beginnings became a Lord. At least his squire described to him in detail every moment and every word was spoken. Although Cersei harboured countless prejudices against that Tallhart boy called ''''Bloody Snow'''', Jaime, unbeknownst to his sister, admired and respected him. No one could deny that this eleven-year-old boy had defeated Denys Drumm, one of the most feared warriors of the Iron Ind, in singlebat. Bloody Snow had more than five thousand witnesses on his side, and a hundred of them were his uncle Gerion and the Lannister men in his service. Years before he had not given a thread of credence to the tales and bads written in his name, but with each new conquest and glory that Northern boy achieved, those songs sounded stronger and truer. Though House Tallhart had forged good rtions with House Lannister, his sister doubted greatly in that lesser house of the North. She attributed the same opinion to House Tallhart as she did to House Rayne. That is a house that was growing too fast and rising too high. Personal grudges rose more and more in Cersei''s mind whenever she heard the name Bloody Snow being praised. ording to her, that boy was stealing all the glory and attention that was rightfully their ''''son'''' Joffrey''s due. Jaime understood Cersei''s fears to an extent. That boy had been achieving sess, fame and honours since the age of five... Joffrey would have to perform more than one miracle to recover, at least in part, the attention Westeros was giving the heir to House Tallhart. The events of Bear Ind infuriated the lioness of King''s Landing out of all proportion. Cersei had smashed and torn numerous and very expensive personal effects in her chambers to appease her wrath. Jaime had to intervene himself to calm her down, fearing that the pregnancy of the woman he loved might be at risk. Before leaving, now that his brother Ser Romas Estermont had died of pneumonia, his sister had tried to manipte him into a night of passion by trying to convince him to do everything possible to spur Ser Barristan and King Robert to make Duncan Tallhart a knight as soon as possible so they could offer him a ce among the white cloaks. In this way, they would have clipped the boy''s wings and bound him to the crown until the end of his days. But Jaime would never do that-he would not use the order of the white cloaks for the political plots of the court. Not after he had suffered that same fate himself. The Kingyer was truly curious to meet and evaluate Bloody Snow himself. And now he finally had the chance to do so... A council of war would be held shortly, attended by all lords and councillors. The Hero of the North would take part in that event. A few minutester... Swordsword was about to enter the tent when he passed two individuals at the entrance. Lord Eddard Stark and another battered man he couldn''t recognize at first but who looked familiar to him. "Ser Jaime." He greeted the Lord politely. "Lord Stark... and..." Jaime replied, trying to name the supposed knight. "Ser Haymitch Rivers, Ser." Haymitch. "Ah, but of course, I remember now. You were that knight from the Rivends who made it to the semifinals of the Lannisport tournament melee twelve years ago. Am I right, Ser Haymitch?" Jaime asked with a small tone of praise. Jaime had connected the dots thanks in part to the help of his skill. That [Level 9 ss=Knight] white thing floating above Ser Haymitch''s head was a piece of good evidence to prove his theory. "You have a good memory, Ser Jaime. Yes, I came third in that tournament. Your former brother, Ser Arthur, rang me like a bell in that melee." Haymitch. "... It was one of the best fights of that event. I remember that fight well, you even managed to disarm Ser Arthur Dayne''s left hand. A feat achieved by few, Ser Haymitch." Jaime. "Yes... I would have rated it a great achievement as well if only my opponent had not allowed himself to be disarmed on purpose to set a trap for me." Haymitch replied, chuckling. Jaime also allowed himself a small amused memorialugh. "Ser Jaime." Eddard Stark interrupted the exchange of banter. "Yes, Lord Stark?" Jaime and Haymitch fell silent, both focusing their attention on the Protector of the North. "I would like to take this opportunity to ask for a small audience in private if possible. It should be another half hour before the meeting begins." Stark. "My Lords, here I take my leave. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ser Jaime." Haymitch sensed his Lord''s message and entered the tent first. "My pleasure, Ser Haymitch." Jaime responded to the greeting and peered deeply into the gaze of the man who six years earlier advised Robert to send him to the Wall. Since their meeting in Lannisport, this was the third time Eddard Stark had approached him without a trace of contempt in his eyes, paying him the respects a knight deserved. Again, Jaime saw no trace of deception or malice in the eyes of the Lord of Winterfell. He had no reason to refuse his request. In truth, he was also quite curious as to what Eddard Stark wanted to discuss with him. If he wanted to seek sparring, or a more serious confrontation, Jaime would not back down. Jaime was curious to try his hand at confronting a [Level 9, ss: Page]. "Of course, Lord Stark... Lead the way." Jaime. About a minuteter... "You have a fine sword at your service, my Lord." Said Jaime, interrupting the awkward silence first. The two men were walking at a slow pace in a partially isted area of the camp. "Yes, it is. I consider myself fortunate that I was able to convince Ser Haymitch to serve my household.... Ser Jaime... I wanted to offer my apologies." A surprise sh caught The Kingyer off guard. But Jaime quickly recovered and answered back: "I do not believe you have given me any offense, Lord Stark. What are you apologizing for?" "An offense was given to you, Ser. Six years ago..." Eddard. The two men paused, looking seriously into each other''s eyes. At that point Jaime no longer hid his expression of doubt and perplexity. ''The honorable Ned Stark, apologizing to the Kingyer? The knight without honor? What game are you ying, Lord Stark?'' Jaime thought inwardly. The Quiet Wolf continued. ''I was hasty and prejudiced against you, Knight. At the time when I entered the throne room, I did not even attempt to ask you for rification. Now I think I have partially understood your situation by putting myself in your shoes in that onerous situation with no way out. For that I apologize, Ser Jaime of House Lannister." Eddard. "... I..." In that instant Jaime did not know how to respond. He had dozens of snide responses in store,den with arrogance and irony. Yet, all the words choked in his mouth. The Knight Without Honor was not in the least bit prepared for such an event. After a few seconds, Jaime braced himself and said: "Why do you apologize? I killed my King. The one I had sworn to protect with my life... You have no reason to pay me your respects, Stark. I am the Kingyer, '' the Knight Without Honor''..." Jaime. "Aye, ''A Knight Without Honor''... That''s one way to describe you, Ser. But another way would be ''''The Knight who sacrificed his Honor for the greater good''''. In my eyes that description has a very different meaning." Jaime was disarmed for the umpteenth time. '' Does he know? Impossible... Only Tyrion should know the truth! There''s no way my brother would go around bbing it to the four winds.'' He swore me to secrecy... No he didn''t. Then how? I personally killed all the alchemists... Could I have missed any?'' Jaime thought of every possibility. He still wasn''t sure if Ned Stark was referring to the barrels of Wildfire hidden throughout King''s Landing. "I don''t want to take up any more of your time, Ser, and you have no reason to ept my apologies. I merely wished to report to you what I thought best." Ned nodded his head to gesture an apology and take his leave. The Northern Protector slowly made his way to the council tent. Then a voice stopped him. "I ept your apology, Lord Stark. What has been being forgotten." Jaime said sincerely. He had no reason to hold any further grudges against the man. Ned turned and nodded, keeping a serious face but expressing gratitude and relief in his gaze. Before parting, the two men exchanged a mutual sign of understanding. End POV. ----------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; War Council Tent. About twenty minutes after a conversation took ce... Two Baratheon guards granted us the go-ahead to enter the tent. My father, myself, and Vice-General Peter prepared to enter inside. A few lords were missing from the roll call, but soon all would arrive. The war council would not begin for another handful of minutes. And there, in front of me, I saw him. Clear as day, a presence that stood out among all the others. Gold-ted from the tips of his toes to his hair, a white cloak symbolizing his oath to the order of the Kingsguard. We were less than twenty feet apart facing each other. We both scrutinized each other with a shocked and confused look. My eyes were turned inches from his head and it was the same for him. ''What?!!! Jaime Lannister is a fucking PALADIN! WHITE!!! Why is the colour silvery-white?!!! No, that can''t be a coincidence! Could it be the Pdin of the Foreign God?!!! But then it means that my little cousin... Elminster... No! NO! Calm Duncan! Easy... Let''s not jump to conclusions. You still don''t have enough elements to shoot theories here and there!'' An explosion of thoughts swept over me almost paralyzing me. The man opposite seemed to be going through a simr experience. But we both remained silent, hiding any rash impulse. About three years ago,te at night, just after my cousin was born, an explosion of energy manifested in Torrhen''s Square. I immediately looked out to see what was going on. Fortunately, during that time when I rigidly refused to level off, I could hardly get to sleep inside the family manor. I saw a gargantuan column of white light invest the northern part of the fortress. It was centred in the area of my Uncle''s quarters... No one noticed the anomaly, only me. I rushed in any way, rming my uncles... The newborn continued to sleep blissfully in his furry crib next to Leobald and Berena''s bed. There was only one small difference. The number [0] floating above Elminster''s head changed colour. It had gone from ordinary green to a bright silvery-white. From that night on I had my cousin carefully monitored every day by the best Frost des serving my family. Qyburn was instructed to notify me as soon as possible of any abnormalities the child showed. But in three years, nothing happened. Elminster lived as serene and carefree as an infant... That unique characteristic colour was the same as Ser Jaime''s. That big, bright, and white [9] was the same shade as my cousin. My cousin and Ser Jaime were bound by the same divine power... The Kingyer was deserving of his reputation as a valiant swordsman. That number seemed even slightlyrger than Victarion''s. He was certainly a breath away from breaking through the barrier to break to Level [10]. He would most likely be able to prevail against Denys Drumm as well... But he still had to be at Level [0] as a Pdin. The first characteristic circle had not yet formed. Assuming that the path and abilities of each chosen one were simr to mine, Ser Jaime must have been able to at most use a Cantrip and identify the levels of the individuals. The second assumption was practically certain. Not surprisingly, his gaze would be directed about a foot from my eyes. That was the face of a person who had just witnessed an unexined anomaly. "Duncan!" My father''s voice broke my thoughts. Helman had one knee on the ground and was sending me a clear message of rmism. I had been dumbfounded like a fool for almost half a minute. Half the stares in that tent were on me. I had not yet shown my greetings and respects to the King! "MY KING! I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, for my disreputable behaviour!" I said quickly as I knelt in front of King Robert. "AHAHAH! Never mind, Hero of the North... Say, were you dazzled by the Kingyer''s shining armour! Ahahahah!" Said Robert limating the slightly tense spirits in an instant. Many lords and knightsughed at the King''s joke. But not me or Ser Jaime. "That''s right, Your Majesty... This is the first time I''ve had the honour of meeting Ser Jaime Lannister. One of the finest swords in the Seven Kingdoms. It is an honour, Ser." I said, addressing a greeting to Jaime. The knight also awoke from his paralyzed condition. "My honour, young lord..." Jaime. "Now that the formalities are done and all asses have been licked as etiquette dictates, give me your ideas on how to further humiliate the Squid King! Ahahaha! Kingyer, Bloody Snow! I want you by my side!" Robert. "Yes, your grace." We both replied. About two hourster... King Robert took stock of the situation. "Well then, the n of attack is decided. Lord Duncan, Ser Jaime and all the volunteers will take care of the bridges inside. Lord Stark and I will lead the main force. The Umber units, Glover, Bolling, Tarth, Tudbury and Mallister, will be led by Lord Jason Mallister. You will be in charge of the rear guard and defence of the camp. Stannis will be in charge of the defence of the harbour. All that remains is to decide which units will assault the fortress first. It will be the most difficult task to sustain... Any volunteers?" End POV. -------------------------------------------- POV: Ser Jaime Lannister; Allied Camp. About five hourster the King dismissed all the Lords and advisors... Jaime was both parts relieved and worried about all the information he had managed to retrieve from that council. His father and Uncle, leading an army of ten thousand men and one hundred ships, had sessfully subdued Great Wyk, thest bastion supporting House Greyjoy in this rebellion. House Farwynd, Goodbrother, and Merlyn had surrendered almost immediately. House Sparr had struggled until Lannister forces captured Lord Sparr''s fortress and port. Ser Barristan was already on his way to Pyke after a small conflict at cktyde Ind. All that remained was the fortress of Pyke to end the Rebellion. The most stupid and painful Rebellion that Westeros history has ever seen. The only victory the King of Salt and Stone achieved was at Lannispost. Jaime would stake his sword, armour, and cloak that his father would gnash his teeth at for years over this monumental disgrace to House Lannister''s good name. The more Balon and House Greyjoy were humiliated bying off as pathetic in the eyes of the world, the more visible the stain on the feared and respected Jaime''s House would be. They could me no one for this but House Greyjoy, who had attacked House Lannister in secret like the cowardly marauders they were. But now was not the time to think about that. He had an important meeting that he absolutely could not miss... He had only two swords with him: his trusty longsword that was an inch longer than average and a training sword. He had asked Ser Mandon Moore for the favour of filling in for him for a couple of hours on his watch. A few minutester, Jaime arrived at the agreed-upon spot. Two Lannister and Tallhart men-at-arms had just finished setting up braziers, drinks, and various provisions. "Ser Jaime." A teenage voice caught the Knight''s attention. "Lord Duncan... You''re early as well." Jaime replied. The barely twenty-three-year-old man peered intently at the individual who stood less than fifteen feet from him. Slightly wavy white hair, green eyes with peculiar silver streaks, a build and height more like a thirteen-year-old than a boy his age, and most peculiar of all, arge bright green number [9] surrounded by five circles made up of runes of the same colour. Jaime wasn''t sure whether to ssify that Level as Lord or King ss... It seemed to be a slightly brighter andrger number than Ser Mandon Moore''s (Level 8), but slightly less conspicuous than Ser Barristan''s [10] King ss. But of one thing he was certain, that boy was capable of routing at least four of the remaining six Kingsguards with ease. "Yeah, I can hardly ever be on time. So it''s better to be early thante." Duncan. Jaime noted to his delight that the boy had also brought his Sword. The legendary Red Rain. The only known sword of Valyria with a distinctive crimson hue on the de. Ever since he was a child, Jaime had always wanted a sword of Valyrian Steel. The only one he was able to see at the age of eleven was Lady Forlon, a beautiful longsword belonging to House Corbray of the Vale. Lord Corbray even granted Jaime the honour of wielding her for a brief moment. It was one of the most exciting moments of his childhood. "Jason, Nimmund, thank you. You may now leave us alone." Said the boy turning to his two men. Jaime gave a simr signal to the men loyal to House Lannister. "Yes, my Lords.", "My Lords." The four men walked away soon after, obeying orders. "Is that your sword, Ser? May I?" The boy asked offering his first extending his arm. "Of course. Thank you, my Lord." As agreed, the duo exchanged weapons respectively. The boy unsheathed the steel forged by Lannisport''s finest forge first. Ser Jaime waited before unsheathing Red Rain. He wanted to enjoy that moment calmly and without haste. Only by peering at the sheath could he tell that the bastard sword was at least an inch and a half shorter than average. "A very good steel... The de seems slightly longer than average. Mmm... an inch?" Duncan. "An inch and a quarter." Jaime. "Does it have a name?" Duncan. "Golden w." Jaime. "A fine name... The gold pommel seems to create a very slight imbnce of weight between hilt and de. Is it done on purpose?" The boy. "Yes, it is. The slight excess weight of the pommel promotes a more stable and smooth rotation of the de. At the expense of clean shes of course." The swordsman. Bloody Snow tried the effect himself by slicing the air a couple of times with each hand. The Kingyer noticed to his surprise that the boy seemed to be ambidextrous. A very peculiar trait for a swordsman. Less than a minuteter the boy unsheathed Golden w. "An excellent sword indeed, Ser Jaime. While in excellent condition, the slightly worn leather handle shows your perseverance in training with it." He praised the boy. "A sword is one more joint in the arm of any valiant swordsman. It was the second teaching of my master of arms." Jaime. "And what was the first?" Duncan. "Eyes on the joint of your opponent''s arm." Jaime. The boyughed in delight as soon as he heard the first rule. "You''re wee, Ser. Treat her as your own." Duncan. "Mind your words, boy. My father has been desperately seeking a sword of Valyria for our House for decades. Also, my sister the queen has been trying to convince her husband to wrest it from your hands and give it to me." Jaime replied in a slightly ironic but truthful tone. "Ahaha! Yes, I''ve heard that. But I don''t think you''d stoop that low to get her." Duncan. "You think so? And what makes you think that?" Jaime. "The Hero of King''s Landing unfairly stealing the sword from another young would-be Hero? The notes of this song would sound out of tune, Ser." Chapter 91: Six years ago... Chapter 91: '' Six years ago... '' Hello everyone. Here''s a new chapter for you. Thank you all for yourments and support. Next week (barring any unforeseen graphical problems9 I should be able to publish the new cover with the prologue edited and well tranted. I''m trying to raise the first 400 euros to get the first five chapters proofread and tranted. If you want to support me, here is the link: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks again. Happy Reading! --------------- POV: Duncan; Promontory Encounter, Allied Camp. About two seconds after Jaime was called ''Hero''... Jaime slightly widened his eyes after my statement. He remained silent, scanning my expression and pondering for a few seconds. I kept my gaze convinced. "Why do you call me ''Hero''? Are your words serious or are you just making fun of me?" Jaime. "Not at all, Ser, no deception or wordy... I firmly believe that your actions six years ago were heroic. Nothing more and nothing less." I replied in the same tone of voice. "... I find that hard to believe, my lord. Most of Westeros considers a Kingsguard stabbing their King''s back a dishonourable act and worthy of the worst infamies." Jaime. "And indeed it was, Ser... ''A truly dishonourable act''... On the other hand, sacrificing one''s honour for the lives of more than half a million innocent lives, I find a very heroic act. Worthy of praise in my opinion." Me. "You... "I interrupted the knight anticipating him. "Yes, I know about the Wildfire. Thousands of cruets ced in all the key points of the city... " Jaime had a surprised, confused look that expressed uncertainty about what to do. After a few seconds of silence, the knight asked: "So it was you who told Ned Stark this story. Am I right? Who else did you tell?" Jaime. "Yes, Ned Stark should have been informed. I found his prejudice and resentment toward you inappropriate and unfair. Fear not, Ser... Very few people know about this. Only the necessary men." Me. "Necessary?... Necessary for what?" Jaime was genuinely ufortable. "You may have killed all the alchemists, Ser, but those cruets filled with a highly unstable and dangerous substance stilly hidden somewhere... One spark or overly hot day and... ''Boom''... Aerys'' madness would only be postponed for a few years." Jaime paled. "I... I warned Varys... He..." "Yes, and Varys followed your advice, Ser Jaime... But... Only the Alchemists'' Guild is capable of safely handling and disposing of Wildfire. There are currently only eight Guild members left in King''s Landing. Four of them are very old. So far, they''ve only managed to clean up the Red Keep, The Steel Road, The Silk Road, and a couple of other spots. Not to berate you, Ser Jaime, but it would have been a much easier and quicker task if you had spared at least one of those six key alchemists who knew where the cruets were ced. King''s Landing has tens of thousands of buildings and tens of miles of tunnels, sewers, and drainage pipes... I am currently working with the Guild to help them with the task. I hope that the team of aspiring alchemists in the North can contribute significantly to this delicate task." I exined calmly. "I didn''t think King''s Landing was still in danger... You''re right... in hindsight, I would have locked one of those arsonists in a ck cell." Jaime said, clenching his fist to find an outlet for some memory. Then he continued. "Is there anything I can do to help?" "... Mmm... There is, Ser Jaime. It would help enormously if you could... say... ''advise'' the Lord Commander of the City Guard to keep half of the stretch of Sisters Road to the Guild Headquarters clear after midnight until dawn for... say at least eight moons... Only in that building can the alchemists safely dispose of the unstable substance. And it would be better if no fire or drunken ruffian came near those highly unstable barrels during transport." I said. "It will be done. You have my word. I will personally ask Lord Commander Manly Stokeworth to stage a curfew on that stretch of road for as long as it takes." Jaime promptly replied. "And you have my word that I will not divulge this story to anyone else. The choice to keep your deeds concealed is yours alone, Ser Jaime." We both nodded in tacit agreement. "May I ask how you found out?" Jaime asked. "... I too have secrets I would prefer to keep, Ser. But I will dly exchange more urgent ones concerning you. First, though, take your time with the sword." Me. Jaime respected my answer, and at that moment seemed to remember that in his hand he held a weapon considered by many to be ''Legendary''. He didn''t have to repeat it twice and drew his de. I helped him by taking Red Rain''s scabbard, which was in the way of one of his own. The small promontory we set up for the private meeting was well lit. The ripples undting along the dark-purple metal of the de seemed to dance with the reflections of the burning fires. Jaime remained spellbound for a good minute as he admired every inch of the de from multiple angles. "Magnificent... The edge was off the de sharper than a razor and shows no sign of chipping. Never wielded a lighter sword-bastard than this." Said Jaime trying to cleave the air with slow, fluid movements. I let the knight enjoy that moment for as long as he wanted. I watched in silence as he analyzed and admired the style of the Young Lion, believed by many to be the deadliest sword in the Seven Kingdoms. About fifteen minutester... "Thank you, Lord Duncan... Forgive the wait, I got carried away at the moment losing track of time." Said Jaime returning the sheathed sword as I returned his. "I fully understand what you mean. The first time I tried Longw, lent to me by Lord Jorah for the duel the day before, I indulged in a very simr dance for almost three hours... It felt like half an hour at most had passed." I replied,ughing lightly. Jaime, for the first time in this peculiar encounter, also allowed himself a small genuine smile. "Is it true that you and my Uncle Gerion are nning an exploratory expedition into the ruins of Valyria?" Jaime. "Yes, it is. Barring unforeseen circumstances, we should be leaving about two years from now. If we seed in our endeavour, I''m sure you too will wield a weapon worthy of your hand someday, Ser." I replied with jovial sincerity. "You are both fools...and perhaps Tyrion and I are more so than you. Every night we discuss the subject sober we mock you would-be seekers of certain death... And after a few wineskins of red, we always end up raising our sses toasting our heroic choice to join the expedition." Jaime admitted. Iughed profusely, imagining the scene. After a few moments of honest mirth, sarcasm and lightheartedness had passed, the would-be Pdin restored his original look and asked: "Shall we move on to more serious topics?" Jaime. "Yes... I''d say it''s time to begin the fair exchange of information." End POV. ----------------- POV: The Kingyer. Promontory Encounter, Allied Camp. About five minutes after theughing and joking ceased... "So I''m a Pdin?.... A warrior ''blessed by the gods''? You mean the Seven Gods?" Jaime asked not even believing the words he spoke. He kept wondering why he was worthy of such a ''gift''. He still couldn''t find an answer. "Not of the Seven, Ser, at least I can rule that out. If you were, the predominant colour would be Rainbow... I still can''t give you an answer as to the ''predominant Deity'' that represents your silvery-white... But with a little more time and your help, we can find out." The boy. "... So we''re destined to fight each other? A war of faith?" The knight asked rightly, remembering the recently passed events of the Pdin and the Cleric of the Drowned God. "No, not necessarily. Victarion and Aeron Greyjoy''s initiatives were personal decisions... No god hasmanded me toe into conflict with other chosen gods. The decision remains in our hands, Ser, not other entities." The Pdin replied. Though Jaime had never been a genius at the art of speech, he was born to fight. Sword and battle were his domains where he exalted his valour, but even he, a hot-blooded man who would have been eager to answer with steel to any offence suffered, remained reluctant to seek unnecessary conflict. He would never be a proponent of a conflict in which he did not believe right. "I will not fight you for reasons of faith, if that is what you ask, Ser." The Pdin of the Ancients. "... The same for me, Young Lord," Jaime replied firmly and sincerely. "Do you have any information regarding my counterpart? The... ''Cleric'' if I''m not mistaken?" Jaime asked. "Perhaps... but it is still too early to reveal it to you. Trust me, Ser, for now ''he'' would be of no use to you. For now, I can tell you that the ''Cleric'' definitely knows less than you do." Ambiguously replied the boy. Jaime was content with that answer. He would have liked to know the name for sure, but he was in no position to demand too much. "You can use magic are you not? Could you show me?" The Pdin of the Ancients asked. "I... Sure." Jaime still didn''t trust the individual in front of him. From an early age, he had been taught to trust only his family. The bond of trust between him and his twin was the deepest of all, and yet... Jaime had yet to confess anything to Cersei. The man drew the stiletto on his belt and lightlycerated a strip of gold velvet from his sleeve. Then he naturally recited a Cantrip that he had tested many times in secret over those six years. The tear was stitched back together in a few seconds, returning to its original form. "I see... you can use [Mending] magic... A very useful minor magic, Ser Jaime. It should be able to repair even small dents, holes, and cracks in your equipment. By any chance, have you tested this property on your sword? Can it restore the edge of the de as well?" The Pdin of the Ancients. "Yes... With each use, up to about a foot in length, the de returns as good as new." Jaime also knew the name of the magic. He had not revealed it to test his interlocutor. And the boy had passed that test. "Until now, you''ve never heard a voice in your head calling to you?" The boy. "No. No voice at all. Why do you ask?" Jaime. "For the empowerment ritual, Ser. Both I, and seven other for now confirmed ''chosen ones'' went through a ritual process that raised our power levels. I will now exin the details..." About ten minutester... "So the circles around your number symbolize that!.... I''m pretty sure I''ve never sensed a call, yet... I''ve been able to get experience. What could it mean? That I am not worthy?" Jaime asked in a slightly dejected tone. "... No. I don''t think it''s due to that. It''s just a hypothesis for now, but I still think it''s the closest to the truth. I think you don''t have ''an Altar'' or ''holy ce'' nearby that could trigger such a process." Exined the boy. "An Altar?" Jaime. "Yes... In my case, it would be the Godswood or more specifically a heart tree consecrated by the Children of the Forest. For the Chosen of the Seven, I think it is a chapel or ce of faith for such deities. The reason why you haven''t heard a voice yet may be exined by the fact that the distance between you is too great... I will investigate the matter and help you get to the bottom of it. You have my word, Ser." Duncan. Jaime was not used to this mammoth amount of kindness and favour in his regard. First Ned Stark and now heir Tallhart... It was as if overnight the sun began to rise in the west and set in the east. "Thank you, Lord Duncan. I would not know how to repay you..." Jaime replied, giving a formal knightly bow. "Oh, but you have the opportunity here and now... Take up your training sword and face me, Ser." The boy replied, stripping off his belt and preparing to pick up the blunt de they both agreed to carry. Jaime''s blood was also boiling with the excitement of theing challenge. Jaime mimicked his sparring opponent''s gestures and reached for him with his blunted sword in hand. "Ready when you are, my lord." Jaime felt a quiver under his skin. It was his warrior instincts warning him of the danger not to be underestimated in front of him. There were few moments of exhration and joy in the humdrum life of a Kingsguard...this was one of those moments. "First move to you, Ser Jaime. Communicate to me any possible changes in my green symbol... I need to test some theories. Only you can help me. Do not be afraid of possible pre-battle injuries. Don''t hold back, ''Kingyer''." The boy. Jaime exulted inwardly discarding the thought ''it''s just a training sparring with a kid Jaime, don''t push it.'' "Show me the authenticity of the Hero of the North, ''Bloody Snow''." End POV. --------------------------------------------------------- POV: Ser Barristan ''The Valiant''; Isle of Pyke, Allied Camp. The morning after two swordsmen faced each other without holding back... It was a cold but sunny morning. The salty taste that hovered in the air was more subdued onnd than at sea. Even though the knight took care of his enamelled armour every night before going to sleep, there was always a slight saltyer forming on the tes. The sea winds inevitably left their mark. The knight, who had recently turned fifty-one years of age, had arrived along with five ships and four hundred escort men to the Isle of Pyke to deliver enemy war banners to his king. Ser Barristan''s expedition hade to a sessful conclusion. Lord cktyde had surrendered before they couldy siege to the Isle''s fortress. There had been a small skirmish in the harbour in which only seven of King Robert''s loyal men lost their lives. A score of wounded on both sides, plus a dozen fallen ironborn, and House cktyde''s rebellion had ended. The old knight did not even have to draw his sword. There were less than two hundred men-at-arms and a few battered longships left on that ind. The battle was lost before it even began. Lord cktyde voluntarily surrendered himself to the crown to beg the King''s forgiveness. Barristan did not doubt that Robert would grant that pardon. His squire, a scion named Tybeon Lannister, the nephew of one of Lord Tywin''s cousins, had just finished filling him in on all the relevant events that had urred over the past few days. Barristan felt in his bones that, perhaps, this war would be thest one he would participate in. He felt the need to show his worth to the world onest time. He had served four kings and had failed in his duty three times already. At first, Barristan had wanted to stand by King Robert''s side in the main assault unit at the fortress. But now... he had heard of another attacking unit. A small squad of fewer than fifty men who were tasked with a key mission for a quick victory. The forces were already deploying. Catapults would break down the first walls and the vanguard would begin the attack at the breach of the first tower. The ancient fortress of Pyke stood on a promontory and two high cliffs. Three towers are connected by two bridges. A bridge of solid stone between the first two, and one made of hemp and wood ropes between the middle one and thest. The special unit had the task of infiltrating between the enemy lines to guard thest bridge. A bridge that could have easily been knocked down to iste thest tower from any possible assault. With sufficient supplies, the upants of thest tower could have held out for months, forcing the enemy forces into a starvation siege. But if someone had prevented the thick hemp ropes from being cut until reinforcements arrived, the royal forces could have easily conquered Pyke today. Barristan wanted to join that unit of which, ording to his squire, Ser Jaime Lannister, Thoros of Myr, Ser Balon Swann, but most importantly, ''Bloody Snow'', were also part. Barristan looked for that group of warriors who were supposed to be gathering near the camps of House Tallhart. The knight eyed a few dozen paces away from a young man who appeared to be in charge. He was d in exquisite studded leather armour with steel shoulder straps, armbands, and chaps. Decorative ornaments symbolized a higher rank than the men around him. For a moment Barristan thought that even the face, at first nce ordinary and well-groomed, looked familiar. That youngmander seemed to recognize him immediately and squared Barristan as if he had seen a ghost. The knight turned back to make sure his gaze was on him. ''He seems to be frightened... or even some grudge against me... but who is he?'' Barristan didn''t back down and faced the small challenge that was about to stand in front of him. "Forgive me, Ser..." "I am not a knight, Ser Barristan... You may call me Peter. Or Vice-General Peter if that suits you better." The young man replied in a tone that was polite but had a hidden thread of resentment and bitterness in his voice. Now that the two men were within six feet of each other, Barristan had a chance to peer more closely at the youngmander. At least six feet and two inches in height, broad shoulders, good muscture. Slender but also rugged, brown eyes, wavy raven ck hair, slightly square jaw and face, a small scar on his right cheekbone. Barristan''s eye did not fail to notice the fluid but firm bearing of those movements. The boy, looking in his early twenties, certainly knew his way around a weapon. The man''s veteran intuition from hundreds of confrontations never failed him. ''Peter... both the face and the name ring a bell...'' Thought the knight, straining to remember. He decided to solve the mystery by asking the man directly. "Forgive me, Vice-General Peter... Have we met somewhere before?" Barristan asked. "Yes, Ser. Six years ago at the Trident. I foolishly chose to cross my sword with yours. You were one step away from slicing away my life before my father stepped in to stop you. His name was Tom..." Chapter 92: The Return of an Age Chapter 92: '' The Return of an Age '' Hello everyone. Thank you very much for your patience. Here''s another chapter for you. One of my personal favorites in my personal opinion. I hope you can enjoy it as well. I officially announce that by 25 February my new cover will be ready. You don''t know how cool the draft is!!! Can''t wait!!!!! Maybe I''ll even be able to post two or three edited and well-tranted chapters by that time. If you would like to support me in that endeavor, here is my lik Ko-fy: /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all. Happy reading!!! -------------------------------------- POV: Domeric Bolton; Allied Camp, Pyke Ind. Approximately four hours earlier the breach in the first walls of Pyke was opened... "The answer is ''NO'', Domeric. End of discussion." Said Duncan in a dry tone as he prepared to don rough armour adorned with the zon of House Greyjoy. "Why NO! I''m capable of fighting, I''ve proven it to you several times over thest few weeks. I can help you on this mission... I..." "You will be inmand of the Bolton armies alongside Lord Eddard Stark. This is the task given to you by your Lord and King Robert. You are an intelligent person, Domeric. So I don''t need to exin to you the reasons why ''thest surviving member of the ancient Bolton dynasty'' cannot participate in such a mission... I appreciate your gesture, I do... but I can''t let you join the infiltration team. I''m sorry." The friend replied, exining his reasons. Domeric didn''t want to give up. Although he was well aware that he was no match for the legend ''Bloody Snow'', he too was a Knight. The young Lord Master of Dreadfort still felt betrayed that Duncan had not considered him in the mission to attack Pyke Harbor. His friend Rodrick Forrester had also tried unsessfully to join ''Bloody Snow''s'' side in this endeavour. Domeric wanted to prove himself. His left hand remained steady in the hilt of his new Damascus steel long sword. A postural gesture to express to his counterpart his iron resolve to want to take part in the fight. He wanted to fight alongside his friend, to show the North and his people, his men, that their Lord Protector would fight on the front lines for their sake. "You cannot exclude me! I am the Lord... "The twelve-year old''sst attempt was swept into the dawn. "Aye, you are the rightful Lord of Dreadfort and undisputed Lord of House Bolton...but I am inmand of this unit. King Robert himself has granted me the authority to decide who to ept and who not to, Domeric. Even if Lord Stark himself, our Lord Protector to whom we have sworn allegiance, decided to join this unit, he would still have to receive my approval. Domeric...there will be other opportunities in the future to prove your worth. Today is not that day. You are not ready yet, my friend. I must go now... Take care, my men and I are counting on the valiant reinforcements of House Bolton." He concluded his friend by resting a hand on his shoulder. Domeric returned the friendly gesture remaining silent. The boy had no more arrows to his bow that could plead his noble cause. It would have been useless to insist. "Ah, Domeric... In case I don''t return... Here... Could you do me a favour?" Duncan. "Anything!" Domeric promptly replied. Duncan took a moment before asking the favour. Domeric sensed his friend''s seriousness and difficulty in finding the right words. After nearly a minute of silence, the boy finally found the strength to pronounce hisst wishes... "Do you take Dacey to be your bride! I''m counting on you, my friend! Ah, I forget that to do that you''ll have to at least defeat her... and I''m afraid you''re not up to the task at the moment, my friend. Watch out for the low blows! Dacey has no qualms about hitting his opponent''s weak points!... Pff! Ahahah! '' Duncan rushed out of the tentughing. He didn''t allow time for his still stunning counterpart to respond to the taunt. Domeric stood dumbfounded for a couple of seconds before regaining his wits and the fury he needed to yell behind him: "YOU''RE AN IDIOT!!!" End POV. ------------------------------------------------- POV: Ser Lyle Crackhall; Allied Camp, Pyke Ind. A few minutes before a group of men gathered... Ser Lyle Crackhall, Lord Rnd''s second son-inw, nicknamed ''Strongboar'', had just arrived at the white tent set up, especially for the Kingsguard. The knight who had recently turned twenty-five years of age was one of the strongest and most imposing men in the Seven Kingdoms. He was exactly three inches short of seven feet in height. He wasn''t as massive as the ''Riding Mountain'' sure, but he was second only to him in strength. Ser Lyle was the pride of his father and all of House Crackhall. While not one of the brightest minds in Westeros, the man-made up for it in values such as courage, loyalty, martial prowess, and charisma. He was one of the few men in the Seven Kingdoms who would never leave a battlefield for cowardice, gold, or anything else that could corrupt a knight''s honour. His father and the militia of House Crackhall had followed Lord Tywin to Gret Wyk. Only a few dozen knights and about three hundred men from the West had remained in Pyke to represent House Lannister and protect the Old Lion''s eldest son. Lyle had recently been informed, thanks to his younger brother Merlon, Ser Jaime''s direct squire, that a group of fearless men would soon be embarking on a dangerous mission for the good of the army, the King, and the Kingdom. He and his longtime friends, Ser Wiston, Ser An, and Ser Quellon, wanted to follow Ser Jaime on this mission. Not only to protect the Young Lion, but also because they wanted to take part in this great undertaking. A feat is worthy of a bad that would be told for entire generations... Ser Lyle and three of his fellow knight-at-arms did not want to be left out. "Ser Jaime!" Lyle called, recognizing the face of the man disguised as Ironborn. Jaime turned and walked over to the group of four men. "Ser Lyle... Ser Wiston and..." "Ser Quellon of Sunset-Crag, my lord.", "Ser An of House Spycer, Ser Jaime." Replied the two men who had never had the honour of meeting the son of their Lord Protector. "Pleased to make your acquaintance... How may I be of service to you, knights? Forgive my rough manner, but I am expected elsewhere at this time." Ser Jaime asked in a quick but polite tone. "We know. We havee all this way to seek you, Ser Jaime, of all people. We would like to join your side in this quest, Ser." End POV. ----------------------------- POV: Ser Wex Unfear; Allied Camp, Isle of Pyke. A few minutes before four knights join alongside a Kingsguard... "WAIT FOR ME!!! STOP!!!" Shouted an 18-year-old invested with the knighthood by the King himself a few days earlier. Wex had run without a boot in a wool tunic worn inside out. At least he had managed to bring his faithful ash longbow with him. The boy was in a hurry to catch up with his new lord and his three fellow knights who had left him in a hurry. Amon Fury, the new Lord of Pyke stopped along with Ruben, Phil and Edward. It took Wex a few seconds to catch up with the group and catch his breath after the long ride. "I know!...anf anf! I know where you guys are going!!! You... Anf... Phew... You can''t... You can''t go without me!" Wex. "Go back, Wex. You''re noting with us... You''re in charge of watching over the field along with the rear guard." Said Lord Fury. "Yes, Wex. This is only a mission for ''real men''. Those who have not yet tasted the charms of a woman are not wee." Edward. "Imbecile! That''ll motivate him more toe!" Replied Phil, pping the back of Edward''s head. "Wex... You''re too young and underdressed to join Lord Duncan''s group." Ruben. "And Lord Duncan is how old!!! Twelve? That''s just ridiculous excuses!!!" Wex. "That''s enough! You three, stop the antics... Wex, I hate you toe back. This is not your fight." Lord Fury. "NO! It is, my Lord! Please!!! I just swore allegiance to you! I can''t stay behind safely while you go fight on the front lines!!!" Wex. "And yet that''s the way it''s going to be, Ser Wex... As you said, you swore allegiance to me remember? So you will have to obey me. Go back to camp Ser, you''ve already done more than your fair share in this war." Replicated Fury as the other threepanions, all at least ten years older than Wex, nodded in support of their Lord''s words. "Ser Wex... ''UNFEAR''... That is the name I now bear, my Lord. That is the name King Robert has given me!.... What will the story tell of me? Ser Wex Unfear... ''the knight who hid behind a curtain while his other valiantpanions, Ser Phil Heart, Ser Edward Price and Ser Ruben Iron stood by the side of the brave Lord Amon Fury fighting on the front lines to conquer Pyke''?!!!.... Do you want me to have any chance of winning the good graces of a maiden in the future?!!! Then let me go with you!!! I will help you, Lord Fury! None of these three wankers who can barely hold a sword canpete with me on my bow! You know that!!!" End POV. -------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Infiltration group rally point, Allied camp, Pyke Ind. About half an hour after a young knight managed to make his case... I was in the centre of the group. It was still a few minutes before the appointed time. An artisan sculptor in my family''s employ had created a miniature model of the three fortresses of Pyke. It was a masterpiece because the model had been crafted in just two days. The artist had even found time to engrave the architectural details that characterized the Pyke fortress such as. Curtains, the exact number of loopholes, gates, bridges and even small natural failures in some ces of the walls of the three main structures. Thanks to the documents provided to us by Lord Rodrick Haw and to some portraits that observed the castle from a safe distance, the royal army already knew where to concentrate the catapults'' fire. Currently at roll call for the pre-mission briefing were fifteen Frost des, Henry, the new divisionalmander of the First Legion''s archery unit and ten of its best marksmen, Thoros of Myr, Lord Beric Dondarrion inmand of twenty chosen men from the Stornds, Jory Cassel and the ten chosen guards in the service of House Stark, Ser Balon Swann, and a dozen volunteer knights-errant from the Rivends and Crownds. Only Ser Jaime was missing from the roll call, but his squire, Merlon Crackhall, had arrived a short time ago to herald his arrival shortly. None of those present was below the level [6]. I would not ept anyone for this mission with a lower level. Originally the group was to have sixty volunteer members, many flocked to try to join the venture. Mostly young people looking for fame and glory. I had already politely turned down a hundred or so fearless volunteers who were too immature or undisciplined for the task. Even an old man in worn leather armour armed with a rusty pitchfork tried his luck. I sensed the presence of someone else who preferred to stay hidden and observe somewhere, but my instincts were not giving me any warning signals. There was no hostile presence nearby, I was certain of that. About a minuteter, Ser Jaime arrived at the head of a group of five. "Lord Duncan." He greeted the knight with a small formal bow. "Ser Jaime. Wee... and... yourpanions... " I asked addressing the four supposed knights behind the man. I already had an idea of who one of them might be. "I present to you, Ser Lyle of House Crackhall, Ser Wiston of House Lefford, Ser Quellon of Sunset-Crag, and Ser An of House Spycer... These brave men wish to join us for a chance to prove their worth to the kingdom. I hope you will not be offended, my lord, if I have already given them consent to be allowed to take part in the mission." Said Ser Jaime as he introduced each of the candidates. ''One level [8], two levels [7], and one level [6] peak... Not bad...'' I thought as I quickly assessed the three new candidates. ''No offence, Ser. I thank you my lords for your presence here. We are honoured to wee three heroic knights from the Wesnds to our ranks. I, Duncan of House Tallhart, wee you." I said, offering a deep bow. "The honour is ours, my lord. Thank you for your wee and for giving us your blessing in this epic endeavour, Commander." Said Ser Lyle on behalf of them all. "The five of us would like to receive the same honour as well, my Lord." Said a voice familiar to me. It was Lord Amon Fury and the four newly anointed knights. "Lord Fury... I thought you had already embarked to return to your Houses." I replied. "Thanks to you it is this House of ours now, my Lord... If possible, I would like to see for myself that none of you damages my beautiful new castle. We would like to join you." Lord Fury. "Far be it from me to deny ess to the Heroes of Pyke... Lord Amon, Ser Phil, Ser Ruben, Ser Edward, Ser Wex, you are wee to join us." I said. I didn''t even have time to wee the nine new members when another voice immediately intruded. An older voice. "Room for a rusty sword and some strong arms, too?" A man in his fifties d in gold and white enamelled armour and a symbolic cape of the same colour asked. ''Level [10]... No... [Level 10 ss: King]... It can only be him...'' I thought instinctively when the green glow of that number nearly blinded me. I had to admit that the hierarchical system created by Ser Jaime was better than mine. It was at that moment that I decided to follow that ranking scale. In front of me was the only individual among all the fighters on the ind who could beat me in a fair duel. Probably, Ser Barristan Selmy was the only one within a radius of at least three hundred miles who would be able to stand up to even Zick''s [Eleven Gate Closures]... Last night I had taken the opportunity to test my true skills with Ser Jaime. The Kingyer was slightly more proficient with the sword outside of that technique, but as soon as I used Zick''s technique at full power, even Ser Jaime was forced to retreat into total defence with no chance to counterattack. With the help of another pdin, I could numerically assess my peculiar abilities. The breathing technique did not increase my current base level (Level 9 ss: Lord). In all likelihood, those techniques would momentarily raise my physical or mental attributes, such as Perception, Constitution, or Strength... But if I had used all Eleven of the learned Locks, my level would have jumped up to rank 10 ss: Knight. Just by simple logical reasoning, Ser Barristan was superior in technique and experience... A true living legend. I was ready to answer the question, but the words choked in my throat... Next to that man was someone I never expected. ''PETER!!!" I shouted inwardly thinking how such an event was possible. Both Peter and I harboured an unconscious, though undeserved, grudge against Ser Barristan. All of Torrhen''s Square knew that Tom, the father of Peter, Ronan and Brywen had fallen in the field because of that man. Tom''s children deserved to know the truth about the devious ns of Lord Bolton, the true culprit in the deaths of so many good men in the service of House Tallhart... But even so, I never expected Peter to walk alongside the man as if nothing had happened. I had pondered too long; my silence was beginning toe across as rude. "... Living legends are always wee, Ser... It is an honour for me to make your acquaintance, Ser Barristan ''the Valiant''." I said. "The new legends seem to have long since surpassed the old, young lord. The honour is mine, Hero of the North ''Bloody Snow''." Barristan. "Deputy General Peter...I thought I made myself clear. I am surprised by your presence here." I said turning to the person concerned. "You have been, Lord General... However, I fear I have overstepped your authority by asking for authority higher than yours, my Lord... The Supreme General has given me his authorization to take part in this mission. With all due respect General...eleven of my men are participating in a highly risky mission, and I am not abandoning them by holing up behind the rear." Peter. ''It hasn''t even been twelve hours since Ist saw him in person... Yesterday he was on the cusp of [Level 7 ss: King], and now he shows up here as [Level 8 ss: Page]... What has happened in this short interval of time, Peter?'' I assessed inwardly. ''... An honourable choice, Deputy General. And your... fourteenrades behind you?" I asked, scanning the two''s retinue. "Volunteers who joined us along the way. Men of the Storms, the North, and other Knights-errant in the service of the Crown... We vouch for each of them, Lord Duncan. I know many of them personally and tested the skills and motivations of others." Ser Barristan replied, taking a step forward. I scrutinized the determined face of each new candidate who seemed ready for anything at any time. Fierce, hard eyes that had already experienced much of the weather of the battlefield. The minimum standard was more than exceeded. "Well... I''d say we''re all here. We can begin then." I turned to the hundred or so members all around me. "It''s about time in the name of R''hllor! One more volunteer and I would have broken my promise of ''Staying sober before the n isid out..." Thoros of Myr. "I think you just invoked the name of your god in vain, Thoros." Beric Dondarrion. "In a few hours, we may all invoke him if you do not pay attention to what I am about to tell you." End POV. -------------------------------------- POV: A Knight in new armour. Allied Camp. About ten minutes after a n wasid out and discussed... "So you were the uninvited spectator." Said a teenage voice catching the man still reeling from considerable hangover migraines off guard. "Caught in the act, Bloody Snow... I admit I''m a big fan of battle ns. I''m always looking for different points of view and new ideas of a military nature..." Replied the man raising his hands in surrender. Ser Haymitch Rivers, also known as ''The Drunk'', was on his way to the vanguard''s rallying point before Bloody Snow cut him off. "Very impressive... You managed to slip through the ranks of my men unnoticed. Also, you managed to stay consistently in spots that were blind to me throughout the entire encounter." Praised the boy with a tone of sincerity. "It wasn''t as easy as I thought it would be... You were always on the lookout for an unwee presence, and your ''men with murderous eyes'' weren''t as easy to fool. On the other hand, I admit I have an innate gift for being mistaken for an ordinary knight-errant." Ser Haymitch. "Credit to Thoros of Myr?" Bloody Snow. "Yes, that''s right... I took advantage of my new friendship to go unnoticed. Thoros is a good guy. He used to hold my hand now and then." Haymitch. "I see... How do you find your new armor, Ser?" The boy asked, quietly changing the subject. "Disturbingly overly tailored, my Lord... I''m beginning to think that you somehow managed to get my exact body measurements... Do you have any moles in the brothel in Winter Town by any chance?" Haymitch. "No... Or rather, yes, but they''re not the ones who provided us with your measurements, Ser. Do you remember the morning you were forced to visit Maester Luwin?" Bloody Snow. "Unfortunately I do remember it... Well?" Haymitch. "Lady Brisea managed to get your measurements by stealing your clothes the night before. That girl is also an excellent seamstress as well as having an innate talent for the art of flour." Bloody Snow. "I KNEW IT! The damned ''Bread Witch!!!''... But... that exins why I woke up naked in the castle hallway... As for... ''The sickness?''... "Ser Haymitch. "A true Knight always defends a maiden''s honor. Let''s just say I hoped you and Lady Brisea would bond more positively over time... She''s a good girl." Bloody Snow. "I''m pretty sure your ''Good Girl'', kicked me in the balls that night when I was totally helpless!!! ... Anyway... The armor''s not bad." Ser Haymitch. "d you like it, Ser. I''m d Lord Stark put you in charge of protecting Lord Jorah. I am heartened to know that you will also be at his side during the first assault... I really must go now. I wish you good luck, Ser Haymitch." Said the boy preparing to walk his way. "Wait... Why did you set up all that drama?" Ser Haymitch. "I don''t know what you''re referring to, Ser." Replied the boy in an unexpectedly sincere tone. "You know what I''m referring to-your n of attack. You had already nned a strategy that required at least one hundred well-trained men to seed... Yet this morning, before more than thirty volunteers showed up, your squad consisted of only sixty men-at-arms at most... It was you who caused rumors of this ''heroic secret enterprise'' to ze throughout the camp... And here I ask ''Why''? Why bother so much? I don''t think you would have had any trouble rounding up the men needed for this mission.... Why did you want all those volunteers?" Ser Haymitch. The boy paused and turned his gaze back to the knight. "Nefarious and dark times are approaching. The world must return to its old beginnings." Said the boy. "... What does that mean?" Ser Haymitch. "The world needs that bygone Age to return, Ser Haymitch.... ''The Age of Heroes'' must return." Chapter 93: The Bridge Part I Chapter 93: '' The Bridge '' Part I Hello everyone, here''s another chapter for you. Today unfortunately is not a very happy day for the world. A thought to all the people living in Ukraine. I was going to post a link today to donate to the Ukrainian people. Unfortunately I have not yet been able to find anything valid or apparently ''reliable''. If any of you should find it please post it in thements. Thank you. I have finally found stability with my new workmitments. I can announce that I will be posting a chapter every 5 days from now on. We went from 1 week to 5 days, it''s not much I know but for now it''s the best I can do. Thanks again to all of you for your support. See you on Tuesday. I hope you can enjoy the chapter. ---------------------------------------------- POV: The Vanguard Commander; Less than eight hundred feet from the Great Keep, Fortress of Pyke. Year 289; the ninth day of the fifth moon. Minutes before the attack on Pyke Fortress is to begin... The vanguardmanded by Jorah consisted of two thousand five hundred units. The majority of them belonged to House Dustin, only four hundred wereposed of Mormont forces. Three hundred men belonged to House Tallhart, half of whom were members of the famous elite unit called the Winter Guardians. Even Lord Eddard Stark had contributed five hundred men of his finest chosen troops. At the head of the massive Stark militia was the famous knight Ser Haymitch ''The Drunk'', the melee champion of the Torrhen''s Square Tournament. Ser Haymitch wore very fine full battle armour adorned in the reverse colours of House ckwood and Direwolf shoulder straps to symbolize his loyalty to the Stark house. The te armour looked fresh from the forge. If he remembered correctly, the top prize for the winner of that melee would also have had four or five sets of the armour of his choice... That one had to be a work from the forges of House Tallhart. Although the armour of the Captain of the Stark forces was shy, it still ranked second to Jorah''s. Since theirst meeting, Barbrey had given his future spouse a brand new full suit of armour. A work of one Master Thobo Mott, the same cksmith who had forged the ceremonial thin-ded long sword of Damascus to his beloved. Jorah''s armour didn''t stand out in splendour at a distance, a shrewdness made on purpose so as not to direct too much of the archers'' attention to the owner, but already around a distance of about fifty feet, one could see the fine workmanship worthy of a king. The Lord of one of the poorest Inds in the Seven Kingdoms had no idea how much such a piece of craftsmanship could cost. Jorah was d in threeyers. Silk and linen clothing lined with a lightyer of the finest Karstark leather, ayer of fine iron mesh with thicker, denser states at the exposed seams, and steel tes perfectly matched to his measurements. Even the gloves refreshed by steel tes on the back were perfectly shaped for his hand and the specific measurements of his favourite weapon, Longw. Jorah had never seen a steel te with such a thin and light thickness. At first, he had feared that the armour would not protect him sufficiently from the sharp dangers of battle... but he had to reconsider. That battle set was unparalleled in lightness,fort, freedom of movement, and protection. Each of the threeyers was perfectly joined to one another with specialces and rings. Normally his old split armour and boiled leather sets weighed at least sixty-five pounds in their entirety, and now his new set (with an extrayer of chain link) weighed barely fifty. Jorah was certain he had never worn or seen anyone wear, anything like it. The man was beginning to suspect that his armour might be sold in the marketce at a higher price than King Robert''s royal armour... The generosity and financialrgesse of his bride-to-be were beginning to make him a little uneasy. The Lord of Bear Ind did not know how to reciprocate such gifts. Certainly, with the future ss trade, even House Mormont would soon reach unprecedented economic heights, but it would take time to catch up with the other Northern Houses. Jorah knew for a fact that House Dustin''s coffers had exceeded the capacity of many houses for some time, including House Manderly, which for hundreds of years had always been the richest house in the North. The future Lord of Barrowton, for now, knew only that from the single salt trade, House Dustin grossed an average of fifty thousand gold dragons each month... For any member still living and not of the House of Mormont, that amount of gold was exaggeratedly huge. Bear Ind had never been a richnd. Before the trade support initiated by House Tallhart, House Mormont managed to earn, between taxes, fishing, trading, and timber sales, a total of about ten thousand gold dragons a year. And only if it was a year free of wars and seasonal bad weather. Thanks to the development of trade in the North, House Mormont was now able to earn an average of thirty to thirty-five thousand gold dragons per year. A wealth already above any half-yearly recorded by House Mormont in recent centuries. House Dustin probably already had revenues at least thirty times more massive than the meagre House Mormont... The fine refined voured salt produced from the shores of Salt Spear was in demand even in the markets of Vaes Dothrak and Qarth... Soon, it would be Jorah''s job to take care of Barrowton''s business. His Lady wife would mainly have to focus her attention on the Never Winter Bank and the development of the Silk Road. "The attack has begun, my Lord." Ser Wyatt Stout warned, waking Jorah from his mary thoughts. Wyatt was his new right-hand man that Barbrey had highly rmended. The Lord Bear had a good eye for discerning good men-at-arms, and Ser Wyatt deserved the reassuring praise sung by his beloveddy, both for fighting ability and tactical-military skills. His right arm pointed to the trebuchets and catapults less than three hundred feet away from them. The target was the sidewall supporting the gate. Many construction engineers had agreed that was the best ce to concentrate fire. If they could demolish that specific supporting wall, half of the gate would copse and they could even create a corridor around the iron grates that protected the main entrance just beyond therge oak and iron-studded gate. At first, the stone projectiles missed their chosen target by a few dozen feet, but a few minutester at least two out of three shots hit it squarely. The enemy had no chance to counterattack in that position. There were no long-range catapults to support the Greyjoy forces. King Robert''s vanguard was more than fifty feet of safe distance from the enemy''s maximum range point. It would be at least another hour before the eleven catapults and seven Royal trebuchets brought down the reinforced walls of the fortress. "Lord Commander Jorah." Called a voice to his left. "Deputy Commander William." Greeted Jorah addressing the leader of the Tallhart forces present in the vanguard. "Soon the forces of the infiltration unit led by my lord Duncan will join our ranks in the rear guard, my lord." William. "Good... I have already briefed Captain Ted and his deputy on the details of the n. There will be chaos within the Great Keep. That''s probably where we''ll meet the greatest armed resistance. Are the identification symbols visible, Deputy Commander?" Jorah asked, searching his eyes for the group of one hundred volunteers who would be disguised as ironmen in the service of House Greyjoy. The n was that at the right time before the enemy forces retreated to the second Bloody Keep tower, the disguised group and Jorah''s forces would simte a confrontation with each other to get the enemy to let Bloody Snow and his forces infiltrate their lines. At that point a third of that hundred men would take over the gates of Bloody Keep and the remaining forces would secure the integrity and safety of the rope bridge to thest tower the Sea Tower. Ancient Pyke was originally built on a cliff overlooking the sea, but over time the cliff has eroded, leaving the castles and towers standing on two barren inds and a promontory, surrounded by water. Thest two towers are connected by a swaying rope bridge. The keep, its towers and walls are made of the same grey-ck stone that the rest of the ind isposed of. It was nearly impossible to assault the Bloody Keep and the Sea Tower except for the bridge. The grey-ck stone that supported the small ind more than three hundred feet high from sea level was slippery and sharp. If they lost the bridge, the only alternative to conquer thest Greyjoy bastion would be a starvation siege. That is unless Robert decided to bury the enemy forces alive with catapults... But if the n had seeded, if Bloody Snow and his group had managed to hold out long enough until reinforcements arrived, Pyke''s fortress might have fallen before sundown. "Yes, my lord. It will be the Stark soldiers who will sh with Lord Duncan''s forces. Every Stark soldier has just been briefed on what to do. The chances of incidents of internal casualties in the chaos of battle should be minimal." William replied. "Good... Now Vice Commander, I am left with only one question to ask..." Jorah. "Yes, milord?" William. "Why is it that fifty of your Winter Guardians continue to surround me as if I were the King and they the Kingsguad?.... And why is it that all the militia captains under mymand keep suggesting to me in a rather forbidding manner that I should not lead the front line?.... Even my trusted Captain Ted seems to be strongly motivated to insubordination..." Jorah did not miss the instant when William and Ser Wyatt exchanged a nce of understanding between them. "You are themander of the vanguard, Lord Mormont...it is our duty to protect the leader inmand of this militia," William replied, trying to mask possible omitted parts in his reply. "Deputy Commander William, Ser Wyatt, as yourmander-in-chief Imand you not to lie to me...I would like you both to answer this question of mine... Have you received specific orders from authorities ''above'' mine? Why are all the Tallhart, Dustin, and Stark militias on my back like this! Why does this guy Todd ''The Shield'' follow me everywhere I go? I''m telling you, Todd, I don''t need your unsolicited service! Do I make myself clear Todd?!" Jorah asked for the umpteenth time to the barely eighteen-year-old Tallhart boy who had been stalking him like a shadow from the moment he first stepped out of his ward this morning. "I am your shield, Commander Mormont. I follow the orders of my Deputy Commander and the Lord General, milord." Repeatedly and neutrally replied Todd, the Winter Guardians'' best support-defender. Todd was nicknamed ''The Shield'' because even if he was surrounded in a forest by half a dozen sharpshooters, that boy only needed a shield in his hand and no one would be able to scratch him. Todd had great reflexes and hearing as well as an excellent sixth sense of danger. He wasn''t the most experienced or lethal fighter in the Guardians, but he was certainly the best support and defender the Tallhart army had to offer. Jorah had no idea what a huge life-saving element he had nearby. "You already said that, Todd... Deputy Commander William, could you please..." Jorah was interrupted. "I''m sorry, Lord Jorah, neither I nor Chief Lieutenant Todd can disobey the orders of our superiors inmand. Our general, Lady Dacey''s future fianc, has instructed us to protect his beloved bride-to-be''s cousin at any cost..." William. Jorah had no authority over those militias, the man knew that if he wanted to remove those Tallhart men, he would have to resort to the force of the Mormont and Dustin militias. But after that look between William and his second-inmand, Ser Wyatt was also beginning to doubt the authority of those one thousand two hundred Barrowton men of whom, technically ording to the future Lady Barbrey Mormont, he should have full control. To be certain, Jorah needed to do a little test... "Ser Wyatt Stout." "Yes, my Lord?" His Second-in-Command replied promptly. "Don''t think I didn''t notice yourck of response to my earlier question... But time is running out now, Ser. I have orders for you, my Deputy. I will leave themand of the central forces and the rear guard to you, Ser. I will be leading the Mormont troops along with five hundred soldiers from House Dustin... I will personally lead the first line of attack as soon as the breach is created, Ser Wyatt." Both the knight and William let slip a small trace of astonishment and concern on their faces. Something that Jorah did not miss... "There... my Lord... I..." Wyatt couldn''t find the right words. Little drops of sweat were beginning to condense on his forehead. "Is there any problem following mymand, Ser?" Jorah. At that point, Ser Wyatt threw off his mask. "I cannot carry out your orders, milord. I offer my apologies." Ser Wyatt. "What?... Remember well that I am your Commander, Ser. Also, Lady Barbrey..." Jorah was interrupted. "I''m afraid I must take over and takemand of House Dustin''s militia, Lord Jorah... Lady Barbrey''s orders are clear, milord." Ser Wyatt. "What orders?! What did Lady Barbreymand you?" Jorah. "Should I judge your military choices to be too... ''risky'' for your safety, I have the power to use all the forces of House Dustin to ''suggest'' you make different choices, my lord." End POV. ------------------------- POV: A Young Ironborn Guard; Great Keep, Fortress of Pyke. About an hour after a Lord''s authority and pride was severely shaken... "All you have to do is say yes, Jex, and you can see your sweet Rosy and little Jason again." Whispered the man that Jex, one of the six guards responsible for securing Great Keep''s main grate, had been meeting for less than a week. Only now had this man in his forties named Dn revealed his true cards... Dn didn''t live in Lordsport...but came from Ten Towers Castle, the fortress on Haw Ind. He was no Pyke ironman in the service of House Greyjoy. Still, that wrought iron armour bore the banners of the Kraken. It had been no ident that on recent nights Dn had approached him during the small banquets offered by King Balon to encourage the troops. "I never told you my wife''s name!!! You... " Jex''s hand was anticipated by Dn''s. "Easy, easy, Jex... Your wife and son are fine. They are both safe in afortable hold of one of Lord Haw''s ships. Here is another proof of my ims. You named your son Jason, to honour the memory of Rosy''s Uncle. The only member of his family who cared for that poor girl at a young age..." Jex''s gaze froze. He was certain now, the man did hold his family. No one else on that ind could know such detail but him or his Rosy. Dn continued. "Your future and that of your family depends on you, young Jex. Do you wish to spend the next few years in the arms of that beautiful, sunny Southern maiden and watch that wonderful child grow? How old is young Jason now, two?" Fortunately, their dangerous talk was considerably concealed by the chaos within the fortress. The walls shook at regr intervals about every ten seconds... It wasn''t long before the Northeast wall gave way and the battle finally began. "... Yes, I do. Please don''t hurt them." Pleaded Jex as he abandoned his intent to attack Dn. The young Ironborn of just twenty years old loved his Rosy very much. Even though she was only a salt wife. Jex loved that girl and the son he had with her with all his heart. An affection was reciprocated by the young orphan from the Honey Hills. Not many people knew that Jex had not kidnapped Rosy in that attack on the vige, but rather protected her from the other ironmen rapists in his crew. During that attack on the fishing vige, Jex had hidden the girl for an entire day and eventually imed her as his booty to protect her under all thews and customs in the Old and New Ways. Jex and Rosy''s love was spontaneous, not forced by the ruthlessness of iron, but rather born of kind actions and words. A rare anomaly that did not escape the eyes and ears of enemy spies. Jex was, however, a true Iron Inds fighter. For generations, his family had served House Greyjoy. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had always held a key position in House Greyjoy''s fortress. Now that his old man had been dead for over a year due to a fever, it was up to him to fill that role. Jex would have dly died for House Greyjoy...but he would not have been able to sacrifice the lives of his wife and son. "I mean them no harm, my dear friend. On the contrary, I would like to offer you, Rosy, and little Jason a more prosperous and better future. Away from Pyke if you wish. My Lord is very generous and of his word, I assure you. Here...see for yourself." Dn passed a half-closed leather pouch, bulging and heavy the size of a fist. Jex''s eyes widened. Just from the weight and the corner of his eye, he could already estimate that there were at least forty gold coins inside the bag... Jex and Rosy''s favourite dish was the spicy mussel and m soup served at the ''Seabass Hearth''. An inn that was very famous and popr with themon people of Lordsport, Pyke''srgest port city. A serving of that dish cost exactly three copper stars. Old Beggher ''Fish Hands'', the owner of the inn, hadunched an offer for his loyal customers: One gold dragon per person in exchange for unlimited portions of one of the House dishes until the day he died... Whenever Jex and Rosy had the pleasure of enjoying that soup together they would joke that one day they would save up the coinage needed to invest that famous gold dragon each. Whenever his family was faced with arge expense, he and Rosy would quantify the expense in servings of Soup. ''Does the roof of the house need to be repaired? How much will it cost us? More than thirty soups, my love.'' Jex thought quickly, remembering thest exchange between him and his beloved. The coins inside that bag would buy unlimited soup for three future generations of Jex''s family. The young family man returned the bag into Dn''s hand. "Do I have your word that I, my son, and my wife will be safe?" "I can vouch for your son and wife, but you and I will still take risks. Should you perish this gold will go into your family''s hands, I promise." Dn ced the pouch back in the young guard''s hands. Jex considered the proposal for a few seconds as he looked at the pouch. ''Fuck it... I was going to die in the battle anyway. There''s no hope of victory... House Greyjoy has already lost the war. At least, this way, Rosy and Jason will have a few more chances.'' He inwardly assessed Jex realizing he had no other choice. "What does your master want from me in return?" End of Part I. Chapter 94: The Bridge Part II Chapter 94: '' The Bridge '' Part II Hello everyone. Here''s a new chapter for you. Finally, the cover and the reworked Prologue have beenpleted. If you''d like to take a look, here is the new rewritten version of Pdin Of Old Gods. (I am attaching the image of the new full cover here on the side). Thanks again to all my supporters who have partially funded this work! As I raise funds I will publish more and more professionally revised and tranted chapters. I will of course continue to post the continuation of the story here, but be aware that they will always be drafts edited and tranted from free sites. I can guarantee the quality of the texts up to and not beyond a certain point. About the other work... Well, if you find mistakes or inconsistencies you can do your worst with criticism (hopefully it will be merciless but also constructive). Ahaha! In the future, I''d like to have the characters I created drawn as well. Master Zick ''The Watcher'', Ramas, The King in Yellow and Ser Haymitch ''The Drunk'' will take priority. If you''d like to help me raise the funds, here''s a crowdfunding link for emerging artists: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks to everyone and happy reading!!! ------------------------------------------ POV: A Cheese Merchant; The Free City of Pentos. Year 289; twenty-eighth day of the eighth moon. About three days before the attack on Pyke''s fortress began... Illyrio Mopatis was once a muscr and handsome mercenary, slim and tall. More than a decade had passed since his days of peak physical prowess. He had spent hundreds of gold coins to have an eight-foot statue erected in the courtroom of his mansion. It depicted a naked boy, no more than sixteen years old, standing in the water ready to duel with Bravoosi''s de. Although the sculptor had exalted the beauty of that young man to levels of Valyrian nobility, Illyrio still found his past self in that work. After gaining wealth, influence and a stable position in the free city of Pentos, the former mercenary indulged in luxury and all the pleasures andforts that gold and security could offer. Illyrio had already almost reached three hundred pounds of body weight. He was one step away from reaching obesity. The piggy eyes, the fat cheeks, the huge white belly that now obstructed the view of his cock, and the tworge bby breasts that curved like sacks of suet covered in rough yellow hair, were all evidence of the decline that had brought this charming young man to a pit of pure nefariousness and squalor. His beard was the only part of his body left that he could still be proud of. A long forked hair oiled and well-groomed to shine like the gold that Illyrio always tended to caress. The room was deserted, no one would be able to hear the words that would soon be spoken in that room. The Prince of Cheese''s mansion had a level of security equal if not greater than that of the Prince Regent of Pentos. Illyrio believed that the thirty thousand gold coins spent in Astapor to purchase three centuria of unsullied were one of the best investments ever made. "My dear friend. How long has it been since west met?" Said a gentle, slightly effeminate voice behind Illyrio''s back. The master of the vi had not been taken by surprise. His old childhood friend had a habit of sensitively perfuming himself with essences of rosewater and lc. Illyrio''s olfactory memory could not be fooled. "Four years, Varys. You may make yourselffortable, my friend. You know this is a safe ce." The magister replied, smiling at his longtime friend and ally guest. "Forgive my rude ways... I still find it difficult to let go of old habits." The eunuch lowered his hood revealing his face concealed by shadow. A bald figure with a powdered face and no trace of hair, white hands clean and soft, dressed in fine fabrics of inconspicuous colours at first nce. A former beggar actor of Lys who to this day held one of the most important positions in the court of King''s Landing. Varys, the master of whispers, nicknamed ''The Eunuch Spider'' by many, was a few steps away from Illyrio. "I thank you foring this far. I hope you didn''t have too much trouble fulfilling this selfish request of mine." Illyrio. "Oh, no. Fear not, my friend. It was enough to report to the Queen that my duties as Master of Whispers required my presence in the North... I promised the small council that I would return with valid information concerning the Northernnds... I hope you can facilitate my task." Varys. " I have some informations... but I can''t vouch for the quality or veracity, unfortunately. We''re losing ''little birds'' in Bear Ind and the Boltonnds as well... White Harbor and Karhold are ourst remaining great bastions. Lost even that cell, we''ll be practically blind, Varys." Illyrio said with a slight tone of annoyance. Only Illyrio knew exactly how much gold, time, and manpower he was losing trying to rebuild a viablework in the North. It was a fact now that Torrhen''s Square, Waterdeep, Barrowton, and Winterfell were off-limits. No agents or whisper traces were returning. Almost all of the great fortresses of the North were inessible. A few little birds still managed to hold out in nearby viges or towns, but they reported mostly tavern talk, information that could have been obtained by getting an unsuspectingmon merchant drunk... "Phew... I was expecting that. I''ll even settle for second-hand merchandise... Something about ''The Hero of the North''? Even a small rumour that could tarnish Bloody Snow''s honour would temporarily satiate the ravenous ears of the Lioness of King''s Landing." Varys asked in a small tone of supplication and expectation. "One perhaps would... but again, I do not vouch for its veracity. It seems that the rtionship between young Dacey Mormont, Lord Mormont''s cousin, and the boy is ''interesting''..." Illyrio. "Interesting?... From what I understand, young Dacey is hot-tempered and repulsive to all the ''matters and interests'' of a Young Lady... I thought there was a conflict between the two. Exin yourself, my friend." Varys asked, instinctively raising a frown. The gossip had captured his interest. "And an apparent conflict there was before the attack on the ind... It seems the maiden was noticeably impressed by Bloody Snow''s heroic deeds in the field. You know that the young Lady fell ill on that night of the banquet... but you do not know that young Duncan personally watched at the door of her chambers for more than a day and a night... There may be an interest of a loving nature between the two. The fact that a few days after the departure of the Hero of the North all our agents on the Ind had been silenced, is a ''strange coincidence''. Don''t you think?" Illyrio. "Unsubstantiated assumptions, of course... Although... Do you think a marriage between House Mormont and House Tallhart could blossom? Bloody Snow is the most sought after party in Westeros currently. I don''t see the political advantage of such a union. If the Queen were to give birth to a girl, even Lord Tywin would press for a marriage proposal... Are our chances for the ''possible candidate'' for our young dragon friend that low?" Varys. "It''s still too early to tell... I brought you out here also to tell you in person that the two young dragons in Braavos have be annoyingly ''rarer''..." Illyrio. "How?... I thought Ser Willem Darry''s health was deteriorating and the veil of safety over the two dragons was ''dropping''... " Varys. "Same problems in the North, my friend... House Tallhart is beginning to thwart myworks even here in Essos... They are growing too fast. I underestimated their means and they are beginning to undermine my finances. You must help me, Varys." Illyrio. "Why would House Tallhart have any interest in House Targaryen? They are loyal to House Stark and seem to support King Robert''s rule. To what end I wonder? Besides... would you want toe into conflict with them? It was you who rmended that I ''not disturb'' the boy or his family in any way four years ago. Remember?" Varys. "Yes, I remember it well... That veil of insurmountable protection seems to have dropped, my friend. Whoever was protecting the heir of House Tallhart seems to have stepped aside. The magisters of Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh are beginning to make a peace treaty so they can be free to set their sights on other prey... Even the Titan of Braavos has given his blessing." Illyrio. "The Iron Bank?... I don''t understand. Braavos holds a monopoly on the trade of soap, paper, leather, and other products in the North in Essos, so why stop protecting its valuable customers and business associates?" Varys. "I can''t give you a correct answer. Certainly, the Iron Bank is not a big fan of change...especially change this fast. What I can tell you is that the ''Kings of the Oceans'' do move, Varys. All we sharks can do is stand aside and wait for sulent scraps of meat from prey still too big for us." Illyrio. "Are these fish that big?... Are we not yet grown up enough even to know ''who'' and ''where'' these Powers of the World are?" Varys. "No...we''re not. And maybe we never will be. What we can do though is be strong enough to be useful tools for the victor... Even if they were the ones you detest the most." Illyrio peered at Varys for a silent moment, pointing with his gaze to the part of his body that the eunuch lost in his youth. Varys paled for a moment realizing ''who '' Illyrio was referring to. "No... They can''t... You reassured me that those ''Demonic Forces'' would never cross the borders of the Jade Seas and the Bone Mountains!" For the first time in a long time, Varys let his emotions carry him away, losing his perfect control over his mannerisms and tone of voice. Illyrio knew well the fears of his youthful friend. Varys hated any Mage, Sorcerer, Priest or schr of magic... "... Calm down, my friend. Those forces are not invading the borders of Essos. There are agreements and pacts made to me unknown older than the Targaryen Kingdom itself. They do not appear to have been broken... However... A piece of information, obtained with much luck and at a very high price, has reached my ears. It seems that a powerful Witch Lord, once feared and respected even throughout Asshai of the Shadows ising to Westeros by regr invitation." Revealed Illyrio trying to calm Varys down with his calm, honeyed voice. "Who? Why?... What lord of Westeros has invited such an entity unknown even to us?" Varys. "I do not know his name...I only know that he is nicknamed ''The King in Yellow'' and that he is a very powerful sorcerer feared and respected even by the House of the Eternals. He is currently travelling by ship and has docked at the Port of Ibben. Throughout the Sea of Shivers route, from New Ibbish and Braavos the pirates flee with their tails between their legs for fear of encountering the escort fleet that hase from the ancient city of Nefer." Illyrio. "The Sea of Shivers... Westeros... Wait for it... The Tournament at Barrowton! This ''King in the Yellow'' was invited to the wedding of Lady Barbrey and Lord Jorah Mormont?" Varys. "That seems to be the case... I was invited as well, Varys. All the great lords of Westeros, the great lords, merchants, and Magisters of Essos have received the invitation... Threats and reminders of ''No Incidents Allowed'' are constantly whispered in the ears of the powerful. Many hostages have been captured or voluntarily surrendered as an assurance that no one will attempt ''unwanted'' actions during the wedding or tournament. It seems that these celebrations will make the Harrenhal Tournament pale in many ways... And that is where I need your help, my friend." Illyrio. "I will nevere into direct contact with such an individual, know that," Varys said in a firm tone. "And I would never ask you to do that... No... What I want is for you toe in contact with the heir to Torrhen''s Square, Duncan of House Tallhart. Too many tokens and ''out of the ordinary'' events are popping up like mushrooms everywhere. The forces of the World are awakening and beginning to move. And all of this began at the same time as the rise of that boy... This is no coincidence, Varys. Now that I''ve had proof of Torrhen''s Square''s interest in the preservation of Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, I can only deduce that perhaps House Tallhart is the real entity behind the disappearance of the true heir to the Iron Throne. I have another possible candidate, a perfect guy to rece him in case Aegon Targaryen is dead. But before I invest in the ckfire descendant, I need to evaluate all the Pros and Cons. And to do that I need information. Only you can aplish that task." Illyrio. "A ckfire? Who?" Varys. "A bastard son of one of the granddaughters of Malys the Monstrous. His father is a Dornian merchant who did not shoulder the burden left to his poor mother." Illyrio. "I see... What proof do you have that House Tallhart is setting its sights on Aerys'' children?" Varys. "One obtained at great cost. My best agents and contacts were exterminated in Braavos by an anti-intelligence cell. Before he died, my right-hand man, Silk Step managed to get me a ry with the nickname of the one at the head of a said group written on it. The text was stained with his blood. The little bird that picked up the message is still traumatized. Fate is on its side, they almost captured the messenger as well. The text-only read: {de One}. The text was written with fingers instead of a pen and blood instead of ink. Whether for the value of the information or personal revenge, I demanded the ''Price'' from the faceless men for this ''de One''... Well, let''s just say my grudge wasn''t worth three hundred and forty thousand Braavosian gold coins. House Tallhart is breeding monsters, Varys." Illyrio said in a slightly pained tone. The gods only knew how rare good and capable men like Silk Step were. For more than fifteen years the former first sword of Braavos dishonourably discharged, had been in Illyrio''s pay. Silk Step was not only a very capable fighter, assassin, but he also had a survival instinct even superior to Illyrio''s in his best glory days and a light and silent step almost as much as Varys. It would have been very difficult in the future to get his hands on anything like his height again. Over these nearly six bloody years, these new espionage and counter-intelligence forces were putting many forces in Essos and Westeros through hell. Including those of Illyrio and Varys. They had no proof or direct connection that these so-called ''des of Frost'' were in the service of House Tallhart. The few captured agents would take their own lives without any hesitation by biting into strange capsules containing a deadly fast-acting poison. "Even if the des of Frost were truly in the service of House Tallhart, it would still have taken many years to train such individuals from scratch... The times do not coincide, my friend. Do you think Bloody Snow''s hand is behind the disappearance of Rhaegar''s children? At the time, the boy must have been five years old at most. The visit to Sunspear is suspicious sure, but it could also have been a visit for pleasure andmercial business for all we know. It seems to me that this hypothesis has a very weak basis..." Varys. "I would have continued to dismiss that possibility until a few months ago. But sesses in the field of that boy and that new elite force the ''Winter Guardians'' are yet more proof that anomalies and inconsistencies are beginning to be the order of the day... A little over three hundred Northern warriors holding their own in the field against five thousand ironmen?... I wouldn''t be so sure that my Unsullied can do as well. How long have they been trained? Three years? Four?... This is no coincidence, Varys." Illyrio took a moment to refresh his throat with a few sips of Arbor''s finest wine. He asked his guest with hand gestures if he would like some kind of refreshment, but Varys politely declined in silence. Then Illyrio continued. "We know for a fact that the Lions have failed in their hunt, that House Martell is directly involved in rescuing them and harbouring them somewhere safe, but Dorne would have no way of hiding them for that long anywhere. Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon would have had to constantly move from ce to ce. Is it not possible that in all these years of assiduous searching they left no trace? There is someone else who supports House Nymeros Martell, my friend. Don''t let his age fool you. My friends in Braavos have recently let me know that at the time of the trade conflict between the North and House Tyrell, it was the boy himself who dealt in person with the Queen of Thorns... Monsters with such that develop maturity and intellect superior to themon man are very rare, but they do exist, Varys." Illyrio. "You intend to ally with House Tallhart then? From what you tell me, that house seems to be a bit too much in the centre of the storm for our liking... Also, the rumours about the supposed ''blessing of the Old Gods'' seem to be more than just rumours. Many ims that during the duel against Denys Drumm that boy''s sword glowed as if by magic as it cleaved the winning blow." Varys. "If it is true that House Tallhart protects and hides the rightful Targaryen heir, we should carefully consider such a hypothesis. So yes, my friend, the possibility exists. In thest three years, my business has dropped by nearly a fifth instead of increasing. My pockets are deep, I don''t deny it, but they are not unlimited... I know how much you despise cultists and magic users, my friend, but times are changing... Many such incidents are urring throughout Westeros and Essos. Rumours of the superhuman abilities of Khal Drogo and his priestess are more than confirmed. Simr rumours from the Trident to the Vale of Arryn of a supposed ''Blessed of the Seven'' nicknamed ''High Sparrow'' performing miracles from vige to vige continually reach our ears. The sorcerers of Qarth continue to chant prophecies of the return of magic. Voices from the temples of the Lord of Light that Azor Ahai has risen and that the Long Night will return. Rumours from Old Town that the order of believers of the Seven is rising. An order of fanatics with the sole purpose of exterminating and hunting down all unbelievers and lovers of the forces of evil... and just yesterday another rumour came along. ording to many Redwine sailors and soldiers, Victarion Greyjoy and his younger brother Aeron are chosen ones of the Drowned God capable of using supernatural powers and forces. Rumours in the North about this ''Seraphine'', one of the rediscovered Old Gods who make the aridnds of the North fertile and protects themon people from the evils of winter don''t seem so evil after all. Magic was once a great force in the world, Varys. You must consider the very real possibility that supernatural powers forgotten by the known world may make a return. We cannot stop the tide, my friend, only navigate it. However much we may or may not like it." Varys didn''t know how to respond. The spider stared pensively at the floor with his arms crossed and his hands neatly tucked between his long silk and velvet sleeves. He nodded silently with a reluctant expression, thus giving assent to the arguments put forward by his old and trustedpanion. "... Even if I were to attend that wedding, I would have no foothold or allies to give me an escape route in case of ''extreme necessity '' should the negotiations fall through." Varys. "Not yet, it is true, but I have been cultivating a possible ''Bridge'' to connect us to the North for some time... If we are lucky and the opportunity arises, my man might even get into the good graces of Torrhen''s Square. He is currently located right in Pyke and is looking for a way to enter the service of House Tallhart. I have arranged for ''elements of possible rmendation'' to help him out. Should he seed, we will finally have valid eyes and ears in the heart of the North." Illyrio. "A ''Bridge''? ...mmm... And is it ''solid''?" End Part II Chapter 95: ‘ The Bridge ‘ Part III Chapter 95: The Bridge Part III Hello everyone, dear readers. As promised, here is another new chapter for you. Please bear with me for any trantion and spelling errors. I do the best I can with what I have. If you find any errors, please point them out to me and I will correct them as soon as I can. Thank you so much for your help and support. Next week I should be able to post Chapters ''1'' and ''2'' (Cleaned) on my new page: Pdin Of Old Gods. Thank you all for your support and contribution. Please leave yourments below. I''ll try to answer you as soon as possible I promise. I''m trying to collect 400 euros to get at least ten chapters well written and tranted (native trantors cost an arm and a leg!!!). If you want to support my work, I attach below my link to the Ko-Fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all and Happy Reading! --------------------------------------- POV: Ser Haymitch Rivers; Siege of Pyke, less than half a mile away from the walls. Year: 289, the ninth day of the fifth moon. About a minute after the Pyke breach was opened... The battle had officially begun. Ser Haymitch had taken charge of the front lines of the vanguard. Nine hundred northern men between Stark and Mormont. The rubble of the newly copsed walls was still causing havoc within the enemy lines. The ironmen would need at least a good minute to reorganize their defensive lines ready for the enemy. However, at least three hundred men, including archers and crossbowmen, were ready to greet them from thecework and ramparts of the walls. In all probability at least three dozen good soldiers would have fallen under that storm of darts, spears, arrows, and stones thrown at them in that brief interval. "Attack!" Haymitch set the example by leading the charge first as he pointed his longsword in the direction of the newly formed breach nearly twenty feet wide. Hundreds of fierce shouts answered the call. House Karstark and House Tallhart had contributed greatly to this military campaign. Lord Rickard and Lord Helman had provided excellent studded leather armour, helmets, ruffs, chaps and shoulder straps of fine hardened steel as well as countless shields reinforced with fine ironwood, to all the minor nobles of the North who could not yet afford to supply their militia with such fine equipment. House Mormont was among them. More than four hundred men from Bear Ind, poorly equipped, had been d in new from the tips of their toes to the top of their heads. House Stark had, for over a year now, reced the standard equipment of all the militia in their service. Certainly, House Tallhart remained in first ce in the matter. A good quality piece of equipment (including weapons) for a soldier costs on average four to five gold coins... Haymitch''s witty eye had estimated at least twenty gold coins for each regr soldier of the Tallhart militia, but he had no idea how much the weapons and armour of the Winter Guardians unit were worth. Definitely not less than a hundred gold dragons. Many des and arrowheads would not have been able to reach vital points of the brave Northmen of the vanguard that day... Haymitch didn''t have excessive sympathy for House Tallhart and that demon-boy ''Bloody Snow'', very few people in the Drunken Knight''s life enjoyed that privilege, but at least this recognition and praise for safeguarding the North had to be given to him. The very battle armour Haymitch won at the Torrhen''s Square tournament was a masterpiece of craftsmanship. One that only a great lord of a wealthy House could have afforded. Ser Haymitch didn''t like heavy armour, but for the one he had on at that moment, he would make an exception. He could not afford the luxury of agility and freedom of movement in such a situation. The Captain of the Stark Vanguard ran at a brisk but sure pace, keeping his round shield firmly raised above the top of his head. A quote, taught to him by his uncle over twenty years ago, rang in Haymitch''s head. ''Oak and Iron protect me well, or of hell, I shall know the pains!'' A couple of arrows had already scratched the surface of the shield, a few cries of distress behind him signalled to the captain that some of his men were already badly wounded if not dead... It was a hundred feet away from the breach. "Advance! Align shields!" The pace of the charge began to slow, and a respectable defensive formation came to life three of the Allied front lines. The cloud of dust, created by the copse of the stone, had not yet dissipated. Visibility was reduced. Haymitch was the first to cross the Pyke breach... Awaiting him were two dust-covered opponents still confused and disorganized but with axes firmly in their hands. Without hesitation, Haymitch struck a sh, ripping the throat of the opponent least prepared to receive it. The second ironman tried a blow from above wielding the long axe with two hands. The knight held back the sh jamming the final part of his de at the base of the metal, from there he fractured the man''s nose hitting him with a head butt reinforced by a heavy helmet of excellent steel. The thin iron strip that protected the ironborn''s nose folded inward due to the impact devastating the enemy''s face. Haymitch finished the man off by hitting him in the windpipe with his shield. The *Crack* he heard was loud enough to cross the threat off his list. Haymitch had abandoned honour long ago... In a real battle, he would have no qualms about using any means, no matter how dirty it looked in the eyes of the Cavalry, to take down a potential threat. Probably no one was better at that specific art in all of the Rivends than he was. {Hitting at any weakness of the enemy was permissible in war}. No one was going to convince him to change that personal pir of his life philosophy... Five more opponents were approaching, but now he would not face them alone. Now Haymitch had a good view of his surroundings. About four hundred ironmen were less than sixty feet away from the breach. "Captain Ted! On the right! You men, with me! To the walls!!!" Haymitch thundered. This was the best n to follow if they wanted to conquer the first tower by increasing the odds of the two main objectives as much as possible: ''Protect Jorah'' & ''Infiltrate Special Units''. The Allied forces had a detailed map (provided by Lord Rodrick Haw''s library) of Pyke''s fortress. Haymitch had studied by heart every corridor, staircase, the main or secondary passageway in all three towers. One hundred Northmen were to keep the enemy defences upied until Lord Jorah and his main forces arrived. The task of Captain Haymitch,manding four hundred Stark warriors, and Vice-Captain Ted,manding four hundred Mormont warriors, was to storm the enemy walls and annihte the Greyjoy firing units. That way the greatest remaining danger to Lord Jorah would be the ovend sh of swords, shields, pikes, and axes...but from there the Winter Guardians would step in. The battle was already won in Haymitch''s mind, the factor of ''how many'' and ''who'' among the their allies would die in that battle was the only remaining issue. Ser Haymitch led his squad down the left side towards the flights of stairs that led up to the second level of the walls. Half a dozen ironmen tried to block the passage to the walls but were cut down in a dozen seconds. "Protect the Captain''s nk!" Shouted a Stark soldier with a familiar face but whom he could not associate with a name. An enemy shout rmed the veteran of House ckwood. "Crossbowmen! Fire on those northern dogs! Don''t let them up!" Shouted a supposed Greyjoymander on the ramparts of the wall. A score of crossbowmen turned their attention to Haymitch''s group. "SHIELD!!!" Shouted Ser Haymitch instinctively in a higher tone of voice. *Stock!* *Pungh!*, *Studhg!*. Fortunately, no crossbow bolt seemed to undermine his group''s modest wall of shields... Haymitch wasn''t going to try his luck again. "Let''s get up there! Let''s not give them time to reload!!!" Spurred Haymitch, climbing the steps two at a time. The valiant knight gave up his shield and threw it at a screaming iron man who was charging him to try to impale him on his pike. Throwing the unbnced enemy to the side, Haymitch stabbed him in the back with a backward blow, even giving up his long sword. He didn''t even need it anymore. From that moment on the battlefield would be narrow and cramped and he was tired of fighting in that style. Ser Arthur Dayne was not the only knight skilled in Dual Wielding. From now on, the short sword and his modified gavel would be his weapons, and enemy bodies his shields. A cracked skull, a stab to the groin, a nearly severed arm and two smashed faces and Haymitch had finally reached the top. His loyal men were less than five feet behind him finishing off or throwing the dying animals below, victims of the Bastard Knight''s fury. The next enemy Haymitch pounced on was the octopusmander himself, who was about to order a second volley of darts to be fired. After about thirty minutes of blood, piss, shit, guts, severed limbs, screams and death... The east side of the first walls had been conquered, the Greyjoy banners lowered and reced with those of the wolf and the crowned stag. One Stark soldier died for every three enemies. This was the price of blood paid per stretch of wall. Ser Haymitch had lost at least eighty good northern men under his directmand, and about a dozen were hovering between life and death. About three hundred Stark warriors were still skilled in the fight. Even Vice-Captain Tedcked little to match the achievements of Haymitch''s garrison. The main Allied forces were still in melee against some five hundred tired and wounded Greyjoys. With each passing minute, the Dustin-Tallhart units gained two or three feet of the ground pushing back the enemy defensive waves. ''Twenty-six more broken promises'' Haymitch thought for a moment remembering the oath he had made to his beloved young wife almost seven years earlier. [I promise you, my love. This will be myst battle... When I return I will bury the sword and pick up the plough. Ser Haymitch ''The Drunk'' will be forgotten and reced by Haymitch the ''husband and family man farmer'']. That was the promise he had made to Seline, the one woman to whom he had given his heart, the one who had given her his greatest reason for living, his son Jonas... "Milord..." Ullen, Lieutenant Stark under Ser Haymitch''s direct orders, was awaiting instructions. The knight awoke swiftly from those sad and distracting thoughts. Atst, he was able to remember the name of that face. Apparently, the alcohol had not yetpletely clouded his memory... "Transport the wounded to shelter and try to treat the most urgent wounds. Collect enemy weapons. I want every man who can wield a bow to provide covering fire for the central forces. Takedown those archers. Crossbowmen concentrate fire on the remaining Greyjoy troops! Don''t give them a moment''s respite! We must force the enemy to fall back inside the tower!" End POV. --------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Just outside the gates of The Great Keep, the first tower of Pyke''s fortress. About five minutes after the Stark and Mormont units began firing arrows and darts at the enemy... Ser Haymitch and Captain Ted had sessfully carried out the first part of the n. My squad of ny-nine fools and I were hidden in thest ranks of the rear guard. Each of us was disguised in ironborn''s armour and robes bearing the colours and banners of House Greyjoy. A long dark woollen hooded cape concealed our robes. It was not our ce to join the fray at this early stage of the battle. We could have begun to act as soon as the fight moved inside the halls of the first tower of the keep. A hundred or so Allied archers were giving the marksmen defending the second walls a run for their money, almost all of them concentrated on thecework and slits just above the gate. Some forty or so Mormont and Stark crossbowmen, taking advantage of their high position on the captured first walls, were raining death and pain on thest five rows of Greyjoys still trying to hold their defensive position. Within two or three minutes at most, they would have retreated... Our first two lines,posed of Winter Guardians, were not conceding even an inch of ground or the slightest defensive opening in the shield wall. Lord Jorah Mormont was safely in the centre of the sixth line. He probably hadn''t even had a chance to cross swords with any opponent. After not even a minute the sound of a horn was heard... *Wooouuuu!* and a "Retreat! Retreat inside the fortress!" Roared one of the surviving Ironborn captains. The heavy, thick grates of wood and iron began to rise. It was the moment of truth... It was time to find out if de [7] and Lord Haw''s small infiltration team had managed to take control of the halls of the gate lever mechanisms. About three hundred ironmen, tired and demoralized, began to retreat into the main corridor. About fifty soldiers remained behind as they tried to buy time for theirrades by holding back the Northern forces... Lord Jorah didn''t miss that opportunity. "Front line! PUSH! Break that formation at any cost!!!" Thundered themander-in-chief. "AWOO!" Replied my boys in reply. The first three Tallhart-Dustin lines gave up their defensive formation for an all-out assault. Those brave fifty ironmen could not hold out for more than twenty seconds... However, the gate of the first tower was wide enough to allow five to six men to pass through at a time. That time was enough to provide safe passage for the remaining enemy forces. "Close the gate!!! Close the gate!!!... I SAID CLOSE THE GATE, DAMMIT!!!" Shouted the gatekeeper panicking. The grates remained up... A dozen Dustin soldiers had already made it through and soon chaos erupted in the main hallway of Great Keep. ''Yes! They have seeded!'' I exulted inwardly, thinking of how much time and lives we would save in this attack. "Inside the fortress!!! FOLLOW ME!" Jorah Mormont thundered, encouraging the troops. "UUAAARGHH!!!" Roared more than a thousand men in response. "Follow yourmander!!! Protect Lord Jorah!" Shouted the deputymander to the personal escort of Lady Barbrey''s bride-to-be. One of my best men, Todd ''The Shield'', was Jorah''s shadow. Now that the area''s most risky battle was won, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. I could finally focus all my attention on my part of the n. Ser Haymitch and Ted gave the order to signal to the main forces of the Royal Army that the attack for control of the tower had begun. Dozens of gs and staffs were waved in the air from the walls. Shouts of jubtion and horn sts came secondster. King Robert and Lord Eddard would soon arrive to reinforce the vanguard. "Ser Barristan, the time hase. I leave themand of the rear guard to you. ALL OF YOU... I RECOMMEND... A credible setup. If I fall, follow Ser Jaime, if Ser Jaime falls, follow me!" End POV -------------------------- POV: Ser Barristan ''The Bold'' At the entrance to the Guest Keep, the second tower of Pyke''s fortress. About twenty minutes after the Allied forces captured the first Tower... All ny-nine infiltrators managed to blend in between enemy lines. The ironborn style robes, weapons and armour they wore were strategically stained with cattle blood and dust. So that to show everyone at first nce that they too had faced the ''enemies of House Greyjoy'' with valour... Dozens of eyes had even witnessed their (simted) ''fight'' with some Stark and Mormont soldiers during the armed resistance in the first Tower. Barristan was the hero who had single-handedly saved King Aerys II at Duskendale. Twelve years ago, he had managed to infiltrate the fortress with nothing more than a dagger, a sword, and linen rags. Yet, even he found Bloody Snow''s n a suicidal gamble... One misstep, one word too many or one wrong answer and ny-nine brave warriors of Westeros would have to face off alone against at least eight hundred fierce ironmen armed with pikes, swords and axes with no chance of escape. "Milord, the bridge has been raised and all the crossbowmen are in position!" Said a soldier to what appeared to be themander-in-chief of Guest Keep. "Damned dogs of the North! Purharg! You two! Tell King Balon that Great Keep has fallen and called for at least a hundred more archers for reinforcement!" Ordered themander, spitting on the ground and cursing at the enemy forces. "Aye, Captain!" Two young porters, too immature to be warriors, prepared to deliver the message. "Captain Warryn! It seems the enemy is making arrangements tounch a second attack on the gates!" Shrieked a soldier who looked like he had juste back from a long descent. "What! Do they want to assault Guest Keep? Crazy bastards! Victory must have clouded the enemy''s brain... Exterminate anything that moves on the bridge! Those idiots! Do they think it''s that easy to conquer the second tower? A thousand dying soldiers will teach them this hard lesson! Come on, move it, youzy bastards! Everyone in position!!!" Ordered themander. This was the perfect opportunity Barristan''s group had been waiting for... Now they could move freely around the tower. It was up to the elderly Knight, along with Thoros of Myr, Beric, Henry, Lord Fury, and about twenty Knights Errant and Tallhart warriors, to assault that side of the gate. Bloody Snow and the remaining forces would wait and storm the opposite side when the time was right. ''We must lower that bridge and open the gate no matter what!'' Barristan thought, remembering every part of the n. About three minutester... "You! Stop there! Who are you? What are you doing... Urgh!" Barristan quickly shed the words and the throat of one of the sentries guarding the levers, then instantly drew his longsword stabbing a second guard in the belly who was too slow to react. Thoros and the others threw themselves against the remaining five ironmen taken totally by surprise. A quick and sessful first assault. The men behind the door seemed not to have been rmed... The real challenge would begin shortly. All men were in position and ready for the second assault. Barristan threw open the door and quickly entered the room. His experienced eye quickly counted fourteen enemies to neutralize. "Hey! Who are you guys! How did you get in here?" Reprimanded a tall man in his forties clutching his axe. "Attack!" The Royal Guard threw itself first into the jaws of the supposed watchmander. The opponent managed to deflect Barristan''s first two shes. ''A worthy opponent'' The old knight thought instinctively. The adrenaline and excitement of a real battle red up in Ser Barristan''s tired muscles and bones. A pleasant and familiar feeling that he loved and was born to. Every cell in the man focused on the ''Here and Now''. He deflected a sh to the side and counterattacked, managing to graze his opponent''s right armpit. A second adversary armed with a sword entered the fray to help hismander. Barristan was not caught unprepared and yed in advance cutting off the forearm of the enemy. "Quickly! Call for reinforcements! Sound the rm!!!" He managed to shout the ironman in charge of the team before reentering the fray with his opponent. A boy who didn''t even look like he was of age answered the call, attempting to make his way to the secondary door of the room. "Henry! Stop him!" Barristan thundered in response. The archer of House Tallhart was ready. An arrow pierced the poor devil''s throat sideways just a secondter. The boy slumped at the door, spitting blood from his mouth. Barristan''s forces were getting the better of him, there were four enemies still standing. The Knight took a counterattack an imprecise sh of his opponent, cut the wrist of the hand that held the axe and turned the sword masterfully cutting off his head. Thoros ughtered a second enemy and the remaining two quickly followed the fate of theirrades. ''Victory is ours.'' Exulted the leader of that team in aposed and guarded manner. ''''Quickly! Operate the levers! Let''s lower that bridge and bolt those doors! Soon we''ll have visitors..." End Part III Chapter 96: The Bridge Part IV Chapter 96: '' The Bridge '' Part IV Hello everyone, dear readers. As promised, here is another new chapter for you. Please bear with me for any trantion and spelling errors. I do the best I can with what I have. If you find any errors, please point them out to me and I will correct them as soon as I can. Thank you so much for your help and support. I also posted Chapter 1 (Clean and well tranted) on my new page. Thanks again for everyone who helped me fund the work! I attach the link to the Pdin of Old Gods page below: /book/pdin-of-old-gods_22611959805415005 Thanks also for your support and contribution. Please leave yourments below. I''ll try to answer you as soon as possible I promise. I''m trying to collect 400 euros to get at least ten chapters well written and tranted (native trantors cost an arm and a leg!!!). If you want to support my work, I attach below my link to the Ko-Fi page. /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you all and Happy Reading! --------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Second Tower, The Guest Keep, Isle of Pyke. About two minutes after the second gate was lowered... The iron shoulder straps, leggings, and ruff didn''t fit very well over my camouged studded armour, and the helmet was a little too big a size for my head, but at least it concealed my white hair well. I was a little ashamed to wear hairpins and a protective bathing cap to keep some tufts from popping out. The square iron-studded and oak shield with the gold Kraken at least was manageable... even if it smelled like fish and wet wood. The ''soldier/hub'' style of the Iron Inds didn''t suit me particrly well. ''Well... At least my uncle''s eyes are far from this... I''ll have to remember to groom every Tallhart man in this group well... mmm... yes, des of Frost included.'' But now was not the time to think of such nonsense. Leobald Tallhart''s pranks and evil jokes were a side issue now. I didn''t have Red Rain with me. Many personal weapons were not reced, except for my ancestral sword of Valyria... It was already an eye-opening anomaly to see a boy of eleven/twelve wielding a bastard sword... I couldn''t take the chance. Ser Jaime only needed to cover the golden lion-shaped pommel by always keeping his left hand on the hilt. In any case, I had no qualms about carrying a short sword and two long daggers made of Damascus steel. Soon the world would know about the new productsunched on the market by Casa Bolton. I might as well get started on the hype... The battle in the second Tower was to be just beginning. The initial group had split into two as nned. We moved away without arousing suspicion before Ser Barristan managed to lower the drawbridge. I and about seventy of mypanions had just walked over three hundred feet of side corridors, stairs, and short stretches of crowded halls. We were forced to perpetually shush an old servant who must have been in the service of House Greyjoy for who knows how long. There was no other choice... This was the most delicate and risky part of the n. Now that the trick of the gates being opened as if by magic had been shown twice, soonmanders with a pinch of brains would have deduced that there might be traitors or infiltrated enemies inside the fortresses. We had to take advantage of the wave of chaos caused by the panic, screams and fury of battle to execute the third and final act. Most of the armed ironmen were mobilizing in the direction of the South Gate, where at least a hundred of Lord Jorah''s men should have been able to pass through and begin the second fierce battle to conquer Pyke. The eyes of the enemy were still to be kept on the south of The Guest Keep... The first bridge, connecting The Great Keep to The Guest Keep, was made of solid stone. There was no risk that the enemy could bring it down in a short period. However, it was a maximum of fifteen feet wide. No more than three men at a time could cross it. Archers and crossbowmen, if well arranged, could create a ughterhouse, and ughter our Northmen like sheep to the ughter. We had to aim for a massive attack in that moment of surprise when the second gate hade down. Panic, confusion, and surprise were powerful weapons when used at the right time. Ser Barristan and those couple dozen Heroes in his retinue had to hold out in a hyper-defensive position in the hall on the second floor of the levers to keep that bridge down for as long as possible. I was very confident that they could aplish that feat... The enemy was well outnumbered, but they would have to face those more than capable swords in a narrow field with only two points of entry. Henry had with him a short golden heart bow and a quiver with thirty arrows. The ''Legs of House Tallhart'' wasn''t going to miss any targets. And the lucky ones who made it through those gates would have to contend with the best sword in Westeros and his worthypanions. We had almost reached the gates to thest bridge. But then a voice apanied by dozens of footsteps stopped us... "Come on, move it!" Roared a captain as he led about fifty men armed with pikes and axes. We continued walking at a steady pace trying to attract as little attention as possible. "Hey, you! Where fuck do you think you''re going?! The battle is on the other side... Will you run away, you filthy fucking cowards?!" I recognized the man who held a pike to the throat of de[24], the pretend captain of our garrison. His huge gash across his mouth and the multitude of gold, silver, and bronze rings studded with precious stones that adorned his hands were enough to identify him. That had to be the infamous Dagmer Clefjaw, one of the most loyal and fierce ironmen in the service of House Greyjoy... ''Level 8 ss: King'' I instantly assessed within myself sharing Jaime''s same thought with a nce. Dagmer was the captain of the Foamdrinker, one of the most famous and feared longships of the Sunset Sea. I had requested much research and information about him. In the ASOIAF canon it was Dagmer who supported Theon Greyjoy during the conquest of Winterfell... and to make it happen ''Cleafjaw'' conquered Torrhen''s Square killing my brother Benfred... Ser Jaime, Ser Lyle, and a dozen others were ready at any moment to draw their weapons. I made a hidden hand sign to stop impulsive actions. ''de [24], I''m counting on you... You absolutely must recognize that individual or it wille to a confrontation...'' I thought urgently as I lowered my head like a respectful page to my ''captain''. I had chosen de [24] as the fictitious leader for this section of the road because he was the most knowledgeable on ''Iron Inds'' matters. The des of Frost were the 007s of Torrhen''s Square. The license to kill was just one of the skills needed for that role. We were outnumbered... but the battle still wouldn''t go unnoticed. "Dagmer... The only cowards here are the monsters that came out of your salt whore mother''s ass! You dare to call me ''Coward'' again and I''ll rip out what''s left of your mouth with my bare hands... We''re just following Commander Warryn''s orders. He wants reinforcements at the bridge gates. The enemy has seeded in breaking through the second gate, if you fail to repel him, we''ll be the ones to save your hairy ass in the event of a retreat!" de''s[24] mannerisms and ng were a bit too rough in my opinion... but it seemed effective. "Argh! Ahahah! You''ve got a mouth stingier than a crab w little boy... If we weren''t short of men, I''d have given you a smile as good as mine by now! Ahahah!" Despite theughter, Dagmer did not lower his weapon, and continued, "We just received a request for reinforcements... It seems that the enemy has managed to cross the bridge and enter this tower... And you are moving away from the danger. Why should I withdraw my charge in your opinion?" Dagmer. "We''re not the ones with clean, pristine weapons here. While you piss-poor ''Heroes'' stood safe here in the second tower, I and my men spilt gallons of blood for the Drowned God and the King in Great Keep." Replicated de[24]. Dagmer took a general look at the group. He seemed unable to debate that earlier statement.e "I don''t know you people... Who are you? More importantly, who the fuck are you?" Dagmer. "Captain of the Lover of Leviathan, Wullen Pyke. Natural son of Lord Egner Cliff. Half of them are part of my crew and the other half... Well, I have no idea. We''re in the middle of a fucking battle. I don''t have time for introductions." de[24] replied in a proud tone. Unlike most of the Seven Kingdoms, the name bastard wasn''t as defamatory in the Iron Inds. Every true ironman had the opportunity to gain a ce among the ranks of thosends by paying the ''price of iron''. Every Captain was considered a King in his ship. "Are you one of Egner''s many bastards?... I''m not surprised... Even that whale hunter father of your spits shit out of his big mouth all the time. Defending the bridge, you say? You all look nice and sturdy and ready to fight... Would Warryn have deprived himself of all these axes right after asking for reinforcements from the King?" Tension was running high. A couple of Dagmer''s men approached their captain''s side clutching their axes in a very defiant manner. And then a second unexpected help arrived... "Hey, you! You little bastard! I recognize you! You''re the guy whost night ran out of the hall before paying!!! You owe me four pieces of silver, rat!!! Don''t you dare go and die before you pay what you owe!" A knight errant from the group stepped forward pointing an using finger in the direction of a sixteen or so year old boy from Dagmer''s group. First, the used looked around to see if the man really had it in for him. The poor boy was totally taken aback by the false usation he had just made. "I don''t owe you anything! I don''t even know who you are!" He replied, taking a half step back. "Thief and liar then! Don''t y dumb. Your ugly pockmarked face I won''t forget...Aye, you had run away after the double one came out! You should have thought twice before rolling the dice, boy! I''ll get what''s due me...and if I have to pay for it with the Iron Price, THAT''S IT!!!" The Knight unsheathed his steel, taking three steps forward. "LIAR! He''s lying I''ve never seen that man before!!! Captain, you have to believe me! It''s the truth I swear!" All the men present armed themselves by lining up ready to assault the first target in range. Attention dragged on that second incident. de[24] seized the opportunity on the fly. "Freeze! Drop your weapons you!... Well? What are we going to do, Captain Dagmer? Do we gut each other for four silver coins and leave the enemy an easy victory, or do we fight to defend this tower and the King''s life?" The screams and mours of the background steel of the fighting in the tower reached over there. Dagmer turned his head towards the most urgent direction at the moment. Then he said: "Lower your weapons! We have another battle to fight... Move! To the southbridge!" The bomb was defused... Dagmer and his group walked away simply throwing only a few res instead of sharp axes. "Good job, Captain. I couldn''t have done better." Iplimented de''s [24] excellent performance. "Congrattions, Captain." Peter also joined in. "Thank you, my lords, but the credit was not mine alone." de [24] quickly eyed the knight who put on the little show. The man simply bowed his head with a slightly amused smile. "All of you, let''s move. We managed to avoid this fight, but next time we won''t be so lucky." Imanded refocusing everyone''s attention on the mission. We finished going through the entire great hall and finally reached the main corridor just past the North Bridge. Thest passage and bulwark for the strenuous defence of the Greyjoy Rebellion. On the way, I approached that unknown knight, one of the volunteer Knights-errant rmended by Barristan and Peter. A more than worthwhile [Level 7 ss: Lord] floated on his head. It wasn''t such an easy level to obtain... The man certainly didn''tck experience in the field. He looked to be in his early thirties, just over six feet tall, with strong shoulders and arms with a sharp and resolute gaze. "A very good find indeed, Ser..." "Ser Ron Storm, milord. Natural son of Lord Ronald Connington." The Knight introduced himself as we continued walking. "Ah... the Lord of Griffin''s Roost. Well, we all owe you our lives, Ser. Without that usation of the poor pockmarked man we probably would have made it to the fight." I praised with sincerity. ''House Connington suffered a severe blow after Robert''s Rebellion... Jon Connigton sided with Rhaegar instead of following his Lord Protector... mmm... A Knight seeking honour to restore the name of his House perhaps?'' was my first thought. ''I do not deserve such apliment, milord. It was a bold move...merely mere experience gained from tavern brawls." Humbly replied the man. ''Humble and sincere.'' I noted with celerity sensing no deception in the tone of his voice. I would have liked to ask more questions the goal was in sight... "Stay close, sword at the ready and nerves steady, Ser Ron. The bridge is near." End POV. ----------------------------------- POV: Ser Jaime Lannister; A few steps from the start of the swaying walkway of wood and hemp rope. About a minute after a fortuitous and sessful narrow escape from a fight... A small part of Jaime was disappointed at the escaped confrontation. His sword hand quivered and he couldn''t wait to get into action. Jaime hadn''t felt this alive and excited since that day eight years ago when he was invested with the title of knight by Ser Arthur Dayne after his first real battle against the brotherhood of King''s Wood. The sparks from the des produced by that magical sword sparring he exchanged with that boy the night before was the catalyst that ignited the dust. That fluid, precise, unique, and peculiar movements gave the best swordsman in the West countless hints of improvement in the art of the sword. Jaime thought he had reached an insurmountable limit... He trained for hours in the art of swordsmanship trying to match his idol and Hero, The Sword of the Morning. He had seeded... Even if only for a few minutes, Bloody Snow had managed to reach that level. He was certain of it. The Tallhart boy exined to him that those abnormal movements were not replicable without painful and gruelling training, but that the possibility of replicating a variation for Jaime''s constitution and style existed. After a good hour of practice with the training des, The Kingyer and Bloody Snow stayed talkingte into the night exchanging ideas and improvements in the art of swordsmanship. For Jaime, those hours slipped by like a summer breeze on his skin. He could have gone an entire day without drinking, eating, or sleeping without even realizing it. Duncan even promised him a brief meeting with his master if the opportunity arose during the celebrations in Barrowton... Jaime couldn''t wait to meet the genius master-at-arms who had created those movements... or rather those works of art. The Hero of the North, in addition to offering help in the matter of ''How to unlock my Pdin powers'', even offered Jaime a gift. A new longsword custom made for him, with higher performance than the forged steel of the best forges in Lannisport second only to the steel of Valyria in his opinion... Jaime did not refuse the gesture, but he tried to pay the right price for such work not wanting to take on a debt that perhaps he would not be able to repay. [A Lannister always repays his debts.] His family''s second motto was engrained to the core. Despite all of Cersei''s constant negative remarks about the heir to House Tallhart, Jaime could not help but begin to forge a bond of friendship with this individual. A bridge, though still fragile, began to build between the two. The only true friend he had was his younger brother Tyrion. ''Cersei rarely changes her mind about anyone. She''ll hate Duncan Tallhart until the day he dies...but Tyrion...he''d like that boy, that''s for sure.'' Jaime thought cheerfully as he recalled the countless distressing jokes thrown by the boy the night before. Some had managed to prate the solid guarding armour Jaime had forged to protect himself from the constant ttery, ass-kissing, and courtesies he received in the past just for being the son and heir of the powerful and feared Lord Tywin Lannister. It wasn''t just amon feeling of sympathy or trivialmon traits that made himfortable in the presence of that individual... Now that he was marching to his side Jaime realized. It was a feeling he had felt before. A feeling he had felt in the past when at the age of twelve he pointed his gaze at the majestic and charismatic figure of Rhaegar with three legendary white cloaks in his wake. It was still as immature as a sprout, but it was there and growing like a nt... ''The will to follow him... My hand, my feet, my sword... They instinctively want to follow that boy and protect him.'' Realized Jaime with extreme disbelief. He looked around for the gaze of those he recognized as sworn men in the service of House Tallhart... Their eyes did not lie. He recognized it instantly. Those gazes... were simr if not identical to those of Arthur Dayne and Barristan Selmy when they were in the proximity and protection of Prince Rheagar ''The Last Dragon''. The look in the eyes of those who were ready to follow and protect their leader... Jaime''s survival instincts woke him from his stupor. A loud lion''s roar inside him warned him that danger was imminent. Less than a hundred feet away from them. The bridge doors opened, and a line of men-at-arms stepped out and began to line up to protect the door. They didn''t seem to be rmed by their group... They hadn''t been discovered yet, but they certainly weren''t going to talk them out of moving from there. ''There must be about forty of them... thirty pikes and axes and a dozen crossbowmen...'' Jaime analyzed within seconds. After small signals and whispered orders, Bloody Snow positioned himself at the head of the group while the men arranged themselves in a concealed manner in battle formation and were ready to act. Jaime lined up in the front row to Ser Balon''s right nk and the mighty Ser Lyle Crakehall to his left. "Halt! You cannot pass! By order of King Balon, no one may cross the bridge from now on." Said themander of that group of guards. The two-panelled oak door, ten feet high at most and eight feet wide, was closed and sealed with a studded log of wood as thick and thick as a man''s leg. The crossbowmen had their darts set but the crossbows were not anchored facing them. The two groups were now within fifteen feet of each other. ''Many levels [4], a few levels [5] and only one level [6]... Easy prey...'' Estimated Jaime with a closer eye estimating the quality of the enemy. "By order of the King, we must pass through the gates and protect the bridge, Commander." This time it was Bloody Snow who spoke. "... Kid,e back when you''ve built up your muscles after a few years as an oarsman on some fishing boat or raided your first mermaid and seen her pussy hair. Who''s in charge here? Why are you allowing this brat to speak on your behalf? No onees in or out of this door. I received my orders directly from the King a few minutes ago! Do I make myself clear?" Replicated the ironborn in a wry and derogatory manner while sneering. A smallugh erupted among the ranks of his men as well. "You are already speaking with theirmander, Ser... And wee here in the name of King Robert." A small jerk forward, an instant draw followed by a single fluid, well-ced sh apanied thest word of the sentence... A series of throwing daggers, javelins, and crossbow darts apanied the first attack a momentter. Jaimeshed out at a crossbowmante in his reaction. The first swift sh disarmed the man from his weapon, the second shed across his belly, slicing cleanly through leather, wool, and flesh. Ser Lyle had just smashed the skull of hispanion at his side with a mighty blow from his mace. A screaming man armed with a pike aimed at Jaime''s throat, but the enemy miscalcted his blow, there was not enough time and space for that kind of manoeuvre. Jaime dodged to the side deflecting the pike downwards with a parry and stabbed the man in the throat with his stiletto just drawn with his left hand. The Kingyer didn''t stop the charge. He rotated his torso and plunged his de into the exposed belly of his third victim just behind the previous one. It was a one-sided massacre. The enemy was cornered, without amander to give them orders and unprepared for the fight. Seeing the disparity of the fight, a handful of ironborn tried to reopen the doors to escape from that ughterhouse. They barely managed to slip through the reinforcing beam but then dozens of des descended on them. No prisoners, no mercy... None of them was down. Few were slightly wounded and just one Stark soldier named Jory had the misfortune to receive a dart stuck in his left shoulder. Bloody Snow and Tallhart men surrounded the most seriously wounded. The wound was treated swiftly with a treatment ''hidden'' from outside eyes. Jaime knew what was going on... the night before he had received simr treatment for bruises, scrapes and minor contusions caused by intense sparring. A very useful Pdin skill that he too was eager to learn. "Quick help me move these bodies! Let''s pile them behind that wall!" Jaime attracted the attention of many curious eyes. After two minutes... Jory Cassel was standing again with a makeshift bandage on his shoulder. His face looked surprised, relieved and not so sore, and Jaime knew why... "Peter, Jory, Ser Wex and you twelve, take care of the upper floor and neutralize the archers and lookouts. There should be no more than ten men guarding that side. If possible, try not to alert the Sea Tower. As soon as the task is aplished return to reinforce here." Bloody Snow. "At your orders, my lord General." Deputy General Peter. "Ser Balon, Ser Ron, and you twenty with me. We will defend the far side. Ser Jaime..." The boy sought the knight''s gaze. Jaime answered the call. "I leavemand on this site to you. Ser Barristan and Lord Jorah''s forces should be arriving soon in reinforcement... We are counting on you, Ser. If the Greyjoy soldiers manage to cross that bridge, it will be the end for us... They must not pass." Said the boy earnestly but with a look that brimmed with confidence, hope and expectation... Jaime had almost two-thirds of his strength with him. Those just under fifty swords would face a daunting task: to prevent the enemy from tearing down the wooden and hemp rope walkway and to cut off The Guest Keep''s forces during their retreat. In that way in enemy would be crushed between the anvil and the hammer, but only if they managed to look like a real insurmountable anvil... Less than fifty men had to look like more than two hundred. But all that wasn''t the most crucial point-that boy was betting his life on Jaime. If even a handful of Greyjoy warriors reached the backs of Bloody Snow and his meagre group focused on pushing back the Sea Tower garrison, it would be the end for them... Time slowed down. Countless images and thoughts swept through Young Lion. Cersei''s words redounded first... [The brat Tallhart is a threat to our family and children, Jaime... Too much power and influence in the hands of a Northern barbarian. He is overshadowing the future glory of our little Joffrey. I hope he participates in the invasion, fights and dies with valour on the front lines. Talk to our father, Jaime... We must stop him]. More different voices and unpleasant memories followed: [The Kingyer! A man without honour... You have broken your oath! The Kingsguard who stabbed his King in the back! Ahahah!] Robert''s fat, vulgarughter irritated him more than any other voice. He knew the pig enjoyed making fun of him and his family. The most roaring and piercing voice remained his father''s... A phrase Tywin repeated every night to all his children. [What we do, what needs to be done, will always and only be for the sake of the Lannister name.] ''It''s not just Cersei... Even my father would rather eliminate this threat... For the future of House Lannister... Why are you trusting me, you fool?! Why are you leaving your life in the hands of a rival House!'' He wished he could shout thosest thoughts out loud... but his lips were sealed, and his throat parched. And then, at the height of those dark and dreary thoughts... another image came. A memory of the day she left Harrenhal... [We leave Princess Elia, the Queen, and the princes in your hands... Watch over them until we return, Brother Jaime.] Those were thest words he heard spoken by the greatest knight in Westeros... The voice was different, but the tone, conviction, and confidence conveyed were identical. A bridge... a bridge made of faint light materialized, slowly making its way in the middle of that sea of darkness. And beyond it, a young squire with golden hair was waiting for him, wielding a training sword that was very familiar to him... A hope, a chance to walk a path, a path he had dreamed of since he was a child but was lost years ago, it was materializing in front of him. Time started to flow again. For a moment Jaime thought he had been standing still and silent like an idiot scarecrow, but, only a few seconds had passed... However, seventy-one warriors were still waiting for an answer. Jaime looked around him. They were all good, capable men-at-arms. And the nce... the nce in each of those brave men''s eyes was fierce and more determined than ever. Only a few words managed to be spoken by the ''Knight in search of his lost honour''. "They will not pass." Chapter 97: ‘ Overcome Ones Limits Part I Chapter 97: Ovee One''s Limits '' Part I Hello everyone, here is a new chapter for you! I would rmend all fans of the reading soundtracks to read the next two chapters with this track below: My Hero Academia 2018 OST - One For All vs. All For One. Thank you all for your support. and let me know what you think of the chapter. Happy Reading!!! ---------------------------------------------------- POV: Barristan Selmy; The Guest Keep, Fortress of Pyke. A few minutes after a Knight answered... Barristan cleaved thest blow ending the unnecessary suffering of his opponent, thest remaining ironborn of that enemy garrison. None of those fanatical marauders of the sea chose to surrender... Every man fell clutching his weapon in his hand, even though the enemy was surrounded and had no way out. Thest ngors and pained screams came from the corridor at the end. The reinforcements sent by Lord Jorah had been arriving for over three minutes now... Almost ten minutes of relentless fighting since the wooden doors were knocked down by the enemy. A time that seemed interminable... but, the twenty-eight warriors defending the bridge''s control levers did not yield an inch of ground to the enemy. A smear cut on their left arm, a semi bruised rib, and perhaps a fractured finger on their hand. The adrenaline in Barristan''s body continued to significantly ease the burning and aching from those small wounds sustained in the fierce battle he had just faced. Yet not even the adrenaline could mask the 51-year-old''s true pains. His back was on fire, his arms heavy, his breath short and his left knee rusty. The aches and pains of age were bing a real thorn in his side. Selmy was trying as hard as he could to mask those weaknesses. Experience and technique continued to make up for theck of stamina and endurance, but that gap was getting wider year after year. However... Barristan had just proven to the world, but more importantly to himself, that the me was not yet extinguished, indeed, it shone and danced as furiously as in glory days past. More than sixty enemy bodiesy on the ground. Walls of ironborn bodies began to form near the only two entrances to the hall, making the passage almost inessible. One of them belonged to Captain Warryn, the formermander in charge of The Guest Keep''s gate. The iron man hade himself to attempt to take down the infiltrating enemies who had taken control of the bridge''s levers. It was Barristan''s de that brought him down by ripping through his belly. Warryn and at least fifteen other Ironborn had perished at his hands... They had emerged victorious from their arduous task. Stark and Dustin''s forces hade to reinforce them, surrounding the enemy garrison from behind... "My Lords... The bridge is ours." He affirmed with satisfaction as he looked over hisrades in arms behind him. "Uarrggh!", "Yeargh!" Exulted with tion and force a dozenbative voices. The future Lord of Pyke, Amon Fury, immediately prepared to help one of hisrades slumped by the wall with an axe wound in his side, Ser Phil Heart. The wound did not appear to be too serious, but it was almost certain that he would not be able to continue the fight. Twenty-seven valiant men followed the knight in that epic feat, neen of them were still standing, five were on the ground wounded but still alive and three of them had died fighting to theirst breath. One of them was a Tallhart soldier named Jyck whom Barristan himself had seen continue to brandish his sword for nearly a minute with a crossbow bolt nted across his throat. The remaining two fallen: a man-at-arms from House Baratheon and a Knight-errant from the Wesnds, whose name Barristan, to his shame, did not even know. Unfortunately, an axe blow hadpletely disfigured the poor boy''s face from the Stornds, making his face almost unrecognizable. ''I will discover your names and remember them until the end of my days. Your sacrifice and valour will not be forgotten.'' The Knight promised himself, foreshadowing the future quest for information if he made it out of there in one piece. Only now that the skirmish had ceased did Barristan notice that nearly twenty enemies, dead or still dying, had been felled by a single arrow. Eye, neck, or heart, all from the same bow... The Knight turned around and noticed Henry, the archer in service to House Tallhart, in the corner of the room, unharmed and still watching with a ready arrow stuck in his short bow in Golden hearth. During the struggle, Henry slipped and rolled from wall to wall striking spitting a volley of deadly arrows... Barristan wasn''t sure he could rank the boy as the best archer on the continent, but he would dly put a penny on his bursting ability. ''May the Seven have mercy on the future enemies of that boy and his bow...'' Thought the knight, thanking ''the Warrior'' internally that he was not among them... not now anyway. Barristan''s attention was recaptured at the entrance. A man in his forties, d in leather with the symbols of House Tallhart, carrying apact leather bag, walked swiftly into the room with his hands turned upward in a sign of peace. "Anyone here in need of urgent care?" was a healer in the service of House Tallhart. "Here, quickly! Ser Phil is losing blood! Don''t move." Lord Fury replied. "No, milord! I can do this... Vex... Vex and Edward still need us. I... Urg... I can still fight..." Two pairs of hands were preventing Ser Phil Heart from getting up. The healer promptly walked over to the more serious case. "Don''t be an arrogant prick, Phil. Edward and Bloody Snow are at that pompous man''s side right now...Vex will be fine." Ser Ruben Iron tried to reassure hispanion. "It will be me and Ruben who will back up Vex and Edward... You will remain here. This is an order from your Lord, Ser Phil." Concluded Lord Amon Fury, managing to make the wounded knight desist from his mad attempts. ''So much for ''The Bold''... They should nickname me Barristan ''The Shrinker''!... Lord Duncan!... Tom''s son! Everyone else must be facing the pains of the seven hells right now!'' Barristan chided himself inwardly as he witnessed the scene. ''They only have seventy swords with them... And the Kingyer to watch their backs!'' Barristan no longer had an ounce of confidence for his former squire and sworn brother. He was aware of Queen Cersei''s dislike for the boy, and now his twin would be in charge of the main forces that would prevent the enemy forces from striking Bloody Snow from the south... No... He would not let those greedy Lions have a chance to strike The Hero of the North from behind. Such dishonor would not happen in his presence. The real battle was being fought right now less than three hundred feet away. The bulk of their group was under an overwhelming numerical disadvantage surrounded on both sides! Now that the tension of the moment descended, the hormone levels in the no longer young knight''s body dropped. Lassitude...aches...twinges all over the joints and burning red up like a fire pervading Barristan''s entire body. [The tokens of age that old knights must pay, Ser.] ... A quote heard from the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Gerold Hightower, the White Bull. Atst, Selmy knew what the old sworn brother was referring to seven years ago. The Knight''s mental strength was hardened and well-honed. Thousands of hours spent constantly at attention and on guard had paid off after all. But the physical stress umted in thatst half hour... it was too much for those bones and muscles that were shrivelling up day by day. Ten years earlier maybe he would have been able to withstand the strain of a fight even an hour or maybe more... but now... ''No!!! Not yet, Barristan! Stand your ground, old man! Show your King and those boys that you''re still worth something! They''re counting on you!'' The voice roared inside Ser Barristan Selmy''s head, grinding his teeth hard as he silently endured the extreme physical and mental pain. It was as if a thousand tones inside his head were ordering him to sit down and rest. Barristan had to fight and silence those rm bells. The knight, with an extreme effort of will, gathered all the fighting spirit he could find and silenced those voices... A small wave of relief slowly spread from his head to his arms, until it slowly reached the tip of his feet. That sensation... seemed to remind him of something... It was as if an egg had been cracked and its contents slowly leaked all over his body, cooling the burns on the critical points. A winter breeze in the middle of a scorching desert. Strength had resumed flowing through Barristan''s calloused fingers and with it the fighting spirit. At least a good dozen of those warriors could still fight, and the healer seemed to know what he was doing... Barristan noticed that Thoros of Myr was pouring some of his liquor over the wounds and cuts of the wounded. The red priest had given good evidence of his melee skill, despite not having the opportunity to ignite his sword. Clutching the leather handle of his sword the Lord Commander thundered, "Thoros, Lord Beric, Ser Justin... You three remain here to guard the wounded. Anyone who still has the ability and will to wield a weapon, with me! We''ll take the wall route around the main hall. We must reach the second bridge and reinforce ourrades as soon as possible! " Sixteen men responded promptly to theirmander''s call. "We''ll take care of running alcohol and sewing thread on them, Ser. Don''t worry." He reassured Thoros with the mutual assent of Beric and the knight of the Seaguardnds. Seventeen men quickly exited the room heading for the stairwell that led to the walls... An old and valiant Knight was unaware that a few seconds before a line was crossed, and a thick barrier, long an obstacle to the growth of a skilled swordsman, was broken. Only two individuals on that ind could witness and identify that phenomenon. A brighter, impetuous, and fiery me red from a Legend... one that bore the name of Ser Barristan Selmy ''The Bold''. End POV. ---------------------------------------- POV: Vice Commander William. Main corridor of the halls of The Guest Keep, Fortress of Pyke. As a Level [11] rose within the walls of Pyke... The battle raged on, a storm of ngors, screams, blood, and death continued to apany the two rival factions with no holds barred... The fight had moved to the great hall of the fortress, halfway to the second bridge. The ce where his Lord General at this moment urgently awaited reinforcements... William had delegatedmand of the Winter Guardians to his second inmand, Deputy Division Commander Broom. A fine officer and a fine sword. It was Broom himself who wielded Red Rain at this moment. Lord Duncan instructed him to lend it to the most valuable Winter Guardians swordsman and so he did. By now, all members of the Winter Guardians had been properly bloodied. The current elite Tallhart forces, except for William, had remained to guard Torrhen''s Square during the Battle of Bear Ind. Those boys, too, wanted their share of experience and glory. And there was plenty of experience. William had to admit that the moral of those boys was through the roof... Their performance on the field during the first assault on The Great Keep was textbook, so much so that less than a dozen of them came out of that fierce encounter wounded. There had been no casualties so far, only one seriously wounded man, Norren. Half the point of a pike managed to get into his belly, but he had already been treated urgently, and Krux, the healer of the third squadron of the same squadron, had assured him that he would certainly make it through the night. The Lord General would have him back on his feet in no time as soon as he could reach Lieutenant Norren. Atst, the Guardians could retreat from the dangerous enemy front lines and catch their breath in the rear. King Robert and the main forces had recentlye to their aid, recing the vanguard with fresh troops. Both the King and Lord Stark had entered the fray surrounded by their bannermen and sworn shields. Supreme General Helman was a few steps away from Eddard Stark along with his trusty des of Frost. de [3] was among them. Balon Greyjoy must have moved the main forces here... William estimated at least a thousand enemy armedmen. At this point in the battle, half of them were left... This meant that there were about three hundred warriors left in thest enemy fortress... This was not a bad move. If Balon Greyjoy had chosen to take down thest bridge, he would have had to have a few mouths to feed as possible to hold out longer. If that bridge of ropes and wood had fallen, the only winning tactic would have been a starvation siege, and it would havested months at the very least, years if the enemy had been well prepared. That or burying the enemy entirely in stone by destroying it entirely with catapults... Duncan Tallhart wasn''t going to go along with either sceneries. He didn''t want to grant Balon bargaining power or carry out an unnecessary massacre by tearing down a thousand-year-old fortress. A choice William respected and appreciated... ''There were not only ironborn raiders in that castle but also innocent people with honest jobs. ''Lord Jorah is safe now.'' William assessed, scanning the area around. A wall of eight experienced crossbowmen Guardians, a healer ready for anything, and a wall of shields Tallhart, Dustin, and Stark were protecting the Lord with sword and armour still pristine... Even Ser Haymitch had returned to Lord Stark''s side just seconds before delegating the task to Jorah Mormont''s army of sworn shields. And William would not be outdone... ''I need to get to General Duncan!" the Vice Commander charged forward, slipping through the lines of allies. The main corridor was packed with fierce ironmen ready for anything. Robert''s forces had to force the enemy to retreat if they were to break their moral for good and force them to surrender. Less than a minuteter, William made it to the front of the line. He managed to catch a glimpse of Robert''s mighty hammer in action less than fifteen paces away from him. The King roared andughed like a madman during each blow with the two white cloaks protecting his nks. Eddard Stark was inmand of the left-wing just a few paces from the King. William focused all the concentration, and he could muster on the target in front of him. He activated to the maximum the breathing technique taught to him by his Lord and entered the fray... The grips on his two long curved Damascus knives were as firm as ever. The footwork taught to him, and the forms of attack taught to him by Ramas routed the first two victims within range. William leapt from side-to-side dodging shes and lunges left and right. An interpretable flow in the chaos of the fray began to take shape to the Northern warrior''s trained eye. Thebat experience gained on Bear Ind was paying off. The style of battle and individual fighting was simr. Swinging the de...parrying...counterattacking...dodging, an effective battle pattern developed, but it wasn''t enough...William wanted to be faster, more precise, and more fluid in his movements. Too many unnecessary movements polluted the attack and defence forms. He could do so much better than that... he sensed. The seconds passed as slowly as msses and William''s victims fell one after the other without respite. The boy was so absorbed in the fight and his goal that he perceived nothing but the range of hisbat area. Enemymanders shouting, "Stop him!!!", King Robert ordering "Attack the breach!!! Follow that man!!!"... nothing entered William''s bubble, only the enemies to be shot down that stood in his way existed. ''Pike from the right... bare belly. sh from above...left leg...'' William didn''t even keep track of the trail of death left behind. Every neuron and synapse were working just to fight. An epiphany of inspiration grew more and more after each swing or dodge. A new height was about to be reached... End Part I Chapter 98: ‘ Overcome Ones Limits ‘ Part II Chapter 98: Ovee One''s Limits Part II Hi everyone, here''s to the second part. Thank you all for your support and your power stones!!! I also posted two more chapters (cleaned up and revised) in Pdin Of Old Gods. Should you find any errors in this chapter, please feel free to point them out to me. Thank you very much for your help. If you like the chapter, don''t like it, like it but would change something, or other opinions, please leave ament. Happy reading!!! -------------------------------------------------- POV: The Bridge Keeper; Gateway to the second bridge, The Guest Keep, Fortress of Pyke. Seconds after a young warrior broke through to Level [9]... The time for the real fight loomed. Officer Tallhart Peter, and his team had just returned from fulfilling their duty. They had encountered less resistance than expected. It was an easy job to do. The crown of the south wall of Great Keep was devoid of archers and lookouts, now it was time to defend the south gate. Forty-eight warriors arranged in fourpact rows, with Jaime at the front in the centre. In that short time, a couple of dozens of ironborn deserters on the run tried to get through the gates. They were quickly dealt with in the only way possible... Surrender and holding prisoners was not feasible, not there, not in those critical moments. They would need every arm and weapon in that impending fight. Jaime tossed that pesky half ironborn helmet into the distance, finally letting the golden hair breathe. He would have preferred to fight with his head uncovered in this fight. Many followed themander''s example. Useless decorative hardware and Greyjoy zons were tossed into corners. Ser Lyle tied a small tapestry with the banner of House Crakehall to his chest. There was no need to hide anymore... Screams and armoured footsteps came from the hallway. "Retreat! Retreat to Sea Tower! Quick!" a small grin formed on Jaime''s face. ''Balon had ordered that garrison to watch over the bridge and prevent anyone from passing... Well, after all, we are following the will of the ''King''. Ahah! we could pass for ironmen in the service of the King of Salt and Rock.'' The time for jokes ended. The smile faded and the grip on the hilt of his sword became firmer. Jaime turned to address hispanions. He raised his long sword upwards and roared, "We are the Guardians of this Way... and the Way is shut!" swords, long daggers, shields, crossbows, pikes, and axes were raised upwards apanied by a shout of encouragement. The enemy came, and it was that ironborn encountered a few minutes earlier with the scarred face who led them, Dagner ''Split Jaw''. At least three hundred ironborn enemies were in tow estimating the length of the queue of people in that corridor some forty feet wide... "Stand aside and open the doors, you!" Dagmer seemed not yet to have noticed the identity of the group in front of him. "On what authority do you give us orders?" Jaime. "On that of my axe shoved up your cute little ass, blondie!!! Who do you think you''re talking to, little girl? By order of yourmander-in-chief, Dagmer Pyke!" Spat Dagmer. "I''m sorry, Commander... We answer only to the authority of King Robert Baratheon. And by order of the King, you will not advance one step." Jaime replied, pointing his sword at the enemy. "Captain, that''s Jaime Lannister! Yes, I''m sure it is!" Shouted a man at Dagmer''s side. "Captain, the enemy forces have broken through the hall door!!!" Urgently warned another. "You are surrounded, milord... The battle is lost. Throwdown your weapons and you will be spared, you have my word." Jaime offered a chance to surrender, hoping that the confrontation could be avoided. If the enemy surrendered, they could freelye to Bloody Snow''s aid. Dagmerughed in delight showing his rotten yellow teeth, then spat at the Knight''s feet. "Ah! The word of the ''Kingyer''!!! I''d much rather rip that out of you along with your lion''s scalp! Fuck it! We''ll clear the road ourselves by paying the Price of Iron!" Dagmer snickered, inciting his men to the fight. The Guardian weed the challenge. His sword quivered and the Lion of Casterly Rock''s hunger grew... "Then you will hear no more words, only My Roar!" Jaime charged first, Ser Lyle, Peter, Jory Cassel, Ser Quellon, and Ser An followed an instantter. "Attack!" ordered Dagmer a secondter. The two factions less than thirty feet apart collided. A veritable blizzard of steel, leather, wood, and blood. Jaime pushed an enemy away by kicking him on his shield, then swung his sword, shing the throat of another at his side. He wanted to get to Dagmer before the others. The most dangerous leader and warrior among that scum of marauders. He had to get through a line of flesh shields first to do so. It looked like the allied forces had begun to attack the rear. Jaime parried and deflected an axe blow aimed at the uncovered head, swung his sword in the same move he saw Ser Barristan make nine years earlier at King''s Wood and seeded... the ironborn slumped to the ground desperately trying to collect its innards. The third opponent managed to exchange four moves before finding himself with a severed limb. Jaime was not only fighting, but he was also using the opportunity of a real fight to try to put into practice the insights on the way of the sword learned the night before. The way of the sword was the only way left, the way he had chosen, the way he had been born... There was no more intrigue, lies, politics, secrets, orders, and duties to pad his head, only the sword. He hadn''t forgotten about that dream... that dream that tormented him and spurred him day and night to get better and better. [The greatest swordsman in Westeros... Better even than Ser Arthur Dayne]. He didn''t have to give up-he could still do it. The possibility existed, and he had recently received proof of it from an eleven-year-old boy from the North. With a single sh, Jaime managed to chop off a head and deflect a sh, then turned on himself and made a clean, precise sh at the throat of the opponent who had dared to attack him. The enemies began to back away, frightened by the red storm of shes that swirled around the Young Lion. The Guardian even forgot that he was inmand, forgetting to keep an eye on the progress of the battle, but fortunately for him, each of hispanions had clear and simple instructions to follow prevent the enemy from passing at any cost. His sword and arm became one fluid and precise limb, a single brush that coloured the room red. Jaime''s eyes and ears were addicted to the sounds of ngour from the sparks of steel against steel. His sword was searching ravenously for a worthy opponent who could stand up to him and finally test him... and he found him. One... two... three minutes of bloody struggle passed. Finally, Jaime arrived in front of Dagmer, a Level [8; King ss], but in the fury and frenzy of the moment, the Knight didn''t realize he had fallen into a small ambush. He had gone too far forward and was now surrounded by enemies. Jaime''s allied swords were fifteen to twenty feet away from him, Ser Lyle''s giant figure was trying as hard as he could toe to his lord''s aid, but half a dozen obstacles separated the two. "Your golden lion hair, it belongs to me now," an eerie smile apanied Dagmer''s words. "Thene and im it if you are able." Jaime was not intimidated; this was not the first time he had faced enemies from all sides. An axe charged and the Lannister swordsman parried the first attack instantly returning the offence that heavily gashed his exposed calf. Two others joined the fray, but Jaime swung his sword around, knocking one away and grazing the second. Dagner had no qualms about attacking the knight''s blindside. Footwork and a high guard saved Jaime from a possible critical blow to the neck. All of Jaime''s senses skyrocketed and his heart pumped blood with the flow on par with a downed dam. The danger, the fear of death, the pressure ofbat, the thought that one wrong step was enough to be out of the game... all these factors threw oil on the fire burning in Jaime''s heart, pushing him to give his best. Something inside the Lion shattered like a shattered bottle and the substance it held spread to the predator''s fangs and jaws making them longer and sharper than ever. Jaime took advantage of that moment of new vigour and inspiration to roar ngors of death and despair into the enemy''s moral. A cloud of deadly steel-there was no other way to describe that figure. Four more of Dagmer''s men were mercilessly shot down in only a few exchanges, other poor candidates recing the fallen trying their luck in the storm. Dagmer ranted in frustration with every sh and parry he unleashed. He couldn''t seem to get over how it was possible that six good warriors from the Isles could only barely make a dent in their opponent''s armour. After another series of blows, an opportunity presented itself. ''Fuck!", misstep finally came, Jaime''s boot slipped on a slippery, blood-soaked foothold forcing the Young Lion to rest one knee on the ground. "Uaarggh!" the shout warned Jaime that a blow from behind was on the way. The swordsman pulled his sword back as far as he could praying to the Warrior that that desperate move would be enough to prevent his neck or head from being severed... but the impact never came. "The left side!!!" shouted an ironman in rm, signalling to the captain that more reinforcements had joined the enemy forces. Jaime turned his head to see who hade to his aid. The man had his back to him so he could protect his own... but he recognized him. He was a figure very familiar to Jaime, one with whom he had had the honour of fighting in his service nine years against the Brotherhood of King''s Wood. The man did not deign to turn his gaze to him. His eyes were well-aimed at the enemies within a few paces of the duo, but he granted them at least a few words... "On your feet, Knight." End POV. -------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Main Gate, Sea Tower, Fortress of Pyke. About five minutes before a Lion touched the Level [10] podium... It was not difficult to convince the guards to open the doors for us. The phrase ''Urgent report from Commander Warryn for the King!'' was very effective. Even the crossbowmen stationed on thecework of the walls didn''t get suspicious. A few dozen dishonourable, silent backstabs, and we were all in. Unfortunately, a few cries of rm managed to escape and soon the tower guards would descend upon us, but it was expected. I chose to take only twenty-two men with me because I had studied our battleground well. Sea Tower''s main corridor was the narrowest of all Pyke towers. Fifteen feet at its widest and no other ess passages but two spiral staircase entrances seventy feet away from the door. In that narrow corridor, fifteen feet wide at most, their numerical superiority would count for nothing. Our only weakness was our backs. The ess to the bridge widened into a reception hall forty feet in diameter before the corridor. But we had confidence in Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan, and all ourrades-in-arms guarding the other end of the bridge. Ser Jaime may be a bit over the top, reckless, and somewhat arrogant, but he was also a very skilled swordsman and man of honour. I held back a couple ofughs when I saw his shocked look that screamed [Are you out of your mind, boy? I''m a Lannister! And my father and sister want you out of the picture!!!] I picked up an enemy longsword, looking good it would be a suitablepanion for the Dual Wielding style, then positioned myself at the head of the group. "Move those benches over here, Ser Wex, Ser Balon, they will serve to give you a high ground and a good shot at the enemy. I want the first line of pikes and shields and the second line of crossbowmen. The third line will take care of reloading the crossbows." I ordered and immediately a dozen arms dragged heavy benches to the base of the hallway. Ser Ron, de [24] and Ser Edward Price chose to position themselves at the front of the line. "You ten, shields, buckets, and water from those barrels. Your only job will be to put out any fires the enemy tries to start on the bridge. Save the fine sand on oil only!" I pointed to the group consisting mainly of Frost des and Tallhart regr army soldiers. Each member selected for this assault (including myself) carried with him approximately two pounds of fine sand to be used on any whale oil thrown by the enemy to start a fire. "Yes, General." My father''s men replied in unison. "Front line, always maintain a safe distance of at least fifteen feet from yours truly and don''t piss yourselves at what you see. Keep your nerves in check and face only those who will make it through." Ser Ron and a couple of other knights-errant from the Rivends didn''t understand what I meant by ''Don''t piss yourselves '', but they would soon understand. I had to admit that even I was repulsed by some of the manoeuvres in the [Closing Gates] technique the first few times I saw Zick apply them... I positioned myself and stretched both ends of my arms parallel to the ground. The tips of the two long swords I wielded did not touch the two ends of the wall by a few inches. It was a good position. Sounds of footstepsing from the stairs reached our ears. "In position! Shooters, take down anything that moves." The men sprang into action lining up and stringing bows and crossbows. "Hey, you! We heard shouting... Who the heck... Urgh" The first kill in this first round fell to Ser Balon Swann. "They''re attacking us! Sound the rm!" Other figures moved, positioning themselves to take cover from the arrows. I began to inhale deeply, gathering air in my lungs in precise times and quantities. Now I no longer needed to concentrate on applying the breathing technique that Zick helped me perfect. The pulse decelerated, the blood flow slowed down along with it, I imagined gathering vital energy in the heart muscle, more and more, charging it as if it were a spring under tension, and then... I let it go off as if I had activated an explosive device. The pulse elerated, again and again, pumping the blood at a speed at the limit of being human. The movements around me slowed down, time decelerated at least four times more than normal. Opponents armed with axes and long swords were slowly approaching me. At that distance, I could already smell the fishy stench emanating from the breath of each of them. The time hade to give my all. I wasn''t just going to take down every enemy in the range...I was going to destroy them. I was to break their morale by contaminating their every thought with pure terror. I wanted the legs of every one of my opponents to shake like twigs in a blizzard... and to do that, I would have to release every ounce of pure Will I possessed. A Will focused on only two intentions: [Death & Suffering]. Only a couple of people were still standing in the known world who experienced a portion of it firsthand. Lady Barbrey was one of them. This time I was going to have no brakes... I shot out everything I could muster, released my murderous aura to all the creatures around me and made them aware that this was my hunting ground and anything that crossed that border was nothing more than prey. The four closest men in the first squadron of thirty Ironborn on the attack reared up like panicked horses in the face of an obstacle. I even heard a couple of teeth chattering from behind me... I activated the buff spell on myself and the poor frightened allied souls closest to me. Now was the time to bring out all that I had acquired in those years... no... I should have also taken the opportunity to improve, ovee certain limits and grow. I thought this might be the ideal training ground to put the twelfth gate into practice... There was a famous Latin expression for this situation, mentioned several times in one of my favourite old-world anime... and it was: "Plus Ultra." Chapter 99: Predator and Prey Chapter 99: '' Predator and Prey '' Hi everyone here''s another chapter. I will be brief, thank you all for your support. Have a great weekend and Happy Reading!!! --------------------------------------------------- POV: The Eel; Royal Hall, Sea Tower, Fortress of Pyke. A few minutes after two words in an unknown tongue were spoken... The King of Salt and Stone scrutinized the trembling messenger, a lowly apprentice cook in the Tower who had been forced to harness weapons he had never handled. "Say that again... and don''t leave out any details this time, or I''ll feed you to the sharks. What''s going on in the main corridor of the bridge?" Balon asked in a tone that was quiet but full of ire ready to erupt at any moment... "Y-yes, y-your majesty... T-the captain Rubert has ordered me to report to you that armed enemies have taken control of the p-passageway to the bridge... W-we are suffering heavy... heavy casualties in the fight, m-my King..." The poor apprentice took a deep breath to recover from his state of panic. Balon mistakenly thought it was his death threats that were instilling fear in the fifteen-year-old servant... "How many men?" Balon asked. "M-my king?" "How many enemies have infiltrated the tower!? Speak!!! In the name of the Drowned God, if I hear one more flicker of teeth or babble from that mouth of yours, boy... I will personally drown you with my own hands!" Thundered the King, losing his patience. All the voices in the room fell silent... "Here... they should... just over twelve, my King," the messenger forced himself. "Twelve men?! You dare lie to me?" "No, Your Grace! I swear by the Drowned God!!! The lookouts on the walls have reported to us that there are no other enemies crossing the bridge at this time... We... do not know how they got through, my King.... ", the messenger''s words were cut short. "Rubert is inmand of fifty ironmen! Go back there and don''te back until you have twelve heads with you!!!" Roared the King. "My King... There are eleven of us left... Only eleven of those fifty men survived... N-not... we managed to break through t-the enemy front line... a-and the passage is nearly blocked by the b-bodies of the fallen, my King." The boy resumed shaking involuntarily as he thought back to the hell he had witnessed just minutes before. ''No. I will not re-enter that hallway... Fuck the King! Fuck the whole thing! If I must die, I''ll die here... That monster... That Abominable Demon!!! NO!!! Let the Drowned God drag me to the abyss himself instead! I''m not going back in there!!!'' Decided Ben, the apprentice cook nicknamed ''Ben Eel broth'', responding to his survival instincts. Balon remained in disarming silence. At first, he seemed to want to use Ben of perjury, but something held him back. The King rose from his throne and stared for a moment at something shiny he held tightly in his hand. "What do they report to us from the Guest Keep?" Balon asked themander of his guard a short distance from the throne. "Nothing, my King... Thestmunication came from Captain Warryn asking for a hundred archers to reinforce the defence of the bridge. There has been no othermunication from the walls." Ardan, one of the King''s best-trusted axes, replied promptly. From Sea Tower they had no view of the first bridge, with no directmunications or light signals, Sea Tower did not know how Pyke''s second line of defence was progressing... Balon seemed gued by doubts and thoughts. "What did you see? Weapons, armour, identities of enemies, peculiar signs... I want to know everything." His attention shifted back to the messenger boy. Young Ben braced himself and obeyed themand. "In the corridor about sixty feet from the bridge... Twelve enemies arranged in five rows. Two archers in thest, six crossbowmen in the middle rows, three men armed with pikes and shields in the second, and...a mons...a swordsman wielding two des on the first. They wield shields and armour with the banner of your House, my King, indeed at first the captain thought those men were deserters... but they cannot be ironmen." Ben paused to choose his next words carefully. He knew that if he described what he had actually seen, no one in this room would believe it. "A swordsman only on the front lines? What did you mean by ''they can''t be ironmen''?" Balon asked quickly. "The boy... The swordsman is a boy no taller than I am, and he has white hair, Your Grace... White hair soaked in blood... He has single-handedly killed more than half of myrades." Fragments of events narrated in the kitchens redolent in the head of the garrison. [Ships full of smiling corpses, and in the midst of them... a single ship... with snow-white sails and red masts... masts painted with the blood of the men of House Drumm!] "We''ve all heard the rumours about him... the boy who defeated Denys Drumm in a duel... it''s Bloody Snow!" End POV ------------------------------------------------- POV: Jaws; Royal Hall, Sea Tower, Fortress of Pyke. A few seconds after a name was spoken... The hall was not veryrge, the true throne of salt and stone was positioned in The Great Keep, the first tower of the Greyjoy fortress. The whispers of the court echoed with less discretion. Sighs of fear, the name ''Bloody Snow'' repeated, and small inappropriatements from noble members of the Iron Inds court reached the King''s ears. Balon was petrified for a moment, then foamed with rage, clenching the braavosian gold coin in his fist with more ferocity. Tiny rivulets of blood seeped through his fingers. "Commander Ardan..." Balon called to him. "Yes, your grace." Themander of the King''s personal guard replied without dy. Ardan was a veteran son of Pyke''s former master-at-arms who had earned the nickname ''Shark''s Tooth'' by his intrepid exploits. In his heyday, Ardan managed to catch and kill a shark single-handedly with nothing more than a lifeboat, a rope, a harpoon, and an axe. The longboat in which he served, renamed the ''Scourge of Bonia'' at the time, sessfully survived a month of inclement weather in the Sunset Sea. The crew, exhausted by theck of food and water, had almost reached the height of their madness and would soon be at each other''s throats, tearing each other to pieces... That twelve-foot shark caught by Ardan saved the ship. The shoulder straps of the ironman hero''s armour were adorned with shark teeth when Lord Quellon, former Lord of Pyke and father of Balon, learned of that heroic feat. "I want a hundred more-armed men in the corridor. Remain in a defensive position until my further order... Tear down the bridge, cut the ropes, set it on fire, or use any other means at our disposal. The bridge must be destroyed as soon as possible." Ordered Balon shocking half the people in that room. "But Your Majesty!!!" shouted some members of lesser lineages. "Silence you! So, I have decided..." Shushed Balon immediately afterwards. Ardan understood the reaction of the small court. Many children and family members were still stationed in the second tower, knocking down the only link of salvation for all the residents of Guest Keep had to be thest card to y for the defence of Pyke. "If I may, my King... I would rmend signalling Captain Druxe and his garrison to attack the intruders from the south. They may be strong defending one side of the bridge, but I doubt that formation can withstand an attack on two fronts." Ardan was the only one in that room to whom Balon would listen. Neen years of loyal service protecting the Greyjoy family had granted him that and other privileges. "The Drowned God has already weed them into his halls, Commander. As we debate, Robert''s forces will already be making their way into the second tower. The Guest Keep is already lost... What is dead may never die!" "...What is dead may never die." The court''s response was not as lofty. Only after that response did Ardan understand the ''why'' of those orders. King Balon had guessed before anyone else. How had Bloody Snow and his men reached the second bridge? Even if they had disguised themselves as ironmen, Drux and his garrison of fifty good axes, crossbows and pikes, until further notice, should have prevented anyone from passing... Drux was already dead and buried, and if Bloody Snow was really attacking the second bridge, who was to say that he hadn''t managed to attack the first one as well? Thus, allowing Robert''s forces to get through. "Do not despair, the key to our salvation is about to be trapped in the jaws of the Kraken. Before long I will also have a valuable hostage that will force half of Robert''s forces to lower their weapons and bow down to my terms." Announced the King. A few minutester... "Commander! We can''t get the fire going... We''re firing hundreds of ming arrows, milord... but the target is too difficult, and the few arrows that do take root are quickly extinguished by the enemy." Reported an archer reporting to themander-in-chief of the garrison. "Throw barrels of oil on the base of the bridge then and throw the shlights!" Roared Adran in frustration. Only now did he realize that the enemy was much better prepared for that eventuality than they had thought. There were hundreds of gallons of emergency water near the bridge doors and even a well that could collect water directly from the sea... "We''ve already tried, milord...but they concentrate buckets of water in the only ces we can hit...they even pour sandbags on the wood. We''re even filling amphorae, wineskins, and bottles for long-rangeunches, but nothing!" Adran wished he could smash every single skull on those fucking walls in frustration. Every minute that passed was decisive. If enemy forces crossed the bridge, it would be the end. The walls were not equipped with boulders or stones to throw below. Only bows, crossbows and spears defended the suspension bridge. "Get hammers, clubs, chisels or whatever the fuck you want. Shatter thece of the walls and throw boulders on that bridge that can damage it! Get someone to find the heaviest items in the tower and throw them down below! Move!!!" Shouted Ardan. "Aye, Commander!" The archer sprinted towards the stairs obeying orders. "Aargh!" Another of his men was hit by an arrow. The enemy had a clear shot beyond that wall of corpses, but they didn''t... They had tried to find elevation points to face the archers on equal terms, but the corridor was too narrow, three shooters at most could rise and the archers on the other side wouldn''t allow it so easily. That nearly six-foot wall of piled-up corpses could act as a barrier against enemy marksmen... but no one seemed fearless enough to approach, and now Ardan understood the reason. Even at that forty-foot distance from the pile of bodies, with no view, he sensed it... It was a murderous presence that gave him goosebumps, even to him, a veteran of dozens of raids and bloody confrontations on the open sea. With each step toward that malevolent presence, the aura intensified. The few survivors of the first raid, some of whom managed to get close enough to see theirrades torn apart, trembled like shrivelled leaves and looked lost. The stench of piss and wet spots on their breeches besmirched the name of House Greyjoy and that of their fearless ancestors, as well as greatly weakening overall morale. All of Ardan''s instincts roared to get as far away from that imedir as possible. A den that was home to a ''Fierce and Ravenous Beast'' that craved blood! Those glistening diamond-like jaws and predatory ck eyes that he found himself less than an inch away from on that epic day seemed nothing inparison... ''We''re over two hundred and they''re a little over a dozen, damn it! Then why do I feel like we''re the ones trapped!'' Ardan couldn''t give voice to those thoughts. The men''s morale was already in shambles as it was... but they couldn''t just stand by and do nothing. Themander knew it would take too long to bring the bridge down from the walls, the only real possibility left was to directly assault the enemy and shear the ropes with swords and axes. "Boy! Come here!... I saide here!" Ardan ordered henchman Ben to approach. "Y-yes, m-milord..." Now the man understood why the boy stuttered like an idiot even in the face of Balon''s death threats. "Run to the King andmunicate to him... End POV. ---------------------------------------- POV: The Kraken; Royal Hall, Sea Tower, Fortress of Pyke. About two minutes after amander finishedmunicating a message... Balon had just given orders for Meron to be transported from the cells to the bedrooms. His wife and children would remain safe in the safer rooms of the tower. Although hard and unyielding, Balon was gued with regret and guilt for beating his second son Meron in such a way... As with his mother Annalys, the loss of their firstborn Rodrik in Seaguard was a terrible blow to his father, but the King could show no sign of weakness. He only regretted not having the opportunity to avenge his beloved son and honour his sacrifice. The Lord of Pyke yearned to be able to deal a severe blow to the enemy, as well as to at least im the title of Lord Protector of the Iron Inds. Yes... Although Balon repeatedly sang the ditty to his bannermen that the war was not yet lost, he knew full well what the irond, inclement truth was... They had lost this war at the exact moment when theymunicated to him, within a short interval of time, the two tremendous defeats they had suffered since Seaguard. The most tremendous blow was undoubtedly the expedition to Bear Ind... not because of the number of men or ships lost, but because of how they lost. A tidal wave of doubts, fears, and second-guessing invaded unstoppably throughout Pyke after the symbolic message from House Lannister and House Tallhart... Balon had not yet surrendered not only out of pride or thirst for revenge but because he needed to cut his losses for House Greyjoy. If they surrendered too soon the name, reputation, and titles of his House would sink to the depths of the abyss. His trump cards were his brothers Victarion and Aeron. Balon hoped that he could still strike fear into the hearts of his enemies with the divine magic of the Drowned God, but even those cards were now lost... The burning harbour... the devastating defeat on the beach... and now it seemed that his walls built of solid stone were made only of sea sponges. The enemy was prating his defences as if they were fucking the hottest, mostpliant whore in a brothel in Lys! ''It''s not over yet!'' Balon thought as he sat on his throne, weighing up all the remaining options in his possession. Before the attack on the fortress began, Balon had given orders to have every ounce of unneeded dried fish, flour, or drop of ale transported to Sea Tower. Hundreds of barrels of water, beer, and wine were well guarded and guarded in the pantries. Even if it hadn''t rained for three months straight, they wouldn''t have been gued by thirst. Provisions could be rationed for at least a year and, just as importantly, every ounce of gold, silver or copper, as well as any other item of value in the entire ind was kept in the dungeon coffers... Even if Robert had threatened to bury them alive with catapults (after the bridge had been knocked down), Balon would have responded by threatening the crown and his greedy bannermen in his retinue, to throw every single coin into the ocean before it happened... No... war is an inclement leech that ims a golden tribute, Robert could never have afforded such a loss. Every single day of siege was an unsustainable expense to deal with without a financial return. Time, gold, and a valuable hostage... Balon would have used any weapon in his possession. He still had some means of pressure in his possession, it wasn''t over. Giving up half, or perhaps two-thirds, of the royal treasury, and perhaps sending one or two of his sons as hostages... If he had managed to keep the title of Lord Protector under these conditions it would have been a victory. A bitter victory of course, but a victory nheless. Euron was a prisoner in Casterly Rock, Victarion and Aeron were missing; dead or prisoners of House Baratheon for all he knew... He would redeem his blood with The Hero of the North and whatever other noble scion had followed him on that suicide mission! Of course... not before personally chopping off a finger or two and locking him in the most degrading and cramped cell in the tower. Iron chains, brackish water and rotten fish... Balon would have responded to Bloody Snow''s insult by savouring every second of sweet revenge. For the first time in weeks Balon smiled at the very thought. He would teach the way of Iron and make that brat give up his tree-gods with his fist as soon as the Kraken''s tentacles imprisoned him! Soon Ardan would return with his prey in chains. ''I will renounce the crown for a few years... I will swear allegiance to the Stag and the Wolf, and when the time is ''ripe'', the Iron Inds will rise again harder and stronger than before!'' Inwardly exulted the future Lord Protector Greyjoy. "My King! My King! Anf... Anf..." The stupid coward of a henchman came again to importune him. "What else do you have to report to me? Speak, and pray that it is important." "Commander Ardan wants you to give him the order to attack the enemy lines frontally, Your Grace!" Quicklymunicated Ben after gathering enough breath. "So the bridge has been taken down and the prey has no escape?" Balon asked for confirmation. "... N-No, my King..." "No? And for what crazy reason Ardan would send you to ask this?" Balon, like his father Quellon before him, had full confidence in Ardan Sharktooth. A true ironman to the core on a par with Dagmer''s Split Jaw. "No, y-your Grace... Themander wants your permission to assault the enemy to shoot him down... The men on the walls cannot destroy the bridge." Reluctantly admitted the boy. "WHAT! Are you telling me that a hundred men on the walls can''t set fire to simple hemp ropes tied to wooden sticks?! Bunch of clueless idiots! What''s going on down there?!" About four minutester... Balon himself with his axe in hand,manding thest twenty ironmen of arms, arrived on the scene. "Commander, Ardan! Exin to me what the fuck is going on! Why is that bridge still standing?" Roared the King furiously. "My King! Down!!!" Ardan leapt with his shield protecting his body. An arrow ran into the oak tree. Balon instantly washed off the rage that distracted him from the deadly danger and returned to rational thought. "Those bastards are throwing water on all the fire we throw, my king! We''re running out of time... We need to attack them head-on and cut the tops off!" Ardan exined. "But then we''d let Bloody Snow slip through our fingers!!! Throw all the whale oil reserves we have on that fucking bridge if you have to!!!" Thundered Balon in response. "... We''re already doing that, Your Grace... but the enemy is throwing water and sand into the mes! There is no other way, Robert''s forces will soon arrive! There is no other way..." "Sand?! They even brought sand?!" The enemy seemed to have thought of everything. That attack no longer seemed as suicidal as it first appeared... ''That bastard! The attack on the harbour was also his work then?!... So be it then, I will personallye for your head!'' Balon decided with swiftness. ''Ironmen, Follow me! Let''s go kill those godless bastards!!!" Only the King''s Guard cheered in response... The others chose silence. "I said follow me! By order of your King!!!... Why are you backing away cowards! Are you or are you not men of the Iron Inds?!" Screamed Balon with more vigour. The fury, the confusion, and the short time that had passed concealed the presence of danger that gripped the fearless hearts of the men who had time to experience it. Balon and his twenty men were stillpletely unaware of what awaited them beyond that wall. Ardan braced himself and even managed to spur a dozen frightened men into formation. There was no time to flog every single insubordinate coward. The King of Salt and Rock picked up a shield with his left hand and gripped his axe tightly with his right. Fortunately, Balon was wearing his ceremonial ke armour. He was hardly a fighter equal to Victarion, and his seafaring ventures had been eclipsed for years now, but he still remembered well how to drive an axe into a man''s skull. "Attack!" Balon ordered. "By King Balon! Follow the King! Charge!!!" Roared Ardan supporting him. "FOR THE KING!!!" Eight men armed with shields and axes charged first, Balon, who entered the corridor with his trusty guard at his side, was at the head of another twenty or so fearless volunteers. The ironborn in the lead began to climb through the pile of corpses, the first two to reach the top were instantly riddled with darts and arrows as they fell backwards. Balon was unaffected by the tremendous stench of shit and death that emanated from that pile of over forty soiled bodies. Finally, with no small amount of difficulty, four of the original eight vanguards made it through. "Uraarg!", "Die you bastard!", *ang!!*, *Stiiingh!*, "Arrghh! You filthy monster!!!" A cacophony of fighting noises came over the wall. Balon and Ardan began to scale the pile of dead making sure their shields covered their vital points well. No arrows or darts got in their way. Finally, the moment arrived... For the first time, King Kraken looked with his own eyes at the Nordic brat who was the cause of all his woes. A not very tall figure, white-steel-stained hair, soaked in gaudy bloodstains plunged a long de into the chest of thest opponent still standing, killing him. The four ironmen who had entered the fray a few seconds before were at his feet, motionless. And then... ravenous eyes glittered green with brighter silver streaks, resting their sights on the two new preys. Balon froze in ce, shortness of breath, goosebumps, sharp pressure on his dder, a thundering urge to run away and... a myriad of danger signals instantly unsettled him. The Kraken no longer knew ''WHO'' in that sea of blood was the real Prey and who was the Predator. End Chapter. ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 100: Hope or Threat Part I Chapter 100: '' Hope or Threat '' Part I Hi everyone here''s another chapter. A small announcement, I will be breaking up the length of the chapters a bit from now on. I will be lowering the average from 3500 to about 2500 words per chapter. But from now on (barringplications) I should be able to post a chapter every two days (instead of every 5). Thank you all for your support. Have a great weekend and Happy Reading!!! --------------------------------------------------- POV: Bloody Snow; Main Corridor, Sea Tower, Pyke''s Fortress. Seconds before a Kraken froze... The body was on the edge, legs and arms screaming for mercy. The boy had crossed a line for too long that his master forbade him to cross except in situations of extreme danger... However, victory was at hand. Bloody Snow chose to continue trespassing the forbidden boundaries of technique... he was aware that he would have to pay the price for this choice, but the biggest prey of all was only a few dozen feet away. The predator had sensed the word ''King'' from that distance... Balon himself was within reach of his jaws. He lowered his killing intent so as not to startle the slimy sea squid. He had to entice it toe to him... "Shooters! The King will be with us soon, let hime." He admonished Bloody Snow in a fierce authoritative tone. "Y-yes, m-my lord," replied the vice-captain of the crossbow unit Edmund, stammering and finally managing to get a moment''s respite from that gloomy pressure. He had instructed the marksmen not to target the possible King. He couldn''t risk Balon getting away with a mere flesh wound and running away with his tail between his legs. Secondster... The ''big fish'' had taken the bait. He had even held back against those four foolish levels [4] and [5] who had thought they could scratch him... That slimy, arrogant individual was just a few steps away from him now. Bloody Snow unleashed all of his murderous will once again, releasing the dormant beast within him with a presence more intimidating and murderous than ever. The man and his guard dog were petrified on the spot. Balon shot it bigger than he thought, he was genuinely disappointed by what he saw in front of him. A forty-year-old semi-scruffy Level [6 ss: Knight]... Hearing the rumours of Balon''s past ''great deeds'', he expected at least a Level [7]... Bloody Snow analyzed in the blink of an eye after the second opponent, the one with a peculiar armour... It seemed to be adorned with shark teeth. ''A level [8 ss: king]... This is going to be fun!'' he thought tedly... but something was wrong. He felt too much anger and tion building up inside of him and an overwhelming desire to tear the two individuals apart. To make them suffer, to make them feel as much pain as possible. ''No! I should not kill Balon... I must... I should force him to surrender...'' A moment of rity stopped the sword hand, giving precious seconds for the enemy to recover. A huge amount of conflicting thoughts and voices invaded his thoughts. Time was running slower than normal... He had promised his not-yet-dered King Eddard that he would show mercy to Balon should he surrender, and that he would have the opportunity to join the Night''s Watch. An undeserved privilege in his opinion... Had he killed Balon here and now, the battle would be won no more deaths. The usurping King''s head on a pike and game over! The boy was no longer under the influence of the benefits of [Bless], he had just exhausted a life preserver that would help him suppress a dangerous presence within him. A presence that came to life just a year ago under Zick''s supervision... [Yess... Yes, Balon must die! He''s a prey!] sang a bestial and provocative voice inside the boy. A voice that advised him in his deepest subconscious as he unleashed without inhibitors Zick''s technique mixed withplete killing intent. ''No... I shouldn''t... '' thought a faint spark still present within him. [Yes you should! He wanted you dead! Kill or be KILLED, boy! Such a simple choice, so sweet... Kill him!] The entity became more persuasive and authoritative. ''Zick... Zick had told me... I should'' The voice left no room for that thought. [Forget that old man! He''s weak... We can''t be weak... Can you feel the power flowing? Let it flow, Duncan. Embrace it! Go beyond the limits! We can get much stronger than this...] ''I... feel it, yes I feel it flowing...'' The spark was smothered more and more. [It is that force that allowed you to protect yourrades on that ind... The Power! Power is the means to protect what you care about! Let it flow... "Set me free." Kill that beast that wanted to hurt Dacey]! ''That''s right... they would have killed Dacey and all the residents of the Ind... There are too many ironborn among the Night''s Watch... Balon might be a problem in the future.'' The spark went out. [That''s right! That''s right, Duncan! Now let''s kill them! Let''s kill them all!!!]. End POV. ------------------------------------- POV: The Watcher; On the ''Imperator'' gship, about sixty miles from New Ibbish, Sea of Shivers. A few hours before a boy pandered to the will of an untamable entity... Another warm breeze caressed the man''s face on that near zenith day, one of the most serene and warm days in those seas whose cold was renowned. The majestic six-hundred-oar dromon, the gship of the wizards'' association navy that had hosted Zick and his group, already possessed runes and enchantments that kept the temperaturefortable for the entire crew. Zick didn''t even need to wear that oppressive seal fur to warm his old, brittle bones. The boat of his friend Chai (The King in The Yellow) was a little too shy for his taste, but he had to admit it wasfortable. Each of his travellingpanions was served and revered as if they were kings. It had been almost eight months since he hadst met his mentee. Nostalgia and distance caused a slight itch in the man''s shrivelled heart. He couldn''t wait to return to the North. That way he would also see the no longer fearful and insecure teenagers Josua and Syggha again. The Watcher''s bizarre group wascking a feminine touch, even if those two weren''t ''quite so feminine''. Zick smiled, thinking of a little joke created on the spot. ''Maybe this one... No, it''s not that good... Josua would drain my pockets. Ahahah!'' Josua of Jh, to extricate herself from her master''s insistent attempts to make her smile, had imposed a mary tax for each of her failed attempts. In this way, the penniless Zick would be forced to sort through all the nonsense that crossed his mind. He and his protg Duncan (another still-acerbic aspiringugh artist who still had so much to learn) had a bet on who would be the first to tell a joke that managed to make the impassive and greedy Josuaugh. ''Well, at least I still have time toe up with better ones! Ahahah!'' The Watcher scanned the endless expanse of water with all the capacity of his superhuman gaze... it was still too far away, just water and a few small whales and fishing boats on the horizon, no-wake ofnd. The little floti would not reach White Harbor for another two long months, perhaps a week less if the wind was favourable. "Master... would you rather I revisit at another time?" Ramas asked politely when he received no reply to his first call with the interested party. "Oh, no, my boy! Forgive me. I was only distracted for a moment thinking of trifles. Please speak freely." Immediately replied The Watcher throwing a warm weing smile at his friend. "Updates on Pyke''s military campaign, Master. I have here a detailed report recently received from Zoldhak, based on de''s reports [3]." Ramas showed a letter with a broken seal. "Ah, good old Zoldhak! How''s our friend at Norvos HQ doing? And please, Ramas, let''s stop with these de Three, Two, One or whatever number it is. Those guys have their names, let''s use them! We''re not barbarian vers from Astapor... emm... By the way, that girl''s name, de [3], what was it like... it started with an ''S''... Sha... She... it''s on the tip of my tongue... Shh..." "... Jansa." "Coff, coff! Right! ''Jansa''! There, did you see that? All their poor faces are associated with cruel numbers!.... Please, no more code names from now on, Ramas." Said Zick with a slight tone of embarrassment after the little gaff. "Yes, Master... I will see to it that a list ispiled with each real name associated with the number as soon as possible." Zick nodded slightly detaching his gaze with celerity not wanting to admit that he would really need that list. "We were saying... Zoldhak! What news from our good friend?" Zoldhak No Dau, Baragh''s older brother, was the Viceroy in charge of The Watcher''s massive organizationalwork. Zoldhak was one of Zick''s earliest followers and co-founders of the organization. "House Greyjoy''s hours are numbered. Balon Greyjoy has suffered a devastating defeat on all fronts. Duncan, William, and Bl... Jansa led a strategic attack with a handful of men at Pyke Harbor, thus neutralizing half the Iron Fleet." "Half the fleet? More than a hundred ships, if I''m not mistaken. And how did they aplish that?" Zick asked in cheerful amazement. "With a well thought out but... ''very risky'' n, I''m afraid. By the skin of their teeth, those idiots didn''t end up captured or worse. Ten sailors who were supposed to be covering their escape mutinied at the crucial moment of the n. But...by dumb luck, five volunteer men in the service of House Baratheon came to their rescue just in time." Ramas reported. "Oh, Is that so? Do we know the names of these five brave new friends who helped rescue our boys, by any chance? I''d love to thank them in person if I ever get the chance." I ask the teacher with sincere interest. "Of course, Master. The former captain of the Storm Solca, Ser n Fury, a recently born house, and four members of his crew, one Ruben from Weeping Town, Phil from King''s Landing, Edward from the vige of Rain of the Brume, and a young man named Wex from Bronze Gate." "I will recall these names, but tell me more, how did that feat unfolded in detail?" About three minutes of details and reportster... "So it''s Victarion Greyjoy who''s the other ''gifted'' one... Well, yeah, those guys really threw themselves into a pretty tricky situation. Come on, cheer up Ramas! William juggled it well too. We should rejoice in the good, sessful flying experience rather than wallowing in the fear that the chicks might crash to the ground! Come on, give me a little smile! Ahahah!... Never mind... Speaking of gifted, that brat Khal Drogo? Is that boy getting a grip?" Duncan revealed much of the information he possessed, revealing to Zick his abilities and all the possible changes the world could undergo. The Watcher''s organization helped gather as much information as possible about the activities of the ''gifted''. "Not exactly, for the moment he is routing small Khsar and returning to his priestess in Vaes Dothrak after each victory. Many Khals are uniting to face Drogo''s advance, the bnce of power is shifting but it will still take time. Do you wish us to ''act'' to help slow it down?" Ramas asked. "No. Khal Drogo is respecting all the customs of Dothraki culture and still seems to be open to dialogue despite his ''divine endowment''. Impartiality, understanding, dialogue, and respect alwayse before all other measures, my boy. Always remember." Responded in a firm tone The Guardian of Love. "Yes, master, as you wish," Ramas replied without objection. "Let us return to more cheerful discourse, then, those five young men who helped our disciples, if possible I would like to send thanks proportionate to their help... mmm ... Any suggestions?" Zick asked, lowering the level of seriousness of the conversation. "It seems that Duncan has already sung their praises to King Robert, spurring him to grant thest four a noble knighthood and make the first one the new future Lord of Pyke," Ramas said with a small nod of astonishment. "Ahahah! I figured he''d already thought of a way to reward them. But forcing the King of the Seven Kingdoms to make a minor knight Lord of Pyke?! That boy knows one more than the Devil! Ahahah!... In any case, I''d still like to participate to return the favour to those young men... mmm let''s see... do they have families?" The Watcher was still a bit reluctant to let his heir throw himself into that cruel power struggle fray, but the boy''s abilities were undeniable... Duncan had already reached an umon level of skill in a very short time. And it was time for some hands-on experience. Zick had been noticeably ''annoyed'' by the Braavos Titan''s instant and uneducated ''move'', but that line had not yet been crossed. There was another factor that darkened the poor anxious Master''s heart... Duncan''s ns. That boy, although a genius, came up with crazy and reckless ideas that made your blood run cold just listening to them. And the worst part was that who knows how he always managed to convince other ''Crazies'' to jump into the dark abyss with him. "Zoldhak has already considered returning the favour, thinking it might please you. And yes, master, four of them have families. Many have children, wives, brothers, sisters, and other family members scattered throughout the Stornds, only one boy, Wex, appears to be an orphan, but he seems to be forging a small love interest with a youngundress in Dragonstone. Zoldhak has already arranged to send a few of our agents to keep them safe, as well as clear the debts of a few minor moneylenders and merchants who harass a family member or two. And... he asks for your approval to support the new Lord of Pyke. Lord n may have won the title of Lord, but the Ind''s treasury and resources will likely be drained significantly leaving few coins in the coffers... The Crown is in urgent need of cash to support all the King''s frivolities and maintain the stability of the Kingdom. Under this, it would like to fund and send military aid to House Fury, Master." Reported Ramas in detail. "Ah, Zoldhak, my friend...you always manage to anticipate my wishes. What would I do without you? Sure, go ahead and inform him that I am more than supportive of the idea. If our friends wanted to ''invest'' in the promising new House of Pyke, I would have no objection." Replied Zick in an impartial tone but with concealed satisfaction. "Besides, I suppose these new four knights don''t have much practice in the knightly arts, am I wrong?" Zick asked wanting to add a little personal touch. "Correct assumption, master. They are more sailors and sea fighters, I doubt they have found the time or means for knightly subjects." Reported Ramas. "Well, ask Master Ser Wondel to send them some of his boys to give them a hand, if possible. I''d like those young men to not be too marred by the cruel and pompous shenanigans of the noble blood." Zick. "I am sure Ser Wondel will be honoured, master. I will inform him as soon as possible," Ramas replied confidently. "Mmm... Are you omitting something I should know, my boy? Your anxiety and concern is palpable." Ramas did not deny that statement and replied, "Indeed yes, Master...Duncan...is pushing the boundaries a bit too far in my opinion. He seems intent on leading another mad attack on Pyke''s fortress. The thing is... he has decided to lead an infiltration group into the castle''s defences, with a hundred or so volunteers, and no members of the Guardians at his side to protect him. Some of the swords present in that group might be ''unsavoury'', Ser Jaime Lannister being an example," Ramas exined. "The Queen''s twin?" "The very one." Ramas. "I see... Exin to me in detail everything we''ve been able to find out about this yet another Duncan folly," Zick asked more carefully. End Part I ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thank you so much Primordial8 for your donation! Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 101: Hope or Threat Part II Chapter 101: '' Hope or Threat '' Part II This is officially the 100th chapter of this Fanfiction!!! Thank you for all those who have followed and supported me so far!!! ----------------------------------------------- POV: The Watcher part II About two minutes of details and reportster... "I''m afraid he might... he might again..." Ramas pointed with his gaze to Zick''s arm that concealed a deep scar, referring to an escaped incident that urred over a year ago. Zick stopped Ramas'' words with an instant warning, which Ramas immediately interpreted with the clear message: [We are not alone]. The wrist of Zick''s trusted sworn shield moved in a sh, promptly sliding a de across his hand. But Zick quickly raised two fingers to signal a [There is no danger]. "Go right ahead, Chai. You''re wee to join us." Zick turned to a point on the bow''s pier seemingly without any audible or visible presence. The spectrum of light swung and a tall, well-proportioned figure, young, with long straight raven ck hair, imperial shining golden tunic, rings, bracelets and nes of pure Valyrian steel with magical stones set on each essory and most conspicuous of all, a ck obsidian sphere atop an imposing stirrup a foot longer than his wizard''s head, made of the same dark steel brimming with arcane symbols on every inch, The King in the Yellow, the Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation of Wizards, and Supreme Lord of Carcosa, openly showed himself to the duo with an eerie, embarrassed smile on his face. "How? How in the name of magic did you manage to sense my presence! Damn it... four years of research just to rework the light spectrum curve, not to mention the absence of sound, smell, or body temperature! Do you know how much work this spell took, Zick?" Asked the sorcerer with deep curiosity and frustration. "Ahahah! No, no, the invisibility and all the high factors were remarkable, no doubt about it, but I''m afraid the salt particles in the air shifted a bit too abnormally. I still consider this amendable achievement, my friend. Our Ramas here did not notice a thing. Am I right?" Ramas bowed respectfully to the neer. "That is so. Oh, great Chief Sorcerer. Praise and honour to your work, mighty Archwizard Dug of the noble Chai dynasty." The wizard seemed to appreciate the praise and granted a respectful nod to Zick''spanion. "Take your leave, my boy. We will resume our chatter, leave us alone for a moment please." Ramas promptly snapped bringing respectful greetings before retreating. "You may be frail and only a few breaths away from eternal rest, The Watcher, but your abilities remain frighteningly disturbing. I''ve been trying to get my hands on a Scarlet Eagle specimen for decades. When I think back to the waste of resources and ingredients those imbecilic newbies wasted on the ritual!" "I''d be a waste of resources then?" asked Zick mischievously pretending to be offended above all words. "No! I d-didn''t mean..." the sorcerer tried to awkwardly take back the implied offence directed at his longtime acquaintance. "Ahahah! I''m only teasing you, my friend. Don''t worry, I''m not offended. As for the ''few breaths'' left, I don''t think you and I have the same yardstick on the passage of time." Chai sighed imperceptibly with relief-not that The Watcher missed it. The Lord of Carcosa was a being of enormous power, cruel, ruthless towards his enemies, tremendously contemptuous of life forms he deemed useless or inferior, but he was also a lover of art, respectful towards any artist, and an extremely dutiful individual on etiquette and good standards of behaviour that a true emperor should always disy. Chai Dug was the sixty-ninth God-Imperator of the Yellow Dynasty of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti. His rule, whichsted nearly a century, began at least five hundred years before the Conquest of Aegon. Zick still recalled their first grueling, long-winded meeting, when the former emperor painstakingly made sure to recount nearly every glorious event Chai aplished during his long reign. That, and the fact that the Sorcerer had juste back from a very long research session, meant that the unfortunate but patient Zick ended up hearing the same stories over and over again... "And by the way, yes, thank you for thepliment. I always like to keep myself in shape. Sometimes the Gentleman still tries a few ''stage appearances''. He always remains a resourceful individual who never bores me. Ahahah!" stated Zick as he thought back with amusement to theirst meeting. "Speaking of the Faceless Men, I hope you''ll forgive me for our little detour to Braavos. I''ll take this opportunity to deliver the ingredients agreed upon with the House of ck and White and to glean some magic ink." The King in The Yellow. "A no, no trouble at all, my friend. I mean, we were going to have to stop for supplies in Braavos or Lorath anyway, right? We''ve got plenty of time before the celebrations." The Watcher reassured gently. "Good. I''m really curious to see the ''Fearsome Titan'' with my own eyes." Before continuing the conversation, Chai uncorked a bottle of jade, drinking its contents. "I thought you were done with that unhealthy blue mixture. It was you who told me that your master had fried his brain with the essence of evening shade," Zick scolded jovially. "Nah, that was an outright lie I profiled you before I discovered your true abilities. Of course, you might as well have told me at the time that you were lie-proof-you would have saved me a lot of embarrassment." Chai walked confidently to the man''s side. "Ahahah! And miss out on the fun? No thank you, lies and stuffed songs are the new pastimes in today''s world. So what were you drinking just now?" asked Zick curiously. "The ''true warlock wine'' is a form we keep well hidden in the tower. That blue swill they drink in Qarth is just a substitute mixed with ordinary ck tree bark. It will be a few more centuries before the ''sorcerers'' of Qarth realize that they are drinking horse piss as opposed to the real elixir. Ah, you pathetic traitorous leeches." The House of the Eternals was the only unofficial embassy of the mage confederation allowed beyond the established borders. There was bad blood between Carcosa and the House of the Undying. Before the peace treaty, sealed and signed over a thousand years earlier between Oldtown and Carcosa, the wizards of Qarth exploited the Chaos of War by forging secret alliances with the Iron Bank in exchange for position and privileges. Had they not had Braavos and the Valyrians to have their backs, the former Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation would have long ago turned Qarth into a necropolis. It had been centuries since the House of the Undying had tried in vain to get back into the good graces of the Confederation. "Anyway, I only take a few sips when I go outdoors, believe it or not, I might... mmm... be a "little" waning in memory and lucidity after a research session. The elixir helps energize my temples a bit." Exined Chai belittling his past condition during their first meeting. "No, no, I almost wouldn''t have noticed if you hadn''t mentioned it, my friend." The wizard cast a re at the impertinence disyed by that unashamedly ironic tone. Few would still have the audacity to disrespect the Lord of Carcosa, but Chai let it slide, probably thinking it was a proportionate response to the rudeness shown by the Mage just now. "Your honest assessment of the face? Do I have the appearance of a respectable Northern nobleman?" Fortunately, the sorcerer had several illusory spells that concealed his true form... "Mmm... believable, maybe I''d add a few wrinkles and bags around your eyes, you''re a tad too young for an experienced noble schr of magic. And... speaking of looks, your dress and stirrup, Chai." "No! I refuse. This is the robe passed down from over sixty-nine generations of Yi Ti emperors! It is my symbol of prestige! You assured me that I could show up with my real name and title. I am proud of my nickname ''The King in The Yellow''!" Roared the wizard with an indignant face. "I''m just asking you the courtesy of not drawing too much provocative '' attention '' to yourself. Both the suit and the stirrup are a clear indisposed symbol towards Oldtown. I would like to remind you that I acted as guarantor for this visit and gave my word that there would be no problems during the entire period of your stay across the borders. It is their territory, my friend. Even the Titan would feel dislike." Replied the Guardian calmly and rationally. "Mmphf! Those traitors must always remember that Carcosa is a force to be feared! Fear and strength are the true glues to peace. It is my duty as Chief Sorcerer to always show the power of the Confederation of Mages. I have alreadye to you by stripping my Twelve Shields of their Valyrian steel." Chai retorted. "And for that I am grateful, my friend, but... I would say that your Gargantuan gship and the association''s thirty best war galleys are already a sufficient demonstration of defiance and strength. Don''t you agree?" The Watcher. "And how was I supposed to transport all that gold and all those precious texts in your opinion?! Opportunity makes the man a thief! I''ll never trust the countenances of Braavos or those foul grey rats!" "Lord Leyton is a man of word, and it has been centuries since House Hightower ensured that every indent or letter of the treaty is adhered to. I remind you that I am a guarantor for both sides, and distrust of Oldtown is a distrust directed toward me as well." The Sorcerer returned to a more controlled state realizing that he had crossed the line a little. "I offer my apologies. And be it... no stirrups or robes." "And..." Zick cast a look that implied a missing part. "... No magic in public outside of parlour tricks." "And..." "Phew... No provocation or conflict with House Hightower, the Creed, the Citadel, or any other dirty Andalus. No unwarranted acts vite the treaty and the ancientws of hospitality, not by me or any other representative of the Mage Confederation. Satisfied now?" The sorcerer epted defeat with dignity. Zick in return smiled amicably at the remarkable diplomatic effort shown by Chai. "But in return... I have your word for a meeting with the Tallhart child?" the Sorcerer added shrewdly. "Yes, I will rmend a meeting, but not without the consent of my ward and parents." The sorcerer nodded with a small, victorious smile. And with a satisfying retort he continued with a: "And..." "Yes, yes, I will ask Duncan for a meeting in private for your research. Do we have a deal?" Zick bit his fingertip before offering his hand. Chai reciprocated the gesture by letting out a drop of his very precious blood by scratching his thumb with the very sharp nail of his index finger. "We have a deal." "I seal this pact in the name of Love, Beauty, and Magic." The Watcher. "I seal this covenant in the name of Love, Beauty, and Magic." The King in The Yellow. ''Oh, what joy, and this detail is resolved as well...perhaps shortly I can finally refocus on my pastime,'' hoped The Watcher inwardly as he shook Chai''s hand. But another small drape of worry remained in the strings of his heart. "Feed my curiosity, please. Earlier... I admit I rudely overheard part of your conversation with your follower. You were concerned about your heir, am I correct?" The Archwizard asked politely. "As a matter of fact, yes. Duncan was the subject in question..." sighed Zick slightly. "Is there anything I could do to help dispel your anxieties, my friend?" The King in The Yellow asked. "Not much, but I thank you for asking. I have reason to think that at this time my ward may be in a dangerous situation that may overtax his limits, if we may say so," summed up Zick. "Is this about your technique that you didn''t want to teach anyone, [The Closing Gates] if I''m not mistaken? I still remember the day you refused to teach it to my swords... but I still don''t understand why." "You remember well. I had almost given up on the idea of passing on that technique until the day I first met that boy... "a nostalgic smile formed on the man''s face. "Why? What did that child have that made you change your mind?" The Sorcerer asked. "A great desire and a will harder than the steel you wear. Ahaha." The Watcher. "Will...mmm... You even discarded Tristan, the most talented fighter Carcosa has ever known, citing the very insufficiency of will. Pain alone cannot be the obstacle for that technique then." Evaluated the wizard. "No, you have deduced correctly. It''s not just the pain. Even I''m not sure I could wield that technique to its full potential if I had the physical ability to do so. The [Gate Locks] can break the barriers that limit a man''s potential. If unchecked that technique could unleash a brutal and savage force that cannot be tamed. Pure, insatiable frenzy. My father only touched that limit once and nearly went so far as to hurt everyone he cared about..." Zick admitted, remembering the day Vharro refused to develop beyond that technique. "I see... Uncontrolled power is just a double-edged sword for yourself and those around, I respect your decision, but tell me something: what did that boy say to you back then when you asked him your usual question?" Chai asked. "Ahaha. That he wanted to make the world a better world." Zick replied with hint of nostalgia in the tone of his voice. "Making the world a better world? It can mean anything or nothing. I''ve lived long enough to say that an individual can certainly improve the world around him, but the ''real world''...will never change, Zick. You shouldn''t encourage him to go down that path." "No, he could... It''s a very unlikely goal with countless obstacles I know, but if I had to bet, I''d put my money on him. I believe that boy has a power yet unknown to this world, something other than love, beauty, or magic...but just as powerful," Zick exined. "And that would be?" The entity who had lived for several generations asked with reasonable scepticism. "Hard to exin. He''s brilliant, gifted, and sometimes even gives me the idea that he can read the future of all of us...but that''s not it. You would have to meet and talk to him first to understand." The wizard did not seem satisfied with the answer, Zick tried to borate further. He leaned backfortably against the boat''s rail and scanned the expanse of water as far as the eye could see with a serene face, and went on to say: "When you''re near that boy, you feel an overwhelming urge to follow him and help him down whatever path he chooses to take... No matter how treacherous, scary, ideally unfamiliar, or irreconcble it is, you feel an irrational desire to support him with whatever you can give. ''Spur others on to give their best''... there... perhaps that''s a crude definition of what I mean." The mage pondered carefully at those words and followed hispanion''s example by scanning the horizon in front of them remaining silent for a few moments. "If what you say is true, the bnce of power will be irrevocably awakened and react: [If you push the forces of the world, the forces of the world will react by pushing back], was one of my master''s first teachings..." "A wise teaching. Yes, the world will soon react, whether you want it to or not, it is inevitable," The Watcher replied with surrendered concern. "So you are aware of whom you are supporting, Guardian of Love. You of all people, the staunch supporter of peace and harmony." The King in The Yellow peered more earnestly than ever at The Watcher and waited impatiently for the answer. "Yes, I am aware of that. I know what could generate... That individual could be the greatest Hope or the greatest Threat in the Known World." ***** End Chapter ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 102: The Lost Hope... Chapter 102: '' The Lost Hope... '' Dear readers bad news.... My Warrior-War Cleric pg, Duncan Randar (Yes I named him after my D&D campaign PG), fell on the field yesterday.... Pulverized by an infamous Disintegrate spell, against ate campaign Lich boss. He fought with honor, but the 20 on the die didn''te out.... I dedicate this chapter to you, my faithfulpanion in adventure. These 200 Sunday afternoons of adventure will not be forgotten. Honor to you Duncan Randar, may Torm wee you to the halls of Trueheart! With that said, happy reading to all! ------------------------------------------------ POV: Balon Greyjoy; Main Corridor, Sea Tower, Pyke. Seconds before a primitive entity took over... Arrogance and confidence melted away like wax thrown into the embers; along with it, so did the nickname "The Brave One", a title earned in his youth for his fierce and fearless deeds. His arms felt like pieces of wood, his legs did not respond tomands, tiny hot drops dripped down his thighs... Balon Greyjoy felt such a sensation of danger, terror and helplessness. All the past victories in which he prevailed in a fight, the women he stole with iron and became salt wives, the storms the man defeated on the high seas, and the incredible and intoxicating discharges of power Balon felt the moment he snatched a loot conquered with iron, forged the mentality of a giant. A giant Kraken he thought he was... but faced with that presence... a presence beyond what ordinary sight could perceive or describe, the Kraken felt drained like sun-dried brushwood ready to be burned to fertilize fields. In front of him stood a ravenous hunter. He was a hunter who had no fear of the two more prominent, heavily armed individuals in front of him. The Kraken and the shark were no threat, just tworger prey with more meat to cook on the coals and more bones to boil for soup. des and hands smeared with blood, bright raptor eyes and a ravenous mouth ready to savour whatever flowed through the veins of the new fish fresh to his. ''A monster!" the very definition struck the shocked minds of Balon and Ardan. "By the King!" Three reinforcing Ironmen managed to reach their King and join the fray. The ominous aura diminished, dispersing into arger area. Balon finally caught his breath, his limbs working again. Shame, fury and a bit of instinctive wisdom came over him and managed to loosen the knot of total impotence that paralyzed him. The men behind the demon seemed unwilling to give him a hand. The marksmen continued to concentrate their fire upwards. If the crossbowmen had really wanted to bring down the King of the Iron Inds, Balon would have been dead long ago. In all likelihood, the enemy had received orders not to harm a possible valuable hostage. An advantage that Balon would have used without dy. "Surround him and take him down!" ordered the King, moving into a safe position behind Ardan. The beast left time and favour for the enemy to deploy and prepare as best he could. The long swords rotated, exchanging grip between the hands with skilful sleight of hand. "Come along," said the voice in the middle more in an eerie tone of amusement than arrogance. Balon hoped that more men would be able to arrive, but the enemy behind was wreaking havoc on the unfortunate men trying to climb the ever-increasing pile of corpses. But it was still five against one. If Bloody Snow fell, enemy morale would sink along with it. The first axe, followed by a scream, attempted to lunge at the exposed skull behind. Ardan''s sword and the other two tried lunges and diagonal support cuts. Bloody Snow instantly aligned the two hilts rotating the des as if they were part of a single double-edged sword. The twisting of the arms and torso seemed unnatural. A steel tornado repulsed any attack by shing two men on the shoulders and forearms with a single jab. Then, a second furious and less coordinated attempt came. The demon-boy rotated fluidly, dodging a lunge and directing it at Ardan, who retreated defensively. A handful of fingers were sliced off with a second double martial movement that disarmed the axe-wielding ironmen and deflected another attack behind him. Two more vindictive attempts came in that short period... nothing. Bloody Snow defended himself and counterattacked in parallel from all directions. That monster had eyes and ears everywhere; there were no blind spots, but what troubled Balon the most was that the brat seemed to be ying with the enemy more like a bloody sparring against novice pages rather than a real fight against fierce veterans of the inds. Still, even if waning in martial technique, those men should have made up for the imbnce with at least physical strength! The boy seemed to be able to parry and respond to blows as if he were the adult there! A t kick to the chest sent one man flying nearly five feet backwards... While he was looking for possible openings, Balon noticed a couple of possible winning shots held back. Only Ardan seemed to be the most tenacious and challenging in the group. The other three men were merely toys trapped in a cruel game of cat and mouse. As the seconds passed, more and more slight cuts and wounds appeared on the prey''s body. The terrifying amused smile on the demon''s face was proof of that. ''You filthy bastard! You dare to mock the iron men! Arrogance will be your undoing!" the wave of anger prevailed against fear. Balon shielded the man still searching for his lost fingers and joined the fray. Bloody Snow had both des upied in a two-way parry, allowing the offending King to strike bare shoulders. A cry of pain, a spray of blood that blinded his eyes and a voice, "Finally, Balon! Ahah!" The man didn''t even know how that call coulde from his own back. He realized that the axe was nted on the shoulder of a familiar man whose name Balon couldn''t even remember; somehow, the Tallhart boy slipped behind him in a single movement that the King couldn''t even follow. "You bastard!!!" roared Balon turning around and cleaving blows left and right in a fury. Ardan supported the offensive at his side, wielding his sword and throwing an axe. Now that he was experiencing firsthand the energy of those blows and the ease with which Bloody Snow parried and deflected his own, Balon thought: ''It wasn''t just a scene; this demon is as strong as an aurochs! It''s like I''m fighting Victarion!'' *ngore!*, *ngore!*, the coordinated assault though ineffective, still managed to push the enemy onto the defensive forcing him back a few steps. Balon''s audacity, in addition to the adrenaline rush, was supported by his theory that the enemy, though dripping with murderous intent, had no intention of mortally wounding a valuable hostage that could end the war. Then the counterattack began... Fluid and a fierce storm of des raged at Balon and Ardan, reversing their positions. The King''s left hand lost its grip on the shield due to burning and a twinge on his wrist. A deep cut that managed to sever a tendon in his hand and a solid push to the chest broke his breath, pushing him back four steps. Due to the sudden gag reflex, Balon nearly emptied all his innards onto the ground. Ardan gave up his grip on the axe, backing away and roaring with pain. The guard captain wascerated on the face; his hand involuntarily covered his right eye to stop the copious bleeding. An ironman in the rear reced themander attempting a direct assault by the sword. It was then that the real massacre began putting an end to the demon''s heating. The starting signal was a severed arm, followed by a shed throat. Balon stepped back, pushing forward two more flesh shields. The first was impaled in the windpipe without even understanding where the blow hade. The second managed to parry a couple of exchanges before buckling in terror on his knees as he stared at both blood-sttered, handless stumps... Balon backtracked a few more steps, stumbling over a gutted body in the way. He got back up and continued to drag himself backwards on the wall as the demon slowly advanced. "My King! Urgh! Back!" the fearless Ardan ''Sharktooth'' rallied to his defence. One eye dripping with blood closed, sword and shield ready to im vengeance and allegiance for House Greyjoy. A spark of hope red in Balon''s terrified heart as he continued to back away in search of a chance at salvation. A drape of doubt began to rise in the Kraken''s mind... Perhaps that monster was not sparing him but simply intentionally leaving him forst for sadistic pleasure! Those ravenous green eyes kept staring at him with ardent desire, not caring about the previous opponent just a few steps away from him. End POV. --------------------------------------- POV: Bloody Snow; Main Corridor, Sea Tower, Pyke. About a second after thest opponent stepped forward... The fatigue and pain he had umted earlier had melted away like salt in boiling water... Instead, massive new energy radiated from the predator. He had never felt so strong, fast or powerful before. Bloody Snow felt between his fingers the ability to pulverize the bone of a massive arm with the easy grip of his hand. His body was flexible and rigid enough to withstand a hammer blow from the Stag King himself. Discharges of adrenaline and endorphins pervaded every muscle in his body. Pleasant massive salivation was umting in his mouth, making the desire to bite off the jugr of the prey in front of him grow. Killing a prey that was trivially trying to masquerade as a predator... there was no greater urge or desire at that moment. It was the sweetest, most intoxicating feeling one could experience. The grip in his steel ws became firmer. The strength in his legs was ready to explode at any moment. The only obstacle was the indecision of choice as to how to tear into his prey and when to snatch the spark of life in his eyes. ''Courage... I sense Courage and loyalty in that man''s face'', thought a calmer voice catching a spark of lucidity. [Tear them away! Break that man until that face turns into pure despair! Kill him!], roared the opposite voice with disgust and ferocity. The body went along with the second impulse, jumping towards the enemy. Bloody Snow gracefully dodged a couple of bodies and metal objects in the way of his charge, charged up a wall with one foot and leapt on the funniest and juiciest prey with a double swing of the de from top to bottom. The man promptly managed to parry the first fierce shield attack but failed to respond. The exchange continued in the next instant without respite. Now that he was so close to his prey, Bloody Snow noticed the tusk-like decorations between the armour''s shoulder straps and a shiny, thick, and sharp shark tooth dangling in a seaweed ne. He swung the Damascus de toward the exposed neck from a blind spot, but somehow the prey managed to dodge the blow at thest moment. A small scratch and a dropped tooth on the ground were the only constion prize, but that still seemed to create an imbnce in the prey. The man seemed enraged and offended more by the loss of his symbol of honour than by the attempt on his life. The ironborn shark level [8] counterattacked with a respectable exchange of blows. The fight became more and more entertaining after each exchange... the hunger grew along with Bloody Snow''s smile. He wanted to enjoy this moment for as long as possible, but there was one problem...his true prey was getting too far away. Balon Greyjoy was backing away too far... the sea hare wanted to try and escape in his ws! In a killing frenzy, the boy reluctantly used the obvious advantage against his opponent. His right side was blind and stillcking adequate cover. Six exchanges were all it took to force the man to his knees with one arm too injured to be lifted and another trying in vain to stop severe bleeding on his belly. The man raised his head proudly, waiting for the final blow. A cruel smile radiated in the demon''s face that seemed inspired by something. The left de slipped and picked up a sharp tooth on the floor. The predator seemed to know exactly where to store that missing puzzle piece. The tooth quickly approached the remaining healthy eye of the warrior, caught off guard by that cruel and dishonourable gesture. ''No!'' the hand froze at thest moment, trembling. [Yes, it is! Do it! Push him into that orbit! Make him taste the terror and despair! Do it, boy!] The boy gasped in indecision. [What are you waiting for?! Balon is escaping! Hurry up and finish him off! ACT!!!] End POV. -------------------------- POV: Ardan ''Shark''s Tooth'' Main Corridor, Sea Tower, Pyke. About a second after a tooth was picked up... Ardan had given his all in that fight, but the enemy was unstoppable. He was already aware that he had no chance in front of that demon. So the goal was to hinder that demon as long as possible and give his king enough time to retreat. He had lost too much blood; he no longer had the strength to fight and oppose the fate that awaited him. With his one remaining eye, he caught a glimpse of Balon climbing over the wall of corpses of his fallenrades. Soon that wall would rise another foot with his body. Attention turned again to the demon. ''Long live King Balon! Let that which is dead never die'' was all Ardan could think, unable to voice those words. His attention turned again to the individual in front of him. Furthermore, the demon seemed to want to make havoc on him with his symbol of honour. ''So this is how I will die...'', not even the anger or contempt he felt could be manifested. Ardan closed his one remaining eye, waiting for the inevitable bitter end... But the pain didn''te, far from it. A warm, invigorating vitality slowly slipped from his eye to his belly. Opening his eyes, he could see a faint, dying green glow that faded away an instantter. The pain in his side had subsided considerably. An object was ced in the weak hand of the injured arm. Ardan lowered his gaze, and his tooth was there; he clenched his fingers greedily, grasped his honour symbol and looked up. Only then did the man realize that somehow his vision was no longer half-obscured... ''My eye... my eye is healed!'' thought Ardan incredulously, wondering if this was all a figment of his imagination. Bloody Snow''s face was very different from before... as if a foreign individual had reced him. Those were the eyes of a boy, a frightened, hesitant, regretful and exhausted boy. His only free hand rested on the sword''s hilt, pointed at the ground for support. "Anf... Anf... The battle is over, Ser... Anf... Your king has fled, and mine has just arrived... Lay down your weapons and surrender. There is no longer any reason to shed more blood." Said the boy in a quieter voice and on the verge of fainting at any moment by casting a nce to his left side. Ardan turned his gaze in the direction indicated. The white shields and golden armour were dirty and bloodstained but easily recognizable. The two royal guards paved the way for a massive metal figure adorned with two conspicuous pairs of horns, and beside it, a helmetless Nordic man with a banner behind a grey wolf on a white field. Robert Baratheon hade to put an end to the Rebellion. End Chapter. ---------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 103: The Poor Thrifty Wolf Chapter 103: '' The Poor Thrifty Wolf '' POV: The Lord of Winterfell; King''s Banquet, Main Hall of The Great Keep, Isle of Pyke. Four days after the fortress was taken and House Greyjoy surrendered unconditionally... It took more than two days of work and cleaning to make the hall presentable. The remaining two served to await House Lannister''s triumphant return from Great Wyk. Only the fortress of Hammerhorn still had the strength to withstand Tywin Lannister''s siege. Lord Gorold Goodbrother, Lord of Hammerhorn andst bastion in defence of the rebellion, lowered the banners of war and opened the castle gates as soon as the raven from Pyke reached his manor. King Robert Baratheon had broken the rebellion and annihted the Golden Kraken before the new moon rose. This was the rumour that was zing like wildfire throughout the fortresses and cities of Westeros. Ned loved the naked truth. He was slightly annoyed that the glory and merits of the conquest were only centred on the Crowned Stag. So many good Northmen had fallen in the field in the first assault to capture the first tower. The heaviest losses in the assault on the fortress were borne by House Stark, House Dustin, and House Mormont. Not to mention Bloody Snow and the ny-eight volunteer heroes who risked and fought harder than anyone else on that ind. Without ess to the gates and bridges of Pyke, the siege could havested months, and the price of blood and gold to pay would have been enormously higher. Six hundred lives were lost and two hundred wounded, a third of whom were still hovering between life and death. [Remember, Ned, the critical factor in this war is contributing more than anyone else to the victory and letting the crown take all the honours and glory. In this way, we will be able to achieve the best benefits for the North]. The words spoken by his new unexpected trusted advisor redounded through Eddard''s thoughts. Dozens of long tables were arranged in the vast hall. The King''s table was reserved only for the greatest lords of Westeros and the lords and knights who had contributed the most in this war. Ned sat to the right of the King, the seat on the left was reserved for Lord Tywin Lannister, who had yet to arrive along with other guests. The announcement of the celebrations had not yet been acimed. To the right of the Lord of Winterfell sat Ser Helman Tallhart, the representative of the first victory of the crown against the Greyjoy rebellion. But unfortunately, his heir, and true representative, was still indisposed and unable to attend the celebratory events. "Lord Helman, any news of your son Duncan?" asked Ned with genuine concern. "On the mend, my lord, thank you for your interest and thoughtfulness. ording to my chief healer, that reckless wretch, who has no regard for the health of his father''s fragile heart, is making a speedy recovery. Just too much umted physical and mental stress, nothing more. Two more days of rest at most, and he''ll be back on the front lines with some crazy suicide n, guaranteed." Helman replied, making the Lord of Winterfell smile with spontaneous levity. "The entire North hopes that their Hero will return as soon as possible and enjoy his well-deserved honours, Lord Helman. Please do not be shy about asking if there is anything I can do to facilitate his recovery," said Ned. "Thank you, my lord. House Tallhart is honoured by your help and that offered by all the noble lords of the North." Helman''s attention was caught by a toast offered by Lord Umber a few feet away from the duo. Ned released the man from his attention with a simple nod by joining in the toast. Duncan Tallhart was not the only one absent from the Banquet. The newly ordained young knight Ser Wex Unfear, Ser Balon Swann and the remainingrades-in-arms who fought alongside Bloody Snow in defence of the Sea Tower Bridge were all indisposed and in no mood to celebrate. Only the Old Gods and that dozen individuals knew what had happened in that macabre corridor of death. No one recounted in detail the events of that confrontation... It took almost a good half hour just to clear the passageway of that pile of ironborn dead. Ned recognized a few looks simr to those of inexperienced men seeking glory, traumatizedter by the true faces of war. More than a dozen slumped, shivering on the walls, some vomiting as soon as they realized the danger was over. The Tallhart boy was smeared with blood from head to toe, and soon after reporting to him and Robert with hisst remaining strength, he lost consciousness and copsed to the ground. Bloody Snow did not appear to have suffered any injuries or head trauma, but he slept for two days and nights straight before regaining consciousness... The most pitiful sight remained Balon Greyjoy, without a doubt. Never had Eddard expected such vulnerability and dishonourable squalor from a man who, only weeks before, had had such arrogance and thirst for conquest. The former King of the Iron Inds literally grovelled at Robert''s feet, invoking mercy and forgiveness in front of the entire Pyke court left in Sea Tower. Robert had not yet expressed his judgment. He segregated the wounded Balon in rooms appropriate to his rank, leaving him in the care of his maester. No member of House Greyjoy was harmed. A small glimmer of constion for Ned. Little violence had urred in Pyke. No looting at the port town of Lordsport or in nearby viges. Lord Germund Botley, the protector of Lordsport, surrendered to Robert a few hours after conquering the beach and revealed to the King that the ''false King'' Balon had had any valuables in the Sea Tower coffers moved. Therefore, the crown''s allied forces had no ''reasonable'' reason to raid the city. Pyke''s royal coffers were overflowing with gold, silver, precious stones, silk, tapestries and jewels... Royal scribes and ountants had estimated roughly two million golden dragons worth of goods. Half of the spoils belonged to the crown. The remaining assets were to be divided among all the Lords who had contributed to the military campaign, prioritising the Houses that had suffered direct attacks on theirnds. House Lannister, House Mallister, and House Redwine received thergest share. Not a copper piece of that treasure would be touched by House Stark or the other Northern Houses. Thrifty poor Ned''s pockets wept tears of blood. The Thralls were the rewards for the nobles of the North, but the costs of transporting and cing it on hisnds were half borne by House Stark... At least House Tallhart had done him the favour of convincing his ''prosperous'' and ''carefree'' vassals to ept the partition agreements made with the crown. Robert returned to sit in the ce of honour at the Great Table; his'' visit to the privy'' had been rather long and rather eventful from what he could see. A servant girl with loose curly hair, a rumpled dress, and a heated face walked swiftly out the same side door past the royal guard with embarrassment... "I swear if my father-inw Leo doesn''t show up by the end of the hour, I''ll devour that roast suckling pig before anyone can utter the word ''Lannister'', phew. Always the centre of attention," Robert muttered, keeping his eye firmly on another pretty young maid who had just refilled his cup. "The harbour is still blocked by debris, Robert. It''s at least a two-hour ride from Lordsport. I''m sure the dy isn''t intentional," Ned snapped a spear in the Old Lion''s favour. "Yeah, right. If I''d sent the emissary specifying that the divisions of the spoils would take cete this afternoon, I''d have half Lion''s lineage here in front of me by now. Ahahah! Am I mistaken, or do I notice certain favouritism for golden locks? And to think that only five years ago, you almost begged me to send Jaime to the Wall. Ahahah!" "You were right. That time, the disgruntled part of me was talking and wanted to execute Aerys with my own hands... For once, you were the one who brought me back to my senses." Ned admitted, omitting several other ''new reasons''. "A memorable day! The Quiet Wolf admitting he''s lost his mind in the face of the perpetually drunk Furious Stag! Ahahah! A toast!" Robert embraced his brother-in-arms by shaking him with affectionate exaggeration, then forced Ned to raise his cup. Ned snorted smilingly and surrendered to the cup. A few minutes of storytelling, memoir, and wartime exploitster... "So... Before my ''beloved father-inw''es along and kills me with that icy stare, are you sure you and your people don''t want any part of the spoils? Screw the deals. We wouldn''t have gotten a crushing victory without you and your ''Hero Boy''. Ah, for the Seven! Better to deal with you than that Enchanting Bard. A few words, and I was forced to shell out a war dromon, four knighthoods, and a castle! Ahahaha!" Said Robert moving on to more serious topics. ''An empty castle'', Ned thought as he caught a glimpse of the future Lord of Pyke at two tables in the distance. Lord Amon Fury could have considered himself lucky if the King had left him at least ten thousand gold dragons in his coffers, the minimum amount needed to manage the vast damaged fortress and the ind... Lord Jason Mallister had already made (with courtesy and respect) requests for at least a third of the ships anchored in the harbour. Lord Paxter Redwine demanded almost all of the remainder, although he had alreadypensated for his losses in Fair Isle''s battle... A handful of gold, a handful of old longships, and less than a hundred words in his service. The title of Lord seemed more of a sentence than a prize in Ned''s eyes... "Are you sure you want to deal with this here and now? I would not wish to benefit too much from a drunken man," Eddard replied, teasing Robert amicably. "You think three cups of wine can get me drunk? Ah! Go ahead and spit it out. What else do you want besides that royal pardon for... Mande der or whoever he is." The King. "Mance Raider," Ned corrected him. "Yes, yes, him. Come on, what else did you need? A permit for the fleet? Another wife? For me to legitimize your bastard? Come on, Ned! Be smart and squeeze your big, fat friend. But always remember not to dare take advantage of your King! Ahahah!" Robert''s contradictory antics managed to get augh and take a perceptible weight off the Lord of Winterfell''s shoulders, who would not be pleased with any further opportunity... "Ships and men. Summer ising, and with it, gods willing, and trade. I would like permission to expand the Northern Fleet to protect the sea routes against piracy. Too many people are starting to arrive from Essos and the South. We would need more men-at-arms to protect thends. Phew... gold and goods attract too many greedy mercenaries disguised as bandits. House Tallhart and Umber have already foiled two assaults by foreign militias hired to hurt their business." So exined Ned noticing that his vassal seated at his right nk was lending a concealed merchant''s ear in more than an interesting conversation. Like father, like son. Thought Ned eyeing Helman Tallhart, feigning involvement in the conversation with Jason Mallister as he slid slightly further and further to the left to listen better. "Go for the ships. You have over five thousand miles of coastline to defend. Hell, I wouldn''t even consider it a favour. But for the men-how, many do you need? You''re not going to march me south to get that devilish piece of iron, are you? Ahahah!" Robert asked with a hint of extra rity. "No, you keep the scrap iron. I assure you the North is enough for me. Well, at least a thousand more men for House Dustin, Tallhart, and Manderly. Five hundred for the other Great Houses of the North, about fifty for the lesser Houses, and two thousand for House Stark to keep them from turning on me", ''assuming I can find the money to pay these two thousand men...'' thought a worried voice in the head of the future indebted Lord of the North. "Holy names, Ned! I thought this was a conversation between childhood friends, not a lesson in heraldry and mathematics! Burgh...what''s the total?" Robert snickered with a burp in the middle. "A little over fourteen thousand swords total," Ned shot off bluntly. "Fourteen thousand, huh? Argh...I get a headache thinking about Cersei''s screams when she hears about this. Ahahah!" *Sbam!* Robert pounded a fist on the table, making a decision. "Be that as it may...you''ll need them if you really want to deal with that band of savages in the moon''s mountains. Are you sure you want to go to parley with the ns? Jon will name you his heir if you seed, but I doubt you''ll go back to Cat in one piece if you fail." Robert. "It will be Benjen who will try his luck, and I hope swords are not how we will convince them to deal..." Bloody Snow would apany his brother on that task, but Ned kept to himself this detail. "Benjen, eh? Ah! Poord, I hope he is prepared for what awaits him. By the Seven, I still remember that barbarian of the Burned Men who tore Ser Oppel''s head off with his bare hands." Ned faltered as he remembered the massacre he had witnessed during his first battle. "You can have those men. Keep the North at bay, Ned, and make sure that the barrels of alcohol from House Tallhart and Umber keep arriving in King''s Landing in one piece. Ahahah!" With a smack on the table, a few words and a fewughs, Ned managed to get the consensus to increase the North''s forces by a third... "Thank you, your majesty. The North will be forever grateful." Ned. It almost didn''t seem true to him. Although expectations of sess were high, Eddard expected at the very least a drunken fishmonger''s bargaining over numbers. However, even the excellent eavesdropper Helman appreciated the novelty by increasing the jovial tone with Lord Jason. Only two more requests were missing: House ckwood and the Green Knighthood. Thest one was certainly the most insidious. Robert would have the entire creed of the Seven against him by granting the priests of the North the power to consecrate a Green Knight in the name of the Old Gods... "If you have any more favours to ask, I''ll stop you. However, you''ll have to grant me at least one more ''small favour'' first. And don''t you dare call me ''your majesty'' again, or I will withdraw all decrees back!" ranted Robert. "I am at your service, Furious Drunken Stag King." The Kingughed out loud after a long look of defiance. "Ahahah! Well, that''s more like it. So...I''d have a little cash flow problem, Ned. The Master of Coin says we''re forced to take out a loan from the Bank of Braavos. I have no more desire to get into debt with those fish moneylenders than I go begging Cersei to get her father to open a little piece of that mountain of gold under my ass... Phew... Thest tribute you paid to the crown weighed almost as much as House Tyrell''s. So business is booming to you in the North, eh?" "Spruzz! Cough! Coff! Coff!" Ned sent a gulp of water sideways, but theck of air wasn''t the real problem...the shocking heart had yet to start beating again. "Don''t get killed by a trivial cup of water right after surviving a war, Lord Stark! Ahahah!" Robert thundered cheerfully, hitting his friend with hearty pats on the back. "Anf... Anf... Thank you... I''m notining, Your Grace... coff... coff... but, I hope they can get better and better." Ned replied, regaining his breath, heartbeat and necessary humility. ''In the name of the gods, Robert! There were nearly ten million gold dragons in the royal treasury six years ago! In addition, the North paid out over six hundred thousand gold coins in a tributest year! How on earth did you squander all that gold!!!'''' howled the no longer so Tranquil Wolf fiercely within. "I thought the loot..." Robert nipped that futile attempt in the bud. "No, unfortunately, returning the loan to House Rosby and Bywater with the promise of a small portion of the royal share and removing the costs of the campaign... there will be no more than six or seven hundred thousand gold dragons left. The crown urgently needs at least one million liquid. Can you give me a hand, Ned? I promise to return the gold as soon as I can." Empty promises and Ned knew that more than anyone. The Thrifty Wolf hadn''t forgotten about those famous twenty-six golden dragons and eight silver moons that Robert owed him before the war began. More than once, his ''faithful friend brother'' begged him to lend him a few coins for wine and brothels in Eagle''s Nest... Whatever sum Lord Eddard Stark had lent King Robert the drunken whoremonger, he was unlikely to see it again. "Well, coff, coff! If it''s ''only'' a few hundred...," an ''involuntary'' elbow to the side from Lord Helman broke Ned''s sentence. "I meant...how much...how much would you need?" The Wolf asked with his guard firmly up. "A million at least, two if possible. With two million (about 18 billion dors), the crown will be able to breathe for a few years and look forward to the prosperous next summer just around the corner," Robert answered with sincere calm as if referring to pocket change. ''TWO MILLION?! No. I refuse. I will apologise in person to House ckwood and all future aspiring Green Knights of Westeros, but no.'' Thought the Protector of the North adamantly, until... "Oh! I beg your pardon, my lord! I am mortified... please allow me to make it up to you. Fortunately, the wine has not yet dripped onto your robes. Your Majesty, Lord Eddard, forgive my carelessness and for interrupting your conversation." A flying hand towards a cup of red on the table, Lord Helman Tallhart hastily wiped the puddle away by urgently eyeing the Northern Protector with a clear message: [Lend him the damn gold, my King!]. Ned didn''t flinch and tried to answer with a fierce re: [But then I''d have to borrow almost FIVE MILLION from Lady Barbrey!!! Throw your gold in the privy if you care so much, Ser!] "Never mind, Lord Helman. It''s only wine! Luckily there''s plenty in Pyke''s pantries! Ahahaha! So, Ned, will you help me?" Lord Helman bowed and took his leave towards his previous conversation. "Robert... Two million is a little over my head at the moment. How about half... ugh... One Million?" Another ''unintentional '' elbow or tread '' and Ned promised himself that he would start a fight in front of those noble witnesses. "Ah! The same old stingy coin-counter, I thought life as a Great Lord had slightly softened you. Let''s make it a million and a half and get it out of the way on your other demands. We have a deal, Lord Stark?" Robert proposed, offering an arm to squeeze. ''May the White Walkers curse you and that Bleeding Demon you raised, Ser Helman!'' "...House Stark is pleased to be of service to the Crown, Your Majesty." End Chapter. --------------------------------------------------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 104: An Invitation, an Admiral, and a Treasure Chapter 104: '' An Invitation, an Admiral, and a Treasure '' POV: Helman Tallhart; King''s banquet, the main hall of The Great Keep, Isle of Pyke. A few hours after the celebrations began... King Eddard had seeded. All the most crucial points for the development and security of the North had been sessfully achieved! The Lord of Winterfell had already taken his leave in his chambers, apologizing to the King and nobles. Only Helman knew why. Only three nobles were not in a celebratory mood in that hall: Lord Eddard Stark, Lord Jorah Mormont, and Lord Tywin Lannister. Lord Jorah looked disappointed and ufortable when the King called a toast in his honour for bravely and valiantly leading the vanguard. But Helman''s attention was primarily captured by the Protector of the West. That triumphant entrance into the hall, the opulent and imposing robes, confident step and proud gaze. The hall fell silent for the duration of the Lannister procession''s entry. ''The true ruler of Westeros.'' Helman thought back to the old rumours that circted when Tywin was still the Hand of the King of Aerys. It was even rumoured that one Knight had even lost his tongue when thest Targaryen King learned of those rumours. Helman was impressed by the imperial fortitude that the Old Lion constantly exuded. The man never smiled. He seemed guarded and ready to fight at any moment. Even when the King loudly announced in front of everyone the legitimization of Joy Hill into Joy Lannister regarding the heroic deeds of the Smiling Lion, Tywin maintained a face that did not seem the least bit surprised. As if that decree was owed to him and not granted by the grace of the King. The Master of Torrhen''s Square increasingly doubted his chances of dealing with this man. He felt intimidated and unworthy of such a burden. ''Undoubtedly Duncan. Yes... I would not even send ''de One'' to deal with that man in person, let alone myself or Leobald. I will leave the Beast of House Lannister to the Beast of House Tallhart...'' So Helman decided submissively within himself. He would have liked to spare his son this burden, but negotiations with House Lannister before the Tournament were crucial. Helman''s gaze turned to Tywin''s giant guard dog... Ser Gregor Clegane. Even when seated, the difference in size with the other individuals was monumental. At least seven feet and six inches. Four hundred pounds of bone and muscle, massive shoulders and arms as thick as the trunk of saplings. The bench where ''the Riding Mountain'' sat was among the quietest in the room. The Lannister men at his side seemed wary of addressing him with looks or words, and for a good reason... de [3] had arrived before the banquet and informed him of the atrocities Gregor and his men had carried out a few days ago at Great Wyk. About a dozen iron men had been sliced in half with a single sh of his broadsword. A hundred helpless vigers were brutally ughtered by Gregor and his band. If the total surrender of the Isle had note so quickly and Tywin had not called off his mad dog, other viges would have met the same end. Ser Qyburn, the Master of Spies of House Tallhart, had already briefed him on the possible but unproven crimes this monster was guilty of. A potential murderer of rtives. His father had ''mysteriously died'' in a hunting ident. His sister had been found on a cliff, tortured and abused by '' a band of marauders''. His wife had already died due to an ''idental fall'' from the tower of her manor. Not to mention the countless cases of missing inhabitants and servants in hisnds... ''A rabid dog with the title of ''Ser'' to be put down as soon as possible,'' Helman thought angrily, disgusted by the idea that even that false Knight could participate in the next Tournament. He wouldn''t let that man put a single foot in his domain. A few minutes after those macabre thoughts, King Robert got up from the great table awkwardly and joined the ''Table of Heroes'', in which Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime also participated. The two Royal Guardsmen had been granted leave of absence by the King to take part in the honours of the festivities. At that moment, Lord Tywin rose from the table to join Helman''s side. "Ser Helman, atst, I have the pleasure of making your acquaintance." So said the Old Lion in a cold voice and an imperceptible nod. The Square Master of Torrhen did not fail to notice that ''Ser'' instead of ''Lord''. Commonly all the nobles of Westeros addressed him as ''Lord''. However, officially it was an undeserved title... After all, he was the ''Master Protector of Torrhen''s Square'' and not the ''Lord''. "Lord Tywin, the pleasure is mine." After standing up, Helman politely replied with a warmer tone and a more pronounced bow. Now that he was closer, Helman squared that figure more carefully. A tall, slender, broad-shouldered man in his fifties. Dressed in a regal ck leather doublet with gold buttonscquered in red in the shape of a lion''s head. Thin but muscr arms, shaved head and thick golden side-whiskers. Pale green eyes flecked with gold, cold, calcting and gushing with ruthless wit. After a few seconds of pressing assessment with his gaze, Tywin resumed the word. "I know that House Tallhart has distinguished itself with valour in capturing the port and fortress. However, the credit for such a swift and overwhelming victory seems to belong to you..." "Exaggeration and chatter, my lord. The assault on the port was mainlyposed of the valiant Baratheon''s men, and the fortress attack was an aplishment achieved by the union of us all. But, without the sword of your son and your brave vassals, victory would not have been so crushed. House Tallhart does not forget the help given to Bear Ind. My brother Leobald is still amazed at the impressive maritime leadership skills disyed by Lord Gerion. Honour and gratitude to you to your noble House, Lord Tywin." It was challenging to understand whether or not the Lion appreciated the response with that mask of unyielding austerity... but the sentence came secondster: "House Lannister is, in turn, honoured to have been able to fight alongside its valued ally. Both Gerion and Jaime sang praises and gratitude for House Tallhart and your son...I note with regret that your heir could not take part in the festivities." Every second of the conversation was charged with tension and utmost concentration on every gesture, word or facial expression. And that was just a taste of the Old Lion''s Roar. Helman felt as if even the most minor mistake could generate horrendous cmity for him and his Household. The nervousness before a battle or that conversation? Which would he have preferred? The man was undecided between the two. "Yes, unfortunately, my son needs a few more days of rest. Our healer was firm on that. I am sure he too would have been honoured to meet you in person, my lord," Helman replied. "And that perhaps can be remedied. Have you already decided when to return to Torrhen''s Square, Ser?" Tywin asked, seizing an opportunity. "Lord Stark will remain here for another week before resuming the journey to Winterfell, but he has already given his permission for all of us vassals to return to ournds at our own desired time. I was just making arrangements with Lord Jason Mallister to dock in Seagard as soon as Duncan returns in strength, my lord." Helman. "In that case, allow me to offer you and your heir hospitality at Casterly Rock. House Lannister has not yet had a chance to repay the kind wee shown by Torrhen''s Square to my family four years ago. A Lannister always pays his debts. I would also like to take this opportunity to visit so we can discuss other possible future coborations with your Household." The message was well concealed but still present... Tywin did not specify ''with you Master of Torrhen''s Square'', but ''Your Household''. He could have tranted thatst sentence with a: [I want to deal with those who are indeed in charge, and I want to meet him in my Lion''s Den]. "A most wee offer, Lord Tywin. It had long been Duncan''s wish to admire for himself one of the most majestic and ancient fortresses in the Seven Kingdoms. House Tallhart thanks House Lannister for the invitation and dly epts." End POV. --------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan Camp Tallhart, less than a mile from Lordsport. About two days after the banquet... Morectic acid was still flowing through my body than blood. The excruciating twinges in my muscles and joints had diminished significantly but were still present. Six days of absolute rest was not enough for the exhaustion and physical stress umted. [Lesser Restoration] was not much help. Only [Greater Restoration], a fifth circle healing spell, could lower the levels of physical exhaustion. I had been an unconscious idiot. I had foolishly overestimated myself beyond my means. I thought my will was unassable and allowed that monstrosity to take over. Yet Zick had warned me... I didn''t listen to him despite numerous warnings. I could have avoided it. I could have retreated and fought defensively with my otherrades. I knew my body better than anyone...one more minute in Berserker mode, and I could have died. I had pleaded with Welbeck, the best healer in the Winter Guardians, to belittle my condition to my father. If Helman had learned of my proper condition, he would have chained me to Torrhen''s Square for months. ''Idiot! A pompous stupid idiot who thinks himself a god! You''re just a man, dammit! A bag of blood holding on to flesh and bone!!!'' I scolded myself with every strong twinge I felt. This was a lesson in humility that I needed to learn the hard way. In my defence, I was confident that the state of frenzy, which I had experienced many times before, was significantly weaker than I felt. Whenever I exceeded the ''Gate Closures'' time limit, I felt a principle of loss of control within me, but it had never been so fierce and indomitable before. And indeed, no persuasive voice in my head had ever spoken to me. Quantifying the threat, it was as if the saving throw on the will to maintain control was DC (Difficult ss) 15, and suddenly it had jumped to 22! It would take at least another week of rest without any excessive effort to fully recover. But, for now, I could only stand, walk, and talk. Even if I had returned to strength, I wouldn''t dare reactivate that technique until I discussed it with my teacher. Zick - only he could help me. He guarded a written list with all the names of the visitors who had paid their respects and good wishes during thest hundred hours spent sleeping. ''Holy names... I''ll have to thank dozens of knights and lords in person! Well, priority to Ser Jaime, Ser Barristan, and those poor devils who followed me to Seatower.'' William entered the tent to announce the arrival of my expected guest. At that moment, I realized that I would also have to pay my respects to all the Guardians and Frost des who surrounded my tent day and night. I would have preferred to avoid having visitors in that state. It was by far an awful time to receive visits from the servants of the Many-Faced God. But this was a meeting of utmost importance that I could no longer put off. "Lord Stannis, General." "Make himfortable, William. Thank you." My Vice-Commander let in arge man: tall, broad-shouldered, and muscr. Dark blue eyes and thick eyebrows. He has a fringe of thinning but well-groomed ck hair and a short beard on hisrge jaw. Taut face like hardened leather, hollowed cheeks and thin pale lips. There wasn''t much resemnce to actor Stephen Dine...maybe the hair mostly. Stannis should be the same age as Ned, but surely the man must have had a fierce fight with Mother Time... He looked at least five years older than a typical twenty-six-year senior. He was certainly not a fighter on par with Robert, but that [Level 7 Knight ss] testified that Stannis had also worked hard at the art of the sword in his youth. "Lord Stannis, I thank you for agreeing to this meeting. Please, my lord, have a seat." The Prince of Dragonstone didn''t have to ask twice and sat down with hasty celerity in the chair opposite. "Lord Duncan, d to see you back in force. I don''t mean to sound rude, but I have a fleet to lead to King''s Landing. So I hope we can discuss this as soon as possible." It hadn''t been a warm greeting, but I had anticipated it. Stannis didn''t like celebrations and especially not ones where his brother the King took part. But, on the other hand, one could not use Stannis Baratheon of excessivepassion and empathy... "Absolutely, my lord. I will try to get to the heart of the matter as soon as possible. At least allow me to thank you for postponing your departure because of my injuries." I replied, bowing my head. "It was not your fault. I would have liked to set sail at dawn after the banquet is true, but the King insisted on my presence during Balon Greyjoy''s judgment. You can barely take charge of a few hours, Lord Duncan." ''Intransigent and truthful to the core.'' I thought instinctively, discarding even the idea of offering him something to drink. "So... the King''s final verdict?" I asked, hoping he wouldn''t re at me. "Balon, Euron, and Meron Greyjoy will join the Night''s Watch. Theon will be taken in as Lord Stark''s protg, and Yara Greyjoy will go to her Uncle Rodrik in Ten Towers until Lord n Fury''s first son reaches marriageable age." Stannis replied quickly. ''So much for the summary. The fate of a House with hundreds of years of history behind it summed up in just four lines!'' I scuttled off with whatever unhealthy quip or joke came to mind. The final challenge between Zick and me after Josua and Syggha was not ''Ramas'' but ''Stannis Baratheon!'' Whoever managed to wrench the slightest tilt in those iron facial muscles would be crowned ''Master of Laughter''! "Cough... emm... So, my lord, as you well know..." I was anticipated. "Ser Davos Seaworth, I recall. He and I have already agreed upon a possible relinquishment of my service in exchange for hisnds. Davos has ced himself favourably and willingly to the arrangement. But it will all depend on House Tallhart''s offer. So make your offer, my lord." Stannis said, gritting his teeth slightly. He didn''t look too happy at the idea of breaking away from his skilled smuggler. "Ten thousand golden dragons, well counted and delivered before your departure," I replied without wasting more time. Stannis raised an eyebrow slightly in surprise. The offer seemed to intrigue him at the very least. "A substantial sum, I won''t deny that. But perhaps it is not the gold I am most interested in." Stannis. "What might pique your interest then, my lord?" I asked politely but with my guard firmly up. "Davos told me of state-of-the-art nautical instruments that we can turn a ship at any time or ce." Stannis. "I am regretful, my lord. Unfortunately, we have already initialled and signed an exclusive sales agreement with House Lannister for the ''Nautical Compasses''. Therefore, we cannot sell or donate such items to the Houses south of Moat Cailin or Essos. Might there be something else of interest to you?" "You want my best sailor in charge of the Dragonstone trades. That ind is barren and inclement. We live by trade and sea routes. What else do you offer if you cannotpensate for such a loss with those Compasses?" The upromising Stannis asked. "What we are free to offer, my lord. If it is a trade you seek, trade you shall have. Soap and fertilizer at the exclusive sale price reserved for Northern lords only." I proposed. "House Tyrell also owns ''exclusivity'' on the soap lots, my lord." Stannis. ''Touch.'' The Burbling Prince was not so clueless. "The liquors you produce... Tailis, Whiskey and Gin. Add those products on the same terms, and the Onion Knight will be yours." Stannis. "All right for the Tailis and Gin, but for the Whisky, it is with House Umber that you will have to deal, my lord... but, I will counter with this offer. The costs and risks of shipping will be on us." The stoking seemed practical. "... Deal. You may have Ser Davos, and you will hear from my chief attendant soon. If there is nothing else..." I stopped the man before he marched out of my tent. "One moment, my lord, please. I would be interested in acquiring a product in your possession... if possible." Thank the gods he was able to scratch that armour. "What product do you speak of, Lord Duncan?" About two minutes of swift, summarizing exnationter... "Let me get this straight... House Tallhart is willing to pay fifteen silver stags for every pound of dragon ss at Dragonstone? And you will be responsible for the mining and transportation?" the Lord of Dragonstone asked with cautious wariness. "Yes, that is correct, my lord. We will also offer ten thousand golden dragons in advance payment for the first sixty-four tons of raw obsidian. But in return, we would like you to grant us exclusivity of extraction and sale for the next ten years. I promise I''ll have a contract drawn up with all the agreed specifications within the hour. And, of course, you''ll also get the gold." I exined as eloquently as I could. Stannis squared me from top to bottom, gritting his teeth as he pondered. "Why such favourable terms, my lord? You are offering me a mining price three times the marble of Strong Song. Part of me is screaming that I''m about to tighten a noose around my neck." ''And that part has a point, Lord Stannis.'' I meditated, hiding that thought with the best Pokerface in my arsenal. Not even ''fifteen golden dragons'' (1 golden dragon = 210 silver stags) per pound would have done the deal justice. Even the unppable and steely Stannis Baratheon would have fainted like a maiden in her first period if he had any idea of the incalcble treasure in that mountain. "For us believers in the Old Gods, dragon ss is valuable, Lord Stannis. Many historical ounts state that the forest children wielded weapons made of obsidian. Many ns of wildlings and inhabitants of Skagos still say that dragon ss was used to fight the legendary Others. We also want to use dragon ss to embellish new temples dedicated to the Old Gods with obsidian altars and sculptures. In addition, we would like to create... ''works of craftsmanship'' to bestow gifts on the First Men who are still wary of the Northern regime. With the dragon ss, perhaps we can get closer in negotiations with the rebel ns of Skagos and perhaps forge more peaceful rtions with the Free Folk." I caught my breath, refusing to add more. ''Well, you can''t say I lied to you, my Lord... Omitted some qualities and magical properties at best.'' So I thought, not feeling entirely guilty. However, even if the current Lord had given his approval for the extraction, I would have to get permission from the ''True Prince of Dragonstone''. Stannis remained silent for more than a minute, struggling to find some w in the exnation that might grant him the means to bargain more. I maintained the most credible expression of ''innocent young noble scion and novice in negotiations'' I could muster. Hectoliters of saliva waited impatiently in my mouth to be swallowed. "All right... House Tallhart will have the dragon ss." End Chapter. --------------------------------------------------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 105: The Three Masterpieces Chapter 105: '' The Three Masterpieces '' POV: Author; Near High Council Hall Andals, High Tower Dungeon, Oldtown. Four days after a trade agreement was signed and sealed ... A heavy thunderstorm enhanced by rumbles of thunder and lightning apanied the hall in the background. Even there, ny feet below sea level with thick, sturdyyers of thousand-year-old ck rock, the whispers of thunder rumbles filtered through. Proof that not even the most celebrated architectural and arcane arts known to man couldpletely counteract the indomitable forces of nature. Lord Leyton prepared to reach the hall. Tradition dictated that he be the first to sit at the Great Table. At his side followed his eldest daughter, Malora Hightower ''The Mad Maid'', and his son-inw, Ser Jon Cupps (married to his second daughter Le Hightower), Lord Commander of the Seven Keepers. The sworn swords of the Noble Hightower House, one of the top three armed groups in Oldtown. Seven warriors for each of the town''s power centres: The Seven Keepers, defending Hightower House; the Seven Secrets, the Citadel''s elite death squad; and the Seven Pdins, the sworn guardians of the Starry Sept. Twenty-one of the finest warriors, assassins, and enchanters exist in the hands of the second most powerful organization in the Known World. Individuals who could match, if not surpass, The Sword of The Morning inbat were equipped with custom armour sets and weapons in pure Valyrian steel. In anticipation of the extraordinary meeting called by the Great Archmaesters, all council participants were allowed to wear their symbols of power and prestige. Ser Jon Cupps proudly disyed his beautiful dark Valyrian steel te armour with his long sword of the same material, Voracity, at his side. But that equipment, forged from the finest steel known to the best master smiths in the Known World, paled inparison to his master''s artefact. Lord Leyton Hightower dressed in the enchanted steel armour of ceremonial Valyria that only the Guardian and Protector of the Andalus High Council could wear, ''Keeper of knowledge''. A masterpiece of the lost Valyrian Forgemastering art passed down in his family before the arrival of the Andals in Westeros. A magical artefact that could only be worn at High Council meetings or in times of war. ck kes of enchanted steel assembled to provide a supportive exoskeleton that moulded itself to the rightful owner. Six opaque ck gems are engraved with glowing arcane symbols on the shoulder pads, elbow pads, and knee pads. Each of those individual gems could be exchanged for a kingdom... Any member of House Hightower who understood the actual value of the Keeper of Knowledge and was forced to choose between the armour or any other possession kept in Oldtown, family members included, would surely choose the former. It was a priceless artefact; not even all the Valyrian steel in Westeros and Essos could havepensated for the loss. A simple peasant d in that legendary armour could have prevailed in a fight to the death on an open field against a hundred armoured knights armed to the teeth. However, only the descendants of House Hightower could activate the valid magical properties of that artefact. It would be a mon" Valyrian steel ke armour for everyone else. All magics required tribute, and the magics within Keeper of Knowledge were no different. For every hour of attunement with the armour, the owner had to pour a specific amount of their own magical blood. One cup of Very Rare Blood (259.75 ml) per hour. For this reason, not all members of House Hightower were worthy. If the chosen user did not have at least an innate concentration of Pure Blood, they would be drained of their lifeblood in less than a day. Lord Leyton Hightower was the elite of thest generation, a descendant of Peremore with *Purest Blood, ording to genealogical records, the blood with the highest concentration of magic in the previous three centuries. Currently, in addition to holding the official title of Voice of Oldtown, Lord of the Port, Defender of the Citadel, and Beacon of the South, Leyton was recognized by his lesser-known allies and enemies with another title: The Great Wizard, Guardian and Protector of the Andalus High Council. Rarely did a single sessor fill both roles. Instead, generations of puppets,petent only in running a city and keeping a few vassals at bay, openly presented themselves in Westeros with the Title of Lord. Still, the puppet master, the faithful undisputed Lord of Oldtown, acted in the shadows. Anyone, third cousin or bastard that he was, could attain that position. Only the most deserving and gifted would be the next True Lord Protector of Oldtown and possessor of the treasure of Peremore Hightower, ''Keeper of knowledge''. Leyton disyed great gifts in learningmon subjects and martial arts and a unique ir in the study of magic. Presently, it was the most potent weapon Oldtown possessed. A sixth circle enchanter, the only one who, along with the Keeper of Knowledge, could frontally counter the power of Oldtown''s sworn enemy; The King in the Yellow, the Chief Sorcerer and Supreme Lord Carcosa. That arcane masterpiece was a gift bestowed upon Peremore Hightower ''the Twisted'', the one who gathered the most remarkable schrs from around the World and founded the Citadel. An estate created by the second greatest Valyrian Forgemaster ever known in human history; the First Guardian of Love, Valgudryel Targaryen. Only two other Valgudryel Masterpieces could rise to the heights of Peremore''s legacy. The first masterpiece, created for the current Guardian of Magic andter passed on to his disciple and heir Chai Dug, ''Valunday G''ho Ras'', a name derived from the ancientnguage known in the Yi Ti Empire, but was alsomonly referred to as the ''Scepter of the Magic Emperor''. A magical stirrup of immense power that only the most skilled arcanists would be able to wield. The only artefact still in cirction could rival the ''Keeper of knowledge''(The second masterpiece). For millennia the empire of Yi Ti was at war against the people of Jogos Nhai, a people with peculiar physiological characters that many historians and anthropologists still think descend from the Dothraki. About three hundred years ago, in a critical moment for the Yi Ti people, when the emperor and his army were surrounded without any way out by thousands of Jogos Nhai Knights. The empire had no means or time to rush to the aid of their ruler and pleaded for help from the confederation of wizards. Carcosa answered the empire''s call, but only one Sorcerer showed up on the battlefield. The King in the Yellow... The Lord of Carcosa willingly chose to join the fight even without his personal escort. He used the asion to test the power of the new Artifact given to him by his master... ''Valunday G''ho Ras''. A single individual managed to turn the tide of battle on that day. And finally, the third and final masterpiece... An Artifact that would mirror the powers of a Legendary Guardian. A weapon forged at the time with the fire of thest Wyrm Dragon still alive in Valyria. Chrisox, the Golden Dragon whose fire was said to equal the power of the sun... A piece of magical metal worked in the most dangerous forge in all the empire, the volcano called ''the Heart of Fourteen mes''... Valgudryel Targaryen tempered that de for a hundred days and a hundred nights to match the work of the greatest Forgemaster Hero ever, Azor Ahai. The Guardian of Love invested every knowledge he possessed, every resource and every spark of magic in his veins to create a sword capable of countering and destroying Peremore''s legacy. His second masterpiece that, generations earlier, he had given as a gift to the ancestor of the traitorous dynasty of the Wizarding World. Such was the anger and such the shame. That tool of his own creation, designed to aid the former Protectors of Knowledge, andter transformed into a means of death, could no longer be passed on to such monsters... Monsters that besmirched the memory of his dearest friend. At the time, the Guardian of Love had created that armour specifically to help Peremore. A man physically fragile as ss, born with deformities, was bedridden for most of his life but nevertheless was endowed with an incredible intellect and an excellent talent for magic. He had immeasurable love for all knowledge and was the first to bring together sages, teachers, priests, healers and singers, as well as magicians, alchemists and sorcerers from all over the World. The pioneer of the World founded the ''Temple of Knowledge'', a ce of peace, culture, science and magic. A ce that was to guard and protect the history of the World... Legend has it that Valgudryel roared with rage, pain, and despair at each blow of the hammer. The Craftsman worked on an ore rarer and stronger than simple Dragon Iron. He dug out thest remaining stock of a dying star''s heart, which had fallen centuries earlier at the mouth of the Torantine River south of Westeros. A mineral he found during one of his past pilgrimages in search of inspiration and new materials. The stonemason who found the star and sold him the ore, whose son dreamed of bing a knight, asked for an indestructible sword to give to his heir. One of Valgudryel''s first experiments during the dawn of his apprenticeship as a Forgemaster... He used the most precious magical gem. The rarest treasure was guarded for millennia by the Three-Headed Dragon dynasty. A core of power was even more powerful than the heart of Valunday G''ho Ras. He tempered the de with his own tears and with the blood of the rarest creature... but when the time came for the final passage, the father faltered and failed to sacrifice the person he loved most... His daughter Rheyna. The Guardian of Love chose to sacrifice himself and pierced his own heart by taking the ce of his beloved daughter... But before doing so, hemanded Rheyna to give the sword to the only man deserving of her love and seal it to his dynasty. The sword was to go as a gift to the Hero who had just foiled the greatest War the World would ever know. A Hero who, through his efforts, sacrifices and courage, had saved the people of Valyria from the most significant threat of that Era... *[Author Note: There are 15 ssifications of magical blood known in the world. Divided on Three Rank Hierarchies. In the first rank, the magic concentration in blood grows exponentially by 3,141 (). From the second rank, by 3.141 x 3.141 ()2 From the third rank, by ()3 {1th rank}: Low Blood; Dirty Blood; Common Blood; Non-Common Blood; Rare Blood; (Eddard Stark) Very Rare Blood; Semi-Pure Blood; {2nd rank}: Pure Blood; Purest Blood; (Leyton Hightower) King Blood; (The King in The Yellow) Legendary Blood; Blood of the Sons of the Gods; (The Guardian of Beauty) {3nd rank}: Semi-Divine Blood; Divine Blood; God Blood; In summary, one drop of "God Blood" is equivalent to approximately 11,283,762 gallons of "Low Blood".] End POV. ---------------------------------------- POV: Malora Hightower ''The Mad Maid''. Near the Andalus High Council Hall, Hightower Dungeon, Oldtown. Just before reaching the entrance archway of the hall... Malora walked silently by her father''s side. She was not a very quiet person, not that she took pleasure in addressing other individuals. On the contrary, the Mad Maid liked to talk to herself... She couldn''t even stand her half-brothers or half-sisters, especially Lynesse, Leyton''s youngest daughter. Daddy''s little flower in the buttonhole, all flowers and song and dance... Malora would have dly used the wench in one of her private experiments. None of them was worthy. They were human-like beings with a walnut for a brain. Only with her father could she interact... Leyton... for Malora, he was a real man. A man of knowledge, intelligence, strength and power. But those stupidws, customs and popr beliefs prevented her from lying to the only man who deserved her love. Malora answered only to him, to her Lord, to her powerful Great Sorcerer. Though mentally deranged, Mad Main was a true genius. She has a brilliant mind, capable of remembering everything she saw or heard, and very... very creative. A mute scribe, she had the task of collecting and delivering to Leyton, and only him, all written works or drawings of Malora at any time. Only when the true Overlord of Oldtown had decided his daughter was ready would he instruct her in the arcane art. Malora carried Legendary Magic Blood in her veins; unbeknownst to the entire council, Lord Leyton''s daughter had magical gifting considerably more extraordinary than her father''s. If well educated, she could soon arise a weapon equal to or greater than even the Sorcerer of Carcosa. ult blood was generated with his second wife. No one had ever seen or known her mother. Only an unfortunate Septon who imed to have officially celebrated the wedding just before ''identally'' dying the next day... That was all Malora could discover in twenty-six years of silences and well-studied lies. They had finally reached the doors of the hall. ck oak doors are covered inyers of finely crafted steel. The designs and carvings in the doors gave off magic at a mere nce. "Ser Jon..." called Leyton. "Yes, my Lord." The Lord Commander of the Seven Keepers replied instantly. "For now, it will only be my daughter and me who will enter. Warn us when other council members arrive," the Lord Protector ordered. "As you wish, my lord." Ser Jon Cupps didn''t let that be repeated a second time. The knight took two steps back and stood guard at the entrance. Leyton ced his gloved right hand on a seal, sounds of heavy locks clicked, and the heavily reinforced door opened through a counterweight mechanism. "Come, my daughter." "Yes, Father." Malora''s heart pounded. Her long, sharp nails wouldn''t stop fiddling with her tousled curly hair. The Mad Maid entered the darkened room first... Torches and ck candles lit as if by magic with each new step, apanying the guest''s passage in advance. The door closed again. The room was fully lit. A round room at least a hundred feet in radius with dome-shaped ceilings over fifty feet high. Tapestries and paintings depicting numerousndscapes, figures, faces, and creatures unknown to her littered the walls. However, at first, nce, what stood out most to the eye was the table... A giant half-moon board made entirely of shiny ck stone... no... it wasn''t stone. "Dragon ss." Leyton anticipated the doubt in his daughter''s mind. Sixteen thrones were spaced equally on the same side of the first arch. In the centre of it towered a tower-like throne. "Ehehihi ghuaa!!! A throne worthy of a king, Father!" The Mad Maid jumped, squealing with delight, reaching for the chair. She caressed and savoured every channel and shape of the craftsmanship. "We are not Kings, Malora... We do not care for amonce throne. Kings and Queens rise and fall in history, but we will always rise. Cataclysms, famines, epidemics, droughts, betrayals, wars, foreign invasions... None of these things can bring down our household. Our Tower is older than The Wall itself. Do you know who was the first architect to help our ancestors build the foundation?" asked Leyton as he approached a device on the left side of the throne. "Brandon the Builder." Malora. "Correct answer...and now tell me, do you know why I wanted you here today?" Leyton. "You told me I''d take part in the council... However... I only see seventeen seats here. Yours, the three seats for the Lord Commanders, the seven Grand Archmaesters, and the six-" "The Six Starry Sept, yes..." Malora turned her head taken aback by those words. "You mean... Of course, the High Wisdom Warrior and the Lord Commander of the Seven Pdins are the same figure." "Precisely, your mother holds one of those seats. She has never attended any council meetings, but she is still a full member. What seat do you think she holds?" Leyton. Malora solved the riddle with a single nce. "The Astra Wisdom of the Stranger." "Correct answer... You are here today to take her ce. You will represent that task in her stead. You will observe and remain silent throughout the meeting, and afterwards, we will rehash together every word spoken in this room." Said Leyton shocking the maiden for the second time. Malora frantically scratched her hair, looking at the void with wide eyes. A gesture that did not disturb her father. Leyton knew that behaviour was Malora''s usual way of processing thoughts to the best of her ability. "But... b-but that means... It can only mean three things!" Shrieked the woman in a state of euphoria. "Light the Way, then." Leyton. "First... that I shall shortly meet my mother in person!" Leyton seemed neither to deny nor confirm the first theory. "Second... You want me to be the heir! Not Baelor, Garth, Gunther, or Humfrey...but for me...a woman! Father, there has never been a woman at the head of the Council or am I mistaken?" the daughter asked without hesitation. ''It also means that my mother is not a mere hen broodmare clucking around you... No! She has power! A power that can silence all the squeaks of those filthy rats! Power and influence that even you fear, Father! Hehehhihihi! But this... Yes, it is undoubtedly wiser to keep it to myself. Hihihihehe!!!'' Malora made a noticeable effort to maintain control of her emotions. "No... actually, there never was. And yes, you may be the most suitable candidate for the position, ''IF'' you prove yourself worthy." Admonished Leyton, granting a small smile of approval. "I will! I will be worthy! I won''t let you down, father, I swear! I swear it! I swear it! I will put my whole self into it, learn, process and n everything! Everything that is needed and beyond. I will carry out the will of Peremore! I, Malora Sybi Hightower, swear this to you, my Lord!" the woman bowed at the feet of her beloved master, conveying all the conviction she could express with her gaze beyond mere words. "And the third?" asked the father curiously. "Third is that you will finally ept me as your disciple! I will begin the path of arcane mysteries!!!" Malora seemed to be more enthusiastic about thisst one than the others. Leyton was adamant about studying the Arcane arts. "In due time, my daughter. But, first, you will meet your mother, and only then can you begin your magical apprenticeship." Leyton. "Y-yes... Yes, Father." Malora stifled more thoughts and delighted squeals. "First, history lessons. I''m about to let you in on a secret. A piece of information that ''No One'' but you, me, or your mother will ever need to know. I warn you, if I were to disclose even the slightest bit of such knowledge to you now and in the future were to deem you no longer worthy of Peremore''s legacy, I would not hesitate an instant in killing you, Malora. Do you wish me to continue, my daughter?" Leyton asked in a calm and sincere tone. "Yes. I have no fear of death. More time is wasted on precious moments in a life without purpose or meaning! Knowledge, power and legacy. Nothing else matters!" Malora replied, disregarding even the stated threat of death. "So be it... Then tell me, my child, do you know who or what is the greatest threat to our legacy?" Leyton slowly moved his hand closer into a concealed crevice of the central throne. Malora crouched on her knees, scratching her hair with one hand and biting her thumbnail with the other, voiced her thoughts. "The answer is not Carcosa, too obvious... It can''t be The Titan either... that it is... no... the Guardian of Beauty is powerful but would have already moved against us if he really wanted to... The new endowments that have appeared... no, it''s not that either, the tone and form of the question implies that it is an enemy that has been present for longer... The new Guardian of Love, by any chance? The one who sees all and nothing can hide from his eyes?" Attempted to answer Malora without expressing certainty in her tone, but she corrected herself before her father delivered a verdict. "No... The Watcher is an anomalous candle that burns more intensely than the others, an unexpected one, however, soon to be extinguished. A neutral, transient force that simply should not be disturbed. So... excluding the Rhoynar and the First Men... the only usible answer... The Dragon!!! The Targaryens, Father!!!" Roared Malora with more conviction. That bit of information her father passed on to her and her personal research was enough to conclude. "Not exact, but in itself not incorrect either..." Leyton replied, activating a magical impulse. The walls in front of the Protector''s Throne opened, and a transparent crystal case rose from the ground. It held a two-handed broadsword. "I will tell you a story shortly. I will not leave out any details or exaggerate parts... The pure and simple truth. What you see, Malora, a long time ago, long before the Dragons came to Westeros, was the most dangerous weapon to our heritage..." Leyton approached the shrine at a slow pace. "I... I know what it is! I''ve seen it! Neenth page of ''Inventories'' written by Archmaester Thurgood! Only... t-the colour of the de should be darker, it wasn''t like that in the drawings in the text! Th-that''s..." Malora was interrupted. "Part of an Artifact forged by the same creator of ''Keeper of Knowledge''. The only tool that held power to eradicate Peremore''s descendants... We invested untold resources... Coborated with enemies... Killed Kings... Erased from history all texts or minds that knew even an essence of its real properties... Asked evil entities for help... Annihted a millenary Empire to stifle its power... Ousted a Dynasty... Transgressed Peace Treaties... That, my daughter, is the most significant spoils of war in our possession, snatched from the hands of our True Sworn Enemy. That is the Artifact that was once given to the founder of the Lannister Dynasty... Podrick Lann." Leyton reached into the case immediately after uttering the ''name-that-should-never-have-been-pronounced''. "Grandmaster Valgudryel Targaryen''s third and final Masterpiece..." Lord Leyton Hightower stroked the enchanted ss case for pleasant moments... admiring the work as if it were a painting. Shiny precise de, nearly four inches wide at the base, five feet long of enchanted steel sharpened to the tip, a thick golden short wavy hilt. A long two-and-a-half-palm handle of blood-red leather and a golden pommel in a lion''s head shape. Leyton paused to observe the mon'' red fire ruby recement in the centre of the hilt and then continued. "We still have not been able to find a way to destroy this Artifact. However, long before the disaster of Valyria, our ancestors managed to break its power, weakening it. Only after our ancestors managed to separate the core from the sword and managed to hide body and soul from enemy hands, did they agree to sign the Peace Treaty that persists to this day. This weapon must never leave this enchanted shrine, Malora. No matter in what desert, ocean or volcano it is buried, the sword will always seek to return to the hands of its rightful owner. This is..." It was The Mad Maid who spoke the name. "Brightroar!" *********** End Chapter. ------------------------------------------------------ ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 106: ‘ Meeting of Titans ’ Chapter 106: Meeting of Titans POV: Tycho Nestoris; Hall of the Great Keepers of Keys, Iron Bank, Braavos. Year 289 A.C., 10th Day of the Ninth Moon. Three days after, seventeen individuals gathered in Oldtown... This was the first meeting in which Tycho Nestorys took part. Promotion to Executive Director General included this honour. The highest spheres of power of the most influential World Organization met here in this underground room. Thirteen members in total. The current 216th acting President of the Bank, Ultherro Zorays. The Vice President, Berbo Darel. The Executive General Manager, Tycho Nestoris. And the Ten Original Keyholders, whose identities were known to only two individuals in the Known World, President Ultherro and the High Priest of the House of ck and White. Not even the Sealord of Braavos was aware of the existence of such individuals. Characters who had the power to depose the ruler of the free city at the mere whim of a majority... There were initially twenty-three founding Keyholders, sixteen men and seven women, and there are still thousands of known descendants of said founders. Many descendants of the original Keyholders still proudly disy the ceremonial keys on formal asions. Those who have lost their wealth still retain the keys and associated honours. But what the World did not know was that a tremendous internal civil war was fought, a war of poison, backstabbing, intrigue, lies, gold and blood... Of the original twenty-three majority shareholders, only ten remained, absorbing almost entirely the shares of the thirteen losers. To avoid the internal copse of the institution, the officials invoked the help of the House of ck and White. The names of the remaining members were offered as gifts to the God of a Thousand Faces, and in return, a powerful magical ritual erased the names of their descendants from world history. A pattern of protection that had to be renewed cyclically. Every thirteen years, the ten chief Keyholders had to offer the gift of a descendant of their jamb in exchange for the protection of the Many-Faced God. The Original Keyholders still owned 50% of the shares of the most powerful banking institution in the World. The High Officials of the Iron Bank held 33%. The remaining 17% belonged to the thousands of descendants, magisters, archons, triarchs, and investors from around the World. All members assembled by sitting in their respective chairs. Thirteen seats spread across arge circr table of a thirty-foot radius made of tinum veined marble. In the centre of the table stood a carved map. A work of craftsmanship made entirely of a golden heart tree that depicted in detail the entire Known World on a grand scale. Even every single ind in the Thousand Inds archipgo... Invisible strands of Acromant silk, attached to a vast Dragon ss chandelier, held up every single piece of the sculpture. The map would have seemed to float as if by magic five feet above the floor for anyone who did not know the mystery of that work. Tycho was currently one of those people. The official could not stop admiring that masterpiece created by who knows what artist. The new Director''s attention shifted to the President standing a few steps away from him. "I, Ultherro Zorays, 216th President of the Iron Bank, wee all of you, dear pioneers of the World. I want to take this opportunity to thank all of you, noble founders, for responding to our urgent call to attend. I would also like to take this opportunity to introduce you to our new Executive Director-General, Mr Tycho Nestoris. He is an industrious young member of our institution with extraordinary ability and earned his position through merit and hard work. Let us grant him warm wee apuse." *p*, *p* *p*, *p*. All members responded to the call. Tycho stood up and repeatedly bowed in thanks for the much-appreciated gesture. "Now that the proper pleasantries have been performed, I officially dere the meeting to begin." The President returned to his seat. "Tycho Nestoris, huh? the former head of the Westeros trade section. An excellent choice indeed, President. I don''t think I''m alone in wanting to give credit for your work. You''ve brought us superior returns, increasing the North Section''s profits by more than 18 times the best year ever. Indeed a remarkable feat, Director." Said a voice without gender or ent of any kind. The speaker was His Excellency "3." Numbers from 1 to 10 identified Keyholders. It was up to the President, the only one who knew the true identity of everyone in that room, to hand each respective Original Keyholder an ID number. Numbers were exchanged at each meeting. Ten identical magical Artifacts prevented any character from being recognised from body shape, age, habitual movements, tone of voice, ent, smell or emotion. Even ''The Watcher'' couldn''t distinguish any difference between the ten. "Thank you, your Excellency. You do me honour. But the credit cannot be given to me alone. Without my valuable colleagues and masters of the art of coinage, I would have achieved little. In the West Trade Section, we have merely seized an opportunity clearly visible to many of my other colleagues." Replied Tycho in a friendly and respectful tone. "We may even add the word ''Humility'' to your praise. That pleases me, Director." Said his Excellency "7". "Gentlemen, we can start as usual by starting with the minor issues. Vice President, please update us with the program lineup." Ultherro. About thirty minutester... "King Robert recently withdrew the Crown''s proxy for the loan application... It seems the Sovereign has found a lender for his onerous lewd pastimes. Unfortunately, we do not yet know precisely who was so clueless as to bestow such a sum." Exined Nestoris. "For what reason, then, was the council summoned? I thought that the most pressing matter was cing a vote to approve the loan to the Crown." Excellency "10" asked, gathering the agreement of other like-minded people. "Yes, your Excellency, the one million two hundred thousand golden dragon loan was the reason for that gathering, but other factors requiring the utmost consideration have developed quickly. In less than two weeks, the Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation of Wizards, The King in The Yellow, will visit us. And apanying him will be his eminence The Watcher, the Guardian of Love." Tycho caught uses keen attention of the disgruntled group. "But The King in The Yellow has not left his tower, let alone the confederation''s borders. So for what reason is heing to Braavos in person?" Excellency "7" asked with what might have seemed impatience. It was the President who took the floor. "Mainly to deal in person with the Head Priest of the House of ck and White and sell us arge batch of Magic Blood worth five million. In addition, we will use the opportunity to acquire new stocks of Mana Stones before the price of Dragon ss takes off... Oldtown wants us to believe that their ss reserves are still deep, but our estimates tell Gentlemen different stories. Before times be more ''unforeseen'', we ask the council to put the purchase of arge batch of Mana Stones worth at least ten million gold coins to a vote. Raise your hand if you oppose the motion." Only a couple of hands were raised. The purchase was approved. "Regarding the possible rise in the market price of Dragon ss, what are we doing to get our hands on Targaryen treasure?" His Excellency "1" asked. "Unfortunately, there have been no significant breakthroughs in recent years. We still keep Princes Viserys and Daenerys as guests here in Braavos, but they''re not relevant given the circumstances... We know that Rhaegar''s son is alive and hiding in who knows what cramped and unknown ce in the world. Yet, to no avail, we have turned all of Essos upside down, my Excellencies." Replied the President in a surrendered tone. Vice President Berbo entered the speech in support. "In IB or the Summer Inds, there is no sign of Elia Martell or her children... Every day we ask for information on the ''price'' for Aegon Targaryen''s gift, and the answer tends to range from 835 to 820 million every now and then... Unfortunately, the House of ck and White is inflexible about ''magical matters'' prices. Obviously, the expense is unsustainable for us. Still, thanks to this information, we were also able to discard the hypothesis that The King in the Yellow or Lord Leyton themselves are protecting the heir of Dragonstone." The Faceless Men were able to estimate every magical repercussion in the World. Blood, magical creatures, Dragon ss, artefacts... Anything that could stir the World''s magic by granting the ''gift'' to any target was estimated down to thest copper coin. If killing Aegon Targaryen moved the fortunes of such a tremendous magical heritage, not even the World''s wealthiest and most influential organization could do anything about it. "How do you know it''s not Carcosa or Oldtown protecting the heir?" His Excellency "6" legitimately asked. Berbo passed the poisoned ball to the neer. "Simple, his Excellency. If the boy were protected by the Confederation of Mages or the Andalus High Council, the price would increase by two or three hundred million, as the case may be. In either circumstance, the ''Uncertainty of Fulfillment'' use would be known. No. The Faceless Men guarantee thepletion of the task. However, those fifteen million pluses and minus depending on the periods suggest that Aegon is protected by a Great Enchanted Power. The most usible hypothesis is that the Red High Priestess Kinvara saved Aegon. Obviously, our ''eyes'' and ''ears'' have scrutinized every alley and whisper of Vntys, but without finding any trace..." Tycho exined meticulously. It took the Braavosian a few weeks to get up to speed and adjust to the New Wizarding World known to few... "Then let''s task the Faceless Men to get rid of Elia and Rhaenys! We''ll stir the waters a bit, and the fish will jump out of the pond." Shot his Eminence "1" loudly. "We''d be needlessly wasting rivers of gold if we did that..." Eminence "2" expressed the same thoughts as Tycho. "And why is that? Let''s hear it." Eminence "1". "If Priestess Kinvara was, in fact, protecting Aegon, it is implied to assume that the same protection extends towards his mother and sister. Furthermore, the Faceless Men would not utter a peep about how or where. They would simply be fulfilling their mission in the name of the Many-Faced God. I doubt that even if Elia Martell or Rhaenys Targaryen died, the boy would move from his nest... Those protecting him are well aware of his value and what threat may or may not reach him. Would you invest over thirty million gold coins without getting a shred of information?" Eminence "2" asked, unseating his counterpart. "And as for Prince Oberyn and Doran Martell? They almost certainly know where their nephew is hiding. If we put our hands..." He tried to suggest his Excellency "8" being interrupted by the same voice. "Were we toy hands on them and force them to talk? Please, your Excellencies, let us not waste time on unworkable assumptions. Even if Oberyn strays from the territory under Oldtown''s protection, and we somehow manage to capture ''The Red Viper of Dorne'', we would be viting the Peace Treaty by openly going against the Royal Nymeros Martell lineage." Eminence "2". "If we act discreetly, no one will find out..." Eminence "8" tried to retort. "The Guardian of Love will find out sooner orter... He will only need to ask one direct question to one of our three members without their faces covered, your Excellency... Nothing can be concealed from The Watcher. Let''s move on to more relevant matters and focus on what all of you Excellencies still miss. Namely, why did The King in The Yellow leave his domains? It has been three hundred years since the Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation of Magicians has taken a step outside of Carcosa." Tycho was impressed with Number "2''s" excellent judgment and critical skills. The President took the situation back into his hands before Excellency "2" shamed all nine of his remaining counterparts. "Well said, your Excellency. We really wanted to address this point... " About five minutes of exnation and questionster... "The tournament will take ce on the first day of the first moon of the new year. one hundred and eleven days from now, to be exact." Ultherro Zorays finished expounding. "Why did House Stark offer hospitality to the Overlord of Carcosa? I thought Oldtown would ensure a strict taboo on all knowledge beyond the Yi Ti." Excellency "10" asked. "I can answer that question, your Excellencies. However, I am afraid that all of these ''unexpected anomalies'', including the recent numerous business innovations, have all stemmed from one particr individual. A young Northern Lord with ''abnormally amazing'' abilities. The heir to Torrhen''s Square, Duncan Tallhart. Also called ''Bloody Snow''... "Tycho. "I know that name. The child in the song?" Excellency "6". "Precisely, your Excellency." Tycho. "So, the story of the two hundred ''Braves Companios'' exterminated by a seven-year-oldmander is true?" Excellency "Eight." Tycho began to summarize and exin all the information he had gathered that eluded many council members. About ten minutester... "Why is he still alive? Isn''t it your job to weed out the ''potential risk factors '' before they get out of our control?" Excellency "7" Excellency "2" rested a hand on her mask in a surrendered manner. He took the trouble to answer his less informed colleague about the ''rules that govern their world nowadays''. "Because until a few months before, he was under the protection of The Watcher... {Try to touch The Watcher, and the world will turn on you. Try to touch one of his protgs, and the Demons of the Otherworld will haunt you, your Past, your Present and your Future for eternity}. Even the native children of Sothoryos know this nursery rhyme. Please, Excellency "7", tell me that you are aware that the organization behind the Guardian of Love is ranked 4th in the hierarchy of World Powers." Number "2". "HOW DARE YOU?!" Excellency "7" sprang to her feet with threatening gestures, but before she could turn a single step in the direction of her target, a faceless figure, dressed in a half-White, half-ck robe, armed with a knife, dropped down from the ceilingnding like a feline to protect Excellency "2". The face covered by a ck shadow, without eyes, mouth, nose or ears, was turned towards the attacker. Excellency "7" froze for a moment and then slowly resided. For thousands of years, the House of ck and White had guaranteed the council''s safety. First, any ''disturbing element'', internal or external, would be removed permanently. Then, a divine spell by the servants of the Many-Faced God, they would first threaten a possible masked aggressor, showing him, and only him, the face of his next sessor... The President rose, intervening. "Your Excellencies, please. There is no need to go that far. Harmony and mutual cooperation are the key elements for the interests of all of us. Now... Director Nestoris, please continue." Tycho bowed his head, thanking his superior, and resumed the floor. The Sicario vanished into the shadows of the room without uttering a sound. "First of all, I would like to remind every member of the council that the student of the Watcher is no longer under his protection. The House of ck and White has confirmed the information. However, the Iron Bank has already tried a first ''solution'' to the problem... however, with little sess. It is not easy to act indirectly in the North nowadays. House Tallhart has forged many excellent rtionships with all the great lords of the North. Including House Bolton... Persuasions toward staff serving Torrhen''s Square seem unworkable. The more insidious issue is that we cannot get relevant information in all of House Tallhart or Dustin''s domains in recent years. Winter in the North is a very effective fog curtain. However, we do know thatrge sums of money have been moved and spent to fundrge projects whose nature or location we do not yet know. Lady Barbrey Dustin applied to the Bank for a loan of nine hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons two years ago. We approved the request by obtaining excellent contracts on the Salt trade, " Tycho paused. "Nine hundred and fifty thousand gold dragons? A sum bordering on Extraordinary Approval" replied Excellency "4". Majority approval of the council had to be sought for approval of loans over a million. Iron Bank officials could approve any other sum below that threshold. "The risk parameters were already far exceeded, your Excellency, even without exclusivity over the trade routes on the north coast of Essos from Braavos to New Ibbish. We also know that Lady Barbrey secretly solicitedrge sums of money from many other smaller banking institutions, managing to raise as much as ''Three'' million gold coins." Tycho. "Raising money for a military campaign, perhaps? Does the Lady of Barrowton have her sights set on Northern rule?" Excellency "9". "That is not to be ruled out, your Excellency. Both House Tallhart and House Dustin have recently developed a considerable espionage and counterintelligencework... Moreover, some snippets of information suggest that the two Houses are not currently on good terms. This is also one of the reasons we approved the loan. We know that The Widow of Barrowton has a particr grudge against House Stark. In addition, we have learned that some delegates from House Dustin havee into contact with The Company of the Rose ." Many of the council members muttered among themselves. The Company of the Rose is a mercenarypany operating in Essos. It was founded by men, and ording to some, even women from the North who refused Torrhen Stark''s submission to Aegon the Conqueror and thus preferred exile to bend the knee. It was the secondrgest sellswords in Essos. Ten thousand blood-hardened swords had served exclusive IB contracts for over two hundred years. It was one of the fewpanies left that had no sympathy for the Titan of Braavos... The Council had sights on controlling IB and New Ibbish scheduled by the beginning of the next century. Sooner orter, the Golden Company would face The Company of the Rose in the field. For the Titan, this was great news. However, within a few years, House Dustin really decided to move for control of the North and managed to hire The Company of the Rose, apany renowned for not even having sympathies for Westeros and the North in particr, from their target, IB Ind and control over Whale Bay, the Iron Bank would get two birds with one stone. Creating instability in North Westeros and uncovering defences in North Essos... The President took the floor. "We still have no clear information on what is happening in the North, but many profitable opportunities are likely opening up. Director Tycho has been invited to the wedding celebrations between Lady Barbrey and Lord Jorah Mormont... All the great Magisters, Princes and Archons of Essos have been invited. Myr and Lys have no great feelings for House Tallhart, who we know is a great supporter of House Stark. House Lannister and House Frey have also long been waiting for an opportunity to move against Torrhen''s Square." The President was interrupted. "House Lannister has been ''waiting'' for an opportunity. House Tallhart is making good trade deals with the Lions of the West...not to mention that they just fought a war side by side. Your Excellencies, let us not take opposing forces and uncertain conflicts for granted. The Stags King would never allow such a conflict in the North. Everyone knows that Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark are like brothers." Excellency "2". "A valid point, your Excellency," Tycho replied, supporting the opinion expressed. He took the floor. "The answers to our doubts wille at the Tournament celebrations. But, first, I will see which and how many forces are deployed on the checkerboard and, more importantly, lined up towards who. The visit of the Chief Witcher of Carcosa is the most ''unpredictable'' factor. But what concerns us most is another matter, your eminences..." everyone''s attention shifted to Tycho. "Over the past three years, House Tyrell has steadily withdrawnrge reserves of gold from our vaults. Currently, about half of the assets previously managed by the Bank remain. Less than a month ago, House Martell and several other emissaries from Dorne also arrived to request substantial withdrawals... We surmise that the rtive decline in gold management, experienced by many of our loyal backers over the past year, may link to the exact cause as The Reach and Dorne." Tycho. "How much?" asked Eminence "2" "How much is the total gold withdrawn so far?" President Ultherro, Berbo, and Nestoris seemed a bit hesitant to answer. "Here... the estimates are still inurate, Your Excellencies. Several merchants, brothel owners, artisans, heiresses, and many other depositors continue to arrive daily in thest quarter. So far... about thirty million." ******* End Chapter. --------------------------------------------------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 107: The Rock & The Snow Chapter 107: '' The Rock & The Snow '' POV: Brightroar Seeker''s Captain; Casterly Rock. Year 289 A.C., the 19th day of the ninth moon. Nine days after considerable sums of money were pronounced in Braavos by members of a council... The Smiling Lion walked down the castle corridor alongside the young guest of Casterly Rock. His brother had made sure that every inch of the fortress was appropriately polished and that every attendant or guard stood rigidly at attention with no blemish on uniform or armour. Gerion himself wore his golden ceremonial armour with the best crimson silk cape in his repertoire. Bloody Snow maintained a textbook poise, dressed in a white buckskin doublet, crimson red silk shirt, ck leather breeches, and dark brown leather boots. There was no weapon or item holder in the strap, but Gerion knew that boy''s most dangerous weapons were his sharp green eyes, thirty-two-tooth smile, and tongue. "I know my Uncle responded to you and Tyrion''s hit on his name day." Said the boy holding back augh under his moustache. "Haha... I found his ''gifts'' distasteful. My nephew imprisoned in Lys'' pleasure houses for more than a week might have seemed funny, but the 365 books of famous stories and tales of pirates and sailors was a really low blow on her part. You don''t mess with a poor man of the sea''s captivity." Gerion replied, continuing to keep his gaze forward while keeping pace. It was his job to apany the represented guest to the room of the Lord Protector of the West. "First, ''Tales and Adventures of the Sea Serpent by Maester Boubler'' is a very rare text. Second: My Uncle just wanted to help a good friend spend his time more pleasantly and wants to provide you with all the useful texts for the future expedition to Valyria." The demon maintained a harsh tone while throwing visible teasing grins at him. "Useful texts... really? Half of those books are romance novels about pirates who kidnap and seduce promiscuous noble maidens!" Gerion replied, losing his temper for a moment. "So you''re reading them! Pff... Ahah... cough, coff. I beg your pardon, my lord Gerion." It was only then that the Smiling Lion realized that he had made a misstep by falling into the storyteller''s trick. "You! You little... You know what, Lord Duncan? My and Tyrion''s concern will be to make sure we find you a ''creative'' gift for your twelfth name day. If I''m not mistaken, it will be in a few months! I can''t wait for that, my lord. Phuhahah!" The boy seemed to have been taken aback by expressing a [But what about me?] expression. "I was sorry I missed the chance to meet Tyrion." Said the boy trying to deflect the conversation. "Unfortunately, I don''t think he''ll be able to get back with the fleet before the start of the next moon... The ''setback'' in Lys certainly didn''t help. Tell your Uncle that he owes me a favour for exining ''the misunderstanding'' to the Lord Protector of the West. Lord Tywin Lannister could have started a war for less." Gerion. "I find it an exaggeration to consider a pleasant little ''Forced Vacation'' as kidnapping... I mean, Lord Tyrion received service worthy of Princes and Kings... But perhaps you''re right... I think a little lecture wouldn''t hurt Uncle Leobald." Duncan. Gerion nced over his shoulder at the castle porters carrying a long case and crate. "The case wouldn''t have ''Brightroar'' in it? Please don''t tell me you''ve already broken my adventurer''s dreams." Smiling Lion asked. "Ahaha, not really. Fear not, my lord. It''s only a few infamous gifts and half-pressures to help me in the fight to the death that awaits me soon." Bloody Snow. "d to see you''re at least aware of what lies ahead..." Gerion. "You know... Grand Maester Pycelle is quite confident that the Queen''s next child may be a girl." Communicated Gerion things that were Nothing, but in a lower tone and at a point where eyes and ears would have difficulty taking in. The information just passed was of great importance to the not-yet-promised Hero of the North, especially in view of the meeting. Inside, the Smiling Lion hoped that all would go well. He wished that his brother Tywin would abandon the idea of thwarting the development of House Tallhart and his Northern allies. "... Thank you, Lord Gerion." The boy replied in a gentler tone. "Huh? I beg your pardon, my lord. What are you thanking me for?" Gerion asked with a confused expression. "... Nothing. My mistake." Two minutes of walkingter... "Here we part our ways, Lord Duncan. I wish both our Houses asting and friendly partnership." Gerion paused before thest set of stairs. Tywin wished the boy would face thest aisle to the Lord''s study. "I wish the same, Lord Gerion. I promise to do my utmost to ensure that the Smiling Lion will indeed give a spontaneous disy of the yful roar at tonight''s banquet. Ah! I almost forgot..." The boy went to the trunk and opened it with a key. He returned a few secondster with a small ash-white box in his hand. "Made my old engagement proposal at the Mormont banquet finally reach your heartstrings, Bloody Snow?" Smiling Lion asked, opening the box in the dam tree. Out came a small emerald green pendant in the shape of a sun with a bit of yellow topaz heart. The outlines looked like green leaves, but they were buds. The topaz in the centre seemed to give off a peculiar glow like faint rays of sunlight. "No... I''m still considering all my options, My Beloved Lord, Ahaha. It''s a good luck amulet. Or so I was told by the priest of the Old Gods who live on the Ind of Faces. It is ancient, and the priest in question assured me that it belonged to one of the first daughters of Lann ''the Clever''. But, of course, I do not guarantee anything... But it is said that the wearer should never lose joy in the world''s beauty. But anyway, I thought it was a fitting little thought from my Uncle and me to offer our congrattions to you and your partner on the legitimation of your daughter. A gift for the little Joy Lannister." End POV. ------------------------------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Casterly Rock. About three minutester... I was back to full strength. Fortunately for me, the trip from Pyke to Lannisport was uneventful. Calm seas and clear skies the whole way. The wee at the port of the golden city was warm and festive. A sumptuous feast, which was still going on, was being celebrated in all the streets and alleys of Lannisport. In a short time, Lord Tywin, or rather, Lord Gerion, the casten and acting Protector until the return of the Old Lion, had ensured that the port and fleet were adequately restored. In less than two months, the city had returned to its full glory. The returned soldiers were hailed as Victorious Heroes. Wine flowed like a river, brothels and taverns were full, and currency started to turn again. After the 200th step, I began to feel slight shortness of breath. But I was certainly not as bad off as those poor four porters in my wake. Especially those two poor sweat-soaked guys carrying the trunk. They kept gritting their teeth and trying not to show any signs of giving in with all their efforts. ''Later, I''ll have to remember to leave a hefty tip for these four poor devils.'' So I thought before reaching the penthouse hallway. At that moment, I realized what game Old Lion was ying... All along the corridor of over two hundred feet, up to the doors of the Lord''sLord''s attic, forty golden-red guards lined the walls, armed with pikes and shields perfectly symmetrical, facing each other at exactly ten feet apart. And at the bottom of them, a ck and yellow iron mountain almost eight feet high and nearly five feet wide. Ser Gregor Clegane was the guardian of the gate. The Personal Dog guarding the master''s entrance. It wasn''t a matter of personal safety-no. Tywin and I were both aware that neither of us would ever break thews of hospitality... It was a show of force. A small attempt to soften me up before the negotiations. ''All that would be missing would be a bard singing "The Rains of Castamere" during the crossing...Well, if Old Lion wants to dance, let him dance!'' So I took the first step toward the scaffold. At that instant, the forty guards raised their shields in unison and tilted their gpoles to form an arch for the crossing. ''I''d be lying if I said I wasn''t impressed at all...'' So I thought as I reasoned at the moment about the best y to offer in response. I found it... I increasingly began to look around me, showing invisible nods of awe. I walked insecurely and calmly until I found myself in front of that mass of ck steel and cruelty. The Mountain clutched a giant two-handed broadsword, the tip resting on the floor, almost as wide as the ceremonial weapon of the House Stark, "Ice." At least four hundred pounds of muscle and two hundred pounds of hardware. At that moment, I realized that it was actually possible for a man to wield a six-foot long iron rod as if he were grasping a one-handed long sword. A [Level 8 ss: Lord], but what itcked in skill, it entirely made up for in strength, constitution, and defence... The level did not decide the fate of a battle. The Riding Mountain was a prime example of this. The Red Viper was still no match for this opponent. Oberyn probably must have been preparing for years for that sh. Unfortunately, his current [Level 9 ss: Knight] and dexterity still couldn''tpensate for that gap... One nce was enough for me to realize that this being could rival Victarion-Pdin. His armour was heavier and thicker than usual, and he didn''t mind. No ordinary armour in the world could have avoided being sliced like paper by Gregor''s full-strength sh had he wielded good Valyrian or Damascus steel. The bucket-shaped helmet held the visor open. Eyes zing with murderous intent and contemptuous of life continued to square me from the top. I broke eye contact by lowering my gaze to the ground. I began to visually tremble... Two guards a few feet away sneered weakly. Then... "Emm m- excuse me, S-Ser... Emm... Ser?" A servant porter behind me dropped one side of the trunk toe to my rescue. "Milord, this is Ser Gregor, lord of House Clegane!" Whispered the sweaty boy urgently in concern. "Ah, yes! Thank you," The porter bowed and instantly darted back a safe distance. Then he whispers three me, "What an idiot I am! House Clegane...Three ck dogs on a yellow background...how could I forget?!..." the tone of voice was enough to be heard by the giant and his pack. The iron gloves tightened their grip on the handle with more vigour. Sounds of teeth grinding in anger could be heard. The men I assumed might be Polliver, Raff the Sweetling, or Chiswick fell silent. "I beg your pardon, Ser Gregor." The look seemed to increase the already skyrocketing levels of murderous fury. The guards visibly began to worry. Without a direct order from the Warden of the West, none of them could lift a finger on me. If Gregor had made that misstep, Tywin would have had him put down on the spot without hesitation. The stain on the Lannister name would have been indelible. No cheap tale could have justified such an event... A rare trait among the few about Lord Tywin Lannister that I encountered in both the series and the books was that the man did not lie... Omitting when necessary, juggling words in ways that concealed and expressed double meanings...sure. Of course, Tywin might have stooped to such dishonour in front of that exalted Aerys II...but a strong man didn''t need to lie. And Tywin Lannister was and still is that kind of man. Forcing the Old Lion into a situation where even he would have to lie through his teeth to try and redeem his family''s good name would have brought his wrath down on all responsible. But unfortunately, no one in this hallway would make it out alive. "Ser Gregor, I could count on your help in safeguarding... By the way..." I brazenly turned my back on the Mountain as I approached the trunk. I took a key and turned the lock twice, closing the box carefully. The servants couldn''t take their eyes off the monster behind me, who continued to grind his teeth more ferocity. "... There, yes, I was saying... Ser Gregor, could I count on your help in safeguarding the gifts bestowed upon Lord Tywin Lannister in due time?" Total silence...the calm before the storm. One guard couldn''t hold it together. The lion''s shoulders symbolized a high rank ofmand. "Please, milord. Lord Tywin awaits your presence. We will make sure no one approaches the trunk or the case." Said the captain with celerity, trying as hard as he could to defuse the device. "Ah, thank you!...emm...Captain?" "Captain, Webel Brax, my lord. This way, please." He bowed and took the honour of opening the doors. "Thank you, Captain Webel. Ser Gregor, with your permission then..." I entered, causing, the Gods only knew, what atrocities to the poor or ill-fated scapegoats who would take it upon themselves to feed Ser Gregor Clegane that night. I vowed to myself to win a strong point on the agenda of that meeting. I had, yes, spared Elia and her children from the hands of that monster, but how many innocents had I let die over those years? I had the power to silently get rid of that unnatural being long ago... I clenched my fists and entered the lion''s den. Before crossing the aisle, a few minutes before, I had activated a first level spell [Detect Magic]. As soon as I entered the Srium, I was dazzled by signs of wealth everywhere. Gold and ivory figures adorned every t surface. Fine red furniture was heavily engraved, beautiful silk tapestries hung on the walls, and a marble floor was covered with an expensive wool rug. The overall look of the room was prestigious and undoubtedly "expensive." But the most prestigious thing in the room was not the decorations. Instead, the man behind the desk was sitting on the gold-covered throne. A man in his mid-forties, dressed in a red leather doubled with gold embroidery, half a purple cape, with a darker shade of red, rested on one shoulder,cing the end on a solid gold clip in the shape of a lion''s head. Every inch of the decorations and robes roared the word "Lannister!!!" with three exmation points... ''[Level 6 ss: King]... Not bad at all for a man who has abandoned the way of the sword for years.'' I praised Tywin inwardly. I stopped my pace at a considerate distance between the two of us. A good-looking, young, well-dressed servant girl waited for instructions at the corner of the room. Etiquette dictated that the host should deliver the first word, which still did note after several seconds. A contention of careful, calcting nces was all that followed for the first twenty seconds of absolute silence. After that, only the sound of the doors closing intruded in the middle. Then the silence broke... "Wee, Duncan of House Tallhart. Please...e closer." Tywin said in a deep tone. "Thank you for your hospitality and wee. It is an honour to make your acquaintance, Lord Tywin of House Lannister." I replied, bowing properly without any tone of threat or challenge in my voice. The key was to remain open but defensive, neither intimidated nor overly friendly. "A beautiful hall, my Lord. May I?" I pointed to the open balcony from which a beautiful horizon could be seen. It was still barely noon. Tywin nodded, granting permission. I politely approached the window. Thendscape was breathtaking. An expanse of bright blue water as far as the eye could see, the harbour and the town of Lannisport were clearly visible from that height. "Stunning... The bestndscape I have everid eyes on is, I would venture to say. Truly a remarkable treasure." I walked back to the desk, not wanting to show any cockiness or rudeness in having my back to the Lord of the Rock too much. "Be my guest." Tywin lightly hinted with his hand at the seat a few paces in front of him. Then he raised a hand, moving only two fingers once. The servant girl behind him snapped, approaching me. "Would you like something to drink, milord?" the young woman asked politely with a warm bow. "Water with lemon, if possible. Or any other cool non-alcoholic beverage, thank you." In less than a matter of seconds, my first request was granted. Tywin seemed to enjoy the same beverage by casting a simple nod. "You may go." The Lord ordered, and the girl disappeared with a bow on her way out the door. I always took a good and necessary sip of water gantly. I would have challenged anyone to climb an entire mountain from the ground up without needing to guzzle a gallon of water after reaching the top. As a courtesy, the half-full jug was left within arm''s reach. After a few more seconds of silence, Tywin resumed the word. "We finally have a chance to get to know each other, Hero of the North. How do you feel about the reception shown so far by Casterly Rock?" Tywin was not giving undeserved titles to anyone. "Regal andvish. Praise your family and ancestors for erecting such an architectural masterpiece, my Lord. I have long hoped to admire your manor in person. Lannisport also deserves to be celebrated as one of the most remarkable and most impressive cities in Westeros. Without question. I thank you on behalf of myself and my father for the warm wee you have shown us, Lord Tywin." The first tussle went smoothly with no direct hits for either of us. My attention was directed to a tapestry different from ordinary silk. The colours and shape of the designs of the symbol of the House of Lions seemed older and less defined among those seen so far. But more importantly... the Detect Magic signals were screaming [Artifact! Artefact Alert!]. I had already tried that spell on enchanted objects, such as Red Rain. The aura emanating from that apparent piece of cloth was on a whole other scale. Tywin sensed my interest in the old banner. "One of the oldest relics of my House. ced on the same spot on the wall since long before your ancestors founded the House of Tallhart. My Grandfather Gerold and my Grandfather''s Grandfather, imed that as long as that banner stood guard over Casterly Rock, the House name would endure until the end of time..." Tywin exined with a hint of pride in his tone. ''So it exists...'' I marveled. I had in front of me one of the magical treasures from the Age of Heroes. Part of an enchanted robe belonging to the First and current Guardian of Magic. Imbued with the blood of the House of Casterly, blessed by the lifeblood of the great Tree-Heart of the Isle of Faces, and consecrated by a word of power from the lineage of Kings. The object born of the union of the Three First Guardians.... ''As long as Carcosa, the Temple of the Sons of the Forest, and the Targaryen Dynasty exist, that treasure will always stand guard over the Descendants of Lann.'' I thought back to Zick''s words on the day he named me his Heir. I instantly shuddered as soon as I sensed an aggressive aura from the banner. It seemed to dislike being watched. I broke my concentration on the spell. "One can grasp its antiquity and authenticity at a nce. Beautiful... I didn''t want to spoil my ''gifts and surprises'' card, but... I think I brought you something that might catch your interest, my lord." I said, smiling sincerely. "And that would be?" Tywin. "Part of a text that tells the biography of thest King of The Rock Loren I." The Protector''s attention was caught. Very little information remained in House Lannister''s library about Loren I. So many texts were neglected and left to rot in damp corners of the castle.... "Pieces of parchment and missing pages reworked and rewritten by hand by our best scribes. I personally read the draft, and, if I remember correctly, one small section dealt specifically with an ancient enchanted banner that protected Loren from the breath of Meraxes during the Battle of Field of Fire, saving him from certain death." An imperceptible but valid hit pricked the thick skin of the Golden Lion. "A wee gift." Tywin extended his arm to offer to serve another cup of water. I dly epted showing a sign of appreciation with my head. "So, Heir of Torrhen''s Square... You im to appreciate my House and my city, am I correct?" The end of the pleasantries hade.... "I validate my statements, Lord Tywin." I replied, preparing myself for the first assault. "However, I also know that you have greatly appreciated Sunspear and the hospitality offered by House Martell... The Enemies of the Crown." ***** End Chapter. --------------------------------------------------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 108: ‘ Points of View ‘ Chapter 108: Points of View POV: Lord of the Rock; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. Seconds after the first actual sh was swung... "I don''t deny that either. Prince Doran has offered me and all my retinue warm hospitality." The eleven-year-old gaze became colder and more calcting. Though the tone of his voice remained as cordial as before. The boy seemed not to waver... "More than just ''warm hospitality,'' from its sounds. House Martell has called for thergest banquet the royal pce has seen in decades. So... the question I can''t help but ask, and for which I would appreciate an answer, is... Why?" The answer to this question could have determined the oue of rtions between The West and The North. Tywin was no slouch. He knew that this individual in front of him, incredible as he was, could pull the strings of the entire North moving it even against the wishes of House Stark... The boy looked away and allowed himself another sip from the cup before saying: "A question to which I could give a thousand different answers, one more convincing than the other... However, though I''m afraid I have to disagree with many of your ways, know that I have the utmost respect for Tywin of House Lannister. So you deserve a response worthy of the value that name represents... But first, I would like to receive equal consideration from you, if that is not too much to ask." The True Ruler of the North replied. Tywin''s gaze grew angry. He had not appreciated this interlude, but he maintained the solid firmness in his bearing by not conceding any more telltale signs to his counterpart. "What you ask can only be granted to those whose loyalty I believe to be of the utmost value. Something I have never bestowed upon anyone thus far. I wouldn''t count too much on that, boy." Tywin replied. "And I wouldn''t count too much on you deserving that answer, my Lord." The Lion seemed not to fully understand the sentence. It seemed a contradiction to what had been said earlier. "I will borate. The person to whom I would answer truthfully is Lord Tywin Lannister. Or, to be more precise, I would respond to the man who once bore that name... A man who single-handedly raised an ancient and noble House from inevitable copse at a young age. The man who overturned his family''s good name in a few short years, bringing order and prosperity back to the West. The Hand of the King raised seven kingdoms from the brink of ruin, promotingws, making trade agreements, and paying off risky debts with forces that the Crown underestimated. The man who, through arranged marriages, attempted to reconnect with all the Great Houses of Westeros and achieve the most significant period of peace and prosperity thesends have ever seen. Yes, I would answer withplete sincerity to that man, leaving nothing out. I would answer to the true former Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. And not to a man attached to old wounds and personal grudges, abandoning to fate anyone who does not bear the Lannister name." The sh came and left its mark. A few times in his life, Tywin was struck on the personal side. Most who seeded had not survived the affront. But only one person before managed to wound him so smoothly and cleanly... the one who knew Old Lion better than anyone, Johanna Lannister. Tywin stood still and silent. A few moments of weakness prevented him from thinking clearly, thus dying the best response to that affront. "I would pay close attention to your next words, Lord Duncan..." And Tywin had to pay attention to his own. It wasn''t until he uttered the word ''Lord'' that he realized the slight misstep he had made. The cold, calcting, cunning, and emotionally controlled man faltered for a few moments, regaining control soon after. "It was not my intention to offend you, Lord Tywin. But if you are unable to hear true answers and not cheap phoney swill they peddle as truth in King''s Landing, then do not ask." The Lion took the blow with dignity, not answering awkwardly as before. The man took a moment, which his opponent granted him, to consider the most appropriate counter-offensive. "Since expectation has yet to be earned by both of you, what answer would you give to the type of man you do not trust?" Tywin tested the waters. "That it is my wish that thends of the North, the West, and Dorne forge good rtions. That House Stark, House Lannister, and House Martell work together to achieve good trade and, if need be, military alliances." Bloody Snow replied. "A lean and fanciful answer. We both know that House Martell hides and protects the rightful heirs to the Iron Throne. This alliance will be impossible until Dorne hands over Rhaegar''s sons." Old Lion. "Why?" Bloody Snow. "Why? I just exined why," Lion asked with slight irritation. "What I mean is: why do you want Dorne as an enemy instead of an ally? For a piece of symbolic hardware? For a crown and some minor nobleman falsely decrying the words, ''majesty'' or ''your grace''? For control over King''s Landing? Personally, I see no real reason to risk so much blood and gold..." Tywin was about to get caught up in the impulse to respond in kind to that arrogant brat who had yet to learn the basics of history and the rules of power, but he stopped himself a momentter. Instinct told him that many potential objective reasoningy behind those questions. He remained silent and signalled his counterpart with a nod to continue and borate on the arguments. "If it were about power and leaving a mark on history, I would understand it while not agreeing with the medium. But what is there really to gain by sitting on the Iron Throne? Prestige? Gold? Power over the masses? And at what price? Personally, I would never sit on that trouble-making monstrosity. Nor would I wish my loved ones to be burdened with such weight." The boy paused to think while staring at the golden cup. "A personal point of view... Points of view do not change the rules that govern the world, ''Hero of the North''. Do not so superficially scorn the symbol of power that has brought dynasties and legacies more remarkable and older than you imagine to their knees." Tywin replied with disappointment, unsure why he was wasting time responding to such philosophical discussions. "Really? So it was that piece of iron forged by a thousand enemy swords forced King Loren Lannister or King Torrhen Stark to bend the knee?" the boy asked. "No... the power of the Dragons." Tywin replied. "That''s where the questiones from: why make Dorne an enemy?" the Warden of the West got to the key point. "Everyone makes mistakes, even the best minds ever to appear on this world. And fifteen years ago, you made one, or rather two... Since thest Dragon died two hundred years ago, Dorne has be the strongest Kingdom in Westeros. Nothing bent or broke the Nymeros Martell dynasty. And no kingdom would ever again follow any other Targaryen king''s crazy idea of conquest. You had the most excellent opportunity to make House Lannister the most powerful kingdom of all sixbined. Still, you let your emotions and resentment carry you away for what you thought was rightfully yours... Your wife Johanna understood this before you did, and she went to great lengths to forge good rtions with the Princess of Dorne, the mother of Oberyn and Elia... Yet you fixated on demanding that Aerys II, one of the worst kings the Dragon Dynasty has ever seen, grant Prince Rhaegar''s hand in marriage to your daughter. Had you clutched even one of the two marriage proposals offered by the previous Ruler of Dorne, the sessor to the Iron Throne himself would havee begging you to make an arranged marriage arrangement with one of your future grandchildren and his future heirs..." Thesh struck Lion''s face hard, causing a searing burn on his cheek... But the assault did not end. The Lion Tamer continued to rage mercilessly. "The Lord with whom I would like to form an iron andsting alliance, an alliance that could take the name of his dynasty, his legacy, to heights never known until now, will no longer have to make decisions driven by pride and resentment. That Lord will have to go back to being the Wise, Mighty, and Objective Lion he once was." Tywin stood up vigorously, clenching his fists. Pale green eyes flecked with gold-sputtered with murderous intent. The more he stared into the face of that unnatural demon, the more the urge grew to summon his entire guard on alert within voice range to make havoc on him. All it would take was one word, just one, and the individual who had dared to speak his Johanna''s name so impudently would be in Gregor Clegane''s hands. The boy did not seem to be intimidated by her gesture. Instead, those silvery-green eyes epted the challenge showing no signs of relenting. ''Fool! You continue to challenge me?'' Tywin Lannister thought as he gritted his teeth...anger was taking over. The seconds ticked by and seemed eternal... then Tywin looked away, heading for the small table behind the desk. Rationality and experience prevailed over the madness and impulsiveness of the moment. The Old Lion filled a generous cup of golden Arbor and strolled towards the balcony. He did not care to turn his back on the opponent who had just unhorsed him and verbally trampled him. Minutes of silence, broken now and then by the rustling of the wind and sips of wine, passed... "Assuming, and I stress ''assuming'', that there is merit to what has been said and that House Lannister might in the slightest degree consider this imaginary alliance... What would you propose?" Tywin asked with a great effort of will and open-mindedness. "Before we get to such imaginary assumptions, I will first have to ask you a question. If tomorrow Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his name and rightful imant to the Iron Throne, openly dered himself to the world with the entirety of Dorne behind him, what would happen?" Duncan asked in turn. "It would be Open War against the Crown." So replied the Lord of Casterly Rock. "Aye, but what armies would they move against whom, I wonder?" The heir to Torrhen''s Square. "Robert would wee the challenge and personally march against Rhaegar''s heir. Thends of Crown, Storm, West and North..." he paused for a moment to reason... "Are you perhaps assuming that Lord Eddard Stark would not flock to his King''s gathering?" Tywin turned, searching his gaze again. "Incorrect question, my Lord. Even assuming all the other Great Houses would respond to the ''Usurper'' King''s muster, how many men do you think he could muster? How many Lords and Ladies of Westeros would want to march to the Bone Road or Prince''s Pass to face the Dornish in their own battleground? Summer is approaching, and the barren moors of the desert will be as inclement as Winter in the North... How many would rather abstain from the conflict or send the token enough number of men and resources to avoid being branded traitors?" Tywin thought back to the military campaign of Daeron I, "The Young Dragon", and realized how uncertain the answer was, but he didn''t want to give it away so easily. "Robert has shown amply time and again that he is a King not to be challenged on the battlefield. Have you forgotten the nefarious fate of House Greyjoy by any chance? The Crown collected over sixty thousand swords and four hundred ships in less than two moons." The Old Lion wanted to test the critical deductions and ingenuity of the mind that, until now, had never lost a battle. Tywin knew his limits better than anyone. He was an exemry leader and strategist but not the best in Westeros. Randyll Tarly and Jason Mallister were truly fearsome strategists and opponents who, with equal men and resources, he wasn''t so sure he could defeat on the field. But that boy... The Protector of the West had secretly gathered information on all the war strategies used by the boy in the battles of Mill Snow, The Braves Companion, Bear Ind and Pyke... Bloody Snow was an adversary he really would have preferred not to meet on the battlefield. He was crazy, unpredictable, and brilliant. And if that wasn''t enough, the quality of his troops was on a whole other level than the elite forces Casterly Rock could offer. "This is true. The Greyjoy Rebellion was a failure on all fronts, but... Let''s assume that Balon Greyjoy had chosen a different path to Iron Inds independence. Ironmen have harassed the west coast of Westeros for millennia with raids, rapes, and piging. Especially thends of the West and North... If Balon had chosen to sit on the throne of Salt and Rock and announce to all the world that from now on, The Old Way would end and that from that moment on, the Iron Inds would be famous for trade, fishing, and the safety of the seas, avoidingunching mad attacks on Lannisport, Seaguard, and Bear Ind, how many would have joined Robert in recapturing those barren and dangerous pieces of rock? You Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of The West, what military support would you have offered to the Crown?" The third tremendous blow entered his chest, denting Tywin Lannister''s shining red armour. Knocking him clean off the Golden Lion, proud and fierce as he rode. A myriad of thoughts, hypotheses and usible scenarios invested the true pir of the Crown. What would he have done in that case? War? No. Instead of sailing with an armed fleet to reconquer useless pieces of rock forgotten by the gods, he would have marched with an army of advisors and delegates to King''s Landing. He would have personally squeezed every lesser Lord, advisor, or council member so that Robert would choose Peace and negotiations over War... The threat of sea marauders was the root cause of the stagnant naval trade in the West. Such a scenario would have only brought enormous benefits to hisnds and the entire Kingdom. So much for sixty thousand swords. Robert would have been lucky to get ten thousand of them together! House Redwine would never have sacrificed its fleet for such senseless folly. Now Tywin could see it clearly-he saw the hypothetical scenario of an all-out war against Dorne. {Who would he fight? And to what end? What did Robert Baratheon''s kingdom offer in exchange for a bloody and costly war?} What if Aegon sang hiseback song to the world while remaining well within the safety of the sand walls? What if Dorne did not move to attack the Kingdomnds but chose a Hyper Defensive war? ...Without any direct provocation from the Dornians, forty...perhaps fifty thousand swords at most would march through Prince''s Pass. Dorne knew its sandy, rocky desert better than anyone. Poisoned wells, guerri warfare among the rocky paths, assaults on supply caravans... If Tywin had been inmand of Dorne''s army, he would have implemented hundreds or more counter-offensives to counter Robert''s raging hammer. He would have exhausted the Stags King''s army step by step by avoiding direct confrontation... And Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, could not have afforded to lose a single battle. Half of his fragile domain would switch sides and unleash Chaos on all the remaining Six Kingdoms at the first defeat. Aegon had everything to offer -nds, castles, titles. He could have sold off half the continent with just paper and ink... but what about the Crown? What could King Robert have offered his ''loyal'' vassals? An all-out war would have been too risky... A de in the shadows? Poison? The song of Targaryen madness? Were those their best weapons to counter the rightful heir to the Iron Throne? No... If they hadn''t even been able to find out where Aegon and Rhaenys had been hiding these past six years, what chance would they seed? The House of ck and White was ''Absolutely Out of Reach''. The faceless men demanded a sum so obscene that it would have made that of the bratty Tallhart of the time pale... ''... The unknown Protector! How did I not think of that!'' Tywin turned his gaze to the white-hairedpound figure sitting behind him. What if that unknown force was also behind it to protect Aegon? Nothing was more disadvantageous in war than facing unknown forces... The prospects of victory were lowering by the second in Lord Tywin Lannister''s brilliant mind. The foundation on which he built his future dynasty was more fragile than he thought... If these thoughts had blossomed at the moment when Gregor Clegane and Armory Lorch came to him empty-handed on that fateful day in King''s Landing... Lorch would not have gotten away with trivial floggings or Gregor with simple imprisonment... No... Both would have been hung to rot in front of the gates of Casterly Rock after slow torture. Time passed, and all the possible bleak and disastrous scenarios surfaced in Old Lion''s mind. A question shattered those thoughts... "Do you understand my point of view now, Lord Warden of the West?" ********* End Chapter. ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 109: ‘ The Golden Age ‘ Chapter 109: The Golden Age POV: Duncan; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. A few seconds after a point of view was exposed... Tywin turned around again to give me another hard, unforgiving look. I was swaggering around, but I was beginning to feel the weight of tension. The man''s presence was truly remarkable. Of course, it would have taken more than that to make me waver, but I began to suspect that that very dangerous enchanted banner was in part an answer to Tywin''s murderous thirst. The sixth sense was screaming danger from two different positions. And then... "You''re right." Two wonderful profound words came out of Lion''s mouth. ''Oh, Old Gods, I thank you... phiuuw... '', it would have been too risky to scramble beyond that individual. ''''Dorne is a power that should not be underestimated. However... other forces should not be underestimated. Forces that the Crown could call upon for help." Tywin was trying to find out what other big yers were ying in the shadows. I could see where he was going with this. "You mean the Iron Bank? Would you go so far as to risk it?" I asked, following Lion''s face as he slowly made his way to the ss jug. The man filled two more cups serving me one. Not that he had asked if I liked it, it was more of a forced offer, but...it would have been rude to refuse. After we drank and Tywin returned to sit in a slightly more rxed position, he said, "No. I wouldn''t go that far, but would I if I had to? Yes, without a doubt..." "And that way, what would be of your legacy? What would you leave behind after the Seven Kingdoms burned? Nothing but death, destruction, and misery," I replied in a less aggressive tone. "All wars bring death, destruction and misery. It''s part of the game. From the ashes of one era, another will arise." Tywin. "An age that will belong to the Titan of Braavos. You understand the power behind that temple better than anyone in the West. The Iron Bank may support you at first, but we both know that their most excellent trade is war itself. They openly fund one faction and discreetly subsidize the other, gaining from both, and eventually, they''ll get their hands on what''s left by stripping the victor of everything." Tywin seemed to appreciate my reflection... It wasn''t a threat but a little test to try me out. The Lion was still sniffing the offered te of meat to assess its quality. "And what of the power that protects you and the Targaryens behind the scenes?" Tywin asked, throwing a curveball. "Mmm... A neutral and impartial power that is not to be provoked, my lord. The forces at y you are attempting to uncover are far more dangerous andplex than you imagine. The Iron Throne would look like a toy inparison." Tywin pricked up his ears, spurting curiosity and attention from every pore. "What forces are we talking about? Let''s hear it..." He asked shamelessly. "Nha, you can''t get off that cheap, my lord. And anyway... even if I wanted to, I still couldn''t talk to you about it." This only seemed to increase Lion''s hunger for knowing more. "And why couldn''t you?" Tywin. "Simple, because we are not yet strong enough to uncover that veil and face the consequences of doing so. We live unknowingly in their shadow, and when that shadow is revealed, our mouths will inevitably try to scream, thus unleashing the true horrors of this world." The Lion widened his eyes. I was pleased to note that the ruler of the Lann Dynasty seemed to take that warning seriously. We both took a moment to cool our throats. It was an exquisite vintage of Arbor. I particrly disliked the tartness of the white wine, but this one literally exploded with sweetness on the pte with a perfect bnce of acidity. "''Aren''t we strong enough yet?'' You sound like I''ve already chosen to ally with you." Tywin. "Well, I''ve only uncovered one corner of that ''veil'' to Prince Doran and Lord Eddard Stark... Both were terrified and shocked to catch just a glimpse of the giants'' feet behind. But nevertheless, they epted the alliance with full cooperation. And my instincts suggest that you will be no less, Lord Tywin..." ''Poor Ned he has glimpsed more than most and still has trouble sleeping at night.'' Tywin crossed his hands, leaning his head and back against the throne padded with fine red padded leather. He was carefully considering what was said. "Difficult to evaluate the proposal if all the possible pros and cons of this alliance are notid out first... Rtions between the North and West are decent; there''s no denying that... but what about House Targaryen and House Martell? I don''t need to tell you all the cracks in those rtionships... What guarantees do I have that as soon as the boy Dragon gains a strong position, he will not roar Fire and Blood towards my House and my legacy? Or that the moment I turn my back on the snake, it will not bite me and poison me? You have haggled like a cheap butcher, Duncan of House Tallhart. You extol the freshness of your wares with nothing but eptable words. But, if you don''t show what the meat you want to offer looks, smells, or tastes like, and you don''t even reveal the names of the other possible predators interested, why should the Lion ept?" It was a decent metaphor. I couldn''t give him any less... "Ahah, yes, you''re partly right, my lord... You''ll be sampling a small portion of the merchandise in person shortly. You have my word. But first... allow this two-bit merchant to sing his final verse." I calmly rose from my chair, carrying the cup with me. I approached the balcony admiring the beautiful scenery ahead. I inhaled a rxed, pleasant sea breeze. Tywin waited patiently for thest act. It was not yet possible for me to speak openly. Zick had been clear. I had the choice of whether or not to expose The History of the Known World to members of the Stark, Haw and Martell royal families, but under no circumstances could I reveal House Lannister, one of the remaining four royal families from the time of the Peace Treaty, directly to anything about House Lann or the betrayal of House Hightower. Only the Guardians, the three leaders of the first three factions of the World, the Kings of the royal families (excluding Lannister) and their heirs could guard the knowledge. Oldtown had the right to make sure the secret was kept throughout Westeros. If not, it would be open warfare... Twice in this century, the absolute taboo was broken. First, in 209 AC, by an advisor to Daeron II, The Good... In less than a year, the King and a third of Westeros perished in what is now remembered as ''The Great Spring Epidemic''... And in 232 A.C. in Oldtown itself... A member of the citadel council discovered, through lost documents, the truth and told the story openly in front of half a tavern that same night. The following day, ''The Grey gue'' struck the town, and Lord Quenton Hightower sealed the gates and ports of Oldtown, burning ships and ordering the city watch to kill anyone who tried to escape. A third of the city perished in less than two moons of absolute quarantine, and the song passed along with it... The Rains of Castamere seemed like a jokepared to the silent bads Sung by House Hightower. In exchange for that obscure but necessary privilege, House Hightower assured that the Andals nor any other direct forces of Oldtown would act against the Realm of the First Men, the Rhoynar, the magicians still present, or their sworn enemy, House Lannister. The Guardian of Love, Beauty, and Magic remain the guarantors of the treaty. Of course, Oldtown had other, less direct ways to damage the opposing forces in the long run without breaking the peace agreement. Aegon the Conqueror''s invasion was a blessing in disguise for the Andals. Nothing would have benefited House Hightower more if somehow, over time, the Golden Lion, the Winter Wolf, The Sun Pierced by the Spear, and the Three-Headed Dragon had at each other''s throats under just cause... Nevertheless, there was nothing to stop House Tallhart from acting the same way. If I could forge an alliance between the North, Dorne, and the West and exponentially increase the strength of those three still dormant and shrivelled kingdoms, I could create a power beyond the empire of Valyria. If the First Men, Rhoynar, Valyrians, and Magicians had once again joined forces against amon enemy, raising the full potential of their true power, a power so great would have arisen that it could have countered thebined forces of the Titan, the Lighthouse, the Harpy, and the Great Stallion. And the first real step to realizing this great dream forgotten by history was to convince that man. The progenitor and descendant of one of the Greatest Heroes the World has ever known, the one who was most capable of handling the enormous legacy left by his ancestor... I had to convince Tywin Lannister to join the fight to save the World. ''The greatest Guardian must return to us, or the World will be lost... I cannot fail.'' I thought immediately before I had cleared my thoughts and gathered all the charisma and will in my possession. "What you say is true, Lord Tywin. In your position, I would have asked the same question to the madman trying to convince me that yesterday''s enemies are actually tomorrow''s best allies..." I turned around to find my green eyes with golden hues. And I continued... "However, there are no eternal enemies, but interests... And our interests, those of House Tallhart, Stark, Martell, Targaryen, and Lannister, match up incredibly well. Whether you want it to or not, this is an incontrovertible truth. It''s almost as if fate is calling us together...but it will be up to us to choose whether to answer the call or turn away." The Lion''s gaze did not seem to despise or approve of this statement, but it distinctly demanded that I continue to rify the point. "My task is not to convince you that House Martell and House Targaryen are not your enemies but to show you how these Three Factions, seemingly rivals, actually have more interests inmon than you imagine. Time is the best medicine for the past wounds, but we cannot wait any longer. Rival forces are already waking up, some of them tremendously dark and unstoppable. Others are already ready to move and are waiting... Waiting for the right moment to act, devouring piece after piece and hiding under the sunlight." So I approached Lion one step at a time, point by point. "And make no mistake, my lord, these forces will also be unleashed upon you and all you hold dear. Such is the hunger, and such is the arrogance of this enemy. You asked, ''why should the Lion ept?'' Because we need House Lannister, and you, Lord Tywin, need us. The cracks you speak of are nothingpared to the irreparable rifts that the same enemy suffered generation after generation over the millennia. The possibility of reconciliation still exists. It is here, in front of you at this very moment, and it is ready to extend a hand. The real question is, will you, Lord Tywin Lannister, put aside the past grudges that still cloud your senses and look to the front of you? Will you be able to see the path we can offer House Lannister?" Tywin appeared for an instant annoyed by the provocation thrown his way but merely listened as hemunicated the word "Show me" with his gaze. "The agreements made in the past between House Tallhart and Lannister are nothing. NOTHINGpared to what we can truly achieve if we stop standing in each other''s way and can trust each other. A measly handful of seedspared to overflowing barns that could sustain the longest Winter ever. What I offer you and your dynasty, Tywin of House Lannister is a Golden Age." I caught my breath but without breaking eye contact. "A Golden Age?" Tywin. "And the power necessary to make it endure for centuries toe." The golden sparks in the man''s eyes glowed for an instant. I hammered mercilessly at the hottest point of the seemingly unchanging metal. "An age of splendour, wealth, stability, respect, and honour. A period in Westeros history will overshadow even The Age of Heroes and the Empire of Valyria. So far, the North has only had a taste of what it could truly be. And it is my wish that the West, Dorne and all the other Kingdoms share in that greatness. But to make that happen, we must first break the chains that hold us back. Silence the voices that suggest we tear each other apart. And attack together. If we..." an unexpected voice intruded. "Stop it, boy." Said Tywin standing up. I stopped, taken aback. I didn''t understand why the gesture. Until a few moments before, the other party seemed well prepared to carefully absorb every syble. ''Why did he stop me?'' I thought with confusion. The standing Lion abandoned his gaze of unyielding stone. As incredible and unexpected as it was, the face assumed an expression that conveyed ephemeral grains of sadness, regret and pain. His gaze then shifted to the ground for the first time since the meeting began. End POV. ---------------------------- POV: The Old Lion; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. A few seconds after, a Lion stood up... Tywin felt a sharp twinge in his chest. A feeling he hadn''t felt in almost a decade. He knew that the boy had not yet finished conveying his dream in front of him. Nevertheless, Tywin sensed the authenticity of those words. He had grown up and lived most of his life in King''s Landing. A nest of storytellers and liars. Lying was the order of the day. He knew the boy was not lying and that he genuinely believed in that dream. A dream that, in a time gone by, would have dragged a Young Lion into the fray, fighting hard alongside the visionary, defending him tooth and w to the end. But by now, the Lion was old and tired. He can fight only to defend what remained of his past dreams. He no longer had the strength to venture into other unattainable goals. The pang in his chest that he felt was caused by that individual''s words. Before they were spoken, Tywin listened with opportunistic ears. To his shame, he was listening to every word with the assumption of taking advantage of any benefit to the House of Lannister and absorbing any information that might be useful in stopping Aegon''s return. The boy had already lost at the start. Tywin would never allow another Targaryen to sit on the Iron Throne again. It wasn''t a logical choice but an emotional one. Even if all the world''s promised benefits had been delivered on a golden carpet, he still would have refused if it meant the return of the Targaryen House. The boy was skilled, very skilled in speech. He would have seduced nine hundred and ny-nine nobles out of a thousand with those persuasive words. Despite the promises offered and the premise of amon enemy he did not doubt could exist, Tywin Lannister remained that remaining one. Yet, though the man had enough hair on his stomach to do the job that needed to be done, he could no longer take advantage of the willing eleven-year-old who would fight heart and soul for what he believed in. The words that set off thest feeble spark in Lion''s heart, making the pain unbearable, were those Three: ''The Golden Age...'' thought the man making himself overwhelmed by old sad memories. He no longer had the time to stand still like an idiot. The boy kept looking at him with a confused expression. He owed at least an exnation for his actions. "You have achieved manymendable things briefly, Duncan of House Tallhart. Even more remarkable than mine in the heyday of my youth..." The boy widened his eyes slightly. "Don''t give me that shocked look. I may be old and proud, but I can still admit a truth when it isid out in in sight before the world. We have reached simr heights and so heed the advice of the one who once had the same light in his eyes as you. Dreams are ephemeral and intangible. They give you strength, the hope necessary to believe in a better tomorrow, and then they leave you slipping away like mist between your fingers. I have fought a lot. Hard, without ever looking back, constantly getting back up on my feet. Even when the forces that gripped my great dream seemed insurmountable, I clenched my fists and swallowed my blood, never ceasing to fight. But the more obstacles I encountered, the more allies I lost and my strength and hopes. The higher the point reached on thedder of your dream, the more the fall will break you. One missed handhold, one push too hard, one false step and the end of all is what remains. So give it up, Duncan of House Tallhart... And I''m not talking about your dream. I know that anything I could say or do to convince you to give up on your vision would be futile. You''re young. You have good resources and a sound mind to put them to good use. I recognize that look... many years ago, I had a simr expression. But you must desist from convincing me. I am not the person you seek. I do not support that will help you climb that peak, but only an obstacle that will do everything in its power to drag you down thatdder." The boy''s gaze seemed more confused than ever. Tywin sighed and reluctantly began to recount what he hoped he could one day forget in his heart. "More than thirty years ago, two boys were full of dreams and expectations. We had grown up together, constantly exchanging ideas about how we could help all Seven Kingdoms... You know who I''m talking about?" The boy seemed well versed in Tywin Lannister''s bibliography. "It was you and Aerys..." the young dreamer replied. "Correct answer." Tywin finished what was left of the second cup of wine. "When Aerys and I thought of all the possibilities this world had to offer, all the missed opportunities of past Kings, all the mistakes we would never make, Aerys vowed that if he ever became King, he and I would be the pioneers who would take the Seven Kingdoms to heights never before seen. A time of splendour, prosperity, and wealth even greater than the Kingdom of Jaenerys I... And that one day, the history books would remember that period as The Golden Age." ***** End Chapter -------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 110: The Great Lion Part I Chapter 110: '' The Great Lion '' Part I POV: A Confused Boy; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. Soon after three words were spoken... The Boy began to understand what the man meant. He knew that part of the former King''s Hand''s life by heart. Duncan had been evaluating the Lannister character for years, thinking if the man could still be a valuable ally or just a fake ally to be amodated until the day his recement arrived. House Lannister boasted of hundreds of descendants who bore the blood and name of Lann. Plenty of candidates could have sat on the Throne of Casterly Rock. Gerion, Tyrion, Ser Kevan, Genna, even Lancel or Tyrek Lannister (if well-bred). The direct and secondary branches rivalled the offspring of House Frey. However, none of them had a brilliant mind, iron tenacity, the baggage of experience, or innate leadership that could have touched this generation''s pinnacle named Tywin Lannister. Tyrion was undoubtedly the second most viable candidate, but de had yet to be appropriately tempered and sharpened. It was not Brightroar but a steel dagger of Valyria just as deadly when wielded well. Tywin was the supporting trunk and heart of the thousand-year-old redwood that would tower over the entire forest, and Tyrion the roots in the shadows. Had such perfect symbiosise into being, the West, Westeros, and the rest of the Known World would have trembled at the Lion''s Roar. The ally the Foolish Dreamer sought, the True Keeper, would rise again... "I know much of your past, Lord Tywin." The Boy sensed the pain of those memories. Tywin''s past was undoubtedly glorious, but it was also full of sadness and tragedy. "No. You think you know my past. It''s very different. Everyone in King''s Landing thought Aerys was the mad dreamer who built castles in the sand and that I was the real backbone of the Kingdom. The royal realist kept his feet on the ground in the puppet king on the clouds. Some of it was true. Some of Aerys'' ideas were stupid, but others were valid... Arranging marriages between all the Great Houses of Westeros was originally Aerys'' idea. I knew Aerys better than anyone. I was aware that alone, that mad dreamer would not have survived a single second on that throne in that den of ravenous vipers. I was realistic and objective, true. But I was also the biggest supporter of Aerys'' Dreams. The marriages between the great Houses, the development of the New Way in the Iron Inds, control over the Stepstones and an end to the threat of Piracy, a King''s Road that would cross the entire Dorne Desert to Sunspear, trade routes from King''s Landing to the Jade Sea, integration of Free Folk into the New Gift... All of these dreams, though challenging to achieve, where possible. And for a short period, we worked side by side, strenuously supporting each other. And then... the Targaryen curse struck the King, poisoning Aerys'' mind day after day. But I didn''t give up... I had lost hope on Aerys, but all was not lost. Our dream, our Golden Age could still rise." Tywin paused, giving the Tallhart Boy the opportunity to get to the key point independently. The dreamer was struck by a sh of lightning. "Rhaegar... You hoped for Rhaegar. The marriage between Cersei and the Prince was not just for the glory and prestige of your household..." The Old Lion nodded, casting an imperceptible nod of praise. "You may have hit the nail on the head with your point of view, catching me unprepared, but don''t think I''m clueless. I know Dorne and all of its potential behind that Kingdom... Who do you think advised Aerys to renew his alliance with House Martell? If Dorne had dered independence, who would have had the power to force them to submit to the Crown again?" The Lion rose to his feet and began to rage blow after blow, returning the offence he had previously suffered. "But... If that were the case, why Elia... wait," something was missing. "What was my greatest attempt at reconciliation with King Aerys, in your opinion?" Tywin asked, granting the Boy a chance to get to the solution. "The Tournament in honour of Prince Viserys! You wanted to convince King Aerys to not only unite the Dragon and the Lion but also to arrange a marriage agreement between Dorne and the Crown!" Everything was beginning to take shape. Each missing piece settled into ce in the puzzle. "Mmm, and tell me what year I organized the Tournament?" Lion asked, more like a history teacher than a potential enemy. "In 276... The same year Arianne Martell was born! Now it makes sense... That''s why you even rejected the marriage between Jaime and Elia!" That was the doubt that gripped Bloody Snow the most. The irrational choice to which he could not give a sensible answer. If Tywin Lannister was a Lord who only cared about the good of his House and the glory of his lineage, why would he refuse the marriage between Jaime and Elia Martell? Even if Tywin had already made an agreement in the past with Hoster Tully''s daughter, Lysa, he would still have no reason to refuse. House Tully couldn''t hold a candle to Dorne. That marriage between House Lannister and House Martell would have elevated Lion''s line to heights never seen before. So why? Out of anger? Because of the pain of losing his wife Johanna just a few moons before the delegation arrived from Dorne? No... but it would all make sense if Tywin had refused for the sake of the Kingdom''s stability. The marriage between the Silverfish and the Golden Lion would have benefited the Crown more! Tywin sacrificed his own blood for the sake of the Kingdom and the dream he still believed in! "Not just Viserys and Arianne. Did you really think I simply proposed to the Princess Regent of Dorne, ''Tyrion'', as the only option? My wife Johanna, Emirrha Martell, and Queen Rhae were good friends. I had asked Elia''s mother to wait for an opportunity. Doran that year had just married the daughter of the Triarch of Norvos, the sessor to the Principality of Dorne would soon produce an heir. I had managed to convince the Princess to wait. I wanted Elia to marry Ser Elbert Arryn, Jon Arryn''s nephew and heir of the Vale..." Duncan took the floor. "And at that point... That would leave only The Reach. If any other Stark or Martell candidate had married a Tyrell or Hightower heir... the entire continent would have been bound by blood, thus creating the greatest kinship in the history of the Seven Kingdoms." The Lion nodded as he returned to his seat, looking tired. Then, tiredness turned to sorrow and anger. Finally, the Jungle King looked ready to roar. "After all those attempts, the Kingdom still went down the drain. Madness and stupidity! I had even epted defeat after the marriage between Rhaegar and Elia, still hoping that there was hope between Cersei and Viserys. But then...Prince Viserys began to look like the spitting image of his father. I knew that boy would be a disappointment to House Targaryen, and then came the Tournament of Harrenhall. My daughter couldn''t be queen, but there was still the heir to the Vale, Ser Elbert Arryn. The Mad King killed him, too, along with Brandon and Rickard Stark... At that moment, I realized the absolute evil of the Kingdom... That Iron Throne would, in time, pollute any future promising Dragon. Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna, and Aerys stole my blood. The union we worked so hard for between House Stark, Baratheon, Tully, and Lannister was thrown into the mes in a single day. From that moment on, I realized that the dream of a prosperous, stable continent at peace would never be possible if the lineage of Aegon the Conqueror and his legacy had not been eradicated to prevent its return." Tywin concluded by releasing his clenched fingers into a fist. "It''s not just that... A part of you still believed in Rhaegar, didn''t you?" Duncan asked, rekindling a tiny spark of surprise in Lion''s golden eyes. "And what makes you believe that?" Tywin. "The Battle of the Trident... You are not Walder Frey''s'' The Retard''. You refused to join the fight, not for a simple strategic advantage. The Lannister army would undoubtedly have determined victory and defeat for both factions. If you really had already taken sides, you could have attacked the backs of the Dragon''s army, pretending to arrive as a reinforcement of the Crown. King''s Landing would still have fallen. You knew the City''s weaknesses better than anyone." The Old Lion''s eyes narrowed as he more carefully assessed the individual in front of him. Finally, Tywin relented. "Yes, a glimmer of hope still remained in thest Dragon. You have never met him. Rhaegar had all the qualities to be a Great King. He was beloved, brilliant, strong,passionate, and, if need be, ruthless. I watched that boy grow throughout his life, my hand still wavering. Let fate decide the fate of the Three-Headed Dragon. The Trident''s victory or defeat would determine the future of the Seven Kingdoms. And destiny spoke... That moment rified what needed to be done. Now, do you see my point, pioneer of the next Golden Age?" Tywin asked. "You will never allow any other Three-Headed Dragon to sit on the Iron Throne again. Am I right?" Replied the boy. End POV. ------------------------- POV: The Old Dreamer; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. Right after a question was asked... "Exactly. So abandon your intentions, boy. The alliance you seek with the West will never exist as long as I sit on this seat. So save your gifts and dreams of glory for someone else." The Hero of the North lowered his gaze, cing a hand on his forehead. The look seemed empty and lost. Tywin was a little disappointed by that gesture of weakness, but he didn''t show it. After all, the boy was young and had yet to taste the bitter taste of defeat. He still felt respect for the audacity and strength shown by his opponent. The Lion even lowered himself to confess what he would have revealed to no one else yet alive. "You and your father may leave my domain whenever you wish. I will not demand any gifts or trade agreements from you. You have my word on that. Previous agreements will remain until your debt to House Lannister is repaid. I will leave out this attempted collusion with the Crown for this one time, but that will not happen a second time, boy. This is what I offer for helping my House with the restoration of the Naval Fleet. A Lannister always pays his debts, and the debt is paid." This was as much as Tywin would give to traitors to the Crown. And then it happened... The boy''s gaze recovered and burst with joy and vitality, catching the Old Lion off guard. "Ahahah! It''s done! Ahahah! Shit happened!... oops, beg pardon, my Lord. Ahahah!" ''Has he gone mad?'' thought the man instinctively with irritation. "If you think this is a joke, boy, beware. I feel sympathy for you and your cause, but nothing more. Do not test my patience." He admonished Tywin with a severe tone and look. The Hero of the North was joking with fire in a room overflowing with pitch. The boy regained control but still maintained a victorious smile. "I apologize, Lord Tywin. It was not my intention to cause you any offence. I simply...could not contain myself from joy." The boy stood up. "Forgive me, my Lord. I just need a moment to collect myself." He didn''t ask permission to do so; it was simply a warning. The fool pulled back his white hair, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. "I feel it, and I see it...Hell, I even have chills! It''s like I''m already there! Ahah! Seraphinus, you help me! How much will the Titan shiver when the Frosty Winds rise? How much will the Harpy shriek when the Fiery Sun burns? And how much will the Tower tremble when the Raging Lion roars? It will be absolutely Epic!" ''Titan?... Harpy?... Tower? What the heck is he rambling about?.... That''s enough now.'' Tywin stood up to alert the guards and have that individual removed from his presence. He had been patient for far too long... but his voice choked in his throat. A tumultuous wave of the presence of mind hit the Old Lion on impact, forcing him to freeze. Tywin''s piercing green eyes widened. He felt the hair on his arms stand on end and his skin tightens like semi-treated leather left to dry in the sun. He was not threatened by the presence, yet he felt its gargantuan intensity. A strange sight, to say the least. The boy, in a burst of exhration, released the chains that held him until now and roared: "The possibility not only exists but is before us! Clear and bright as the Sun in Summer! YES! WE CAN DO IT! Now I am certain of it! We can change this World!!!" So exulted the mad visionary, clenching his fist with the most determined look Tywin had ever seen. Eyes sharper than the steel of Valyria that would intimidate any predator in the jungle of this vast and dangerous World. "Lord Tywin!" his attention turned to the Lion. Though shaken, the golden steel armour, hardened by a thousand battles named Tywin Lannister, stood ready to withstand the oing assault. "That is enough, Lord Duncan. I have already warned you. You will face the consequences if you do not immediately give me a valid exnation for this senseless folly!" Roared the Lion with nods of controlled anger. The roar barely seemed to caress the individual like a gust of wind against an immovable thousand-year-old oak tree. The oak assumed a close look while maintaining the same intensity of gaze. "You shall have it, my Lord, I swear it. I will not apologize to you for what just happened, but you shall have my apologies for doubting you with ill prejudice." The boy made a deep bow. A bow of a true contrite Knight. "I offer you my sincerest apologies, Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West, Sessor to the Lann Dynasty, and True Guardian of Westeros." Although the man was slightly confused and disced by thest two titles -never before used to address him-he was not beguiled. "Exin your apology and your previous statements." So ordered the Lion intending to satiate his curiosity and rify his doubts. The boy looked up and exined, "So far, I have chosen not to cooperate fully with House Lannister because I doubted you. The alliances and agreements made so far between the West and the North were mere sedatives to appease the Lion''s supposed fury. I thought you were the sort of man who would act only for the good of his House. But not so... I had the answers before my eyes but was too blind and stupid to see them. I simply looked but did not see. You are the person I seek. The greatest ally andpanion a crazy idealistic visionary like me could ever hope for to reach that dream. You, Tywin of House Lannister, are that man. No one else I know deserves that title more than you. To make up for this insult, I swear by all that I love most and believe that I will ensure that the Lannister name endures for millennia toe! I will give all of myself to ensure that the Lann ''The Clever'' dynasty under your leadership will shine and echo with splendour and strength before all the World!" The Old Lion sensed no deception in the voice. Every synapse in his mind shrieked that the boy truly believed in what he was trying to convey. An involuntary part of the man could not help but dly ept those praises and promises. But Tywin resisted! "Open your ears wide, boy... I am not the ally you seek! Nothing, and I mean NOTHING, will ever convince me to support the return of House Targaryen. I would march with all the forces of the West, squeezing every resource from this mountain and putting my family''s name and legacy at stake to prevent Aegon Targaryen''s return!" Roared Old Lion with more vigour. "No, you listen to me! I never said I would support the return of House Targaryen to the Iron Throne! Fuck that malevolent piece of scrap metal! It is but a symbol of the ruin of thesends! I will never allow such an event to happen again. Even if I have to bury King''s Landing in the depths of the abyss with my bare hands. I, Duncan of House Tallhart, swear that I will do everything to keep any Targaryen alive from sitting upon the Iron Throne forged by Aegon I the Conqueror. May the gods and men curse me for all eternity if I should ever fail in my oath." This was the most brutal and deadliest blow that crashed into Tywin Lannister''s armour, cracking the shining metal of the armour like paper. shes of confusion and illogic thundered through his mind stunning him for a few seconds. "No... I will never believe a word you say. You have no way to..." The roar was broken. "I will have no way to guarantee such a promise? Then let me put it this way, my lord. If you ept this alliance and fight with us in this war for the salvation of the World, I will ensure that the House of Lannister will grow beyond your imagination. The West will have such great strength that even your grandchildren''s grandchildren will always have a chance to oppose the return of a second Aegon the Conqueror. Not even three new Targaryens riding Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar with a horde of a hundred thousand Dothraki and a fleet of a thousand ships behind them will be enough to bend the West to a new tyranny of the Three-Headed Dragon. The enemies we will face, the true enemies of Westeros and your dynasty, have long possessed this kind of power. You can never prevail without our help, nor could we hope to win without yours." ''The Titan?" reasoned Tywin before asking more calmly, "Themon enemy? Is this the second time you''ve mentioned him. Who are you referring to? By the Titan, did you mean the Iron Bank?" "In part... The Iron Bank will inevitably be a fierce opponent for the North. But the enemy I fear most, is more dangerous than all the gold and ships of Braavos... I cannot reveal anything to you unless you first agree, and even if you do, I cannot tell much of that magnitude until you have the means to repel it." Nevertheless, Tywin grasped much of the underlying message. ''Do you mean to say that should I discover the true intentions of this supposed enemy, he will still have the strength to crush me and my house like a bug?'' Thought the Lion as he weighed all the possibilities. He still found it hard to believe that such an entity existed, but Tywin was not so clueless as to dismiss this possibility, however unlikely. For years the thought that forces in the world unknown to him could move the threads of the world. It was that boy himself who was the forerunner of this. Five years earlier, when his brother Kevan returned defeated from Essos in hopes of forging alliances against House Tallhart, Tywin invested a lot of resources and effort to at least find out what kind of ally supported Bloody Snow in the shadows. A nickname and a threat were all he got after squandering quintals of gold and losing dozens of valuable spies.... His trembling, stammering emissaries begged him on their knees not to send them to investigate further after uttering that name. {The Watcher} "What can you tell me about this enemy of the House of Lannister?" asked the Old Lion. "It is ancient and has infected this world with deep roots that are hard to eradicate. It can unleash armies, turn family and friends against each other, raise and oust kings, call upon dark and forgotten powers, and it has no hurry or need toe out of the woodwork. This enemy will not hesitate for a moment to sweep away anything that threatens its existence. An adversary who makes no bones about unleashing whatever weapons he has in his possession to obtain what he most desires... EVERYTHING. Knowledge!... Lives!... Inheritance!... Homes!... Riches!... Loves!..., nothing will be spared unless we stop him." Bloody Snow replied with a spark of horror and anger in his eyes. Tywin spent half a minute in silence scanning with every fiber of his being the serious and determined face of that mad fighting dreamer. Behind his back he felt an unfamiliar sensation never felt before. A reassuring, warm, andfortable presence irradiated him with energy, giving him for a moment the strength that only in his golden days, when he was known as the Young Lion, he felt... Tywin turned and looked intently at the ancient banner of House Lannister. ****** End Part I ----------------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 111: The Great Lion Part II Chapter 111: '' The Great Lion '' Part II POV: Duncan; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. Immediately after an Old Lion turned around... Tywin continued to stare in silence at the treasure of his ancestors. An object worth more than the fortune left in the boundless coffers of Casterly Rock. My high perception alerted me to an unseen presence. An unknown force that could onlye from that magical object. It wasn''t as threatening as it had been at first. Of course, it was only a guess, but perhaps that object was attuned to the mood of the most direct progenitor in the Podrick Lann dynasty. It would have made sense... But, though old and unarmed, my sixth sense warned me not to move a single finger against the Lord of Casterly Rock. Tywin spoke... "Before I give you my answer, Duncan of House Tallhart, answer these three questions... Are you and that protector of yours, The Watcher, protecting and helping to hide Aegon, Rhaenys, and Elia Martell?" Tywin''s head turned just enough to allow him to look me in the eye. "My master, The Watcher and his organization had no role in this matter. Instead, I, and I alone, keeping any other member of House Tallhart in the dark, have acted in the shadows to safeguard Elia and her children. House Martell, six years ago, was able to save members of the royal family because I tipped them off to your possible attack on King''s Landing." I answered truthfully. Both Tywin''s eyes and the supernatural presence behind him roared irritation and anger. "Where are they hiding?" Tywin shot back immediately after the second question. "You''ll never find out from me. Even if you unleashed all the worst torture dogs in the West on me, I still wouldn''t talk." Tywin took his time turning to face me with all the new power he had gathered so far. The Lion had such a powerful, intimidating presence that he could have faced even me and an armed army behind. I gritted my teeth and anchored my feet to the ground. I fought that immense aura that wanted to force me to bend the knee and obey any order the undisputed King of the Jungle gave. That was just a taste of the true Power of the Dynasty of Kings! I was aware that this no-longer-dormant artefact could unleash oppression several times more oppressive and suffocating if it really wanted to. The galested for a few seconds before dying down... "Betrayal and boundless disappointment... This will await you if you allow strangers who do not share the same blood as you to pursue your goals. Expect no less from your own bishops, yourrades in arms, or those you love. I would not hesitate for a moment to turn my back on you if I thought that would be best for House Lannister. I might even use you as a shield and weapon to weaken my enemies and tear apart what''s left of both of us. Under that, Duncan Tallhart, Heir of Torrhen''s Square, and Protector in the Shadow of the North... Why would you wish to form an alliance with me to grant me the resources and means to destroy you and all you hold dear?" I lowered my gaze and thought... I wasn''t looking for the best answer but the one I felt I wanted to give. I walked over to the table and grabbed a white object made of ox bone. I opened the box with the maic needle inside and said: "Apass shows you where North is. You know in which direction to go through it, but it doesn''t tell you the dangers that this direction could hide. Swamps, rocky paths, deserts, bandit-infested forests, enemy territories, or anything that might obstruct your path... Maps, sturdy horses, storm-proof ships, weapons, antidotes, provisions and endless supplies are nothing more than necessary means to help you survive and get farther. But if a pioneer explorer wants to reach the summit, to go to the ce nobody has ever reached before, he will need the most valuable and necessary help of all... Companions." I put down mypass and fixed my gaze on the Lion. "Speaking frankly, we both know that we need each other''s help, but forced choices do not exist. I could approach this journey with other methods by convincing and tricking false allies and enemies into paving the way for me. And perhaps I might even seed, but then what? What would be left? I would reach that treasure alone and be what I once swore I would never be. Because at the end of the day the best treasure in the world remains and will forever remain the light in the face of yourpanions the moment they realize that the summit is reached. That all the joint efforts, the sufferings endured, the sacrifices spent, and the vain foolish hopes on which they had clung have been repaid. All the victories I have achieved in the past, all the goals I have reached, would not have been possible without the effort and sacrifice of myrades who believed in me, even entrusting me with their lives in their hands. The Battle of Snow Mill was the day I realized that truth. The faces of those soldiers loyal to House Tallhart, the sparkling eyes filled with joy and hope of the vigers... Nothing was brighter than that moment. I choose House Lannister and the man who leads it, because they are the best travelingpanions I could hope to have on this path overflowing with the worst horrors known to mankind. I want by my side the man who more than anyone else on this continent has approached the summit, facing the worst pitfalls and struggles that would have destroyed the best, and who though defeated and wounded, hase out whole and stronger than before. That is the man with whom I want to reach the summit and share the most precious treasure. You may continue to convince me for years that you are no longer that man, Tywin of House Lannister, but we both know that is not the truth." Thest statement enraged the Lion almost to the breaking point. Tywin clenched his fists and gritted his teeth almost to breaking. With onest indignant roar he asked: "Why?... Why?! Why do you keep insisting? Why don''t you give up? Give it up, boy! I''m not the person you''re looking for!" "Don''t you realize that yet?" I asked, reducing him to silence. "I already won this battle several minutes ago." Tywin''s gaze gushed with shock and confusion. "The exact moment you stopped me, my lord. You were not warning and protecting, Duncan of House Tallhart, a foolish and naive boy too young to y the most brutal and ruthless game in the world, not the honor of your name and your House who owed a favor to the other that had helped them in the past, but that tiny spark inside you that still believes in that dream. You defended and still defend the dormant Lion within you. The True Lion is roaring and tearing with all his strength the fragile cage that still persists in keeping him locked up. It is useless to hide it or deny it. That Lion is desperate to get out. Even now I can feel the immense will and the immense blood lust impatiently waiting to be satisfied. Therefore, my lord, it is I who must ask you: Why don''t you give up, Old Lion? Get off the fucking Throne and give the True King of the Jungle the ce he deserves. The World needs The Great Lion to watch over us all again." End POV. --------------------------------- POV: Gregor Clegane. Behind the door of the Srium, Casterly Rock. About a minute before three questions were answered.... Gregor uncorked another bottle of poppy milk and gobbled up its entire contents. It wasn''t the pain of the devastating migraine he needed to quell, but the unrelenting rage that could have driven him mad at any moment.... His faithful hunting dogs Polliver, Tickler, Shitmouth, and Rafford remained silent and cowering, avoiding even the most imperceptible of signs to him. From the day Gregor crushed the windpipe of ''visceral'' Papper, one of the former members of the Mountain''s men, because he snored too much, none of them dared to make an unsolicited sound. Especially during the period when The Mountain was suffering from one of his terrible migraines. His former maester, in the service of his manor, had exined to him that the headaches might be due to a problem with gigantism.... Two moonster, a new young maester arrived to take up service at Clegane Castle. Gregor was taking one bottle of poppy milk a day, at a minimum. An amount that would haveid amon adult man to sleep for a day and a night. Only in case he could give vent to his murderous impulses did Gregor go without. At that moment, after that insect had dared to mock him, Gregor felt a fury he hadn''t felt for years. Ever since that day in King''s Landing when he failed to find the Targaryen brats... He wanted to crush the legs and arms of that Northern brat, breaking them like dry twigs. But, instead, he felt the need to hear him scream and beg for mercy! However, Gregor was aware enough to realize that such an event was not feasible as long as that being was under the fucking protection of Casterly Rock''sws of hospitality. Tywin Lannister was the only individual who could make Gregor feel anything approaching the term ''fear''... He would have killed that old man as well if it weren''t because, even after he managed to escape the hounds of the West, and lost all privileges in his own territory and in the Kingdom, nowhere else in the World would have weed him. The bounty on his head would have been so great that endless oceans of insect swarms would have stalked him through the meanders of the World. No...he was Tywin Lannister''s rabid dog. And as long as he continued to be so, his master would reward him with bloody juicy steaks. If he continued to respond to Old Lion''s whistle, no other pesky animal would keep him from enjoying his private hunting grounds. The thick oak door closed behind him prevented him and the other guards from understanding what was happening there. He had recognized the roars of the Old Lion a few moments earlier, but it was not the call of the whistle. So he couldn''t intervene yet. Luckily for him, he had also distinctly heard another extraneous tone of voice shouting... The Old Lion''s guest didn''t seem so wee anymore. Perhaps an opportunity would have presented itself if that reckless little boy hadmitted one misstep. But for the moment, he had to wait and be patient... The ck-haired servant girl in the Lord''s direct employ was waiting just a few steps away from him... Maybe by asking him ''nicely'' and with a silver bag to sweeten the request, he could have fun that night with that pretty and fragile little bitch... A ravenous and animalistic impulse of desire, apanied by an involuntary and liberating snort, gushed from Gregor''s eyes, attracting the girl''s attention. The expectant woman began to shiver, turning away. He had to contain himself... he couldn''t let her prey run away already. At that moment, the carnal and primitive desires of the man were broken by a sound. The most melodious and sweetest sound in the World... "GREGOR!" was Lion''s roar of call. The giant ck hound responded promptly. He pushed open one of the heavy, goldcquered oak doors as if nothing had happened. As he entered, Clegane peered at an unexpected scene... The Old Lion and the prey werefortably seated in their respective seats. But then, the brat turned around, giving him a defiant look of challenge and derision. ARGH!!! I''M GONNA RIP YOU APART, YOU ROTTEN PIECE OF MEAT!!!!'' Gregor shouted inwardly, almost making his head explode. "I am at yourmand, Lord Tywin!" said Gregor in a thundering voice, ready for the charge at any moment. The Old Lion gave him a mild contempt as if all this impetuosity was unwee. "Send in the porters with my guest''s gifts. After that, go find my brother Gerion. Tell him to report here as soon as possible and to bring all our records with him: documents of trade routes, sea maps, territorial maps, and those of Lannisport. You may go." It was an overbearing, unexpected, and downright irritating p! Gregor thought he could drag that hairy brat off a good part of his scalp, but instead, he found himself holding messenger orders in his hands. He hadn''t been called for his ''expertise'' simply because he was the closest guard within earshot... Every muscle fibre of the giant man vibrated; fortunately, the armour seemed to conceal his frenzied state. "Ony! Captain Webel!" The angry screams in Gregor''s head nearly covered his master''s second call. The servant girl and the Captain passed Gregor by bowing to the Lord. "Ony, have the kitchens bring in various dishes and refreshments. We will have lunch here. Captain, dismiss the guard and leave five trusted men at the beginning of the corridor. After Gerion and the attendants have arrived, no one else is to pass through except for matters of utmost urgency. I do not wish to be disturbed until nightfall." Ordered the Lion. "Yes, my lord," replied in unison, the man and the woman taking their leave with another bow in his loyal service. The whole scene passed like a mere blink of an eye for Gregor. The green eyes with provocative silver tinges of that inferior being continued to incite him to lose the control. "Ser Gregor..." the roar detached his murderous gaze from eye contact. "Did you not hear my instructions by any chance? Do I need to repeat them to you, Ser?" Lion asked in a sarcastic, annoyed tone. Gregor''s untamed fury took over just enough to ignore the Master''s second call momentarily. The Lion stood up. At that moment, the Riding Mountain, the giant Mad Dog of battle and Terror of the West, sensed him... An immense feeling of oppression overcame him, breaking his breath. He had already been several times in that srium in the presence of Lord Tywin... It was in that ce that, several years ago, he decided to follow the Old Lion forever, discarding any idea of possible rebellion. The feeling of danger and domination that he felt almost ten years ago was nothing but a miserable summer breezepared to that relentless winter blizzard! His animalistic instincts barked that this being in front of him was not the guarded Old Lion he thought it was. It was a predator much bigger and stronger than he was! {SUBMISSION} Nothing but submission! That was the only way to get out of that room alive. Every bit of survival instinct he had in his body helped him clear his thoughts and regain his sanity. Rivers of cold sweat soaked the firstyer of padding of his armour. "Y-yes, my lord. It will be done... I beg your pardon, Lord Tywin." The mad dog bent down on all fours at the roar of the Fierce Insurmountable Great Lion. ***** End Chapter. ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 112: Deception & Distraction Chapter 112: '' Deception & Distraction '' POV: The Laughing Lion; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. About forty minutes after a scolded Dog carried out the Great Lion''s orders... Gerion knew like the back of his hand the two hundred and eight steps that separated his rooms from the Lord''s Srium of Casterly Rock. Because of this, it was not difficult for him to do the climb by taking two steps at a time. He was no longer the child with boundless energy he once was, the boy who enjoyed challenging his older Brother Tygett to a contest over who could reach their father Tytos first. Still, his thirty-four years and ceremonial armour were no more of an obstacle than he thought. Gerion outsmarted the two assistant keepers of the Casterly Rock archives assigned to help him transport all the documents requested by his Brother Tywin. The joy and excitement of the adventure pushed him to be at his best. It was literally an adventure that awaited him. But, behind those doors was a treasure waiting to be opened. The Smiling Lion''s capable mind could only imagine one reason why his brother, the no-longer-smiling Old Lion, the watchful, cynical, and adverse Tywin Fucking Lannister, had him urgently summoned by Ser Gregor Clegane himself to join them in his Srium along with the most sensitive and confidential documents of Casterly Rock. ''The Boy has seeded! He has seeded in convincing my Brother!'' Thought Gerion for the umpteenth time, straining to regain his demeanour before entering the Srium. "My Lord, Lord Duncan..." said Gerion bowing, barely eyeing the interior. "Gerion... It''s about time. Have the papersid out on my table, and then take a seat." So ordered Tywin at the head of the long table on the right side of the Srium. The white-haired eleven-year-old gave him a concealed wink, giving yet another test of the Smiling Lion''s expectations, who cast an equally concealed slight grin in response. Rarely did his Brother allows the direct Non-Lannisters of the Tytos branch to eat with him at therge meeting table. Three silver tes sat on it, along with golden cups and forks. In the centre of the table were dozens of delicacies: golden potatoes stuffed with ham, suckling pigs on beds of fresh vegetables, red lobster dressed with butter and lemons, white caster bread cut into perfectly symmetrical slices, caviar, and many other courses that could have fed a hundred other mouths. Gerion quickly snapped his fingers and instructed his men to fulfil their duties and take their leave as soon as possible. The Old Lion and Bloody Snow resumed their interrupted conversation. "So you met him in person!" said the boy. "Of course, I have met him. I served as a page and Royal cupbearer to King Aegon V for four years before I was elevated to a squire. Ser Duncan was almost always at the King''s side." Tywin replied with a hint of pride. Gerion sat down, not wanting to create more interludes to tell the story. "What was he like? Was he really the best Knight of his time?" the boy asked with exaltation. "He wasn''t the best fighter that ever existed in the Seven Kingdoms if that''s what you''re wondering, but he certainly was the best Royal Guard. Perhaps even superior to the Dragonknight. The man was Aegon''s most trusted advisor, but more importantly, his most excellent shield. He was an individual who had no qualms of pride about seeking advice from anyone he felt was more capable than he was. If he was unaware of a subject that might be a problem for his King, he would beg the Grand Maester or any other expert to instruct him. Ser Duncan never neglected his sword training and instruction, even at his ripe old age. On the contrary, he gave his best effort in everything he did... He was the quintessential example of true Chivalry. Duty, Honor and Understanding were the firm pirs of that man. In my opinion, Ser Duncan The Tall was not the best warrior that ever lived, but the greatest Knight in the history of the Seven Kingdoms." Gerion interjected, unable to contain himself. "Not to mention that Ser Duncan and Aegon V were the only individuals ever to exist who managed to p Aerys Targaryen and Tywin Lannister on the ears without subsequently losing a hand. Puhahaha!" The boy sent a piece of pork sideways, choking on a cough, and Tywin red at him. "I beg your pardon, my lord. My exit was disrespectful and inappropriate..." The enraged Lion did not seem satisfied with the weak apology offered. Fortunately, a valuable ally came to his rescue. "Coff... Umr... emm, Lord Tywin, speaking of cupbearers and pages, I would like to take this opportunity to propose possible future arrangements after the tournament. It would be the honour of my father, Ser Helman, to be able to wee your nephew Lancel to Torrhen''s Square as his page and possible future squire. And perhaps, if you will grant us the same honour, allow my brother Benfred to take up service here at Casterly Rock under Ser Kevan." Tywin''s attention was caught. Both Houses were highly advantageous to exchanging protgs-hostages to solidify an alliance. Lancel was the possible betrothed of Eddara Tallhart. If his nephew served in Torrhen''s Square, he could spend time with the child. And if the spark was struck, the marriage pact would be sealed by both Houses. "Mmm...is the boy capable?" Tywin asked bluntly. "Benfred is diligent and obedient. But unfortunately, he''s getting too used to the safety of the North, and our mother is slightly too protective of the twins. Also, I wish for Benfred and Eddara to be separated for at least a few years before marriageable age." The other party replied just as bluntly. "Lancel will be able to leave with your retinue on the return trip. Benfred will serve here as my personal page and cupbearer. And if the boy proves himself worthy and the day of such merites, I will elevate him as my squire." Gerion was shocked by his brother''s initiative. Tywin Lannister refused all requests from possible candidates for the rank of his personal squire. It was a title coveted by every son or kin of Lord Hignders of the West... "House Tallhart is immensely grateful for such an offer. It would be an honour and privilege for my brother to receive the opportunity to serve and learn under your guidance, Lord Tywin." His brother epted the praise of gratitude with an imperceptible nod of assent. "Eddara may serve for a time in King''s Landing as a handmaiden to the Queen." Then, Tywinunched his second catapult shot. "An offer much appreciated...but I''m afraid I''ve made prior arrangements with Prince Doran for Eddara to serve as handmaiden and Lady-in-Waiting to Princess Arianne." Gerion''s blood froze. ''No! No! Are you mad, boy? Do you refuse the proposal with such a gesture of defiance? To Dorne! House Martell is sworn enemy of House Lannister!!!'' Shrieked Gerion between his thoughts. And the actual rusty iron gloved pshed out at Gerion''s cheek secondster, stunning him on the spot. "I see... if arrangements have already been made between House Martell and House Tallhart, the Crown will understand." Tywin replied after careful consideration. ''Seven, protect me! In the name of the Seven hells... What the fuck happened within these walls?!'' Thought the Stunned Lion. End POV. ------------------------------- POV: Duncan; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. About twenty minutes after a Lion was Stunned... Drinks and food were served, Lord Gerion was updated on the Triumvirate offered, and finally, the long-awaited moment came... A nicely detailed map of Westeros and Essos wasid out on Tywin''s desk. "Now we can begin... Before I continue, it will be a crucial matter that, for the moment, only you and Lord Gerion know what I am about to reveal. The enemy must never suspect, let alone learn that House Lannister is not only aware of the threat but is sharpening its ws and forging alliances to deal with it. Never, and I stress, NEVER, shall ourmon enemy join forces with the Iron Bank and march full force against us. If such a uniones before the next three years, not even an army of dragons will save us from this cmity. We would create a second Valyrian disaster that would fall full force upon the entire Known World. And it will have to be at least six years, barring unforeseen events, before we can act freely." The attention towards me was at an all-time high. Tywin nodded, jumping his feline eyes between me and the map. The Smiling Lion also lowered his smirk to showplete seriousness on the subject. "Let''s start with the mixed list of the top Eight Great Forces among the top of the Known World..." *** About forty minutes of shocking revtions and hidden truthster... Gerion''s gaze was lost in emptiness, and his face as pale as milk. Tywin withstood the blow with more tenacity, but his eyes still exuded shock, anger, and surprise. The Great Lion kept looking past me for over two minutes. He wasn''t staring at the door or any presence behind it but at some ce hundreds of miles south of there... The True Enemy of Westeros. Gerion shot out a question. "Why House Lannister? Why do House Hightower, the Faith, and the Citadel want to destroy us? Most importantly...if they really have this kind of power, why do we still exist?" It was more than a fair question but one that I could not give a valid answer too. "I have taken an unbreakable oath that will not allow me to fully answer this question. All I can tell you is that Oldtown does not yet have the means or the ability to destroy House Lannister. House Hightower cannot act directly against the Lions of Casterly Rock; it will be war if they do. They will first have to bring down the powers that safeguard the dynasty of Lann ''the Clever'' to act freely. An ancient Enchanted City, a Race, and a millenary Dynasty, as long as these entities exist, it will be almost impossible for Oldtown topletely annihte House Lannister. And if an enemy cannot be killed..." Tywin took the floor. "That enemy won''t even have to be hurt... Or at least, not directly by Oldtown." "Precisely," I said, nodding. At that point, Tywin asked, "How long have you known about this?" "In such detail? Less than a year. However, I had been suspicious of Oldtown for much longer than that. Since just before the ''tragic'' disappearance of your cousin Golbarth to be exact. When I was three, I got my hands on the quarterly reports of the former maester of Torrhen''s Square to be secretly sent to the Citadel. I don''t need to tell you how much more detailed and thorough those documents were than what your dear cousin used to send to you. Nothing escapes, or rather, ''escaped'' the great eye of the High Tower." I answered with sincerity. "One must not make any rash moves; if your most affectionate Maester Vrick should ''gently'' pass away in his sleep or ''identally fall'' a few days after I visit Casterly Rock, Oldtown would be rmed. Not even Grand Maester Pycelle will have to be ''recalled by the Seven'' in the short term..." He admonished, unleashing a snarl of contempt from Tywin''s lips. "How on earth are we supposed to deal with such an enemy? How can we win a war of such magnitude? We don''t even know what weapons Oldtown hides besides those monstrous armies..." Gerion asked, still in shock. Tywin snapped in response. "Get out to catch your breath or sce one of your sillyughs, Gerion. It doesn''t matter to me. What matters is that you clear your head and return to us with a whortwhile mind. Don''t you dare utter another sigh of surrender or look of despair in this hall. You''re a Lannister! And Lions don''t bleat in fear. They roar!" thundered the Great Lion, clearing the Smiling Lion''s mind. Gerion lowered his head, crinkling his eyes with both hands for a few moments. Then he raised his face again, curling the end of one whisker with his fingertips. "Aye, brother. I apologize to you for my unseemly behaviour. You are right... A Lannister roars to thest even in certain death!" Roared Gerion with a toothy grin. "Always," Tywin retorted. "You two are all nuts... I''d have had my britches greased by now if I were you. Let''s face it, Hightower House is, metaphorically and literally speaking, taller and older than The Wall. It has taken me more than eight years to gauge the extent of the danger of this enemy. Every year that I thought I had spotted the top, yet another cloud would dissipate, revealing another floor of the Tower! Ahahah!" And not only that. The Hightowers were the ''Micheal Jordan of Sons of Bitches''. Every time I managed to uncover a vile deedmitted throughout history by that household, I thought [Fuck! They really crossed the line here! Can you get any more disgusting than this?] And then, another one would pop up and smash all the previous records. But I felt that wasn''t the most appropriate metaphor to add at that moment... "Pfff... Coff!... Cough! I don''t find such a metaphor appropriate at such a serious time, Lord Duncan." So said that slimy traitor Gerion Lannister, abandoning me alone in the middle of the trench machine-gunned by the Great Lion''s angry stares. "I am sure that ''The Hero of the North'' and great strategist such as ''Bloody Snow'' has long since devised appropriate countermeasures to deal with this impending war." promulgated a deep voice no longer in the mood for jokes. "Certainly, my lord. Ermm, emm... I should take a sip first... never mind. Now that we havee to a mutual understanding of the clear and incontrovertible need for the Rhoynar, First Men, Valyrians and Magicians to form a resolute alliance against themon enemy, I will present to you the course of action that I believe to be most valuable in fighting this war. We still survive because of a subtle and fragile bnce between the main Seven Great Forces of the World that cannot yet be broken..." Gerion interrupted me. "But you said earlier that the North, or more precisely, ''House Tallhart,'' has noticeably shaken that bnce by inserting itself into the Eighth." "Indeed, yes... Depending on one''s point of view, we could say that due to the fault or merit of House Tallhart, the North quickly rose to Eighth ce, thus breaking this fragile bnce and triggering an inevitable future World Conflict. The bards have already begun to sing, the musicians to y, and the first dances... Whether we want it, all of Westeros and Essos will soon be forced to take to the floor. As mentioned earlier, ''Time'' is what we need the most. We must buy as much time as possible to study the words, rhythm, and notes of the bads that will follow, but most importantly, practice the ''dance'', my lords. We cannot allow our enemy to move in the immediate future directly against us. Not before the next three years at least..." it was Tywin''s turn to take the floor. "Three and six years; what is the difference in those short time frames?" "ording to our humble estimates, if we can gain three years to grow and strengthen undisturbed in that time, the North, West and Dorne alliance will have achieved enough power to face one of the top two World Powers on equal terms: the Titan or the Lighthouse. We certainly won''t make it out in one piece if, in the worst-case scenario, Braavos and Oldtown decide to put up a united front. Not even if Carcosa came from the East and The Watcher chose to openly support us... However, if we could extend that interval by another three precious years, we might even be able to hold our own against both. It would essentially be a coin flip. If we were able to extend that interval to eight/nine years by some miracle, or good fortune, our victory would be very likely. Trust me when I tell you that if I had ten years at my disposal without hassle, I could raise the North to the top of the World." For once in a while, I allowed myself a bit of healthy and well-deserved peacocking. Tywin and Gerion made noment, though their looks were somewhat dubious... "As I was saying... Time. A key and vital element we need. And the best weapons at our disposal to obtain it are two: {Deception & Distraction}" ***** End Chapter. ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 113: The Skinner Merchant & The Greedy Wolf Part I Chapter 113: '' The Skinner Merchant & The Greedy Wolf '' Part I POV: Tywin Lannister; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. Seconds after a n began to be exposed.... "Deception & Distraction?" asked Gerion anticipating his brother. "Basically, yes. Hehe. The Titan''s greatest weakness is greed and the curse of World Primacy. From what I''ve understood so far, the Iron Bank has held the primacy since about a century before the Valyria Disaster. Oldtown and Carcosa have struggled mightily between first and second ce for three thousand years. The Braavosians have taken advantage of the conflict between the two factions by doing what they still do best, financing and taking advantage of both sides. In the shadows, the Titan of Braavos slipped past the two factions without even entering directly into the fray. Carcosa and Oldtown signed the peace treaty mainly to prevent the giant from acquiring other resources, influence and territories. This created a rtionship of extreme distrust between the three cities, making it almost impossible to form a solid alliance. We will use these swirling rtionships to our advantage." Tywin began toprehend the first introductory section. It was as if The Titan, The Lighthouse, and The Magic Tower were three separate kingdoms. Each was waiting for the other two forces to be at each other''s throats, thus providing a golden opportunity for the previously neutral third rival faction in strength to destroy or absorb some of the enemy power on the cheap. The Titan did not want to be ousted from his throne. And the way Bloody Snow had described the situation, the difference in power between Braavos and Oldtown was subtle. Carcosa, though powerful, would be able to intervene in Westeros to a small degree. After all, the power of the Wizarding Confederacy was more than six thousand miles east of Casterly Rock. But what about Central Essos? The Titan wasn''t powerful enough to attack Westeros at full force while simultaneously defending its domains to the east against Carcosa. The boy continued. "The North will draw the full attention of the Titan and Oldtown, at least for the first three years, thus allowing the West and Dorne to grow ''rtively'' undisturbed. The First Men have fortified themselves enough to withstand a few skirmishes. But more importantly, we have the means to irritate the Iron Bank considerably. Ahah." It was pointless to cast further looksden with irritation and admonishment-that boy wasughing and throwing out jokes on par with Gerion. At such a delicate moment, Tywin could do nothing but arm himself with great patience. "You are putting it too simply, Hero of the North. By what means do you think you can force Oldtown and Braavos to a stalemate while their neighbours, within sight and earshot, increase their defences and armaments undisturbed?" Tywin realized a usible hypothesis at the exact moment he finished his sentence. ''The Iron Throne! The conflict between the Crown and Dorne! Of course... It would beplex and full of pitfalls, but it could work.'' Thought the Lord of Casterly Rock. ''Perhaps you have already arrived at much of the solution yourself, my Lord. The conflict between Aegon VI and Robert Baratheon is an excellent motive for a more than legitimate race for resources and weapons. But it won''t be just that... Allow me to show you the gifts of the North that House Tallhart has in store for the House that has been kind enough to host it." End POV. ------------------------------------ POV: The Smiling Lion; Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. Seconds after the Tallhart boy approached the case... "Oops. I beg your pardon. Yes, thank you. It''s a bit bulky... Here we go." Gerion helped the struggling boy ce the long case on the table upied by rolls of papers and various items. "Please. You do the honours, Lord Tywin." Duncan stepped aside, and his brother took his ce in front of the gold and crimsoncquered wooden case, opening it. Gerion stood at his side with eyes sparkling with curiosity. A de and a case stood out at first nce... ''That one! No, it''s not really Valyrian Steel!!!'' thought Gerion instinctively before being enchanted by the artefact. Long Two-Handed Ceremonial Broadsword. Solid gold knob worked in a riot of goldsmith craftsmanship. The most finished solid gold Lion''s head he had ever seen in thirty-four of his years living surrounded by jewels, tapestries, and gold statues depicting the Lannister crest... Lion''s eyes had been adorned with tiny emerald green gems. The long red leather handle bevelled in detail to amodate ten fingers and hatched in nine golden threads. The hilt is perpendicr to the goldcquered steel de, just under a foot long. The tips of both ends appear to be made of bone... No fangs... Tips of Lion''s tusk curved slightly upward. Set in the centre of the hilt was arge red ruby in the shape of a rhombus, protected by two joined lions outlined to symmetrically surround the jewel. And then...the de. Two and a half inches thick at the base, four feet and a palm long. Patterns and ripples of different shades of grey, simr to Valyria steel, all over the bottom of the de are characterized by red hues. A masterpiece of craftsmanship. Tywin maintained his usual rigid face, devoid of telltale signs, but the eyes... His brother''s eyes did not lie, nor could they hide the awe and wonder he felt at that moment. "The eighteenth masterpiece of Gran Master cksmith, Tobho Mott. His best work to date, in my opinion. The man improves after eachpleted work... No, my lords. If you are wondering, it is not Valyrian Steel, but I assure you it is very close to the ancient Valyrian master smiths... It has not yet been baptized; I will leave that honour to you. Fresh from the forge, tempered for three days and nights in Gauntlgrym''s most eptable forge. The First Damascus Steel Sword of the West." So finished presenting Bloody Snow with a tone of pride. ''Damascus Steel? Never heard of it... Wait, don''t tell me...'' Gerion turned his head sharply towards Lord Duncan. Gerion thought back to the rumours of Great Jon Umber''s incredible broadsword and Lord Eddard Stark''s supposed new bastard sword of Valyrian steel... The smug look and the sly grin stered on his lips were worth more than a thousand answers. ''House Tallhart had a monopoly on a new form for working steel!!!'' Though Gerion. If the quality of the steel sung was really on a higher level than the metal worked in the forges of Westeros and Essos of today, a wave would have appeared that would have swept the whole market of weapons and war in all the Continents! Mountains of gold, armies, intrigue and conflict of all kinds... All the world forces would move toward whatever entity had custody of such a treasure... Even Gerion, who in his heart would never have wanted to hurt that boy, sensed a voracious and instinctive need within him that kept roaring at him to grab that individual in his ws, squeeze him hard, and force him to spit out the secret of Damascus Steel! Tywin showed far more decorum and demeanour than he had imagined. The Lion of Casterly Rock grabbed the broadsword with both hands and scrutinized it in detail from the foundation to the top. He tapped the edge of the de with his fingertips and, after carefully assessing the quality of the work, handed the sword to Gerion. It took the smiling Lion a minute toe to simr, if not identical, conclusions to what Tywin thought... It was a steel lighter, more flexible, and stronger than the best metal the forges of Casterly Rock could spit out. Suitable for both lunging and cutting. Gerion rubbed his fingertip parallel to the wire to judge its quality. It was on a whole other level than his longsword forged by the best cksmith in Lannisport! On a scale of 1 to 10, where a rusty sword made of poorly crafted iron would have been "1" and Valyrian steel "10", Damascus steel could have quickly earned an "8", surpassing by a good margin the "6" that the best forges in the West or the Iron Inds could generate. "In this particr de, minor spells were also infused. A personal touch from the only Forgemaster present north of the pasting. Certainly not yet up to the standards of those in the Lost Art of Valyria, but still remarkable and rare. The de''s edge shouldst pretty longer than a basic Damascus sword, and, at least until the next fifty years, ording to Master Mott, the metal will be immune to rust and much harder to break. So you could use even cold hammer it for a day straight without creating the slightest crack. What you have clutched in your hands, my lords, is, in fact, a magical object." So heir of Torrhen''s Square elegantly concluded. Tywin Lannister proffered himself: "A regal gift and immensely appreciated, Lord Duncan. I, Tywin son of Tytos, Lord of Casterly Rock, Protector of the West and Patriarch of House Lannister, give thanks to you and your noble House, offering friendship and evesting gratitude, Duncan of House Tallhart." The thanks were followed by a deep obsequious noble bow. House Tallhart had hit the nail on the head. It had been decades since Tywin had tried to deal with all the nobles and families of Westeros and the free cities to get a weapon worthy of his dynasty that he could pass down through his family. While that gift was not equivalent to Valyrian steel, it was still a sword worthy of Kings. Only Gerion, Genna, and Kevan knew how deeply their brother valued that gift. "Lord Tywin, House Tallhart would be honoured to take all the credit, but this was a joint gift from all the great lords of the North. It wasmissioned by us, it is true, but all the Lords of the North were willing to contribute to such a work, especially Lady Barbrey Dustin and Lord Jorah Mormont. This is in thanks for helping us during the Ironborn raiders'' attack on Bear Ind. The North Remembers, my Lords." The bow was directed more toward Gerion, earning another look of praise from his brother. "Lord Duncan. So House Tallhart is capable of mass-producing weapons and armour of this magnitude?" Gerion asked next. "Of such workmanship? Not yet. It will take time to obtain more masters of Thobo Mott''s calibre... However, Gauntlgrym currently boasts twelve master cksmiths in addition to Grandmaster Mott. As a result, we have been able to get our hands on the best craftsmen from the cities of Vntis, Qohor, and Tyrosh. These twelve masters can replicate work of excellent workmanship, worthy of any High Knight or Noble of Westeros. We have chosen to call that work ''Elite Quality''. In addition to these masters, we have forty-two cksmith artisans working on ''Fine Steel'' and nearly two hundred apprentice cksmiths skilled in forging Standard Damascus weaponry. There are four levels of workmanship and quality, but all significantly superior to the steelmonly distributed to regr armies. The fidelity and safety of every craftsman in the service of House Tallhart are absolutely guaranteed. It took time, countless fittings, the best architects and engineers, but above all, rivers of gold, sweat and blood to build Gauntlgrym... thergest forge in Westeros in living memory. A structure that can boast even more excellent defence and inessibility than The Eyrie. As for armour, again, it will take some time for mass creation, but Grandmaster Mott is confident ofunching a new type of te armour, spit armor and chain armour before the start of the Barrowton Tournament. That is, within the next two moons from today." Exined the wonder boy. Tywin made no bones about offering himself as the first customer: "Casterly Rock would be honoured and well disposed of in being able to negotiate a more than fair future trade agreement with Torrhen''s Square, Lord Duncan." He thundered decisively but elegantly to the most prosperous Lord in the West with a shining undertone: {Castle Lannister has no shortage of gold}. "And Torrhen''s Square would have been well disposed to wee such a request; however, my Lord, I am heartened to inform you that House Tallhart does indeed own Gauntlgrym and the staff in its service, but we have long since ceded exclusive sales rights on the weapons and armour produced there to two Great Houses of the North. It will be to them that you must offer such an honourable and profitable arrangement." Gerion was more confused than ever. Why give up such a means of pressure and power? Why cede the selling rights to other Northern Houses? Tywin seemed more intuitive than his brother on the matter. His face conveyed understanding and praise. "And the Houses would be?" asked the Great Lion calmly. "House Bolton and House Stark." End POV. ----------------------------------- POV: Domeric Bolton Guest Room, Barrowhall. Year 289 A.C., the 26th day of the ninth moon. Some seven days after the names of two Great Houses of the North were pronounced at Casterly Rock... This was already the fifth day that Domeric stayed as a guest of his Aunt Barbrey. He and Ser Jorah travelled together all the way from Waterdeep to Barrowton. Jorah and Domeric did not have much inmon. They were over twenty years apart and had different tastes and favourite foods. He preferred light ale, and Jorah preferred dark... Poor Bear put a lot of effort into forming a bond with the future nephew. In addition, Domeric greatly appreciated the fencing lessons and sparring exercises offered by Lord Jorah. The Bear was an excellent fencer and an excellent teacher. But it was when they arrived in Barrowton, that the bond between the two began to solidify. Domeric realized that he and his future Uncle had a lot inmon. They were both Green Knights and part of the same council. They were both Lords of two Great Houses of the North. Soon they would be one big family. But most of all...they both felt ashamed of those underserved praises and glories offered by the crowd of Barrowton residents. Neither had been able to face a single ironman in the entire military campaign. Even Jorah''s twelve-year-old cousin, Dacey Mormont, had crossed arms against marauding Ironborn... Jorah was furious and embarrassed by the despicable plot perpetrated by his bride-to-be and Bloody Snow. Upon reaching the private halls of Barrowhall, Domeric heard his Uncles arguing vigorously. Noises of broken ss, screams, shattered china, women''s cries... Then peace came. Constant, harassing noises and love moans stormed the East Hall of Barrowhall. Domeric was even forced to be moved to another room further west, away from those noises. It had been four consecutive days and nights since the betrothed had left the Lady of Barrowton''s private chambers. And no servant or guard dared enter (unless explicitly called). But it didn''t matter; Domeric had many documents to study and work on. Soon he would be harassed by hundreds of Lords, Knights, bankers, sellswordsmanders, Magisters, Archons, and Princes... House Bolton and House Stark would soon dominate the armament markets of Westeros and Essos. Damascus steel was a double-edged sword. He now understood why Duncan wanted him to gain a monopoly on all des, spearheads, arrowheads, and darts produced at Gauntelgrym. The political pressure and risks on his person andnds were proportionate to the gains and benefits. The 12-year-old studied the document drawn up by Ronan for the third time. He reread the longswords section... {Longswords. *Purchase price Gauntelgrym: Standard Quality = 1 golden dragon per piece. Fine Quality = 10 golden dragons per piece. Elite Quality = 300 golden dragons per piece. Royal Quality = 10,000 golden dragons per piece. Rmended retail price: Standard Quality = 5 golden dragons per piece. Premium Quality = 60 golden dragons per piece. Elite Quality = 2,000 golden dragons per piece. Royal Quality = 75,000 golden dragons per piece}. There was a price list for every known type of weapon. Even Dothraki Arakhs, Dornian-style wavy spears, or scorpion points. House Bolton would soon receive a monopoly on all Damascus steel des and points. He could only request one piece of work per month at most from Grand Master Forger Thobo Mott. And, essentially, the desired amount of any other quality of steel. Domeric was only to ''take advice'' from House Tallhart and the Future Queen of the Silk Road on which customers to prioritize. Basically, sales were forbidden to anyone who decided not to avail themselves of the custodial and management services of the promising new Never Winter Bank... And for those who would prove to be ''confident'' customers and investors of the new Northern institution (those who would pull the most gold out of their pockets), a priority on the sale and a percentage discount. For all the Great Lords of the North and his esteemed fellow knights of the Green Council, very favourable and facilitated terms have already been agreed upon. The strategy used in the past by House Tallhart of renderingmercial favours and profitable opportunities was and still is thriving. If any foreigner from the South or the East had tried to move a single finger towards the benefactors from the North, even the old infirm farmers of all the viges from Moat Cailin to Last Hearth would have armed themselves with torches, pitchforks and stones to drink the blood of the invaders and feast on their flesh. If all went as nned, soon, House Bolton would rise among the twenty richest and most powerful Houses in Westeros. He also had to prepare for the flood of marriage proposals that would most likely flood in as soon as the news spread. His Aunt Barbrey was instructing him personally on ''How to gantly reject a sincerely in love noble maiden of marriageable age''. To his deep but concealed sadness, his future bride had already been determined. In a few days, the fate would be sealed with words, ink and sealing wax. But Domeric had only one bride gently haunting his dreams and thoughts... A maiden already betrothed. The young lord tried to drown those thoughts in his duties. Domeric worked all afternoon on papers to study and documents sent by his mother, the Lady Regent of Dreadfort, that demanded his attention. Then came a knock at the door... The Lady of Barrowton entered without even being dered by the captain of his guard, Locke. "Auntie! Forgive my unseemly state. I did not think I would receive the gift and favour of your visit," Domeric said, snapping on the spot. The boy had always been respectful and cordial to his only Aunt, who had always treated him as a loving nephew to be pampered and favoured from an early age. After the new Lord of Dreadfort understood the enormity of the power hidden in the shadows of the Widow of Barrowton, friendliness and respect could only increase exponentially. A new verse of the song will sound in Westeros... One that will tarnish the famous {Tywin Lannister Shit Gold}. ''Not a continent''s leaf will move on the tree without Barbrey''s will.'' Thought the boy inwardly, wisely choosing not to want to be the author of a deadly verse that will be up to some hapless, drunken tavern minstrel to write sooner orter. "Nothing to forgive, Domeric. This is your private room, you''re a guest, and I''m just a humble, meddlesomedy who wanted to sneak up on her beloved nephew." So said the Aunt, approaching after closing the door. Aunt Barbrey was also notcking in exaggerated elegance. Although decorous, the Barrowtondy wore a nightdress and kept her hair in a loose tail. But, on the other hand, the woman''s face looked rxed and sunny. The love affair with her Bear seemed to be only on a momentary hiatus. "Isn''t there anything you''d like to confess to your favourite Aunt before ''any evidence'' identally slips from my sleeve?" asked Barbrey Dustin in a sarcasmced with affection. Domeric was caught off guard. His Aunt could only refer to one topic specifically... The boy''s face blushed. "Emm...," Domeric sighed and lowered his cheap mask. "How did you find out?" "My dear, using a Frost de as a private messenger and ry might seem like a good idea, but... in my city? Those sneaky thieving spies in Torrhen''s Square can''t set foot inside my domains without my express consent. And then two walks down the same alley for two days in a row? If you wanted secret correspondence, well, first, you had to make sure it was confidential. Ahaha." ''Not a single leaf...'' Domeric inwardly admonished himself with embarrassment. Barbrey smiled lovingly at thatpassionate scene. "The message will reach the ''recipient'' intact. So don''t worry; I certainly won''t be the one to betray your trust. I had onlye here to reassure myself that you are well aware of what you, she, and the entire North are about to face... You know well that the alliance with House Lannister will be crucial to the good of us all, Domeric. And you know well who will be visiting us in a few days, ''Merchant Skinner''." So admonished Barbrey, quoting the nickname he jokingly bestowed upon him a short time ago. "Yes, I know, Auntie. I didn''t mean to... It''s just that she''s leaving for The Water Gardens after the tournament, and I don''t know... I don''t know if I''ll ever have a chance to write to her again, let alone see her again." Domeric exined, looking up from the ground for the first time. "At the tournament, if done right, you will have a chance to show your qualities and convey the affection of this ''friendship''." Granted Barbrey. Little did Domeric know that his Aunt''s diabolical mind was working out another possible subtle means of subtly pping two Northern individuals of his acquaintance in the face. "But if you didn''t even give me permission to enter me into the tournament pool. How will I be able to show my affection?" Domeric asked with brazenness and a subtle hint of frustration. Barbrey Dustin, with the support of her sister, had categorically forbidden Domeric from participating in the jousting and strumming of the uing tournament. He could have tried his hand at archery...too bad Domeric was a mediocre shooter, to say the least. Not even Jorah, the groom and future Lord of Barrowton, had received permission! The Maiden''s angry cries and the Bear''s howls of outrage on the first day were mainly for this reason. With those tones, it was impossible for any deaf ear not to pick up the contents... "There are not only spears, shields, and swords, my dear... Starting tomorrow, you will begin taking lessons of dance, singing, and poetry." *[Author Note: The Price of a steel longsword (standard soldier equipment) fresh from the forge is around 15-20 silver stags, about $600-900. (1 golden dragon = 210 silver stags) Steel forged at Casterly Rock, Pyke and other iron inds is renowned for being the best in Westeros after the steel of Valyria. However, their price would be around 35-40 silver stags. Heartwater, a sword owned by Joffrey Baratheon after losing Lion''s Tooth, is a work of excellent craftsmanship and adorned with the finest materials; it is worth around 100-150 golden dragons.] End Part I ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 114: ‘ The Skinner Merchant & The Greedy Wolf Part II Chapter 114: The Skinner Merchant & The Greedy Wolf '' Part II POV: Eddard Stark On the Northern Grid, Tomb Road, about ten miles from Barrowton. Year 289 A.C., the 29th day of the ninth moon. Two days after a young Lord began to try his hand at the art of dancing, singing, and poetry... The hour waste in the inn ''Hearth of the First King''. Named after the First King Dustin, who many historical sources assume was the First True King of the First Men. Nearly all of the four hundred and twelve guard and refreshment facilities in the Northern Network were implemented with taverns, inns, and even small brothels. After bonding, the Northern roads had long been the safest and quickest ways to travel. Four hundred and twelve minor customs points where a small duty had to be paid per person (children under twelve excluded). One penny per ten miles per person. Three pennies for each horse (Services of fodder, watering and stable included). One copper star for each pulling wagon (Horses, shovels or mules included). Three copper stars for each merchant wagon (If the wagon carries merchant goods with a value of one gold dragon or more). Security over people and property was guaranteed along the entire stretch of road by the House of the North to which thend belonged. Each guard point had twenty Northern soldiers on patrol at the blockade point or stretch of road. Ned Stark had recently asked the portentous genius of numbers how much profit he thought this customs point made. Theings and goings of people were really remarkable. "I cannot give a precise answer, my lord. However, I can tell you that the average daily profit on the entire Northern Network in thest quarter was one hundred and nine silver deer and four pennies. So, considering that your total customs points are sixteen... in tolls alone, minus a tenth to be paid to the Crown... So yes, House Stark should have earned an average of thirty-eight gold dragoons and nine silver moons per day. But there is a 0.8% margin of inuracy to consider, my lord. If it brightens your evening, Lord Stark, I and my other ounting associates estimate that by the second quarter after the start of summer, traffic will increase by at least 320%. The temperature will rise, the roads will need less maintenance; therefore, maintenance costs should drop by a minimum of 34%, increasing average ie." Replied Ronan, son of Tom, the master of coinage in direct service of Torrhen''s Square. ''The Old Gods bless this boy. After Robert signs that damn Royal Bill, I swear by my Ancestors, I will personally ride to Torrhen''s Square to make this "True Hero of the North" a Green Knight.'' Ned thought as he eyed the tavern''s interior filled with members of his guard, drunk, merry, and well-fed... That bottomless, shameless pit of Ser Haymitch was simultaneously embracing two promiscuous, easygoing damsels. He could not deny his men a well-deserved celebratory revelry after fighting on the front lines in the name of the North and the House that protected it. "Another drink! Ahahah! TAVERNIER! HEY, TAVERNIER! Fill up the mugs and cups for everyone! Yes, Yes... hick... mark it in my name!" Shouted Ser Haymitch. "Have you got the money, Ser? I ain''t seen one copper coin here yet!" So shrieked the tavernkeeper, stopping the hand of a maid intent on getting two more full jugs of wine. "How dare you! You are... burgh... I am a Knight and a War Hero in the service of the Noble, Wealthy and Powerful House Stark!!! What do you take me for? For a drunken... burph... hick!... A drunken two-bit ragamuffin, by any chance?! PEOPLE! HEY PEOPLE! Another toast!... TO LORD EDDARD STARK!" Invoked Haymitch at the top of his lungs, jumping up on the table. "TO LORD STARK!!! YEEAAAAHH!!!" Shrieked in unison, over a hundred people raised their sses. *Sbam!* Eddard involuntarily mmed his open hand down on the table. ''That''s enough, Ser! This is the fourth ss you''ve offered, or rather, that "I" offer to the whole tavern!'' Howled the Quiet Wolf inwardly, holding back a growl. Ned breathed deeply and regained hisposure. "Are you all right, my lord?" Ronan asked, the only golden light in that dark tunnel of misery, debt, non-refundable loans and unpaid bills. That mathematical genius, sent by Lord Leobald Tallhart to help him prepare for his next face-to-face meeting with Lady Barbrey Dustin, had been assisting him enormously over the past few days in understanding and learning how to best expound the critical points in his favour for the approval of the loan of Four Million Three Hundred and Thirty Thousand gold coins to be applied for from the CEO and Majority Shareholder of the newly prosperous Never Winter Bank. Ned could not dy any longer... Postponing the meeting with the Widow of Barrowton would have been interpreted as a clear sign of offence and provocation. If the King of the North had been forced to grovel at the feet of his rich and powerful sworn bishop, lest in future House Stark face the Titan and the Lighthouse with Winterfell''s coffers and armoury empty, Ned, with effort and much spirit of sacrifice, would have swallowed his honour for the second time and done so... Moreover, his Magical Hosts would arrive in White Harbor within less than a moon. Ned had many preparations to make... and so many noble and opulent people to entertain and feed... Before he dismissed that boy andy down on his bed, Ned needed to hear those candied and persuasive numbers. Tomorrow woulde, and he needed to at least give himself a more than deserved night''s rest filled with dreams, plenty of gold, and hope. "Please, Master of Coin Ronan... Before you take your leave, could you repeat House Stark''s profit prospects on the Damascus Steel shield and armour trade?" He was well aware that this was the fourth time he had asked him the exact same question in two days, but Ned desperately needed it. "Emm... of course, my Lord. Suppose Grandmaster Mott can keep to the promised timetable, and Lord Duncan can advertise well in front of all the guests from Westeros and Essos who have currently confirmed participation. In that case, we estimate a minimum profit in the first year of about eight hundred thousand gold dragons." Ronan replied with a slightly confused expression. Ned closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, reciting an instant prayer to Seraphine, his Guardian and Protector, inside his head. He could only me himself for what had happened that night at the royal banquet in Pyke. He had not worshipped and given thanks to the Old Gods that morning and even the two before, as was his custom. Hence the well-deserved divine punishment perpetuated in treachery by his childhood friend Robert. After all, that boy had exined it to him. [''Three'' is a number much encountered in stories of gods, prophecies, and magic.] Three days afternding in Seagard and praying to the Old Gods in front of a Heart Tree for thirty minutes every morning, a messenger from the Old Oneses. A holy boy named Ronan. Sent to him to help him through his tribtions. Another reason Ned was worried that day and needed repeated reassurance was because he couldn''t find a Heart Tree that morning. So he prayed anyway but broke the ritual that had be a habit. He revealed those superstitious concerns to no one. He was Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Protector of the North in Westeros and King of the North in the eyes of the Gods and his bannermen, the Green Knights. He could show no sign of supposed madness or weakness. His main concern was that Ronan would abandon him to his fate the day before he was to meet that vengeful Witch who couldn''t wait to pluck him alive. But the day was over - nothing terrible happened. A few minutes passed, and Ronan stood up. "With your permission, my Lord... Eh... Yes, I''ll be right there. I beg your pardon, Lord Eddard. I wille at once to give you my greetings as soon as possible." Said the boy, interrupted by a whisper from one of his personal guards. "Go ahead, Ronan. There will be no need for that. Go and get some rest." Ronan bowed as he passed Jory and the two guards on duty standing to protect their Lord. About four minutester... Jory had just returned from settling Ser Haymitch''s ount. Ned noticed the former purse bulging with silver on the Captain''s belt return half empty. Eddard finished the mug of dark ale and prepared to head for his rooms, but before he could turn toward the hallway, a familiar voice stopped him. "Lord Stark! One moment please!" The guards recognized Ronan and let him pass. "Yes, Ronan? Has something happened?" Ned asked. Ronan approached to ry the message quietly. "A dispatch from Braavos, my Lord. From The Watcher... The Watcher of the '' You-know-what'' has failed to obtain permission from ''You-know-what'' to have the escort fleet of ''You-know-who'' remain off White Harbor waiting, my Lord..." Ronan. "The Escort Fleet? How many ships did ''my honourable guest'' bring with him? What''s the problem anyway?" Ned. "The problem, my Lord, is that only an escort of fifty sailors and fifty guards can remain on each war galley. A single extra man or woman will be interpreted as a gesture of war by ''you-know-who''. But ''you-know-who'' does not trust his treasures and precious cargoes to be left in poorly guarded ships." Exined Ronan. "Poorly guarded ships? Fifty sailors and fifty guards in Galea doesn''t sound like too few. But how many ships are we talking about? More importantly, how big could these Galleys possibly be? " Ned didn''t like the turn this discussion was taking at all... "The only solution, my Lord. It is for the host Royal Household to ensure the safekeeping and safeguarding of ''You-Know-Who''s'' Personal Assets in Winterfell. But both parties demand that the remaining excessive retinue of ''You-Know-Who'' not cross the castle walls for as long as ''You-Know-Who'' remains within the borders of Westeros." Ned sighed with an air of surrender. He was already aware that this visit would cost him another arm and a leg...he might as well give up an ear. This is what happens when a mortal ys games with the Gods... "Seraphine, help me..." Ned whispered imperceptibly before answering, "I understand, Ronan. Please tell the Master that it will be the burden and pleasure of House Stark to remedy this minor inconvenience. We had already estimated our most respected and royal guest plus three hundred members of his retinue. Do we already know how many more guests Winterfell will have to amodate?" Ned asked with an unexpected tone of magnanimity and patience. That boy had taken it upon himself to estimate the average daily expense for each host in Carcosa. However, the pin that pierced Ned''s heart was the instructions and guidelines left by The Watcher''s organization for his chief attendant. Those damned rich Yi Ti people, born with a diamond-studded tinum spoon in their mouths, had very particr tastes and customs to satisfy... Unless the royal Stark family wanted to show signs of discourtesy to the Chief Wizard of the Confederation of Wizards and Lord of Carcosa, every guest of the former Yellow Emperor of Yi Ti, whether noble or lowly born, had to be treated like a prince in the House that had received the honour and privilege of hosting him and his retinue. Ronan had estimated an average daily cost per guest to be around the gold dragon... ''No! Stop thinking about the gold! I''m poisoning my mind...'' Quiet Wolf thought, rubbing his sore eyes as he waited for Ronan''s reply. Ned was tired of constantly thinking about gold, debts and riches he might never get. Money was necessary, of course, a means to make the world go round, but it wasn''t everything. He didn''t want to be remembered by history, his children or his future grandchildren as "King Eddard Stark, The Greedy Wolf"... "Here... That would be thirty Galleys with a crew aboard of about three hundred people each, along with the thousand on the gship... emm plus or minus six thousand nine hundred additional guests, Lord Stark." End POV. ------------------------------------ POV: The Widow of Barrowton. Lady''s Private Srium, Barrowhall. The morning after, a Greedy Wolf was forced to take three more drops of a life-saving mixture before going to bed... "Lord Eddard Stark, mydy." Wy (Tysha) announced, bowing. "Please have our wee guest take a seat. Thank you, Wy." The Lady of Barrowton''s personal attendant bowed, taking her to leave the room. Finally, the moment promised and longed for by the Widow of thest descendant of House Dustin arrived. Barbrey still felt some resentment for the trick yed by that white-haired demon boy... but at least he had to admit that Bloody Snow was an ally of his word. That boy could literally move Kings and Queens wherever and whenever his devious plots dictated. Lady Dustin wouldn''t have bet a penny on Tywin Lannister. To move that rancorous stone giant and convince him to form an alliance with the Targaryens and the Martells. Barbrey still did not understand why Duncan was so determined to go all-in with the man, nor why he wanted the Lannisters to be the North''s second greatest allies. Gerion Lannister, he would have understood, but what about Old Lion? Did he want to trust the man who had treacherously struck the capital, ordered twelve thousand men to sack a city and go on a rampage, and forced his son to witness the **** of poor Tysha? That boy... No, that ''yer'' did not move pieces on the chessboard without a precise purpose or motive... Bloody Snow was probably aware of missing information within his own ranks. This was no time to think about the Lion of Casterly Rock... now Barbrey would have to focus all his attention on the Wolf of Winterfell. A tall, strong, wellbed and well-dressed man entered the room, apanied by the sound of closing doors... Barbrey stood up from his desk in a tree-like position and gave the neer a warm and weing smile. Her predatory nose caught the scent of fear and difort from the meek Wolf King who had just entered her nest unarmed. A fragrance that made the remembrance and vengeful Widow of Barrowton''s mouth water. A slight twinge in her heart made her reason return quickly. It was a warning sign from the mighty seal of druidic magic clinging to her heart. That blood pact sealed with one of the most powerful ritual magics of the Sons of the Forest, which she and the other fourteen Green Knights had made at the Eye of the Gods, bound them together for the rest of their days. She could neither betray nor fail to answer the call for help of her King to whom she had sworn enduring loyalty before the eyes of the Old Gods... But that didn''t mean Barbrey couldn''t have a little fun. The woman was well aware of what she could and could not do in front of this man. Like, for example, the ''forgetfulness'' of the servants in offering her guest bread, salt, and mead at the entrance to Barrowhall... "Your Grace, what an honour... Your faithful vassal, Barbrey Dustin, Lady of Barrowton, Shield of Saltspear, Protector of Barronds, Green Knight in the service of the Old Gods and the First Men, as well as humble Trustee of the new and modest Never Winter Bank, wees you, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Winter''s First Defender and King In The North." End Chapter. ------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 115: The Frosty Queen of Spices Part I Chapter 115: '' The Frosty Queen of Spices '' Part I POV: A man in search of forgiveness Srium of the Lady of Barrowhall. Moments after the Widow of Barrowton bestowed a regal wee upon her King... The Quiet Wolf''s hairs stood up at the presence of that disturbing gaze. From the thin, feminine chin to the perfect nose, a face expressed gentleness and serenity, but the remaining half... belonged to that of a ravenous hawk on the prowl. ''Keep calm, Ned. You''ve faced far worse situations than this, and she can''t hurt you...'' Ned''s encouraging thought broke in half. It was only then that the King in the North realized that, technically, thest argument was not as sure as he thought. His loyal Green Knights, who had elected and crowned him as their ruler before the Old Gods, did not swear never to harm their King... Betrayal and failure to help were the taboos of the pact signed with the blood and magic of the Druid King of the Isle of Faces... But what was meant by betrayal? Would a vassal of his still be able to raise his sword against him if under just cause? Was the pact bound only under the same individuals who swore the oath, and could it exclude any third parties in their service? These and several other questions gued Eddard Stark''s already unsettled mind. He should have asked the damn kid for all the specifics. Ser Duncan defined the terms of the blood oath agreed upon with the King of the Children of the Forest. Bloody Snow had reassured him that if Ned made a sincere apology to Lady Barbrey, her grudge would be forever buried and erased from the history books. ''But then why wasn''t I offered bread and mead at the door?'' That he was not yet protected by the sacred rights of hospitality made the descendant of the Ancient Kings of Winter break into a cold sweat. The veteran of two wars swallowed the porcupine and took courage. "Lady Barbrey, I thank you for your warm wee. Yournds and city radiate the icy North with warmth, splendour, and prosperity. Barrowton is a jewel of thesends of rare beauty on par only with the Lady who administers and protects it. I am proud and soothed to think that such a worthy vassal of House Stark guards Barrowton and itsnds." So eloped Ned gantly without a trace of falsehood after bowing. "You do me honour, your majesty. Your words have touched me to the core, making me blush for these sincere but undeserved praises of yours..." Barbrey approached the guest''s cadre, moving it with her hands in wee. "Pleasee closer, my King. Allow me to offer you in person bread, salt and mead at my table." The high yellow and ck leather backrest decorated with intaglio carvings depicting the banners of House Dustin and Ryswell concealed a silver te with slices of seeded white bread, a gold bowl filled with what appeared to be mead, and a small pearl condiment bowl containing the most refined pink salt. The seasoning salt of the Barronds had long since achieved primacy among all the noble and princely kitchens of Westeros and Essos. The salt voured with the essence of roses was among the most expensive and valuable in the market. Two silver stags for every ounce to all the Northern Houses and one silver moon to all the great Houses and cities south of the Neck. It was even rumoured that in the distant markets of Qarth, that spice reached the price of a gold coin. Soon Ned would have to make use of Barrowhall''s ravens. He had to warn his chief attendant Vayon Poole to stock up on every valuablemodity in the North. Winterfell would have to feed an army of Eastern Nobles... Now that he was in Barrowton himself, he might as well take the opportunity to acquire a good supply of salt. Ned prepared to sit down, dipped a loaf of ck bread into the bowl and politely grabbed an excellent bite of divine protection. Lady Barbrey calmly took a seat on the opposite throne, giving her guest plenty of time to enjoy the exquisite mead. The ufortable silence was almost unbearable... Ned decided to nt the first flower in the barrennd. "I understand Ser Jorah already arrived in Barrowton a few days ago along with your nephew Ser Domeric. Unfortunately, I have not yet had the pleasure of paying their respects." The tone of his voice wasn''t meant to allude in the slightest to the fact that his vassals and sworn knights hadn''t shown up to greet the King at the entrance, but more that Ned and Ser Duncan had honoured their agreements by doing everything in their power to safeguard her loved ones. Part of Ned hoped that Jorah Mormont might also preside over this meeting... He would have been content with even the slightest impartial, moderating figure in this room. "Yes, my betrothed Lord Jorah and my nephew Lord Bolton apologize for their absence. Jorah and Domeric headed off to the training grounds just outside Barrowton, leaving at dawn. My husband-to-be needed to catch up on some fencing lessons, and jousting drills promised to Domeric. We were not expecting your arrival at such a fervent hour. I had told them that you would most likely not arrive before noon... an error of judgment on my part, Your Grace." Barbrey expressed a tone and look with a clear undertone [You will have no allies here to support you, Stark. Face the consequences of your mistakes like a man, coward]. The Widow of Barrowton was much like Bloody Snow-she left nothing to chance. "Well, if that is the case, I see nothing to forgive, mydy." "Too kind, my King... So, it hase to my attention that House Stark should incur substantial expenses for the welfare of the North and the safety of us all..." Ned interrupted Barbrey. "Mydy, before we move on to ''financial'' matters, allow me..."dy Dustin did not like the interruption. "The restoration of the Moat Cailin and the construction of a prosperous new sea route... Quite a project indeed, Your Grace. My ountants have estimated four million eight hundred and eighty gold dragoons of minimum expense barring dys and plications''... Also, you seem to have decided to help your good friend, King Robert, heal the Crown''s financial difficulties. If I am not mistaken, one million five hundred thousand gold dragons will be bestowed by the end of the year. Let''s hope that it will be the Crown that will bear the cost of transportation... I doubt very much that House Stark will ever see a single ounce of that gold back unless the beloved ruler of the South drastically changes his exacting needs." That was a dirty, painful stab in the bass. Ned thought that Lady Barbrey had not yet been informed of that breach in Winterfell''s coffers. A little over three weeks had passed since that tragic but private conversation with the King. And Robert had given him his word that he would not reveal the name of the Crown''s new mary supporter before the Tournament began... How did she know? That it was Ser Helman who had revealed it to her? "Mydy..." Ned''s second feeble attempt was overpowered by a more profound voice determined to continue. "Then there''s the expense involved in moving, harbouring and integrating over five hundred thousand new Northerners, one hundred thousand of whom will be weed in Winter Town and neighbouringnds. Not to mention the cost of renovating and expanding the city itself, Your Grace. Another investment that will require urgent liquidity from early next year..." Ned''s stomach twisted in on itself as soon as he heard those harsh and bitter truths aloud. "Lady Barbrey, please allow me to..." "AND FINALLY...thest considerable uing expense. More than seven thousand two hundred guests to be hosted with pageantry, customs, decorations and banquets worthy of the Yi Ti tradition for a time yet to be determined. A truly remarkable disy of magnanimity, Your Grace. House Dustin and House Mormont extend their most heartfelt tributes and thanks for your stupendous wedding gift. Without your precious and onerous sacrifice, we could not have invited the representatives of Carcosa to our wedding." Ned paled. That devilish witch might have told him what he''d had for breakfast and how much he''d spent that morning at the inn. In all likelihood, Barbrey was even aware of the exact number of grains of wheat crammed into Winterfell''s pantries! "Now Your Grace, it is time to see how, and by what advantageous means the Never Winter Bank can return the favour towards House Stark... Let''s see... leaving a necessary reserve for all eventualities of at least three hundred thousand gold dragons in Winterfell''s coffers... mmm... Yes. House Stark will need to borrow at least 4,700,000 gold dragons. Obviously, the Never Winter Bank will not back down from this need, even though it is ''considerably'' out of reach of any other lending institution in Westeros. After all, I cannot refuse to respond to my King''s request for help. However..." Ned could not contain himself. He sprang to his feet and thundered: "Lady Barbrey, please! I beg you to grant me the chance to forgive myself!" Barrowton''s widow paused, expressing a deviously shocked and confused face. "Forgive you, my King? And for what, may I ask? I do not see how you or your Household could have given me offence..." Now Ned knew what the woman wanted. "I wish with all my heart that I, Eddard of House Stark, may be allowed to admit all the wrongs aimed at you and yourte husband, Lord William, perpetuated in the past by myself and my family. But, please, mydy, there is no longer any need to continue this charade. I will admit everything... I will admit my faults before the entire North if necessary, but please at least grant me the opportunity to expose them truthfully to you first!" Barbrey''s mask melted like a candle in the middle of a bonfire... The feigned astonishment dissipated, the eyes gave off malicious intent, and the mouth tightened into a severe and unyielding form. "Go on, Lord of Winterfell... For what wrongs did you and your House owe me an apology?" Lady Dustin. "My brother Brandon brought dishonour upon you by stealing your purity without keeping his marriage vows...and my father Rickard merely offered flimsy hunting and property rights to thends of Dragon Sea Point to your father Lord Rodrick for..." Ned was unaware of the ''full'' truth on the matter until Duncan spelt out all the details... "For? Go on..." Barbrey. "For bargaining to keep quiet about your rtionship and pregnancy. For forcing you to drink moon tea and have an abortion. I swear on my honour, neither Brandon nor I knew about it... If he had known..." Ned froze, not knowing whether to continue or not. Barbrey rose to his feet, roaring rancorous indignation. "You want me to believe that if Brandon had known about the baby inside my womb, he would have renounced his marriage to Catelyn Tully? Do you really, Stark? Do you really believe that? You knew Brandon better than I did, Ned. Look me in the eye and tell me you honestly believe your brother would have gone against your father''s wishes to make an honest woman of me and prevent our son from growing up a bastard!" "I...I don''t. Brandon...I can''t say I knew my brother that well. We''ll never know, Barbrey. But unfortunately, our father denied my brother the chance to prove himself. Of one thing, I am confident, though. Brandon was impulsive and belligerent. He was a true hothead, but he would pay any price, face any enemy, and throw himself at any army for those he loved. Bastard or not, Brandon would have loved that child with all his heart. He would never have given up his own blood." Ned believed with all his heart in what he affirmed. "Your father!..." the woman gathered her breath to give vent to all her wrath. "''The Honorable'' Rickard Stark sang me a different song. He had led me to believe that Brandon would disown our son! He would perjure himself in front of the Old Gods that the child was someone else''s less than his own! Then, he tricked me with his lies into believing that child would never have a father! I would never... sigh, sigh... That vile son... YOU BAD STARK! DO YOU HEAR ME, RICKARD?! WHEREVER YOU ARE, I WISH YOU A THOUSAND YEARS OF PENANCE FOR YOUR SINS!!!" Barbrey overturned all the items on the work table. She grabbed a ss jug and smashed it against the wall. Then the woman gave in to tears and cries of pain, venting all the pain she had been repressing for those years. Ned''s face became saddened when he heard that evil omen for his father''s soul... but he resisted, giving the heartbroken woman space and time. It wasn''t engaging in his House or finances that had stopped his hand. No amount of gold in the world would prevent him from defending his family''s memory. But Barbrey... She deserved that right, no matter how cruel and immoderate. Ned stood patiently, waiting for the woman toe to her senses. Barbrey spent nearly ten minutes recovering. Finally, the woman poured herself a generous cup of wine even though it was more than an hour before noon... After drinking, she quickly adjusted her wet face and said: "Continue, Stark. You have much more to say..." "I will not continue any further until you have at least attempted to understand my father''s motives, Lady Dustin. He has already paid amply for his sins and deserves to rest in peace." Lady Barbrey did not utter a word on the subject. At first, it seemed she wanted to respond in kind to such a bold statement, but she restrained herself. "I will not justify my father''s choices by cing the me exclusively on Maester Walys, his most trusted advisor at the time, nor will I say that the previous Lord of Winterfell had no choice.... However, now that the burden of the North has been entrusted to me, I understand his reasons. My father had seen many winters, many of which he had to face. The winter before the rebellion brought the North to its knees. Dozens of viges buried in snow, thousands of mothers watched helplessly as the cold took their children away. Hundreds of honest workers who had to resort to brigandage to feed their families.... Hunger, frost, death and suffering. The history books and stories remind us noble families with a name like Heroes of the harsh North who face the true pains of winter, but those same books barely mention those millions of people who have no high walls, always burning hearths and full pantries to sustain them... The Reach continued to bleed us dry by taking advantage of our plight, the Crown had not sent aid since the days of Aegon V. Only Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully showed a sincere interest in our painful condition before the miracles of House Tallhart. Only now that I bear a portion of his heavy burden do I understand his choice, dishonorable as it is. Had the gods granted my father a few more years to see with his own eyes the North of today, a North uplifted and more prosperous than ever, there he would be here today at your feet begging for your forgiveness." End Part I -------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 116: The Frosty Queen of Spices Part II Chapter 116: '' The Frosty Queen of Spices'' Part II POV: The Queen In The West-Continent Srium of the Lady of Barrowhall. Moments after a Northern son defended his father''s memory... Barbrey felt an irrational hatred after those words. They were simr to those spoken by that Bloody Demon six years earlier during their first meeting. Sentences filled with reasons and legitimate motives for all the evil inflicted upon her. Lady Dustin hated immensely that that selfish and senseless part of her was being stifled bypassion and rationality. The Queen in the shadows closed her eyes and calmed her heartbeat with deep breaths. She had to at least acknowledge the bit of effort shown by the man before her. "I apologize for my earlier outburst, King Eddard. I let hatred and selfishness take the floor. I wish no harm to Lord Rickard''s soul or his son Brandon. I hope they may have found peace andfort among their loved ones and ancestors after all the suffering they have gone through. I ask you to forget that untimely moment if you can." Finally, Barbrey bestowed a peace offering. "It is already buried and forgotten by me, Lady Barbrey," and the Lord of Winterfell willingly epted. "I am... Brandon and Rickard''s actions are forgotten. Now let us turn to those of Eddard of House Stark." The North does not forget easily. Ned stepped forward. "I will not apologize for asking Lord William to apany me that day... He was one of my most trusted and best fighters in the North. I did not order him to follow me south, but I did call on his help to find and rescue my sister. And he epted without hesitation... He was a good man, a greatpanion, and an honourable vassal." Eddard. "And yet, you abandoned him there. Thest descendant of a Northern House older than The Wall itself. A fellow soldier who had given his life for your family, despite the wrongs perpetrated upon his wife. Lyanna deserved the honour of being buried in the crypts of Winterfell... So why? Why didn''t William Dustin, Ethan Glover, Theo Wull, Martin Cassel, and my cousin, Mark Ryswell, deserve the same honour? Why did you leave them to rot under those godforsaken rocks more than two thousand miles away from Home?" Barbrey. Ned lowered his gaze, full of regret and shame, downward. After a few moments, he raised it again and replied. "I have been trying for years to find a worthy answer to that question, and to this day, I have not seen it. I could tell you that losing Lyanna also prevented me from thinking clearly at the time, but that would not be the reason... Maybe it was just an act of weakness. But, after all that death and load of pain, a part of me just wanted to forget, to leave that burden behind. A part of me still believes that that fight could have been avoided and all those lives spared. Perhaps the return home with the remains of my friends andrades seemed too much to bear. A mere and shameful act of weakness. I have no more excuses to give. I can only attempt to invoke your forgiveness, mydy. William, Theo, Martin, Ethan and Mark deserved better. They earned a better lord andmander than I. The mistake was made, and that cannot be forgotten. Tell me if there is anything I can do to make it right in even the slightest way. I will do all I can to repay this offence." The King in the North bent a knee to the ground, bowing his head in forgiveness. ''Yes, you have been. You were a weakling. And you are still a weakling, Stark!'' That was the thought that Barbrey could not voice. However weak a kneeling King might appear, the effort of will it took to disy that scene of submission, guilt, and humility was not for the weak. Only the best Kings would kneel at the appropriate time for the good of their people. Torrhen Stark knelt to the Three-Headed Dragon, earning him forever ''The King Who Knelt''. Few remember that Aegon The Conqueror also took the swords of the Northmen, but they were never melted, bent, and used to make up what is now known as The Iron Throne. With that act of sacrifice, thest King in the North saved thousands of lives from the wrath of the Dragons. "You may rise, King Eddard Stark..." Barbrey stood up along with the man. Thedy walked over to one of the nightstands to get new cards and inkwells. "After the wedding, my husband Jorah will assume the office of Lord of Barrowton and protector of the Barronds. The legacy of House Dustin will pass to House Mormont. Lord Jorah Mormont will always be loyal to House Stark of Winterfell. I will retire and devote myself to theplete management and preservation of the Never Winter Bank... You will have the chance you seek, Eddard of House Stark, and my help." End POV. ---------------------------- POV: The King in the North Srium of the Lady of Barrowhall. A few seconds after a King rose to his feet... "I thank you,dy... Ser Barbrey Dustin, Knight in the service of the Old Gods and the First Men." Ned sat down after the woman''s cordial nod of the hand. A dark drape in the Quiet Wolf''s heart began to slowly dissolve, giving more and more relief to his mind and spirit. "Understand me, Your Grace. I chose to help you but have not collected what was promised." He had expected this. A few words could not erase years of suffering. "What can House Stark do for you, mydy?" asked Ned, bracing himself for impact. "The Never Winter Bank will finance House Stark''s uing expenses up to a ceiling of five million. This is already a loan above our risk thresholds. In addition, the bank will have to guarantee all depositors a minimum annual interest of 4%. By taking out the management costs, I can grant a facility up to and not below 4.5% annual interest." Barbrey. "That sounds more than reasonable to me." Eddard. "You''ve already met House Tallhart''s master of coinage, Ronan, correct?" "To my great pleasure, yes. A talented and diligent good fellow." "And a genius with numbers. He''ll be the one to draw up a smooth repayment system for both parties. So if you leave the administration of your finances in his hands, House Stark will have no regrets. Guaranteed. After the inauguration, Ronan himself will fill the role of Chief Financial Officer of the Bank, and he will be given the task of managing the deposits and investments of all the Great Houses of the North." Barbrey. "Two-thirds of Winterfell''s future ie will be ced in his hands. But in return for such generosity, mydy?" Ned. "If called upon, House Stark will have to intervene militarily to foil any possible threat at Never Winter Bank locations in the Northernnds." Barbrey. "Granted. What else?" Ned. "I think you are aware of the ''secret'' espionage and counter-espionage organization of House Tallhart, Your Grace." Ned nodded, showing a hint of disappointment. "Well, from now on, House Tallhart''s forces will move primarily to thends of the West and Dorne, delegating the task in the North to mywork. You will be given twelve of my trusted agents for your manor and another fifty for the rest of yournds. It would be easier for you to ept at least the head of the cell, thus facilitating the security of the North. When House Stark releases Damascus steel armour and shields into the marketce, countless threats invisible to you will swarm from worldwide to get any kind of information." Ned hesitated for a moment but then nodded. Hell, he didn''t even know who or how many Bloody Snow agents were currently in Winterfell! Espionage and counterintelligence weren''t exactly elements he wanted to invest in. The woman didn''t seem to be done yet... "What else?" "Onest humble request, Your Grace. It is time for you to know to which allied house House Tallhart has entrusted the monopoly on the des and armaments of Damascus..." ''House Tallhart had also entrusted the weapons monopoly to another House? But who? Don''t tell me he chose the Lannisters!'' thought Ned urgently. "To which House?" asked the man. "House Bolton, Your Grace. Ser Duncan and Ser Domeric are very close... A very fair trade for a House that holds its motto ''Our des are Sharp.'' Don''t you think, Your Grace? Ahaha." "House Bolton?!" an rm went off in Ned''s mind. Although he had never had to distrust Roose Bolton, the Lord Bloodsucker still remained thest on his list among the great houses of the North to be entrusted with the most potent weapons in Westeros and Essos. No, he needed to calm down. Ser Domeric was not his father. From what he remembered, that boy was sociable and well-liked by all the noble youth... Besides, he, too, was one of the fifteen green swords. "I see... A good choice to further solidify the bond between all the Noble Houses of the North." Ned. "And it is precisely on the bond that myst request is based. House Ryswell has failed to forge a blood bond with House Stark; it is my wish that all past unresolved issues be settled once and for all, that as soon as she is of marriageable age, my nephew Domeric and your daughter Sansa be bound in marriage. It is in the best interest of all the North that Sword and Shield unite." Barbrey cast thest stone. The heaviest one of all. Sansa...his little Sansa in Dreadfort? In the House of the Red Kings'' descendants? Where it is rumoured that the fortress''s secret crypts still hold human skin cloaks of the defeated Stark Kings? Ned remained thinking and pondering, trying to shrug off all the disturbing legends that ced the offered candidate in a bad light. He didn''t know Ser Domeric well, but it was imperative for the good of his House that rtions with the Shadow Queen of Westeros be irond and that House Stark have ''decision-making'' power over Damascus Steel. Soon Domeric Bolton would be the new golden bachelor of the Seven Kingdoms... He would be an excellent candidate. House Stark would also show union and respect for their vassals. ''My little princess isn''t even four years old, and I already find myself offering her as a bargaining chip for the second time in less than a year... Cat... forgive me if you can.'' "If possible, I would first like a chance to speak with my probable future son-inw. I cannot return to the Lady of Winterfell without even being able to represent Sansa''s future spouse." End POV. ----------------------------------- POV: Bloody Snow Srium of the Lady of Barrowton. Year 289 A.C. The eleventh day of the tenth moon. About twelve days after an agreed-upon meeting... "You have tortured the our poor King less than I thought. d the matter was resolved as best as possible. Why is it fixed, right?" the boy asked for confirmation. "Resolved and buried as far as House Stark is concerned. Now all that''s left is the Citadel..." Barbrey replied, sipping gin. It waste in the evening. The heir of The Watcher could not stay in Barrowton too long. At dawn, he would resume his journey to Winterfell, and from there, he and Benjen Stark and the weing procession of House Stark would make their way to White Harbor. His master and the guests of the Confederation of Wizards would arrive within a fortnight. "Patience, mydy. First the maesters in the North, then the West, Dorne, and finally the remaining four kingdoms. We must allow them to look but not see." Duncan recalled. "Seven million gold dragons, eh? Did you really manage to convince Lord Tywin to invest a third of the treasure of Casterly Rock? You don''t think that might be too bold a sum?" asked Lady Barbrey with a hint of concern. "It would be too bold if Tywin did not y his part perfectly. But, fear not, mydy. The big show is already set. It will be a bidding war. A mere disy of power and influence between all the representatives of Houses and cities. The Iron Bank will be forced to invest arge sum and finance its ownpetitor. Ahah, I can''t wait to see the face of Tycho Nestoris when he shoots out loud an aggregate of at least seven zeros." So replied the boy, managing to wring a slightly amused grin from his counterpart. "And Lord Leyton? Will House Hightower expose his financial holdings in front of everyone, in your opinion?" Barbrey. "Mmm, the King in the Yellow will throw him a challenge, that''s for sure. But I don''t think he''ll expose himself. In my opinion, the man will offer a sum less than House Tyrell and, afterwards, send one of his sons for a private meeting with you. That is what I would do." Duncan. "We''re ying with wildfire-powerednterns. One mistake, and we''re doomed. Are you aware of that, Hero of the North?" The True Queen. "We will be? So you have finally decided to fight by my side, oh my faithful ally?" Bloody Snow. "You kept your word. And I will keep mine." The boy pulled out a letter written in the woman''s handwriting in question. "Mmm...just a reminder," the Queen cheekily downyed. "I would like to discuss this very ''reminder''... You know what I mean. I need to know... There are too many lives at stake, Barbrey," the ally insisted. "What do you want me to say? You''re the one who reopened that bolted and locked door." Barbrey. "I didn''t move heaven and earth to create a weakness in my most powerful ally. I did it because I believed and still believe that you and Jorah deserve to find happiness again. What lies ahead is not a path a person can walk alone. It would be worth it to walk it if there wasn''t someone to share the finish line with. If we can survive to that day, we will all soon be family. But you can no longer use Jorah as a means of threat. The war that looms over us will be the most terrible and fierce living memory. The enemy will have no qualms about mercilessly striking at every possible pressure point to destroy us. Jorah, Dacey, Domeric, our families, ourrades...none of them will be safe from here on out. You know better than I how painful it is to lose those we love." Barbrey looked away, trying to suppress the strong, growing emotion. "There''s nothing worse..." the woman confirmed and then resumed the word. "Will you continue to help me protect him?" "Here''s my proposal: I will do everything I can to help you protect those you love if you do the same for those I love. And if all that isn''t enough, and ourmon enemy seeds in taking from us those we care about most, Comrade will do everything he can to rekindle a light in the darkest hour... What do you think?" Proposed thepanion. "Just turn on a light? What about revenge? Won''t the ally help thepanion im righteous vengeance?" the ally. "You offend me, mydy. I thought the matter was understated... We are both Northmen, and The North Never Forgets." Barbrey''s lips rippled slightly, forming a smile. "Never... We have a deal, Bloody Snow." The two parties stood up, shaking hands. "Who knows, maybe at the end of this whole thing, only House Mormont wille out intact and victorious. Ahahaha!... Huh?... Bad joke?" Duncan. "No... Or rather, Yes. It was totally inappropriate, but that''s not it... Even though you managed to get all the allies you hoped to get, you fear that this is not enough isn''t it? Even if we manage to gain all the time and means hoped for, will it be the same? Don''t you dare try to hide this from me? Reveal your thoughts." The boy''s smile faded, and his face grew gloomy. "Yes, I fear the possibility exists," the most powerful woman in the Seven Kingdoms widened her eyes when she heard the answer and sensed for the first time ever traces of fear in the most monstrous being she had ever met. "What makes you think that?" Barbrey asked urgently. "... The more I enter into the truth known to few, the more I have the feeling that something continues to be out of tune in the Great Song of World History. I still have no idea which notes are missing or in excess... The Guardian of Beauty has confirmed this hypothesis of mine. Maybe he''s the oldest being still alive in the World, and I''m sure that being is hiding something from me... The thing that disturbs me the most is that he probably did it to safeguard the World he swore to guard or me. It was as if he didn''t think I was up to the task of bearing the colossal burden he held inside. And that scares me, Barbrey." The True Queen of Westeros kept her cool in the face of that shocking revtion. Instead, the ally took the helm and began to keep part of the pact she had just made. "If you''re afraid, it means the World is in good hands... Only suckers don''t feel fear in the face of unknown dangers. Information is the key. If this ''anomalous note'' does not yet want to be revealed, it is vulnerable somehow and, for some reason, cannot yet act openly against the World''s great powers. If we stir the waters, the ''fish'' will sooner orter be forced out." Bloody Snow found the same determined look he once had. The mouth resumed smiling. "Yes, you''re right. Although it seems that this ''fish'' as you call it is more of a dormant Leviathan. Stirring the waters, yes, but let''s try not to wake him up too abruptly! Ahahaha!" A small inaudibleugh also came out of the Frosty Spice Queen''s half-sealed lips. "It''s gettingte. It is time for me to leave, ''my Queen''. Thank you for the warm hospitality and pleasant conversation. Good night." The boy bowed to the Queen, handing out the proper retirement etiquette. "Wait..." called the Queen hesitantly, stopping the guest from taking his leave. "Yes, mydy?" The boy turned with aroused curiosity. "I... I haven''t thanked you yet. Thank you for everything, Ser Duncan." End Chapter. ----------------------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 117: The Spider Queen Chapter 117: '' The Spider Queen '' POV: Tywin Lannister Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. Year 289 A.C., the 26th day of the ninth moon. Some twenty-one days before the True Queen of Westeros thanked a knight... It was just under an hour before sunset. Soft orange glows filtered through the balcony. The trio never ceased working and discussing designs, negotiations, price and percentage negotiations, delivery times, construction schedules, and ns of action against themon enemy. Now Tywin was certain. It was no longer a pipe dream; the West and the Kingdom could genuinely achieve a Golden Age. Although the man was in histe forties, he continued undaunted without showing any sign of fatigue for four hours straight. Tywin was bursting with energy, ready to explode at any moment. He felt the strength and the will to wield the new Sword of Damascus and face a hundred enemies. They had just finished discussing the renewal and expansion of the basalt roadwork. House Tallhart would lend the best civil engineers responsible for the Northern Network. More than a thousand miles of basalt road. A material more valuable than the granite and quartz used in the North, though less resistant to cold and water infiltration, on the other hand, smoother, more malleable, and better suited to the climate of the West. His standard-bearer Lord Sebaston Farman of Fair Isle, would soon receive arge order for ck volcanic stone. An ore that would overflow to the beaches of his ind. The streets of Lannisport, on the other hand, would be reced from the current typical pavement with the costly and shiny veined marble of the Vale. If the Lannisters were to make their enemies believe that they were in openpetition for pomp and grandeur against the North and Dorne. They should have spared no expense. With the increase in themercial and war fleet, the concessions of facilitated crossings on the future route of the river Fever and ess to the markets of Essos, the rights to trade in the Sea of Shivers on a variety of Northern products (Mormont ss was the golden egg of the brood), the construction of dozens of inns all along with the roadwork with new unique culinary recipes, the new census registration and tax collection systems, the implementation and improvement of fields and crops, new training schools for handicrafts,mercial and criminalw, architecture and construction engineering, naval engineering, and numerous other trades helpful in increasing the productivity of thends of the West, all of these projects and improvements made the golden veins in Tywin''s eyes glisten. But the new gold mine of House Lannister would be the shiny new city of Lannisport. The long battle to restore Castamere''s mines finally came to an end... "The debt of 1,081,700 gold dragons forgiven, 8% on the mining rights for House Tallhart and 5% on the treasures of House Rayne found to be bestowed upon House Manderly and the ns. This is my final offer. Don''t bite off more than you can chew, Great Lion. We are the only House capable of draining the mines of Castamere without spending decades and millions of golden dragons. I am well aware that the Casterly Rock mines will be depleted before long. You haven''t found a new mining vein in over two years..." Tywin eyed the disarming face of his younger brother. Gerion gave him a roaring look of [I didn''t tell him anything, I swear!]. The enraged Lion gritted his teeth at how deficient his counterintelligence measures and safeguarding of absolutely Top-Secret information might be. "Agreed... But it will drop to 5% if you fail to make the excavations on at least the first four levels of the mines viable within a year of today." The feline pretending to be dead, hurled thest w treacherously. If the builders of House Manderly and the ns of the Northern Mountains had seeded in that first feat on schedule, House Lannister could have returned their investment before the third year. Tywin clearly remembered when thetest Lord of Castamere, Robert Rayne, boasted before the entire court of the West how bountiful of gold and silver the mining veins of the early levels were. [House Rayne collects over 2,000 golden dragons a day from those first levels alone, my lord. And what of House Lannister, Lord Tytos? How much gold is left to mine from Casterly Rock?! Ahahaha!] The Lord of Casterly Rock recalled that confident, arrogant voice at the banquet his father had called to celebrate histest birth... Tywin had not smiled in front of anyone in over sixteen years. Only the twins'' first wails and Johanna''s loving nces could break that adamantine curse. But if he was alone at that moment with the gods as his only witnesses, who could say if those facial muscles in his stone face couldn''t crack? "Deal." Bloody Snow and The Great Lion nodded at each other, sealing and sealing the deal with a single nce. "What about improvements on war strategies and militia training promised?" The ravenous Lion took advantage of the concession to snag the juiciest and most prized prey in the herd as best he could. "You know the price...I want Jaime, Cersei, and Tyrion," the boy fired the three names for the second time without heeding the earlier warning roar. That bloodthirsty Demon wanted absolute control over the fate of his progeny! "Now you''re pulling Lion''s strings too much, boy! I warned you before!" roared Tywin fiercely, peering at him with hate-filled eyes. "Without them, the Great Show won''t be credible. Cersei detests me and Tyrion. Jaime is the best sword the West has seen in thest century! All the North and Dorne, including House Tallhart, are betting their future on the table, heirs included!" So screeched the Demon in the same tones and looks. "You want me to give up the heir of Casterly Rock! You want me to disgrace the Lannister name in front of the Seven Kingdoms! And not only that, you want me to allow that ''Libidinous Little Monster'' to... "The second roar was silenced. "Jaime was born to be a Knight! He could cast a shadow even on Aemon the Dragonknight. He will be the brightest and sharpest sword in the Seven Kingdoms for all the World to cast its gaze upon. Cersei is the master of chaos and disorder. She will be the one to create the most believable theatrical spectacle that will pull the wool over the eyes of our enemies and deafen them with false songs. And Tyrion...he is the key to our sess. The invisible dagger will strike in the blind spots of any threat from House Lannister. The Lion in the Shadows will contribute most to the development and control of the entire operation. Three years! That''s all I ask. So watch and monitor the course of events in this short time frame, and you will have confirmation of my predictions and promises. Put it to the test, and it will prove it to you." So sang the great puppeteer to the puppet merchant. Tywin''s anger reached dangerous limits. He couldn''t bear the thought of the nobles of Westerosughing at the Lannisters'' good name again. Not after the chaos and instability, his idiot father had created in the past, sending the House to the brink of ruin! Gerion seemed to read his brother''s thoughts and anguish. "Let themugh, brother. The longer the Worldughs, the more certain our victory will be. I support Lord Duncan''s n." The Smiling Lion rested a gentle hand on Tywin''s trembling shoulder. After an incredible effort of lucidity and processing objective thoughts, Tywin sentenced the verdict. "...Three years since the tournament began. Not a day more." "Deal," Bloody Snow initialled and a formal assent with his head. The boy pulled out a miniature in the shape of an old woman from his trunk and ced it on the map of the two known continents lying on the table. The miniature was ced over the free city of Pentos. "Fortifying House Lannister''s army andwork of counterintelligence agents will be the first step. You have already gained fear and respect from your loyal bannermen, Lord Tywin. Now you will have to procure their goodwill and favour. After your militia has achieved a power that even the Golden Company will fear from facing, and you have earned the gratitude of your bannermen, only then can you extend that knowledge to all the other militias of the West. The Ten Golden ws and the Rock Guard will have to take priority. Only The Watcher is capable of forging such an army in this short amount of time. And to do so, you will have to pay homage to and gain permission from the woman my master fears, loves and respects the most... The only living entity can physically injure the Guardian of Love with impunity. The mastermind behind the Fourth Organization in the World hierarchy, the creator and curator of the mostplex and intricatework I have ever seen, the most powerful woman in Essos and Zick''s stepmother... Madame Zishua Zhao Urat, ''The Spider Queen of Pentos''." End POV. ----------------------------- POV: The Red Viper of Dorne. In an isted mansion on the only ind in the Bay of Pentos. Four days after a lofty name was spoken at Casterly Rock.... Oberyn continued down the mansion corridor holding tightly to the smooth, warm arm of his one true love, Eria Sand. The Viper''s attentive eye did not miss the subtle and intricate archaic symbols in each inch of white marble with obsidian-ck veins. Oberyn Nymeros Martell was one of the few academics on the Citadel who forged a ring of Valyrian Steel. Proof that he had sessfully achieved the ''High Mysteries of the World''. Archmaester Marwyn, aka, ''Marwyn The Mage'', was the only maester that suited the Dornian in the midst of that cesspool of lofty gray rats. Oberyn''s memory did not deceive him-those were magical runes. All of the veins in the whole joined together at several points between the walls. In the center of those points sat a te of metal as dark as his ring with a ck stone in the center engraved with a conspicuous red rune... The Viper''s senses of danger were going crazy with every step as he got closer to the indicated antechamber. "Honorable Prince Oberyn, Lady Eria, please take a seat and enjoy the refreshments offered by the House. Madame Zishua will be with you immediately as soon as she is able." The pair nodded politely to the gorgeous maiden of Lys who had offered herself as a guide. The indicated wall was filled with cushions and fine Dornian-style tables. A real touch of ss and thoughtfulness towards the guests in Oberyn''s opinion. Two young servants: a handmaiden and an apparent twin offered drinks, spiced cheeses with honey, and fresh fruit of every season. Thews of hospitality in Pentos were slightly different than in the culture of Westeros. A noble guest was considered such only after tasting a fruit from thends grown in thends of Pentos. Oberyn opted for candied cherries and Eria for diced melon wrapped in thin slices of salted ham. After a few minutes of refreshment, Eria whispered in Oberyn''s ear: "I thought this was supposed to be the safest ce in Pentos. Haven''t you noticed that there is no sign of any kind of weapon or guard posted throughout the mansion?" "Do not be fooled, my beloved. Every servant in this vi is a well-trained professional assassin. Those twins are armed ''only the Gods know'' with how many hidden weapons and des. They could easily prevail against me." Eria stiffened for a moment, but Oberyn soothed her with a simple caress, rxing Eria''s tense muscles. "What makes you think that?" the woman asked. "They don''t make a single sound of footsteps. The fluid gestures, the guarded and confident eyes, no, we definitely wouldn''t get out of here alive if they didn''t want to.... The mansion hides countless unknown traps or passages hidden from view." Oberyn moved the Dornian''s delicate chin in the direction of the wall with two fingers. "Look... can you notice those indentations in the walls? A very deadly mechanical trap. I don''t even know if I could neutralize the substance imbued in those, almost certain, poison darts. My instincts suggest that not even the entirepany of Second Sons led by a dozen Faceless Men could harm a single hair on the mistress''s head." Eria''s face changed from fear to wonder. The woman seemed to get excited by the danger. It was one of the reasons Eria might be the only favored Goddess in his heart. Oberyn would have given up all his wealth for a chance to take her here and now. And he would have if the fate of Dorne, his family, and their lives hadn''t depended on that crazy, impulsive gesture. But nothing stopped him from kissing his Goddess passionately. Her tongue tasted like the sweet wine of summer... That spicy, tangy aftertaste, those warm fluids and soft mouth. No... she couldn''t continue, or she''d lose control. The lips parted and Eria caught her breath, pleading with her gaze for her beloved to continue. "No, my beloved... Duty and anticipation make the hoped-for moment more sublime." Oberyn''s hand caressed Eria''s silky raven ck hair. "Yes, my beloved. You are right. I have been greedy and mischievous... I deserve punishment. You will have to punish me tonight. That''s an order..." It was a good provocation. Yes... the Goddess would suffer the pains of pleasure that night. The doors opened and an old, fat man dressed in sumptuous light white robes with red streaks and shy gold jewelry stepped out with a dark, frightened face. Oberyn did not recognize the face, but the robes did. He had been a guest of the Magisters of Lys many times during his elysium. Apanion came out of the room after him. He gently pointed to the exit of the vi. The fat man snorted for a second but then bowed, showing a gesture of forced etiquette. He didn''t even seem to notice the presence of the Dornian guests at the corner of the antechamber for the difort he felt. Then the old man with the haughty look noticed Oberyn''s clothes and showed a signal of curiosity and surprise, turning with celerity to head for the exit. ''He recognized us... Could he be a threat?'' reasoned the Viper calmly, thinking back to all his efforts to make this trip a secret one. "Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, Lady Eria Sand, Madame Zishua Zhao Urat apologizes for the wait and is ready to receive you both." The man with Ghiscarian features in his fifties was well-proportioned, graceful and educated in manner,monnguage and tone of voice. "No wait has ever been more hospitable and pleasant among all the free cities I have needed to visit. Praise and honour to every member of Madame Zhao Urat''s Noble abode." Said Oberyn as he paid tribute to the twin servants. The pair seemed to appreciate thepliment by giving a warm bow of thanks. It was one of Bloody Snow''s lifelines. {Never show unwarranted discourtesy to any member of the estate}. "This way, please." The Chief Steward pointed the way. "Thank you... Ser?" Eria asked. "You''re wee, mydy. I am not a Ser, my name is Barudh Gruz Rad. I am merely a Chief Attendant of Madame Zishua''s estate at your service." Said the man, offering a bow. "And I am not a Lady, Ser Chief Attendant Barudh. I will address you as Ser as long as you bestow undeserved titles and honours." Eria replied in a jovial and courteous tone. "As you wish, Lady Eria." Barudh surrendered to the small but dignified defeat by bestowing a slight smile. Oberyn and Eria entered with elegant and confident steps. A bright room, simple but pleasing to the eye, elegant but not ostentatious, refreshed by the smell of the Bay''s spring sea breeze, weed the couple. Oberyn''s long-awaited figure was less than thirty feet away from them. The elderly woman with partial traits of Vntis was engaged in embroidery depicting two yellow hawk eyes on ck cloth. The symbol Bloody Snow warned him about was more cautionary than a royal seal. Only the students still developing and growing carried that piece of silk embroidered personally by the Spider Queen. Nightmares, pain beyond imagination, affliction and death awaited any peasant or King in the Known World who dared to break the only Taboo of the Guardian of Love. "Fear not, Prince of Dorne. The rude Magister of Lys will not go far after he leaves the bastions of the rights of the host... Once before, I begged him to pay due respect to my associates. s, wealth and influence are the banes of good manners." End Chapter. ----------------------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 118: No Bloody Sands! Chapter 118: '' No Bloody Sands! '' POV: The Spider Queen of Essos Madame Zhao Urat''s Reception Srium. Seconds after the expected guests walked through the door... The couple seemed to hesitate for a moment after that stunning prelude. "Wee, my dears. Don''t be shy and have a seat. Thank you, Barudh. You may leave us alone." Said the gentle voice marked by age. Madame Zishua Zhao Urat had just celebrated her seventy-sixth birthday. Although the woman from Meereen had reached a ripe old age, there were still a few strands of her original light brown hair left amidst her well-groomed grey hair. The wrinkles on her face were less pronounced; only her hands, mottled with natural pigments due to old age, shed with her enviable upkeep. "Madame Zishua Zhao Urat, it is an honour and pleasure for mypanion and me to make your acquaintance. I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, and this graceful beauty on par with your person is my beloved concubine Eria Sand." The Dornian made room for the woman. "Madame Zishua, thank you for your hospitality", Eria bowed. "I am dazzled and bewildered by your beauty so impably preserved. Sadly, age is beginning to creep up on me too, Madame.... So I beg you to reveal your secret to me. To what supernatural entity have you turned for the secret of immortality?" Asked the Dornian prince brazenly but elegantly after his bow. The old woman chuckled, smiling at Oberyn''s theatrical presentation. "Mh! Mh! Mh! You are quite the ttering pepper, Prince Martell, I''ll give you that. Charmed, my dear. Be my guest and spare the appetion ''Madame''. Zishua is sufficient if it pleases you. Don''t listen to that Dornian''s ambtory words. You are far more beautiful and graceful than I could ever dream of appearing in my golden years." The couple took their seats on thefortable long sofa lined with silks and feathered cushions. There were no tables or thrones for this gathering, just a tiny table with three silver cups, some bottles and pitchers filled with hot or cold drinks to taste. Zishua loved etiquette and elegance, but she also liked to grantfort and informality to her guests. The owner of the estate resumed her sewing duties. "I don''t think I''ve overstated myself, Madame. Your humility only cast bad water on my sincerepliment." Said the young man in an affectionate tone. "I give support to the words of my prince, Lady Zishua. I would thank the gods every morning should fate grant me this appearance upon reaching your venerable age." He adted the young woman. "Mh! mh! mh! You two make a perfect couple. Even deaf and blind people could feel the love and adoration for each other. I am happy for you, my dears. I too was fortunate in the past to experience a simr bond with my belovedte husband, Nobaru Zhao Urat. A Wise Master of Meereen who made a ve girl his noble bride, without caring about the oppositions of his family and the entire noble court in the ve Bay." Said the woman closing her eyes for a moment in an attempt to remember the face of her beloved. "A true ''Wise'' Master and a great man. A rarity in Meereen." Praised the smitten young man in a sincere tone. "Yes, he was. One is born every hundred years of such men in those cursednds... I thank the Great Mother of Love every night for granting me so many happy years. The moment I felt the luckiest woman in the world was when the healer of the house announced with deep regret that I could not bear any more children after the first abortion. I could not allow Nobaru the joy of new life. Yet...my husband held me as if I were the most precious jewel in creation. ...The night I lost my beloved was the darkest moment of my existence. Yet, only because of the individual whose support you covet, I still exist. My free-spirited, ck-jawed godson, Zick, put every effort at his disposal to put a smile on my face and help me find the joy of love again. Even if it was that little boy of yore who had lost everything he loved most..." Zishua''s eyes became wet as she smiled. The woman lent herself a few moments to wipe away the beginnings of a tear. "I ask your forgiveness... After all this time, I still get carried away by sad and happy memories past." Oberyn rose gracefully, gently picking up the linen handkerchief from the woman''s hand. He thoughtfully prepared to wipe a portion of her cheek, still slightly damp and stained by her makeup. "Oh, thank you, young man... Psst! Shoo! Scram, you rascally rascal! Go back to your seat and use those hands to ingratiate yourself with creatures more deserving of your touch." An admonishing p made the Viper slip away. "Emm, where was I...Yes, the point is, Prince Oberyn, I am well aware that that weasel, ''Zick''s ward,'' will have armed you with wise and disloyal advice to best ingratiate yourself with this poor sentimental old woman. You''ll have to do much better than that to convince me to grant Dorne permission to get the means she seeks. The power that insolent and reckless ''brat with a witty eye'' is capable of shaking the foundations of the world. If ill bestowed, chaos, pain, and destruction will befall millions of innocents." Oberyn nodded with a rugged look and replied: "House Martell is aware of both the responsibility and respect such power deserves, Madame." "Really, young man? Is the Nymeros Martell Royal Family really aware of this? There is a reason I have dictated to Zick not to ept such requests lightly. The Watcher would ept the plea of anyone who came to him to plead for his help. The first crazed demons who were carried away by the euphoria of the moment unceremoniously shook nine of Essos'' power centres, forcing them to join forces and spawn what you Westerosi today call the ''War of the Ninepenny Kings''. I had to roll up my sleeves and scramble to put together the entire organisation''swork from scratch to prevent the forces of the world from hunting down the natural person responsible for all that mess. The outbreak of a Fourth World War could be prevented by pulling that fool''s ears, forcing him to ept the vacant task of Guardian of Love and shoulder his responsibilities." End POV. ------------------------- POV: Eria Sand Madame Zhao Urat''s Reception Srium. Soon after the origins of the new Guardian of Love were mentioned... ''The Ninepenny kings? Nine demons?" thought Eria a momentter. The Dornian tried to remember all the infamous Band of Nine... There was Ser Derrick Fossoway, The Bad Apple, a knight of Westeros, forced into exile for turning his manor into a den for brigands and criminals of all kinds... Tom, dubbed ''Spotted Tom the Butcher'', the captain of apany of mercenaries from the disputednds whose name Eria could no longer remember... Liomond Lashare, dubbed ''The Lord of Battle'', another sellswords captain renown for never losing a battle against the Dothraki... Xhobar Qhoqua, Known as ''The Ebon Prince'', was an exiled prince from the Summer Isles. Nine Eyes, a former Master of the Spies of Qarth, who, ording to legends, was banished from the House of the Eternals and the council of the Pureborn... Alequo Adarys, known as ''Silvertongue'' and the ''Tyrant of Tyrosh'', even after the defeat of the Nine, Alequo managed to maintain power over the free city for the next six years... Samarro Saan, known as The Last Valyrian, was a Lysene pirate who boasted a genealogy older than Valyria. The Old Mother was a favourite among the pages of history chronicling this war. A female pirate, the first to be nicknamed ''Pirate Queen''. Her origins were not specific, but legends were told of a female pirate who struck terror throughout the Summer Seas and the Jade Sea and ruled an ind in the Cinnamon Strait, making it one of the most critical piracy centres in all the known seas. Andst, worst of all, Maelys I ckfire, better known as Maelys the Monstrous, the pretender who instigated the Fifth and final ckfire Rebellion... Not much was known about Maelys'' past, other than that he had grown up in exile in Essos and was monstrouslyrge and inhumanly strong. An individual capable of killing a steed with a single punch and ripping a man''s head from his shoulders with his bare hands... A second smaller head attached to his neck was proof that this contracture abomination was a kin killer even before birth. Maelys had eaten his twin in the womb to assume the constitution of two men. In 257 A.C. Maelys came into the world, killing his cousin Daemon first so he could im the right of session andmand of the Golden Company... If one of these infamous ''Demons of The Watcher'' was able to force such a monster to give up aims of conquest in Essos and try his luck in Westeros, it was certainly not an entity to be taken lightly! "Madame Zishua, if I may." Eria interjected. "Of course, my dear, speak freely." Zishua. "We certainly did note here to be the proponents of another Great War. But to survive it... Our friend and ally, Lord Duncan Tallhart, is convinced that within a few years, the next World War will break out whether we want it to or not. The world has already been shaken. It will no longer be an ''if'' but merely a when... Therefore Dorne hase here to implore your help, Madame." Oberyn grabbed and kissed hispanion''s hand, showing assent and praise to his wise Goddess. "Phew... Wars, big or small, will permanently stain any page of world history, my dear. Times of peace are rare and precious and must be cherished tost as long as possible... You are right. Another Great War will loom over all of us, ''all of you'' if I am lucky enough not to be forced to witness all that chaos, death, pain and misery... There is still a chance to extend this period of peace for another generation if that dubbed Demon ''Bloody Snow'' would cease to antagonize the Titan and the Lighthouse, opting for negotiation andpromise..." Zishua was interrupted. "Never! Not after all the evil perpetrated! There can never be peace between Dorne and Oldtown!" ranted the Dornish Prince as he stood up. "Oberyn!... My love, sit with me. I ask your forgiveness, Madame..." Eria whispered sweet words into the ear of her fiery and passionate lover. "Yes, my love... I invoke your forgiveness, Madame Zishua Zhao Urat. Such unkindness will not be repeated again... Please continue." Oberyn bowed and returned neatly to his seat. Zishua put down the needle and prepared to pour a hot purple drink into three small ss cups. "Infusion of dusk rose, my dears. It helps to soothe the souls and clear the thoughts. Go ahead and taste. Fear not... I could technically poison you, maiden, but I still could not lift a finger without cause to a member of the Four Royal Families. Mh! mh! mh!" Laughed the elderly mistress jovially, sipping her herbal tea first. Oberyn greeted the joke with a grin and allowed himself the taste of risk. Eria did not like the y of words and looks between the two. Not after the prelude of the unwitting Magister of Lys, but she too indulged in the fragrant smell of the drink. A very light aftertaste of honey apanied the subtle bitterness of the flowers in a perfect bnce of vours. Eria immediately perceived the rxing effects of the mixture... It was like living the moment after a delicate massage of the temples. "Tell me, turbulent young man, what do you think happened to the Wise Master who ordered the destruction of House Zhao Urat forty-four years ago? And what fate do you think the Noble House of Loraq suffered?" Madame Zishua asked. "I suppose a painful death and a sad fate, Madame," Oberyn replied. "Horat zo Loraq''s heart stopped sixteen years ago as he delighted in the thighs of a Yunkai pleasure enved person. His son and heir Nagud and his grandson Hizdhar zo Loraq live and tower on the Great Pyramid of Meereen. They trade and feast heedless and unaware of the actions perpetrated by the former Head of the family. Do you know why the hell and the abyss have not devoured the Loraq Dynasty?" It was Eria who took the floor in ce of her stunned lover. "Because revenge would not restore your lost love." "Bull''s-eye on the first blow, my dear Eria. Revenge is a poison that corrodes the strings of the human soul. It is sweet and inviting on the surface, but it takes a tremendous toll that will generate an endless cycle of hatred, leaving nothing but ephemeral dust on your hands. I would have liked to cut every slice ofrd personally from that filthy pig who had robbed me of my Nobaru, my House, my life... I wanted nothing more. I was even ready to give up all my possessions and ask the House of ck and White for help, but then I thought about what I still had left. There was no way I would let my boy live in hatred. No...Zick deserved all the love in the world, and I would do whatever needed to be done to make that happen." Zishua sipped some more Tea and concluded her speech. "House Manderly and Peake, ckwood and Bracken, Baratheon and Targaryen... How much pain could have been saved, and how much love was gained if these dynasties had chosen to forgo revenge? And the same will be true of House Martell and House Hightower, my dears, do not doubt it." Oberyn could not help but ask: "Madame, but then that symbol you are embroidering? What is it meant tomunicate if not a warning of vengeance?" Zishua lifted the piece of cloth embroidered with extremely rare acromant silk. "Not a warning of ''revenge'', Prince Oberyn, but of ''punishment''. Blood is the only ink that never fades, and fear are the letters that make up the lesson that must never be forgotten in this barbaric age. There are two types of pain: the useless one, which spreads like a parasitic gue eager for new lives to be plucked, and the useful ones. That is the most effective means of learning hard lessons that must be learned so that the world can rise again stronger and better than ever... Only that burn can teach the curious fools to never again put their hand on that zing fire that illuminates that boy''s life. I''ll be damned for eternity if I leave this world without first doing all I can to repay the debts that must be repaid. The Watcher''s most precious treasure must never be touched. And as long as I have breath in my body and my heart continues to beat, I will do everything to guard ''that treasure'' for as long as I can... I will summon the underworld''s darkest and most abject forces, and I willy waste to any wealth in the world to protect Zick''s briefest spark of joy and love. If destroying Dynasties, Kingdoms, and Continents is the price to be paid for the world to learn that nothing and no one should ever deprive of love the boy who most deserves it... so be it." Goosebumps, cold sweat, and palpitation were the instant effects elicited by the tone of voice and the gaze of the elderly Mistress of Pentos. Eria needed to squeeze her partner''s warm hand more firmly to calm herself. Oberyn stepped forward. "You are a wise and powerful woman, Madame... Few individuals in thesends can boast such moral temperaments. You have turned the suffering you have endured into strength. That is the power I seek. The strength that Dorne needs. I have note here to im means of vengeance but to seek help from that entity that has managed to create the power necessary to protect what I remain to love. My family, my beloved, my people... House Nymeros Martell invokes the help of The Watcher to protect Dorne, Madame. Please help us." Said the Dornian, arching his head. "Mmm... You''re getting close, young man, but the Gentleman who came to me eight years ago was still on another level." After a few seconds of brooding, the spider huffed. "Tsz! Power and moral temper, my ass! If I hadn''t allowed myself to be beguiled by thest begging Westerosi, maybe this whole mess wouldn''t have broken out!" "Tell me the secrets of this Gentleman, please, Madame. I am a humble, poorly educated Dornian who wishes to learn how to live up to begging for favours from the most resplendent creatures of this world." Eria struggled to choke back augh. Only her man could put on a show. She loved Oberyn for his reckless, passionate, devious nature. "Well, there... He was a gentleman of humble beginnings but with the bearing of a true knight. His name was Tom, a captain in search of help. Though he had no idea where he was or who he was talking to, he was always kind and never showed any pretence. A rare man these days... Ahh... Poor young man. It broke my heart to learn of his untimely demise in that silly war... " Zishua realized the trick yed by the Dornian only when she lowered her gaze to find the smooth snake imprinted lovingly caressing her hands. "You! You slimy little snake... Aren''t you even ashamed of taking advantage of a lonely, emotional old woman?! You won''t learn anything else from me!" Oberyn showed a contrite puppy look. "Come now, Madame. Thus you offend me! My interest in listening to your fascinating stories was sincere! Please continue..." Oberyn. "No! Not one more word! One finger! I have bestowed one damned little finger upon that Norse Demon to find myself without an arm anymore! I''ve done nothing but embroider and sew for three days!" Madame Zishua snickered before massaging the base of her nose while closing her eyes. Oberyn returned to his seat with a patient yet euphoric air. Unfortunately, the affable Viper managed to bite one of the spider''s legs. A few moments of silence passed, and then the Mistress spoke. "Phew... The Smiling Lion sailed from Lannisport two days ago. House Lannister will also soon arrive here to invoke my favour... Will the Sun Pierced by a Spear and the Three-Headed Dragon put aside their grudges with the Golden Lion and cooperate?" Zishua. "Yes, Madame. I swear it by all that I most love and revere. House Martell and House Targaryen will honour that promise." Oberyn. "You had better, young man. The Giants you wish to hunt are older and more dangerous than you imagine... One mistake, one discrepancy or distraction will be the end. The Game in which the Rhoynar are about to participate will not be as merciful and ephemeral as in that stupid fight for the iron toy. There''s going to be some severe hurt here." The Red Viper nodded without looking away. "... Good. My boy will bestow some guidance upon you, then. ''BUT'', no more than ten disciples, and let them be well educated and responsible young men and maidens! I don''t want ''Bloody Sands'' in my hands. Do I make myself clear?!" Zishua. Eria was seized by a sob. Who better than she could recognize that look. She knew her man better than anyone else... The Viper disyed thirty-two smiling poison fangs before replying: "In a ''Crystal way'', Madame." ----------------------------------------------------- End Chapter. ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 119: The Tributes Chapter 119: '' The Tributes '' POV: Qyburn; Castle Dungeon, Torrhen''s Square. A few days after Ronan left for the Barronds ... It waste in the evening in the private rooms of the Master of Knowledge. The evening was apanied by one of thest spring snowfalls in the North. Soon those snows would turn to rain. But unfortunately, it rarely snowed betweente spring and summer in the Tallhartnds. The melted candles signalled to the man that perhaps it was time to lie down in bed. Qyburn could have indulged in luxury that evening. The hardworking man had recently finished scanning and drafting instructions for all the documents in the ''High Urgency Level'' section. No ''Highest Level Urgency'' came in thest few days. Tomorrow night he would move on to the ''Medium Urgency'' section. In the early morning, the Maester would teach a lesson to Benfred, Eddara, and little Elminster--then it would be up to the advanced ss for the new apprentice healers. The guinea pigs gathered in the Freynds continued to moan desperately for safety in the Knight of the Mind''s personal cells. Three bastard sons and a grandson of Walder Frey, along with two ''knights'' of the Twin Towers. Rapists, thieves, and murderers took to brigandage by assaulting Northern wagon trains in isted spots near the Green Forks just outside the Frey borders. Tomorrow Qyburn would teach his would-be healers how to properly stop a bleed on the battlefield... The experienced healer wondered how many would fall unconscious tomorrow and how many would sully his temple of learning. Those young men and women were willing and able, but youth was often apanied by arrogance. Many of them still did not heed his warm rmendation to ''show up for the ss on an empty stomach.'' Ser Qyburn finished sorting out the papers that had required more urgent attention. Atst, the Knight of the Mind could delegate the spywork topetent and trustworthy minds. There was so much study and research that Qyburn wished he could have invested time in. But that ephemeral, rtive and irrepressible notion called ''Time'' was never enough... ''An assistant, I need a trusted assistant... Soon the Tower of Babylon and The Philosopher''s Stone Tower will be finished and ready for operation.'' Pinned the man in his mental mnemonic file. Qyburn should have dared more and given other talented individuals a chance to prove themselves. House Tallhart, the North ... no ... ''The whole Continent'' could wait no longer. It was time for action. The Wizards of the Magical Confederation would soon arrive. His Lord Master had even promised him a private one-hour meeting with Chief Sorcerer Supreme. So naturally, Qyburn was looking forward to it. If Marwyn had known, he would have been green with envy. The maester allowed himself a little gloatingugh. "What do you think of my collection, Martyn? What about you, Erret? An honest opinion about the wall?" Asked the man of science, turning his gaze to the wall decorated with dozens of transparent ss frames with thank-you letters inside. *Ungh! Muuuhgh!*, *Hiihm! Uamm!* the tongue-less brigands bound by dozens of boiled leather straps shed bitter tears in their helplessness. "I hope this doesn''t sound too lofty... But, look...This is one of my favourites. A letter of gratitude from Lord Eddard Stark himself. Oh...Forgive me; it would be better to say, ''King Eddard,'' now. One of the crown jewels, if we may say so. However, my favourite piece remains the letter from young Robin." Qyburn carefully set the frame back in its predetermined ce, recing it with therger one in the centre. "A humble son of a former potato farmer. The poor boy had severe respiratory problems. It broke my heart when I learned what bleak and forbidding conditions he had lived in for much of his boyhood. A child of that age should be able to run, y and have fun with other children. Not being chained to nkets and hearths that are constantly burning." Qyburn looked at the acerbic handwriting stained with dozens of minor spelling and grammatical errors. It was undoubtedly one of the boy''s first attempts at writing. The text itself foreshadowed it. As soon as Commander Gellert''s little brother learned to write, he decided to thank the healer who allowed him to go to school like a normal child. "Unfortunately, I could not reveal to the young man that the credit was not only mine. The contribution of Septon Utt, an old friend of mine from Brave Companios, was indeed considerable... Rejoice, my friends. You too will have a chance to be mentioned in my forting new book, ''The Bulwarks in the Art of Healing.''" The only responses were desperate whimpers and sounds of light headbanging on wood. "Today was also a significantly productive day. Rest, my friends... Tomorrow we have a long and busy day ahead of us. I will be with you at dawn, I promise. Goodnight... Oops...how careless of me. I was about to leave some papers out of ce." Qyburn detested clutter. Every instrument, text, ampoule, or document was always arranged in proper order in hisboratory. The folder with six mismatched pages under the desk was like a giant inkblot in a harmonious painting. The maester noticed that the documents must have slipped out of the ''Medium Urgency'' section. It was a report written by Ronan... Qyburn''s eye could not help but catch at least the gist of the topic at hand. ''Statistical inconsistency on % orphans in Oldtown?'' The maester decided it was worth lighting another candle before dismissal time. He whispered a little chant in Draconic, and the candlestick tapers were lit again in a moment. Now Qyburn had officially be a wizard by the standards of the Confederation. He did not yet know any spells above the 2nd circle, but soon the North would get its hands on invaluable and unknown magical texts. He looked forward to learning all the knowledge considered ''forbidden'' by the Citadel. Although he possessed only Rare blood in his veins, the enchanter was confident that he could attain the rank of Grand Mage. It was not just a matter of blood but of talent for understanding the world''s truth. If a clueless person with a hint of magical gift in his veins had recklessly cast spells above 1st level without studying their nature, he would most likely have blown his brains out. Only spells with Royal Blood tribute couldpensate for such harmfulness... For Qyburn''s mind, cantrips (0) and spells of the 1st were trivial. The Knight of the Mind scrutinized the document in detail, internally praising his Former Student for the meticulousness of each mathematical demonstration. Reading thest line, Qyburn could not help but agree that there was a ring but, at the same time, invisible inconsistency. Braavos had the highest average of economically well-off and productive families. A good census system. However, taking away the ''hardened Braavosi duelists'' factor, the registered orphan children were ten times fewer than those in King''s Landing. And Oldtown, a town heavily focused on naval and ovend trade, had a percentage almost eight times lower than that of Braavos? Yet many ships, whether from a storm, a pirate attack, or any other peril of the sea, were not returning... Substantial numbers of reports to the City''s city guard were reported. Family members seeking help from many nearby viges as well. Twice as many as in King''s Landing. Poption records had been altered beyond a shadow of a doubt. ''Numbers never lie... No... math never lies. Am I right, my lord?'' thought the man, remembering his master''s past quotes. There was also a rtively high average of missing sons and daughters of nobles and minor knights. So many reports of hunting idents, bandit attacks and failed expeditions--too many fornd as fertile and safe as the mouth of the Honeywine. An unsettling question arose in Qyburn''s mind... "What dark fate befell all those children?" End POV. --------------------------------------- POV: Malora Hightower On a ship more than two hundred miles west of Oldtown, Sunset Sea. 289 A.C. 13th day of the ninth moon. About a dozen days before a Northern maester analyzed documents... It was the fifth day on the open sea. The merchant galley ''Bearer of Lymph'' continued undaunted on its westward course. The crew did not seem frightened by the route in the eyes of the world unexplored and dangerous. Another hundred miles, and they would circumnavigate seas beyond Lonely Light, thest ind to the West known to man. Many adventurous explorers tried their luck in exploring these seas, but none ever returned. The endless seas beyond those borders were a Taboo in world history. Malora recalled a quote from a partial text more than three thousand years old. [Lands belonging to Deities and Races more ancient and dangerous than man... Cmities... Unspeakable Horrors...] those were the only interpretable words left. But the crew did not seem frightened. Her father assured her that they were all men loyal to the High Tower. The eyes of many looked ssy. That they were subject to a spell? "Malora." A soft, deep voice caught The Mad Maid''s attention. It had been more than a day and a night since Leyton had left his private cabin. "Father, I am so d to see you. I was afraid... I was afraid that you were not feeling well. I..." The woman''s milk-pale cheeks took on a glimmer of colour. "No, my daughter. I had to make sure the spell arrays would hold. So many creaturesrger and more dangerous than sharks haunt these waters. The ship must remain invisible to their senses..." Leyton replied, calmly stroking the Ebony-colored wood of the keel. The man-made no mention of the armour worn, Keeper of Knowledge. Malora thought Leyton could only wear it during the council and in times of war... However, the man''s dark blue eye secreted a spark of awe that did not escape his daughter''s notice. "Lord Father, how many more days will we sail west?" Malora. "Days? We are almost there, Malora. The ind is already in sight." Leyton pointed a finger toward the horizon. Malora carefully scanned the indicated horizon but saw absolutely nothing--only endless expanses of water. "Only Captain Welgend and I can see beyond the ind''s illusory curtain. Wait a few more minutes. We will soon cross the veil." Leyton. Not even five minutester, the veil lowered-it was as if the ship had passed through a body of water. Thendscape was very different. The clouds were thicker and darker in the sky, it looked like a thunderstorm, but it was abnormal. From a closer eye, the masses of dark gas were slowly circting in a circle like a titanic cyclone with the centre of the ind as the eye... White birds flew in the sky, cawing was... crows! White crows! And then the natural spectacle... A dense dark sapphire bedspread across the ind. A blue forestposed of thousands of trees. Trees of different sizes with ebony-ck bark and inky blue leaves... "Father, but ... those are all ..." "ck-barked trees, yes. There is not a single specimen of them in Westeros. The Keeper of Beauty would go out of his domain himself to uproot everyone with his own hands if that were the case. A few wild specimens can still be found in Ulthos and Sothoryos but cultivating them requires the explicit permission of the Magic Confederation and the blessing of all three Guardians. Do you know the properties of that tree?" asked Leyton after a brief notion known to few and not mentioned by any text in the Citadel. "The Shade-of-the-Evening should be synthesized mainly from those leaves...and the bark could be one of the ingredients to make ck Stone." Malora pulled out every piece of information and usible theory she knew. "Mmm, not bad, my daughter. Yes, it was House Hightower that supplied King Harren with ck Stone. A peculiar stone much used in Asshai and in Carcosa itself. However, few know the working form to recreate the natural ck stone. Material resistant to magic and heat. We knew that the Valyrians would turn their attention to Westeros within a few decades. Therefore, we had to field test its properties. Balerion''s ck fire even managed to melt that stone..." Malora was fascinated by the short but intense history lesson. "Why is it forbidden to grow them, father?" his daughter asked, frustratedly biting her nails. Malora loved and hated asking the man questions. She revered every single word her father uttered but at the same time cursed herself inwardly for her stupidity in not being able to find an answer on her own. "Because they are the natural counterpart of the Trees highly prized by the Children of the Forest and the First Men... yes, I''m talking about the Weirwood Trees. There is always a bnce in this world, Malora. ''There are givers, and there are takers.'' The Weirwood Trees demand life tributes by releasing magic in return. The ck-barked trees feed on magic and, in return, bestow life. If the ingredients made from the lifeblood and bark of those trees were used correctly, an ordinary man could live for hundreds of years... The wizards of Qarth routinely take Shades-of-the-Evening, and they actually manage to derive some benefit from it, but it remains an iplete form with many side effects in the long run. ''The Shades-of-The-Night'' is the true elixir craved by all the world''s wizards." Malora began to understand why all that level of security and secrecy was raised in the area. Forbidden Ind was almost asrge as Oak Shield, thergest among the Shield Inds. It also exined the reason for his father''s unnatural longevity. Lord Leyton Hightower was born in the year 236 After the Conquest. And he did not look like an ordinary 50-year-old man. Yes, the face was marked by a few wrinkles, but the body still exuded the longevity of a 30-year-old. Malora turned his gaze toward Ser Murdor Wylfghar, ''The ck Perennial''. His personal sworn Pdin in the service of the Stranger''s Astra Wisdom. Rumour had it that Ser Jon Cupps, the Lord Commander of the Seven Keepers, was called among the twenty-one swords ''The Indomitable'' because of his tenacity and impressive ability to face multiple opponents at a time... But Ser Murdor was nicknamed ''The ck Perennial'' because he was rumoured to be immortal. His deeds had been handed down since the time of Daeron I. A ck knight who even jousted against Ser Aemon Targaryen, The Dragonknight... Malora did not know if Murdor was the strongest warrior among the twenty-one best swordsmen in Oldtown, but he was undoubtedly the most feared. ''Hihi! Ehehehe! The ck Knight is mine! I might even order Ser Murdor to pay a little visit to sweet Lynesse! After all, my dear little sister loves brave and heroic knights! Ahahaha! Hihihi... No... I must restrain myself.'' Malora maintained control by suppressing the exhration of the moment. She was so excited to meet her mother, the enchantress secretly feared by the most powerful man in Oldtown! The Mad Maid deemed the ck Knight a more than apt Pdin for The Astra Wisdom of the Strangers. Ser Murdor never uttered a breath unless explicitly called upon by those who had the authority and the right to impose it upon him. The man''s voice with the face perpetually covered by the dark steel helmet of Valyria was dark and deep... All the servants of the knight were sisters of silence, and the only squire was a boy who was blind but not by birth or by any disease... A voice that was more awe-inspiring than the massive two-handed broadsword of the same steel, serrated by razor-sharp spikes at the base of the de. Who knows how many lives that sword, called precisely ''Soul Devourer,'' had imed. "Father ... so it is thanks to this ind that magic in Westeros is so refractory?" asked the Mad Maid. "Basically, that ind feeds on the Magic of the Great World Tree,monly known as Druidic Magic. It does not influence other kinds of Magic... Before the Andal invasion, Westeros was filled with Heart-Trees from the Red Mountains of Dorne to The Wall. Beyond the Five Forts, between thends of the Shrykes to the borders of Mossovy, were expanses of forests filled with ck-barked trees. They maintained a delicate bnce with Weirdwood Trees of the Sons of the Forest. Should a tree at either end of the world perish, the Guardians of Beauty and Magic would provide by working together so that the bnce would persist. Today, all that remains of those forests is a deste heath called the Grey Desert. The fall of the Valyrian Empire was the most brutal blow that almost paralyzed the Magic of the Great Dragon God. Nevertheless, draconic Magic still persists thanks to the descendants of Fire and Ice. The Guardian of Magic should guard in some remote ce in the Shadow Lands one or two dozen dragons, and in thends of eternal winter, there should still exist ancient poptions of Ice Dragons." Leyton. "What about the Great Mother Phoenix? Do Phoenixes of Light and Shadow still exist in the world?" asked Malora with ardent curiosity. "Phoenixes are the rarest and oldest creatures in this world. Although, in the Empire of Yi Ti, they are revered as ''Messengers of the Gods,'' legend has it that The God-on-Earth, the legendary first ruler of the Empire of Dawn, received two eggs of the Phoenix Goddess as gifts from his parents, The Lion of Night and The Maiden-Made-of-Light. Phoenixes do not reproduce as ''normal Dragons''. Instead, they die and are reborn from their own ashes. When the God-on-Earth left the mortal world to rise into the realm of deities, he left behind the two now-adult Legendary Phoenixes, ''Song of Sunset & Song of Dawn.'' They want to protect all the hundred sons and daughters born of the emperor''s hundred wives, burned in the heavens fragmenting their ashes into fifty eggs dark as night and fifty brights as the sun. Two ancient cities arose in the respective nests of the creatures. I guess you can already deduce which ones they were..." Leyton. "Asshai ''The City of Shadows'' and Carcosa ''The Starry City''... Do they exist? There are a hundred Phoenicians in the World?" Malora. "They existed... Many were lost during The Long Night and their respective protectors, turning into sleeping stone eggs. No one has seen a Phoenix of Light since before the Age of Heroes, but even now, there persists a Phoenix of Shadow still known in the World. rsurix ''Root of the Night,'' a creature far more powerful and ancient than Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar. She answers only to the current Guardian of Magic." The wonder and terror in Malora''s bluish eyes created a contrast that caught Leyton''s attention. "Soon, we will dock... Do you see that tree towering over the others? That''s where your mother is waiting for you." So exined the father with a concealed hint of revulsion in his voice. "You will note with me, father?" asked The Mad Maid in a worried and disappointed tone. "No... Whatever countermeasures you have devised regarding the problems of the High Council, it will be to your mother that you will have to reveal them. I cannot conceal anything from the Guardian of Love. I would be an open book for any suspicion... But if I don''t know, I won''t have to sing scandalous lies to The Watcher." Leyton. "Sly move. So ... not even the Guardians are aware of my mother''s existence?" Leyton gave no answer to that question. The ship docked at that exact moment at a small port used for a couple of boats at most. "Ser Murdor, gather the ''tributes'' so that they are ready to follow my daughter." The ck Knight bowed, taking his leave toward the hold. Malora knew what tributes her father was talking about. There was more than one reason for that enchanted ship to moor in a secret harbour in a cave at the base of the High Tower. Leyton''s gaze lowered to conceal the twinge of regret that haunted him. "Always remember, Malora-whatever entity you ask favours from, sooner orter, will always demand a price in return for them. This is the tribute our dynasty must pay to repay the favours of the past, present, and future." ***** A few minutester. The Mad Maid was not entirely unmoved by the cruelty of the moment. A dozen stern overseersshed blows toward a few tributes intent on disobeying themands. The march of the procession had just begun, and already the suffering in the air was palpable. So many of the tributes'' gazes were lost, others desperate, and the remainder full of hatred and pain. ''The price of magic... Any magic requires a blood tribute.'' He chanted Malora in his head to cover the cries andments of those innocents. It was what had to be done to gain the longed-for power. It was the only way to gain the love of her mother and father. Wars imed far worse blood tolls than this. No general had any qualms about giving orders to attack viges and towns well aware of the genocide and destruction. Good and Evil were foreign concepts to war. Oldtown and Hightower House had been at war for millennia against forces that would not hesitate an instant to burn the foundations of their homes. These convictions spurred Peremore''s heir to not look back and continue on his chosen path. Malora and Ser Murdor were at the head of the procession. Finally, after a few hundred feet, they reached the beginning of the path that led into the forest''s interior. There they met the ind''s weingmittee. One hundred and forty-one hooded women in ck bowed to the ind''s guests. Afterwards...without asking anyone''s permission, the servant followers of the ind ruler prepared to collect every single boy and girl of the same number. The crying and wailing of the bound creatures suddenly ceased. The songs of the enchantresses whispered in the tiny ears of the four- to nine-year-olds dozed the fears and pains felt by the victims. Bright blue lips and smooth pale chins were all Malora could glimpse from the faces of the ind witches. The servants wandered into the forest, cradling and carrying in their arms the sleeping tribute that would soon be offered to their Goddess... End Chapter. ---------------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 120: The Great Mother & The Beloved Daughter Chapter 120: '' The Great Mother & The Beloved Daughter '' POV: The Beloved Daughter Ind of a Thousand Virgins. About two hours after the Tributes were picked up... The sunset was a few moments earlier. Faint glimmers of twilight illuminated short stretches of the sky, but the night wasing. The carriage drawn by four pitch-ck mares stopped. The draught beasts had been trained to not need a coachman to reins them. The path at the mouth of the forest soon turned into a smooth, straight asphalt road. As soon as thest glimmer of light fell, hundreds ofnterns hung on either side of the roadside, illuminating the way. A straight path thatsted more than an hour. The doors were opened by a young albino maiden auburn hair with, slightly cerulean lips and crimson eyes. The first person with an uncovered face on the ind. The girl must have been just fourteen or fifteen years old at most. "Wee to the Isle of a Thousand Virgins, mdy Malora. My name is Shanya, a humble acolyte in the service of the High Priestess, and I will have the honour and privilege of being your guide. Come, mydy, The Great Mother awaits your arrival." The apprentice introduced herself, offering a hand to help the guest down the steps of the dam-wood carriage. The Mad Maid allowed herself to be guided. Ser Murdor followed the pair silently, keeping a distance of ten feet from the protg. "You must be tired and hungry. A feast of refreshments awaits you along with my mistress. There will not be much walking, mdy. Throughout the journey that will follow, I beg you to keep your eyes on thentern. So many creatures guarding the ind do not like to be watched." She warned the guide with a gentle tone and a warm smile. "Lead the way, Shanya." A few minutester... The air was warm andfortable in the clearing. A perfectly calm and rxing spring night. Breezes of air caressed the Mad Maid''s pearl silk dress, increasing the maiden''s desire to deprive herself of it to allow her skin to taste the zephyr. The banquet was set outdoors in the centre of a royal garden decorated with statues and unknown flowers of every shade of colour arranged in the order of the rainbow spectrum. A peculiar rainbow, dark but at the same time distinct. ck ss statues depicting naked female creatures engaged in postures and acts of lust surrounded the semi-amphitheatre open to the starry sky. In its midst, a giant tree with ck bark rose to a height of nearly one hundred and fifty feet. The blue leaves were the size of a carousel shield. Three branches, as thick as the trunk of a centuries-old oak, thinned into hundreds of smallerponents as wide as saplings. The trunk, as wide as a tower, opened at the base to form an open female mouth, and at the bottom of the entrance, an altar was raised by fourteen steps that narrowed as they went toward the top. The figure seated on the ebony-carved throne ten feet high was semi-naked. Skin as smooth and snow-white as a rosy pearl, two skeletal ck carved hands covering her bare breasts. A dark steel tiara, ne, earrings, and anklets set with various jewels. The thickest, most extended, straightest hair Malora had ever seen wrapped the figure like a ck robe. The beautiful Sovereign creature was in appearance as young as a woman in her prime, but at the same time exuded an ancient and powerful aura that contradicted her age... A pale loving smile apanied by inquisitive, bright blue eyes greeted the trembling and anxious guest. "My child... Malora, my child. You have grown so much... Come closer, my child. Allow me, this mother, to admire all your splendour." The figure stood up, showing a face seemingly filled with love and emotion. "Mother -- are you my mother?" The Mad Maid would punish herself in the future for this silly question, but the moment''s emotion overpowered any logical thought. Her daughter''s foot moved involuntarily forward. All her life, she had hoped to know the name of her mother figure, but she had no name. Or rather, she had had far too many that she could no longer be identified with a mon'' notion. The figure rose from her throne and abandoned the royalty of her gestures by heading with open arms toward the young creature. The skin was soft and warm, and the scent was suave beyond belief. "Of course I am, my child. Embrace me -- yes, like that, abandon yourself in your Mother''s arms. I have missed you so much, Malora. Malora... my Beloved Daughter." The young woman let the moment wash over her, sobbing and giving vent to her tears as The Great Mother gently stroked her head. Seconds passed until they umted into minutes. Finally, when the due moment between Mother and daughter passed, the Sovereign of the Ind spoke. "Set up the banquet! Let the greatest feast of this era take ce on this Ind!" So ordered the Mother, causing a hundred faithful followers in her employ to bow and jerk simultaneously. "Come, my daughter. Walk with me. I want you to tell me all that an undeserving mother let slip while raising her only true daughter." End POV. -------------------- POV: Author Sacred Gardens of the Goddess, Thousand Virgin Ind. After about an hour of storytelling and love walkster ... The gardens became tangled by boratebyrinths of hedges filled with flowers and carnivorous nts. However, the Sovereign of the Ind was amodating and well disposed to describe each nt''s properties and peculiarities to Malora''s inquisitive mind. Shanya and three other personal handmaids of the High Priestess prepared to pick up the long hair rubbing the ground. Two other maidservants carried silver trays with ivory cups and jugs for drinks. Ser Murdor was escorting both of his mistresses. "Your father raised you well. I am d of that... It will be up to me to take care of you, my daughter." Said the Mother. "You mean... "Malora''s eyes shone with hope. "I cannot leave the Ind yet, so you will stay here and train for a few years with me, Malora. Would you like to spend time with your Mother?" Sovereign asked. "Of course I do! With all my heart, Mother! However... Oldtown, the council..." Malora interpeted the problem of her new role as a member of the High Council. "Oh, fear not, my child. You will have eyes and ears that will represent you. But, for the good of us all, it is vital that your magical training begin as soon as possible. Our enemies would have no qualms about taking down all possible future threats at their disposal. You will be the most powerful weapon and shield of my and your father''s legacy, Malora... You will have to learn to defend yourself and enhance your enormous potential." Great Mother. "I will learn, Mother. I will not fail you! I will be worthy of this honour, you will see." Malora. "Ahahah... I don''t doubt it, my child. I don''t doubt it... Allow me to test your potential, if I may." The dark steel artificial nail lightly pricked the fingertip of the Mad Maid''s thumb. The woman guided the finger between her lips and keyed the taste of the drop of blood. "Mmm... yes... So much magic flows through your veins, my beloved Beloved Daughter. Yes... A powerful enchantress you will be. What a suave affinity for the magic of darkness." The epiphany of praise and smiles partially disquieted the maiden, but pride and happiness soon ousted the disquiet. "Now tell me, Malora. Your father mentioned to me urgent matters that have arisen in the North... But, before we indulge in pleasure, let us resolve tedious duties." Great Mother. Malora dly and ardently went along with the request. A snap of the Sovereign''s fingers was enough to grant more intimacy and privacy to the duo. "Ser Murdor, my valiant Knight. You may stay." The ck Knight bowed one knee to the ground in obedience and gratitude shown. The brilliant mind of the Beloved Daughter approached to exin in full detail every detail of the High Council meeting, pointing out all the recent events that had shaken the bnce of the World. The Great Mother listened attentively to every detail, allowing the girl to speak freely while expounding any personal opinions on the matter... The minutes passed... "Tsz... What a bunch of inept sheep. They should have stopped the agreement with House Tallhart even before winter. First, they kill a precious guinea pig without permission and now this... Those brainless sheep got a little too excited by bleating a few spells. We will soon have to remind them who really guards what..." The Great Mother first showed a spark of tenebrous fury in her blue eyes. The ck pupils began to dte, covering much of the colour of the iris. "I agree, Mother... Grand Archmaester Embrose assured that all possible studies and research on the subject were carried out with rigorous attention to detail. Still, they could not discover the origin of the magic flowing in that acolyte." Malora. "Your father should have brought that subject to me! Now, all that Power is scattered in who knows what icy, forgotten corner of that heath dominated by red saplings..." Great Mother. "Do you know where that silvery light has gone, Mother?" asked Malora in astonishment. "Vaguely, my child... My sight cannot reach the domains of the Guardian of Beauty, but even a blind and deaf novice enchanter could have perceived that huge arcane discrepancy that crashed like thunder in the North. Surely even the brat from Carcosa must have sensed it. It is no ident that half of the Confederacy ising to thends of the First Men shortly after that anomaly. I wonder if that dirty metamorphic Druid has already revealed to the Arcane Tower the unknown word of Power..." Malora involuntarily scratched her head, trying to deduce all the information she was missing. The secrets held behind the Words of Power were arcane and divine mysteries still unknown even to the Great Wizard of the Tower, Leyton Hightower. "What about the other ''Blessings''?" Her mother asked. "It seems that Victarion Greyjoy and Aeron Wet Hair may have somehow escaped the clutches of the Royal Fleet. Some fishing boats in Arbor have reported the presence of a dozen sails imprinted with the golden Kraken on a ck background... We need to find out more information about these allegedly gifted ones. We have already sent ships to follow Victarion''s trail... Bloody Snow may also possess a simr power. Several rumours im that the Torrhen''s Square heir''s sword glowed green during the final sh that nipped Denys Drumm... Khal Drogo and the High Priestess of Dosh Khaleen are the ''Most Certain Blessed Ones.'' They openly unt magic and miracles in front of all Vaes Dothrak, but they are also the hardest to catch. Drogo has more than 30,000 warriors in his retinue, and the Priestess is protected day and night by hundreds of worshippers of the ''Great Mother of the Mountains''... In addition, The Iron Bank is assiduously trying to gain Drogo''s favour by protecting the duo in the shadows." The Beloved Daughter. "I see... They do look like difficult horses to tame. And what about that miraculous ''High Sparrow''?" The Great Mother. "It isplicated, Mother. Both the High Septon of the Baelor Temple and the Starry Sept have tried several times to make contact with the High Sparrow, but he has always refused. We know that his healing magics emit rainbow-coloured glows of light, but we have not been able to grasp its properties. Many followers called ''Sparrows'' are protecting him at the cost of their lives. He gains the favour of viges, castles, and towns throughout thends of the Rivers and the Valley... Many other eyes are also keeping an eye on him. Themoners and lesser nobles love him. We sent dozens of spies and hired dozens of mercenaries in an attempt to capture him, but it was all in vain. Father''s Astra Wisdom called a vote on a ''no action'' motion and obtained a majority favour. Oldtown cannot go against the ''Chosen of the Seven''." Exined the Beloved Daughter. "And what do you think about that?" Great Mother. "Personally, I approve of the decision made. It is undeniable that we need information about these unknown ''unwanted powers.'' Still, it is also true that the High Sparrow could be an excellent pawn to use should other gifted people choose to use those powers against us. That Septon is a fanatic of the faith of the Seven; he does not tolerate other heretical faith cults in any way." Malora. "A decision unwee to my mysterious seeker nature...but there is logic in what you say. Patience. We''ll just have to wait until the time is more mature. So, my dear... It seems that an exciting tournament ising to Westeros. Your opinion on its possible developments? What do you think the ''Legendary Hero of the North'', the proponent of all this turmoil, is up to?" The Great Mother. "Hard toe up with a sound theory, Mother. Information is the key to a clear and proper n. But unfortunately, we do not possess much of it. The Braavosians must have set their sights on Torrhen''s Square with too much ferocity, threatening The Watcher''s protg. This alone may have forced the Spider Queen to erect the highest defensive barriers in the entire North. But, mother, we have no idea what happened in thosends throughout the winter. Now that the Guardian of Love has freed Bloody Snow from his circle of protection, don''t you think it''s time to-" Malora was interrupted. "No not yet. That little boy doesn''t seem to be clueless. He pretends to be easy prey by concealing in his shadow giants ready to move mountains and oceans to protect him. The Guardian of Beauty has branded him with its seal. And I bet the other two are also waiting for a ''Big Fish'' to make a bold move... Hunting is an art that requires patience, my daughter." Malora nodded, processing each new piece of information. "Speaking of hunting, have there been any developments regarding the search for Valgudryel''s descendants? Have you been able to find the Targaryens?" Mother asked. "Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen are still in Braavos, but their protector, Ser Willem Darry''s days are numbered. Soon they must leave the Titan''s abode and seek a new home." Malora was interrupted. "You know very well, my dear, that those are not the Targaryens I am interested in... I speak of Rhaegar''s pups. I have already warned your father that the union between the descendants of Fire and Water is a problem... The womb-fruit children of Elia Nymeros Martell must be eradicated as soon as possible." Warned the Great Mother. "Unfortunately, we could not find them, Mother. As you suggested, we have searched every temple and priesthood of the Red God without finding sess...Lord Leyton also sent me here to request your help regarding this regrettable failure." The air was no longer filled with love and understanding. Clouds of tension slowly began to gather around the Oldtown spokesman. "I cannot-as. I have already reported to your father, track down the High Priestess of R''hllor, and you will find the Targaryens. I''m beginning to get fed up with all these failures, my dear..." The Great Mother calmed the gloomy thoughts by closing her eyes and inhaling air saturated with Magic. "Forgive me, my child. It is not your fault. It''s just that I, like you, loathe unsolved riddles... It cannot be ruled out that there may be the hand of the Guardian of Magic behind this mystery. Tsz... That old canary has been chirping around me for ages now. He pretends that he is a helpless celebrant forced to be locked in a cage, but in reality, he is more guarded and responsive than ever. No matter. Let''s get back to the heart of the matter... the North." The Great Mother urged her daughter to continue the interrupted main topic. "The rout of Balon was worse than expected. House Greyjoy was almostpletely annihted. The Haw Royal Family has regained the reins over the Abyssal people, Mother..." The High Priestess'' nose curled for the second time in a row. Then she gently stroked her forehead, closing her eyes. "Mh, mh, mh... Now even the descendants of Erich V reappear on the gaming table. In the name of Magic... Rains of disaster and misfortune in a single decade. Tell me at least that Brightroar has not returned to the hands of Lann''s descendants." Malora did not respond to the apparent quip from the entity who, in the past, considerably helped House Hightower wrest the sword from enemy hands. "Before we left, we learned that Lord Tywin Lannister officially invited Helman Tallhart and his heir to the Golden Lions'' abode. So within a week at most Bloody Snow will enter into negotiations with the Old Lion..." Malora. "I see... Well, that''s somewhat natural, isn''t it? Soon the golden mines will run out, and the Lions are too used to the glitz and beauty. Lord Tywin will demand a slice of what he thinks is his due." The Great Mother. "But what if the North were to form an alliance with the descendants of the Greatest Hero of the First Men? Wouldn''t it be time to intervene, Mother?" Malora asked. "Even if such a phenomenon were to ur, alliancese and go, my dear. The Lion, the Wolf, the Stag, the Rose, the Fish and the Sun, sooner orter, will all be at each other''s throats to get on the iron seat. Why do you think the Andals allowed the Sons of Fire to rule over the continent? No empire canst forever, Malora--men will never ept a single ruler to lead them. The desire for power is ingrained in man''s nature. On reflection... perhaps it would also be a good idea to allow the ''Sand Dragons'' to live a little longer, don''t you think?" So reasoned the Great Mother, smiling. "Yes, The conflict between House Martell and House Lannister is all but inevitable. If the crown went into open warfare, we could exploit the Chaos generated to-" "That''s right, my child! Exactly! If wielded well, Chaos is the most powerful of weapons." The Great Mother grasped Malora''s face with both hands, giving her caresses and looks of praise. "And how will we harness Chaos, Malora?" "By getting our enemies to kill each other." The Mad Maid almost had to hold back tears from emotion. "Yes, my dear. Yes, correct answer." The Sovereign of the Ind. "But it will take time, mother. The North has grown too much in thest short period -- we cannot afford to wait long." Malora. "Mmm, you''re right... But, first, we should gather as much information as possible and figure out what the North is trying to get out of this uing ''Majestic Event''. Carcosa is not the biggest threat, my dear... The Titan still serves and will still serve as the perfect shield between the Andals and the Magicians, but these First Men are actually going the extra mile. How then to restrain them? Any ideas?" ***** End Chapter. ----------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 121: Red Quarter Moon Chapter 121: '' Red Quarter Moon '' [Author''s warning: I strongly advise against reading this chapter for readers under the "Age of Sixteen". {No Under 16 Age!} Also turn off your phones or put them on silent mode and... Happy Viewing!] ******** POV: The ck Knight Sacred Gardens of the Goddess, Ind of a Thousand Virgins. A few seconds after The Great Mother asked. Ser Murdor Wylfghar was the only one worthy of such an honour. He could stand guard over the Great Mother and the Beloved Daughter, even listening to the sacred words of the Astra Wisdom of the Strangers. How much blood had he shed? And how much more would he shed to ensure that such honour would remain? His existence had the sole purpose of following the will of the Goddess. Dragons, Wolves, Lions, and Sorcerers- no lesser creature- were obstacles to the Great Mother. Murdor would dly exterminate any magical or non-magical army that created the slightest disturbance to his Goddess... The Beloved Daughter resumed the word after a few moments of reflection. "Winter, starvation and poverty, Ironborn raiders and Wildlings attacks, these were the best means at our disposal to suppress the North in the long run... We can no longer rely on the first three now. Balon and Maron will arrive at the Shadow Tower shortly. Euron is still imprisoned in the dungeons of Casterly Rock and will soon follow the fate of his brother and nephew, Theon is Winterfell''s hostage, and we do not know what Victarion''s intentions are. It would take at least one more pawn to oust House Haw from the throne and bring the Old Way back to the Iron Inds..." The Beloved Daughter took another precious few seconds to devise a viable n. The Maiden was almost ying her nails with her teeth. "More effective ''applicable'' weapons would be needed to attack the North without viting the treaty. The Titan is no fool--he is just waiting for the opportunity of a mistake by Oldtown to increase his position. We cannot go to war yet. We do not yet know if The Watcher would openly side with the First Men... the possibility exists. The Guardian of Love is a fool who would have no qualms about dering war on the Gods themselves if provoked." Malora began muttering reasoning aloud. "Instability and Chaos...Supporting the Red Kings behind the scenes?...mmm, no. Roose Bolton is dead, and Lord Domeric seems too tame...Maybe Barbrey Dustin?.... No, there must be Bloody Snow''s hand in that marriage...The North is too united now. Tsz, damn Tallharts! The Queen! Right...Cersei hates Bloody Snow and detests as much as we do the power and influence the people of the North are gaining... Got it! The Titan and the Lion! We must use the Iron Bank and the Lannisters as pawns, Mother! It is the best move! Braavos will finance and support Casterly Rock so that the Lion will sh with the Wolf. If the Titanes to sh with The Watcher while the West and the North ughter each other, that would be ideal!" Said the Beloved Daughter. "A sound n, no doubt about it. But not so easy to implement in the short term, Malora. The Guardian of Love is a problematic pawn to move. First, let''s see what y the First Men put on between three moons, and then we''ll make a list of the most appropriate pawns to move against them. Umm, yes, I think a little help is in order here." The enchantress looked up at the starry sky. "If that''s not synchronicity, I wouldn''t know what else to call it. Mh, mh, mh... Tonight we have a splendid quarter moon with a red smile! Ser Murdor." Called The Great Mother, and the ck Knight instantly responded by kneeling at her feet. "Yes, my Mistress... How may I serve you?" A guttural voice answered in a deep, gloomy tone. "My valiant Knight. I need you to escort the golden sheep of the newly arrived herd from me." The Great Mother replied. " As you wish, High Priestess." The Knight stood up, preparing to carry out themand. ***** A few minutester... The ck Knight escorted the chosen enchantress nurse in caring for the ''Favorite Tribute''. The witch carried the six-year-old boy in her arms, whispering sweet words in his ear to banish any fear from the creature. The child wore a grey woollen tunic. He had short brown hair, slightly floppy ears and washed skin that was carefully styled. The creature was still dazed from the coercive sleep upon arrival. No living beings could scream or cry inside the forest of ck-barked Trees. Many predators guarding the ind were trained to respond to loud noises. Some even delighted in hunting down screaming prey. Murdor could make out one or two whispers emitted from those cerulean blue lips. "Shh... It''s okay, honey. Soon you will meet Great Mother... Your Mother is waiting for you..." Ser Tanton Fossoway''s bastard son allowed himself to be lulled by the nurse''s sweet words and loving caresses. The trio reached their destination. "There... Your Mother is waiting for you." The Witch rested the child on her two feet. "But ... she is not my Mother... Where is Mother?" mumbled the still groggy child in a moment of lucidity. "Come, my darling. Come. Don''t be afraid, take my hand -- that''s it, good, my boy." The High Priestess dismissed the shepherdess of the golden sheep with a nce. Other acolytes who had arrived moments earlier were busy arranging ck candles at the pivotal points of a red runic circle... "What is your name, my dear?" The High Witch asked. "P-Peter...Peter Flowers, mdy," replied the child after a moment''s hesitation. "Peter... but what a beautiful name. A strong and proud name, like a true Knight. And tell me, Peter, what is your father''s name?" The Witch asked after another caress on the child''s rosy cheeks. Peter seemed to appreciate thepliment and answered more confidently: "My father is Ser Tanton of House Fossoway, a knight in the service of Lord Mace Tyrell. I, too, will one day be a knight, like my father!" "Mh! Mh! Mh! Yes, Peter, you will be a strong and proud Knight. I''m convinced of that... House Fossoway, Huh? Do you know the history of your Household, Peter?" The Great Mother asked softly,ughing jovially. The child seemed to blush for a moment from embarrassment. Evidently, no maester had yet instructed him. It was not unusual for a bastard to be left out of the privileges reserved for the pure nobility. "Well, Peter, the bards tell that House Fossoway is descended from an Ancient Hero of the First Men. A direct descendant of Garth Greenhand... A Hero of the First Men who was blessed by the line of Kings, my dear... His name was Foss the Archer, a lover of arrows and apples. Mh! Mh! Mh! Do you like apples and songs, Peter?" The child''s brown eyes lit up. "Yes, mdy. I love songs, and I love both red and green apples!" Peter replied cheerfully. "But you look at the coincidence..." Two handmaids holding trays filled with silver-ted pitchers and cups stepped forward. "Right here, I have freshly squeezed apple juice. Sweet as honey and fresh as spring dew..." Ser Murdor''s eye noticed the dark blue drop of Night Shadow that was dropped concealed into the bottom of the cup before it was filled with green juice and small ice cubes. The aroma of candied apples hovered around the carafe, quickly attracting the young nectar-seeking bee. The fragrant cup almost made the young boy leap forward. "Ah!... manners first, my little aspiring Knight." So gently admonished The Great Mother. "Y-yes. Mdy, please, may I have some apple juice?" Said little Peter affably. "We''re almost there, Peter... but I should ask you a small favour first. I would like to listen to a dear friend of mine, Bard. But this friend of mine only responds to the sweet call of apple- and song-loving children, just like you. Could you please try to call him for me? I will give you all the apple juice you want if you do. Will you help me, Peter?" Asked in a pleading tone The Great Mother. "I-I-yes, mdy. I will help you. Emm...Bard? Bard, where are you?" Peter began to call loudly to the alleged Bardo bringing his hands cupped over his mouth. "Mh, mh, mh! Oops...I forgot to tell you that this friend Bard only responds to.... ''special calls''. Why don''t you try the words {I, Peter Flowers, wish with all my heart for the Red Smiling Bard to sing in this Quarter Moon?}''" Peter seemed stunned by the wacky request but did not pay too much attention to it. The scent of reward was too intoxicating. The child tried to repeat the verse once, getting two words wrong and forgetting others. Big Mother was patient and amodating in helping the child repeat the verse correctly. "I, Peter Flowers, wish with all my heart for the Red Smiling Bard to sing on this Quarter Moon." Finally, the parishioner of House Fossoway seeded in the feat. "Excellent, my dear! Here you are, as promised." The cup was offered again and allowed to be taken. The child did not think twice about greedily emptying the cup... After not even a minute, Peter was struck by convulsions. Bluish foam came out of his mouth, and his eyes rolled upward. The Great Mother grabbed the tiny body and carefullyid it out in the centre of the ritual circle... Two attendants freed the child of his robes, leaving himpletely naked on the purplewn. "Observe carefully, my beloved. We will begin the training from here... First Rule of Ancient Primordial Magic: {There is Power in the Blood of Gods and Kings}" There was no need for a dagger... The metal fingernail, dark as smoke, soaked in tiny runic patterns, stretched an inch, forming a de... The de dug fiercely linearly from the pommel down to the linguine eviscerating and exsanguinating the poor creature... The High Priestess'' long ck hair came to life like a thousand living whips. Each new limb irrigated and distributed every essence of the body to the seven focal points of the circle. Each candle was lit the moment the price was paid. The scattered blood began to move independently, following linearly the runic paths marked like red snakes seeking prey... The Great Mother cut her finger with her fingernail and poured a single drop of purplish blood onto each newly lit candle, causing an enormously more significant volume of purple mes. A wide circle of purplish runes with a diameter of just over three palms was formed, and soon after, seven more runic circles surrounded the first one until it reached a diameter of more than six feet. The ck Knight was granted the honour of witnessing such a miracle for the second time. It was a summoning spell of the eighth circle, created by the most potent enchantress that continent had ever known... The Supreme Necromancer started to the sky, weing the ck clouds that descended down from the sky with open arms. "{Garundhing Momento Nepturyrh!}, {Garundhing Momento Nepturyrh!!}, {GARUNDHING MOMENTO NEPTURYRH!!!}" The third verse in the archaguage seemed to be shouted by a thousand thundering voices in the heavens. mes swarmed like a flying serpent toward the Red Moon. The Great Mother''s hair clung like curtains and support ropes to lift and support the hovering enchantress in the air. The moon began to weep crimson fumes that rushed toward the ritual circle forming a small imposing tornado of shadows and suffering cries. The storm began to thin out. The pearl-white feet of the Great Mother gently touched the ground. The cloud of smoke began to thicken more and more... Not even bones remained from Peter''s body... A pulsating ck heart with bright red-purple veins was located in the circle centre. The unnatural living beats of the organ roared like war drums. The Great Mother fearlessly grasped the heart, which tried to attach itself to the new life form with tiny ck root-like tendrils even from the first touch. That organ was a parasite yearning for a host to take it in. "Ser Murdor-you know what to do." The ck Knight did not hesitate an instant, unsheathing Valyria''s steel dagger in the blink of an eye. The Witch-Balia, guardian of the lost soul, did not realize what had happened even after the dagger was drawn from her chest. Then a gloved hand made its way to her pulsing organ and pulled it out of her chest in seconds. There was still a glow of life in the dying witch gasping for air. A body desperate for a new heart and an organ looking for a host to take it in came together... The woman wriggled on the ground for more than a minute screaming in pain. Fiery red veins were rampant all over her body. The witch''s blond hair fell to the ground as smooth as marble. The female features withered, the mouth unnaturally widened, shattering bones and ligaments limited her. Deer-like antlers sprouted from its head and back, and bloody ck bells made of bone hanging from each branch like wet leaves. The creature was covered only by its scales, yet they gave shape to a peculiarly jester-like robe. Small rhombuses of different shades of red adorned every inch of its figure. "Rise, Moon Bard, and sing for me." The genderless new creature stood up, obeying its mistress'' ordersughing softly to the rhythm of ungainly thundering bells. A demonic voice sang out from the creature''s battered lips. "Three requests will be granted, and three verses will be sung, Sovereign of Non-Life! Your Moon Bard will sing for you! Oh, oh! what joy! Oh, oh, what sorrow! Hihihhih! Make your requests ordain." The Bard. "What are the best instruments to weaken the First Men in theing summer?" The first request. "[Not instruments, but ck and Blue Knights! The Crimson Snow Knight strength to the First Men shall bestow, and he shall fear Three Night Blue Knight that you will feed! The bnce of creation always an honest bnce shall need!] Ehehehe! Hihiihihi!" The creature seemed amused by the evasive and contradictory verse it had just uttered. Snow veins consumed the host''s red body with more voracity finishing it. Tiny patches of skin shattered from the cheeks showing the white bone. "Tsz... " The Great Mother was ustomed to such bravado of such unclean creatures. It was not easy to request cooperation from the Demons of the Seven Hells. "Who are the Three Night Blue Knights?" The second request was posed. "[An Abominable Kraken that soon an Abominable Raven will be! Raven Eye and Blue Blood in his veins, he shall the one! The ckest Snow, the Red Skinned Man, shall most forgot! But which by Blue Blood it by right has not! A ck Mountain that red rivers dissipated in the mouth shall bleed! And that of a new Night Blue spring he shall need!] Ehehehe! Hihihihih!" The second verse was chanted, and the Demon''s body deteriorated. "Last request, my Sovereign!" Taunted the Demon, who seemed to delight in the suffering he had experienced. The Bard now appeared more like a melted red candle about to go out. The High Priestess thought about it for a moment and then asked: "The Crimson Snow Knight, Bloody Snow, what are his goals for the Known World in the first andst step toe?" "Ehehehe! Clever my Queen is! Two verses for the price of one she has requested! Oh! Oh! Then shall the Moon Bard two verses sing! Hihihih! [The Great Painter puppets in the shape of Titan, Lighthouse and Sorcerer he will draw! A Great Picture of Gold, Steel and Blood will grow!] Ehehehe! Hihihih! [A Great Pyromancer more fireworks will want for his art! A Great light show he will start! In a Dying Heath, Frosty and Dark, a Green, Red, Silver and Golden Fire he shall light! And In the Darkest Hour, a Great Bright Artifice he shall give life! Sparks of Love, Beauty, Magic and Hope to heaven he will promise BUT SPARKS PROMISED IN SUCH A DANGEROUS FIRE COULD ARISE!!!] EHEHEHEH! HIHIHIH!!!" Immediately after emitting thestugh of mockery, the prophet of the deep dissipated into a putrid mush of steaming ck flesh. Ser Murdor froze in astonishment... His Sovereign''s gaze sputtered with hatred and terror. Never in nearly two centuries had he seen the Great Mother frightened. "Malora!" thundered urgently The High Priestess. "Yes, Mother!" The Beloved Daughter sprang to the Sovereign''s feet. No other servant emitted the slightest sound at such a dull and rare moment. "The Night Blue Knights. The first verse referred to the repudiated pupil of the Three-Eyed Raven, Euron Greyjoy. But the Dark Snow and the ck Mountain? In your opinion, who might these individuals be?" "Here... ''The ck Mountain'' s almost certainly refers to Ser Gregor Clegane, also known as ''The Riding Mountain,'' but the second verse..." The Beloved Daughter squatted on her knees, twisting her hair. It was her modus operandi to reason to the best of her ability. "The Bastard of Roose Bolton! It has to be him! About nine years ago, Maester Wolkan wrote about a report of a miller with an infant visiting Dreadfort! The Lord Bloodsucker favoured the woman''s requests for help. Wolkan''s suspicion arose that the infant might be a bastard... Unfortunately, we still do not know the name, Mother..." The Beloved Daughter. "Leave us! And cancel the banquet! I want every adept on the ind to pray and make sacrifices day and night ''To The One True Goddess''!" The witch adepts promptly obeyed the orders. "Report to me any information you have gathered about that Duncan Tallhart. His origins, his appearance, his exploits, the people he met, what he ate, when and where he was seen sleeping, I want to know everything! Don''t leave out any detail!!" The Great Mother. "W-Whatever you wish, Mother." The Beloved Daughter. The High Priestess turned her furious gaze toward the ck Knight. "You too, Ser Murdor, take your leave and retire to prayer until further notice." ***** End Chapter. -------------------- ****If you have a chance and desire to support me. Here''s my Ko-fy link for you: /duncanrandargotpdin Thanks everyone and leave ament! See you next time!**** Chapter 122: Epilogue Chapter 122: Epilogue Thank you all for reading my Fanfiction so far. Synchronicity wanted thisst chapter to cross the 400,000 word threshold. Ahahah! Thank you all you readers for your support! This will be thest chapter of Volume I of: Pdin of Old Gods. I rmend you read it lightly with the soundtrack base that helped me find inspiration to write it! Hoenix - Introspection (Extended Version). Happy Reading!!! ******* POV: A Concerned Daughter On an unknown ind farther west than Lonely Light. About an hour after three requests were made and the three sos sung... This time even Ser Murdor was forced to stand back at an appropriate distance from the High Priestess and the Beloved Daughter... "Green eyes with silver streaks, you say?!" The Great Mother asked with concern. "Y-yes, Mother." Malora. "Are you sure the Tallhart was the real father? Who was the hideous female creature who begat that abomination?!" High Priestess. "E-excuse me but... no, mother. We are not sure that Bloody Snow is the rightful blood heir of House Tallhart... Maester Golbarth''s reports tell us that Ser Helman set out on a punitive expedition searching for Wildlings who attacked viges on the edge of the Wolf Forest. He returned about two moonster along with amoner wife. A woman with snow-white hair whose provenance was unknown. Maester Golbarth suspected that the woman might be a Wargh or even a Greensight of the Free Folk, so during the birth, he let the bleeding take its course." Malora exined. "A dirty Wildlings and alleged Greensight to boot! And you let that bastard live?! That flock of cowardly Grey Sheep!!! Useless cattle!!! Argh!!! " *Sdrhurshh!!*, *Kaboom!* Jets of purplish mes erupted from the hands of the enchantress, razing to the ground statues, nts and trees of a unique rarity in a cone of ny feet radius. The Great Mother''s hair came to life,shing deadlyshes in every direction within a fifteen-foot radius from the duo. Only from the pressure of the wind did Malora sense that each sh could sharply sever any limb too exposed. The Mad Maid began to tremble in a cold sweat. The explosion of fury from the entity a few feet from her was frightening. The Great Mother began to speak to herself while clenching her fists. Dark nails sank onto the pearly skin creating a painful scratching rubbing. The skin of that inhuman creature must have been harder than stone if Valyria''s steel found resistance in slicing through it... "Filthy weeping sapling-loving Druid!!! You found the Heir of Joramun, didn''t you?! You swooned by branding him with such a seal and are having him watched by the other two Guardians!" Malora remained in a religious silence, wisely waiting to speak only when asked. The Great Mother gasped fiercely, stealing excess air. After a little more than a minute, the woman resumed a semnce of fragile stillness. "Malora..." "Yes, Mother!" The girl knelt at her feet. "Go to your father and inform him that I will demand triple the tributes from today on. And that they are to be handed over to me at each end of the twelfth cycle on the one." This meant that another load of tribute was to be delivered to the ind within the next two moons! "Also... I want every corpse in the Hignds and Rivends that you can get your hands on. Move on tiptoe. I don''t want to alert the Guardians... I want all of Oldtown to be activated to a state of emergency. Not one ounce of Dragon ss will be put on the market anymore! Stock up on gold, jewellery, and other valuable assets to purchase as many Mana stones as possible. Triple the recruits in training, triple the fleet, triple the city defences, triple the eyes and ears! Triplicate everything!" Shouted The Great Mother. "Yes, m-mother... It will be done... I beg your pardon.." Malora had to ask the question for the sake of her household. "Yes, my daughter?" Asked the imposing dark voice that would not ept the slightest refusal or retort. "I humbly wanted to ask if we are officially at war with the North, High Priestess?" So asked the trembling Malora, still with her knee to the ground. "We always have been, my dear ... we just didn''t know it yet. Since the first wailing uttered by that unclean creature, we have been at war! Tell your father to act as soon as possible if he notices the slightest glimmer of opportunity at the tournament to move against Bloody Snow and the First Men. Do not enter open warfare yet. Instead, strike in the shadows every blind spot. Use every opportunity to get all the remaining six kingdoms to move war against the North! You must not allow the descendants of Ice a moment''s respite!" The Great Mother. "Gr-Great Mother..." Malora''s survival instinct screamed at her not to voice those thoughts in any way, but reason and the logic of the obvious overrodemon sense... "Talk..." "The Watcher, Mother... The Guardian of Love is the guarantor between the factions for as long as the Wizarding Confederacy is a guest in thends of the First Men. We cannot move freely until the Spider Queen summons all her forces from Westeros... At the slightest sign of belligerence, the Fourth Organization and the powers of the other Guardians would openly side with The North and Carcosa. The Titan would remain neutral, waiting for all the other forces to ughter each other... We are not ready to face a war of such magnitude without the right preparations. Besides... Lord Leyton has bound himself to a Blood Oath in the Name of the Three-Great-Powers-of-the-World with the Spider Queen." Malora held her breath. She was no longer sure that this malignant entity brimming with power could not or would not harm her. A mother would not kill a daughter just for telling the truth, right? Her eyes could not lift off the ground even if she wanted to. The longest seconds of the Mad Maid''s existence passed. "Mh! Mh! Mh! ..." the tension subsided. A burst of jovial and liberatingughter spread through the air. "You are right, my daughter. You gave wise advice to a foolish mother who got carried away by the emotion of the moment... You must forgive me. Centuries of stillness have made me soft and far less forward-looking. Forget all my previous requests except one -- the tributes. You will go to your father and tell him I will need rivers of blood and magic stones. As long as The King in The Yellow remains in Westeros, make no impulsive moves." Great Mother. "Yes, Mother." The Mad Maid. "Mh,mh,mh... Ahahah! A yellow trap, no doubt. And I was about to pounce on the bait! Ah... Looks like a funny yer has joined the Big Game Table! Ahahah! What do you think, Malora? Get up, my child; you have nothing more to fear." Malora rose to her feet and found the strength to stare at the Great Mother again. The cheerful smile wasforting, but the eyes-that bloodthirsty gaze was eager to reap victims. Big-Table-to-Game? Her father exined the rules of ''The Great Game.'' Currently, less than a hundred people on all continents know the ''truth'' about the origins of the World. Members of the four Supreme Councils, some Millennial Royal Families-such as the dynasty of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti-and, the Guardians... There was only one ''approved and consequence-free'' way to join the circle. "B-but Bloody Snow could not be aware... Unless..." "Yes, my child, it is as you think... I thought the Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation of Wizards had called in a favour from the Guardian of Love for a chance to get his hands on ''the arcane anomaly'', but that''s not the case... Someone else must have persuaded that peace lover to stir the pot so much for other purposes! House Haw returned to take the reins of the Iron Inds, the Carcosa delegation visiting Westeros, and the King of the Sons of the Forest decided to support the First Men. These are not convergences. Someone is moving the pieces of the Great Chessboard. Remember this proverb, Malora: {Once is by chance. The second time is a coincidence. But the third ... it''s a bloody pattern}. The Watcher named Joramun''s descendant his Heir. I''m sure of it." Affirmed the priestess with confidence. "At only eleven years old?! The Watcher is a fool!" Malora was green with envy at the shocking revtion. Although The Mad Maid had disyed unique gifts and abilities since puberty, she was never granted such an honour until her 29th birthday... "Not so fool, apparently. Bloody Snow has already proved himself worthy of such an onus... The boy has moved all the pawns to the right spot by attacking and deploying defences in the shadows. He exploits every means at his disposal skillfully. He could already sit on the Iron Toy if he really wanted to..." The Great Mother. "Even the truth about Pod- about the ''descendants'' of Lann''s heirs?" Malora asked. "Possible... Usually, the Heirs are informed at the time of session, but I would not rule it out. ording to the treaty, it would still be his right to do so, however premature the choice may be. The Guardians are the only ones who have the right to appoint an Heir and protect his identity... The threat from the North is more significant than we imagined, my dear." The Great Mother. The passing of session between Guardians was such a rare event that that use was almost buried and forgotten... In thest five thousand years, only the Torch of Love passed through other figures after the death of Valgudryel Targaryen. His daughter, Rheyna Targaryen, the wife of Podrick Lann, was supposed to seed in her father''s role. But the Appointed Heir noted that the Three-Headed Dragon dynasty was cursed with a powerful curse and that all the great noble families of Valyria were soon corrupted by greatness and the lust for power... Rheyna resigned from the post and appointed a powerful Priest of Life as her sessor: ''The Lord of Harmony'', also known in the Isle of Naath as the ''Butterfly God.'' A Guardian who fulfilled his role admirably for over four thousand years. He mysteriously disappeared in the fumes of the Valyria Disaster four hundred years ago without naming an heir... From there, the Chief Priest of the Cult of Many-Faced Gods took on that burden. An unnamed individual called by the other spheres ''The Kind Man.'' Thetter chose and proposed the burden of that office after the incident that nearly destabilized the entire Known World called the ''Tumult of the Nine Demons'' to the current Guardian: The Watcher. "We should change ns as soon as possible and react ordingly then." Malora. "Yes, we should, my child ... but it would be wiser to fight fire with fire. Bloody Snow, the Guardians, the Royal Families, Carcosa, Braavos, none of them are aware of this ind or who rules it. The Guardian of Magic and Beauty have only suspicions and nothing concrete in hand. So I made sure to erase every possible lead. We will use this to our advantage, my beloved. Mh, mh, mh." The Mad Maid''s eyes glittered with reverence for the figure in front of her. "How do you suggest we act, Mother?" Malora asked. "Mmm, let''s see...how many days until the Confederation arrives?" Asked the High Priestess. "The Fleet will arrive in Braavos in just three weeks, Mother. Less than a moon before the delegation crosses the border." Malora promptly replied. "Times are tight...Send Council delegates to Pentos and harass the Spider Queen with grievances and additional conditions to be negotiated for hospitality rights. Slow down the convoy as long as possible." The Great Mother. "As you wish, Mother. And how shall we use the time gained?" Malora. "I want at least a hundred Oldtown agents in The Wall to swear an oath to the Night''s Watch. Let them integrate for a while and earn the trust of their superiors. And when the time is ripe ... they must unleash a storm of blood and hatred between the Crows and the Wildlings. Vige massacres, raped women, children having their throats slit in front of their mothers'' eyes, backstabbing of sworn brethren--any means will be permissible. Have all the maesters from Last Hearth to the Salt Coast detail all the scions of Westeros, the horrors and brutality of the Barbarians north of The Wall, and extol the noble and brave heroes of the brethren in ck who fight against such barbarism. Gather the worst hirable marauding animals and unleash them in Brandon''s Gift and the New Giftnds. Banquet in human flesh, kidnap wives and daughters, raid bronze, iron and steel, all shall seem the work of the brutal cannibals of the ice-river ns. Even the children of Dorne''s popce will have to weep and despair at night at the idea that one day a murderous rapist Wildlings may cross the Wall and descend to the South to take them away. Hire bards to sing new bads of horror, if necessary. I will send my most trusted Virgins north of The Wall to the Frostfangs regions to support a new would-be King-Beyond-The Wall in the shadows. Many cave-dwellers are lovers of deities other than the Old Gods. We still have time..." The Great Mother. "Time, Mother? For what? Why stir up a fire against the Wildlings? If the purpose is to weaken the North in this way, will we not spur the Southern lords to support the cause of the Night''s Watch?" Malora rightly asked. Oldtown had taken centuries to drain the forces of The Wall year after year. All these countermeasures seemed unproductive in her eyes. "Four years..." The High Priestess sighed in pure frustration, but it was not directed at Malora. "I won''t be able to get rid of that Bastard Wildlings immediately; I will need time. And in four years, Bloody Snow will reach the Age of Majority. Then, running his sixteenth name-day, he will be able to draw upon all the magical Inheritance that the Children of the Forest gave as a gift to the lineage of the True First Men. Surely, that brat will try to annex the Wildlings on south of The Wall... He must be opposed by all means. We absolutely must not allow the descendants of Brandon ''The Breaker,'' Joramun, Mag Mar Tun, and the Green King to form an alliance... The First Men, the Giants, and the Children of the Forest must never againe together under one banner," The Mad Maid was interjected for a moment. She knew pretty well the history of King-Beyond-The-Wall Joramun and Winter King Brandon Stark, The Breaker''. Of themon struggle against an alleged Necromancer Lord Commander known as ''The Night King,'' no book or scroll had ever mentioned this suspected leader of the Giants or the Green King. The avid researcher of standard and forbidden historical texts did not even know that such an alliance was ever formed centuries after The Wall was erected... "Oldtown will mobilize as soon as possible, Mother," Malora replied a few momentster. Even though the Mad Maid strongly doubted that the Lord Bishops of the North, such as Umber, Karstark, Mormont, Glover and most of the ns of the Mountains, could ever ept even the thought of the Wildlings putting a nostril outside the boundaries of Brandon''s Gift, but she still left that thought to herself. "I''m afraid you will have to return to Oldtown, my daughter..." Malora''s eyes widened with disappointment. ''No!'' She wanted to stay here and learn magic with the most powerful woman she had ever dreamed of meeting! She wanted that power, too. All that knowledge... "I won''t be able to guide you-not in the short term at least. Your father will be the one to teach you the basics of the arcane way." Great Mother. "No! I beg you!..." theint was not weed. "I-I meant... why? Why won''t I be able to spend time with you, Mother?" "I want you to get your hands on the three ''Night Blue Knights.'' Act as soon as possible and bring them here to the ind my future new pawns. You will have half the forces and the ind, ships, gold, Ser Murdor and his chosen ''des of Seven'' and any other means necessary for the work. I will not ept failures..." "Y-yes, mother. I will not fail, I promise." Malora bowed. "I am sure of it, my child... Great rewards or great punishments will await you depending on the oue." The Mad Maid could not help but swallow. "What about you, mother? May I ask what you will do during this period?" "I will need time to iste myself in total quiet and build strength. Matters left unresolved for too long will soon require my full attention... Mh! Mh! Mh!" End POV. ------------------------- POV: Author Altar of the One True Goddess, Ind of a Thousand Virgins. A few hours after a Beloved Daughter returned to a ship to set course for an Ancient City... There was still no sign of auroral shes to the east of the starry sky blessed by the Crimson Moon. The darkest hour of that night had struck, the ideal time to pray and invoke the help of the One True Goddess. The High Priestess chanted lofty prayers over and over again... A dance of crimson and purplish hues danced among the shiny reflective features of the statue. The work of art was erected millennia earlier in ck stone, and a zed mother of pearl seemed to glow with each invocation. The ind ruler invoked thest chant and stood up, inhaling all the magic deeply in the air she could muster. Then the woman began tough. A peal of deep icyughter steeped in impure thoughts. She gave vent to all the madness and emotions she had to hold back for a long time. One moment too many out of control, and the Sovereign might as well have killed her so carefully bred ck sheep and scattered deserts of ashes throughout her domain. The Great Mother could not reveal her valid concern concealed in a single word of that prophecy. "Not Three, but Four Sparks..." she said, voicing her thoughts. "A Fourth Invading Power in my domain..." "So be it... The hunt will have to begin sooner than expected. First, it will be my turn to flush out the Songbird, then blind the Spiderbane, and finally... to dry every leaf of the Sapling... After that, I wille for you, Crimson Snow Knight. Mh, mh, mh! Please try not to die before the ck hour!" Small finger gestures and a whisper of chanting evoked a triple runic circle. The figure rose gently from the ground, spreading its arms wide to be invested by thest lunar glimmers. The High Priestess soared through the sky in the direction of the Crimson Moon until she reached three thousand feet in the air. The distance was enough to give vent to all her emotions. If the enchantress could not vent in the sky, she would do so on earth, generating massacres and cmities. The witch was aware that using all that power on a mere whim was a waste...but she needed it; she could no longer contain herself. Whatever drop of magic had been used by the Great Mother was lost forever. It would not flow back into the tremendous magical web of the World like blood and dust to the earth but would be dispersed into oblivion, abandoning this World forever... Perhaps the Guardian of Magic would have sensed this new rupture in the Plot, but it did not matter now... The long hair came to life and began to engrave nine purple runic circles. It was a spell she had not recited for millennia now... Six times she used it to raze the castles erected by Durran Godsgrief, the ancestor of the ancient and buried Durrandon dynasty. [Storm of Disaster] The dark clouds in the skies were called back again and again. The air became charged with electric tension... Water thickened into clouds, ready to bring down the storm... The enchantress''s hands began to flow gently like a conductor, summoning pure primordial wind energy. The Great Mother waited for the moment to be propitious... *SKARBOONN!!!, *SWOOSH!!!, *CRABOOM!!! The first wave of wind, thunder and lightning would be able to sink a small fleet or uproot an entire vige. Filled with power and excitement, the figure gave vent to the voice tearing through the skies with rumbles of thunder: "I TREMBLE WITH ARDOR IN ANTICIPATION OF THAT HOUR, HEIR OF JORAMUN!!!" *CRABOOM!!!* "Armies, Magics, Guardians, Legacy...use everything in your power to entertain me!!! I will soon take everything away from you! I will personally smother your every spark! Like feeble candles amid an Icy Stormy Ocean!" The enchantress gathered the power of nature... "I will extinguish your Love!" *CRABOOM!!!*A roaring thunderbolt lit up the sky. "Your Beauty!!" Two thunderbolts, more powerful and brighter than the first, roared across the sky. "Your Magic!!!" The magic climax seemed to be reached when a power of nature capable of decimating a city was unleashed. But the Orchestra Head had not finished the Opera. The pounding, untraceable freezing rain, capable of stoning to death any creature that was not d in hardened steel, continued to invest the enchantress incessantly. It was only pleasant tepid water that helped her to cool the boiling adamantine skin... The wrath unleashed was not enough to satiate that immense murderous fury that gued her. The High Priestess of the One-True-Goddess summoned a gargantuan amount of cloud, wind, water and electricity around her, preparing for thest great act of the bad... "Andstly... YOUR HOPE!!!!" ------- End Volume I ***** Chapter 123: Prologue Chapter 123: Prologue I dedicate this second volume to all my friends, family, and of course all of you dear readers who have supported me and followed the 967-page chronicle about a crazy nerd and hiswyer-angel... Thank you all and Happy Reading! ******* Pdin of Old Gods: Beauty (Volume II) ________ POV: A Desperate Angel Abode of the Supreme Archon of the Underworld, Ninth Circle of Hell. In an indefinite time... Metatron waited more than two hours in the antechamber set up to entertain ''well-liked'' guests. Although his arrogant brother Archangel Lucifer was certainly offending him on purpose, Metatron did not respond to provocation. Not even when the attendant demons guided him to dozens of filthy, foul-smelling ces filled with inappropriatesciviousness did the Angel show the slightest hint of discontent. The demons in charge of his escort and reception continually perjured themselves that their Sovereign was there ready to wee him to the next destination, but that, ''by the sheer misfortune'' of urgent matters requiring the presence of the Archon himself, it had to teleport to other points at opposite ends of the Infernal ne just moments before Metatron''s arrival. ''The Voice of God'', the second most powerful being in the heavens and Chief Attendant of the Great Father, had no power in Lucifer''s domain. The Superior Archangel could have easily held his own against three if not more Archons of the Underworld, even in their chosen domain, if he could have given vent to his divine powers. However... Metatron showed up in Lucifer''s abode as a messenger delegate. And the few dictates imposed by the Great Father God were clear. [Any messenger delegate between the Abyssal, Infernal, Celestial, Earthly and Dimensional nes will be granted total immunity and safe-conducts. In return, the host will be guaranteed total safety over his person and all domains he exercises. It will be the host''s right to determine the conditions of safe conduct in the domains it controls]. Lucifer did not allow any Angel to have an iota of power above a duck. Metatron even had difficulty using the only pair of wings granted to him. Nevertheless, his fingers, hands, and legs flowed with the same strength as a decrepit two-hundred-year-old man afflicted with gout... In addition, the voice of each guest was forcibly set in ''Female Lyric Contralto'' mode ... ''The Voice of God'' had to stoop to this humiliation of appearing as E Beal ... Lucifer adored all kinds of musical works. But all this was bearable for Metatron ... In fact, much more than tolerable. The Archangel calmly savoured every sweet second of vacation from his ''challenging tasks''. The Angel closed his eyes and deeply inhaled the air saturated with sulfur and ash, calmly hearing the sweet musical notes of pain, despair, and sufferinging from all the penitents of thest circle of Hell. Still, most of all... he enjoyed the most precious luxury he had longed for so... so long time... SOLITUDE. ''Yes, all in all, it''s not so bad ... I could get used to it. Enough. I''ve made up my mind!'' "Honorable Metatron Shaddai Jahoel Sefer Ha-Zohar, Higher Archangel, Messenger and Voice of God, His most holy sacredness, Asmodeus, Belial, Dagon ..." after another six hundred and sixty-two names, she finally touches on thest "... Lucifer, Supreme Archon of the Underworld and Lord Protector of the Ninth Circle, is looking forward to weing you, apologizing profusely for all the waiting and unforeseen inconveniences you have had to endure." Said a subus attendant and lobby manager. "Never mind..." Cut Metatron short. The Angel had endured far longer rants in thest... he still had no idea how much time had passed since that nefarious event. But indeed, those two paltry pages of names and lofty titles were nothing more than a short grain of sand in the middle of an endless desert expanse. The doors of the Srium of the Arconte were opened. The room more or less remained as the Angel remembered thest time he visited. How long had it been? Well, it could have been guessed. Lucifer had a special attachment to Earth. In his opinion, the most imaginative, shameless, and deserving of the title ''Sinners'' grew up there. The ninth round belonged to all penitents guilty of treason. Judas Iscariot looked like an altar boypared to many other notorious prisoners. Lucifer collected a personal item from each deserving celebrity. In the corridor chiselled with disy cases, Metatron recognized the Spartan shield of ''Efialtes de Tes.'' In another, Emperor Moctezuma gave the solid gold Aztec ne to his ''trusted'' wife ''La Malinche,'' the mistress of Spanish conqueror Hernn Corts. The dagger that Julius Caesar gave to Brutus for his twelfth name-day. The same one, his son,ter used to stain himself with the crime of Parricide during the Ides of March. And many, many other souvenirs. There were even the weapons of some famous penitents from other circles who had already served their sentences and obtained the right of reincarnation. Eighteenth-century guns belonging to the famous pirate ''Edward Teach''; The Mongol bow of the celebrated ''Khutulun'' daughter of the leader Kaidu; The two-handed Hammer of The me, the former Carthaginian cksmith, turned diator who refused freedom, won in the field four times; And six other weapons that Metatron did not have time to remember, as his brother had juste to meet him. "Great Brother Metatron, long time no see." Lucifer assumed his usual Fallen Angel guise with three pairs of ck raven wings. "Great Brother, Lucifer. Thank you for weing me into your shining abode. d to receive your warm and kind wee." Metatron crossed his fists to his chest and bowed. Lucifer smiled affably, showing a hint of surprise in his gaze. He reciprocated the gesture promptly. It was the ancient gesture of greeting and respect that only Archangels used among themselves. There was no need to imply how many Ages Lucifer had not received such an honour from his beloved Brothers. "Come, Brother Metatron. Allow me to offer you a ride to the penthouse. That is usually where I hold meetings with my faithful Archons and Lords of the Floor." "A ride would be appreciated, dear Brother. I didn''t even remember how high your keep was anymore." Metatron. "Ahahah! Credit to the Glottotist, Writer J.R.R. Tolkien. Great Father and I have long developed a hobby inmon. I am a great fan of stories and he, as you well know, of costumes and new races. So we found this little recreational hobby that shared our interests and allowed us to reconnect. I felt like restoring this ce a little bit. I don''t need to tell you how passionate I was about the figure of Sauron. Ahah." Lucifer took pride in many things; his collection and the library were among the most glittering highlights. A few minutes of pleasantriester... "So, Great Brother... May I ask why you came to me in person to deliver that message you hold in your hands rather than assign one of your usual heralds?" Lucifer asked, voluntarily maintaining a false and hypocritical look from [What motive could possibly be behind it, oh, Great Guardian of the Scourge of Heaven?] "Here...Urgh, umm..." Metatron cleared his throat. Lucifer snapped his fingers and appeared a crystalline chalice filled with juice fruits of Even woods. The host appreciated the kind courtesy offered. But, of course, everyone in heaven knew what the ''Voice of God''s'' favourite drink was. "Yes, that''s it. I promised to my... my beloved Trainee Apprentice...," "You mean, Brother Seraphinus?" asked Lucifer on the fly, sprinkling salt on the open wound. "Yes... Brother Seraphinus." confirmed Metatron arming himself with much patience. Patience that had significantly been tempered over the past decade. "Forgive me; it was just to better understand who you were referring to. It was not my intention to break the thread of the conversation. So please go ahead, Great Brother..." Lucifer. "Yes... As I was saying. ''Seraphinus'' torm... ''insistently begged'' me toe here in person to ask you to formally discontinue your ''persuasions'' on soul No. 2,331,870,463,575,483." Metatron. "Soul No. 2,331,870,463,575,483?...um, let me check. No. I''m not aware of anything. I don''t think it''s one of mine, Great Brother. Could you please be a little more specific?" Lucifer. "... You know who I''m talking about." Metatron did not want to y this game anymore. "Brother Metatron, I can assure you that I cannot 100% guarantee who that ID number belongs to." And Lucifer was not lying. He was probably only 99.999999...% certain. "The soul who in hisst earthly existence took the name Matthew Songwill. Son of Bill Songwill and Jennifer Redcould..." Metatron was not going to give him a pass. Not this time. He wasn''t going to call that devil advocate of all his woes that... "Matthew... Matthew... mmm... Gosh! So many Matthews have existed that it will take me forever, Brother! Just give me a moment to find him in the archives." Lucifer was about to get up when Metatron stopped him. "Matthew ''The Unbeatable''! ''The Archangel-Maker''! Happy now?!" Metatron exploded. "Aaaah... You meant ''That Matthew.'' But why didn''t you say it right away, Great Brother? If you had mentioned the name of Duncan Tallhart or Bloody Snow, I would have caught on quickly. You know I''m a big fan of the ASOIAF world. Ahahah Ah, speaking of nicknames, a little bird whispered in my ear that you gave that poor soul a new nickname...I remember ''Scourge of the Voice,'' if I''m not mistaken?" Lucifer asked. "No! That''s not true! This is outright nder and backbiting! I never used those terms!!!" The Angel snapped to his feet with apparent disdain, loudly debunking the gossip. But, unfortunately for him, the batter missed the curveball he had just thrown... Metatron''s shriek was deflected by the vocal restriction of the host in chief. Instead, a suave lyrical contralto voice charged with feeling and pure angry emotions pervaded the room. "Ahaaa... What sweet poetry! What an interpretation, Brother! This is sweet Nectar for my ears! Ahahahah!" Lucifer gave vent to the hrity, and theughter held likepressed gas inside a pressure cooker. Metatron was livid with anger and embarrassment, but he could not scream or express any sign of punishing displeasure. He was a nobody in the Underworld, and in front of him sat the undisputed ruler of the Nine Girons. Another minute ofughter passed. Finally, Lucifer seemed to have regained control and a self-respecting host''s semnce of decency. "Forgive me. A little joke, nothing more. Here. A small gesture of apology to make up for my rudeness." *Snap* the fallen Angel snapped his fingers, and blue mes enveloped Metatron. mes are capable of purifying and bestowing vigour on souls. The archangel''s voice became the original again, and a good dose of strength pervaded his entire body. He was now back to at least the level of an Inferior Angel. "Ermm... Apology epted. So, Great Brother..." Metatron was interrupted. "Yes. I know what you want to talk to me about. The curse of the Berserker, am I right?" But then, Lucifer got to the point. "That''s right. Although it was technically permissible for that time to aggravate the curse that by a whisker failed to copse the boy, I have a petition for official restriction to prevent any other involvement not openly stated and approved by the supervising council." Metatronvished the official document in front of the Archon. Lucifer opened it listlessly, ncing to see if everything was in order. "Yes, yes, I understand. No more tricks. Come on, Great Brother. ''Curse'' is an outright magnification. At most, a ''little push'' and nothing more." Lucifer. "Nearly pulling off an allied massacre and copsing in the process, Lucifer... Ondo''s Madness is a curse and one of the most dangerous of Love''s evils to boot." Metatron. "Or, Come on! It was only a tiny test and nothing more! The boy passed it with flying colours, it seems to me. And I''d like to remind you that ''Ondo''s Madness'' also gives the beneficiary enormous enhancements. Enhancements that could determine life and death in critical situations! If well harnessed, that power could make him stronger than Heracles! Instead of thanking me for contributing, youe down here to throw stones and poisoned words at me! Who am I, the basket of the misfortune of the heavens, perhaps?! ''Oh, no! Today my soul was cursed, and I caught a cold! Curse you, Lucifer!''" Recited boldly in an indignant tone Lucifer. "No, Great Brother! You are wrong. I had no intention of insinuating-" Metatron was interrupted by another soloint. "Still, I thought I was doing you a favour! I also wanted to contribute to the Hero of the North in Love! ''The Gate Locks'' is a martial art form born of pure Love! And the Guardian had even appointed him as his heir! Sooner orter, that boy would still have to pass a Love test! And what test could have been the most suitable, the most tuneful, the most symbiotic in these songs of feats and honours than Ondo''s Madness?! So tell me, Great Brother! What other proof?" Lucifer asked, cornering a struggling Metatron. "Well, I- I don''t know at the moment..." "Exactly! You wouldn''t know how to answer that! Then why? Why, Metatron?! Whye down here to show nothing but disdain and discontent toward me?! What has poor Lucifer done to you?!" Asked the Archon, almost on the verge of bursting into tears. "I..." The song was sung so well that Metatron even forgot that, in fact, there was still no Medorus in Westeros who stole an Angelica and that, therefore, Ondo''s jealousy and fury had nothing to do with Bloody Snow. But it would have taken his full mental faculties to shake off all of Lucifer''s persuasive charisma. "Enough! No more rancour between us! I can''t take any more of all this unwarranted hatred and resentment! ...I forgive you, Metatron." Concluded Lucifer bestowing an affectionate hug on the stunned Archangel. "..." "In any case. An amazing stunt to grant the boy the opportunity to have The Watcher as his master. Really nice touch on your part." Lucifer returned to his usual behaviour, pretending that nothing serious had just happened. "Look, you are wrong! Seraphinus nor I intervened in the slightest for that event. It was merely a case." Metatron. "The Case Does Not Exist, Brother..." It was only an instant. An imperceptible moment as fleeting and ephemeral as the passage of a particle of light ... but Metatron sensed it. A slight glow of sadness, longing, love, and regret sparkled from Lucifer''s eyes as if the Fallen Angel knew something that Metatron missed. But it couldn''t be that, could it? What could Lucifer know that the Higher Archangel, The Voice of God, The Right Hand of the Great Father, and Grand Marshal of all the forces of Heaven could not know? Then why that answer? {The Case Does Not Exist} Metatron was on the verge of asking when Lucifer, with all his grace and charm, deftly deflected the possible annoying question. "We were saying... How is it that you came here in person to deliver a message that you could easily delegate to any herald?" The Devil asked. " Emm... Yes, besides wanting to take the opportunity to visit you, my dear Brother, I also wanted to propose to you mmm... ''an exchange.'' In fact, it would be better to say an opportunity!" Metatron. "Mmm... I love ''opportunities.'' I''m all ears, my beloved Brother." Lucifer. "As you well know... A recent new assignment has been given to me. And at present, I would still becking..." "Eighty-four years, eleven months, sixteen days, four hours, twenty-nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds. Yes, I know very well what assignment you are talking about, Metatron. I had staked quite a bit of credit on your enduring at least twenty years before you came here to me. I don''t need to tell you what a tragic end those credits came to, Brother..." Lucifer. "Ah... So you also already know..." Metatron was anticipated. "Yes, I do. Let''s go straight to the core. How much are you offering, Brother?" Lucifer widened his ravenous hunter-business eyes. It had been millennia since Lucifer had begged the Archangels for a substitute leave of absence in the role of Supreme Archon of the Underworld. Instead, the Devil yearned for a vacation in the candied and far less busy Kingdom of Heaven. "One-minute role exchange for every second of patronage with Seraphinus. You will temporarily rece me in the role of ''Voice of God'' and Right Hand of the Great Father. You will even be Grand Marshal of the Heavenly Forces in case of War. In addition, I willpensate for your loss of credits from my pocket." Metatron fired off the millennium offer without hesitation. "More than five thousand years in the Underworld, Metatron? Have you carefully considered this burden you wish to shoulder? Time flows differently here among the mes, screams and misery..." Warned Lucifer sneeringly. "All the more reason to ept, isn''t it?" Metatron. "What about our Father and poor Seraphinus? Wouldn''t they be hurt, Brother?" Lucifer. The Archangel hesitated with a slightly hesitant and embarrassed look, but firm conviction returned after recalling thest few hells he had just gone through. "It is our right to decide. We are not viting any regtions. I will go in person to exin to both of you ... ''the situation.'' " "Mmm... Come with me, Brother. I will give you my answer at the top of the Tower." A few momentster... Metatron was at his brother''s side at the top of the open tower. From that height the whole of the bewildered circle could be seen. ck mountains,kes in crimson reds, bone-white deserts, and tinting it all a continuous and unceasing gray snowfall. "Just a moment, Brother. There was a reason, other than mere spite, that I kept you waiting so long." Lucifer touched his temple, activating long-range telepathicmunication. "Is everyone ready, General?... Good, stay in position and wait. On my signal... Unleash Hell." Metatron did not understand what Lucifer had in mind. ''Why was he summoning demonic troops? What, was he going to attempt a second invasion in front of him?'' Thought the angel. "Brother... I knew in my heart that this moment woulde sooner orter. I was prepared for such a proposal. Although I must admit that yours is more inviting than I could ever hope for. And that is why you deserve a worthy, clear and definitive answer..." Lucifer summoned the mes to the center of the two pirs. A living eye of shadows and mes, eyelidless lit up, casting the signal. And soon after...clouds rose from thends of the ninth underworld. No...not clouds, they were swarms! Swarms of insects?... Demons-every one of those dots was a demon! But how many were there? Billions? Tens of billions? All the swarms concentrated into a single cloud more than twenty thousand feet above the ground. The condensed cloud began to take shape. That was certainly an exmation point! And finally, pure despair came. Thest faint hope was extinguished. Three gargantuan ck symbols stained the red sky, forming the exmation: {NO!} ------------------------------ End Chapter. Chapter 124: Preparing for Winter Chapter 124: Preparing for Winter POV: Maester Luwin Winterfell. 289 A.C. Twenty-sixth day of the tenth moon. Sixty-four days to the beginning of the wedding... Dusk had just fallen on that warmte spring day. Luwin wondered when the white raven woulde from the Citadel to signal the beginning of Summer. The days had grown longer. Almost all the snow melted. Maester Aemon even reported that The Wall had been tearing for over a week and that the Night''s Watch needed builders to heal possible ice wall subsidence. ''A short spring... I wonder if summer will be so short, too?" thought Luwin as he peered through the ss window at thest orange glow of twilight. The observatory tower, where Luwin''s private and work rooms resided, was one of the tallest towers in Winterfell. A building that touched nearly a hundred and sixty feet in height on the summit was pre-purposed for the aviary. The new observatory lens, the gift recently received from House Mormont as a congrattory gift for the birth of the new little Stark girl, reced the old Myr lens from Luwin. The new telescope greatly exceeded the range and sharpness of the old instrument. It would certainly do wonders at the Citadel. First soap, then paper, and now ss... The North was getting on a perilous slope. The Citadel was very unhappy with Luwin. The High Council had already admonished him for not ''advising'' the Lord Protector of the North not to ept the invitation of the ''unwee guests'' from the East. But what could poor Luwin have done? Lord Eddard must have epted the invitation soon after leaving for war. No raven or messenger had warned the maester of such impending diplomatic catastrophe! If only he could have exined to his lord what tremendous danger House Stark was getting into. The Protector of the North had returned a few weeks ago in a hurry. It had been days since Lord Eddard worked incessantly closely with Chief Steward Poole. Winterfell was not about to host a delegation.... but an army. Seven thousand two hundred guests were in sight of arrival... All unused spaces in the fortress had been polished and refurbished. Even all the still usable floors of the Broken Tower were currently being restored. Dozens of merchant caravans continued to arrive at all hours of the day and night, filling the reserves with fine food and drink: sacks of spices from Dorne and the free cities, expensive scented candles, new pavilions of wool and silk, brand-new cups and silverware, and many... many other splendours of all kinds. The inns of Wintertown were filled with bards, jugglers and thespians about to engage. Luwin had tried to warn his lord that although House Stark''s coffers were filled with gold and silver, this was an expense Winterfell could not afford. Lord Eddard Stark''s response was cold and definitive. "I am well aware of the heaviness of this event, Maester...Now return to performing the duties that best suit you. Your advice has not been sought." Luwin still found no opening to fulfil the High Council''s orders. [Tighten rtions between House Stark and the Carcosa delegation as much as possible.] How? How could Luwin have acted if he could no longer get the Lord of Winterfell to listen to him? Should he have forged stronger rtions with Lady Catelyn and used her voice to send concealed messages to her husband? No... Lady Stark had recently restored her influence and obtained forgiveness for ''the incident'' that urred four years ago. The Lady of Winterfell was now very wary of sticking her nose into matters that did not concern her. Not to mention that mother still only had eyes for little Arya... The kicking, rebellious child had given her first wail a little over a moon. How could Luwin have helped House Stark and the North? How could he dete friction with Oldtown?.... Of one thing the maester was sure, even that night, the man tarred with migraines and anxieties of all kinds would make use of a Sweet Sleep drop. The hour waste, but the little lord and his half-brother diligently continued their work. "Finished! Maester Luwin, I have finished the chapter." Said young Robb in a triumphant tone. Jon next door snorted with envy... "We''ll see, young lord... If you''ve finished rewriting the chapter, surely you can tell me who King Torrhen''s brothers and cousins were and what they did after the annexation of the North to the kingdom of Aegon..." "Brandon Snow was King Torrhen''s only brother; he served the new Lord Protector of the North until the end of his days. Willem Stark and his sister Beris were the first cousins who refused to bow to the new regime and left the North to head to Essos and establish a sellsword that persists today. Emm... The Company... mmm... The Company of the Rose!" Robb replied after moments of uncertainty. "A very concise but fair summary. You may go, Robb. We will resume tomorrow at the same time." Luwin freed the little boy from his burden of the day, giving him apparent symptoms of longed-for joy and freedom. "But, maester, that''s not fair! I knew the answer too! Why can Robb go and y, and I still have to stay?" Protested little Jon. "And I''d like to see that since you''ve been finished studying the history curriculum of the Kingdom of the Northern Kings for over two moons, Jon. Your father has been dutiful and inflexible on the matter, young man. Tonight Lord Stark will question you personally. You must at least be able to know all the names of the current n Chiefs of the Mountains. Who they are and whose sons they were. Could you tell me who the previous n Chief of House Liddle was?" Jon bowed in silence, hiding the apparent embarrassment evidenced by the blush on his cheeks. After that, the child''s gaze and hands moved anxiously and worriedly toward the written notes that concealed the answer somewhere. Eddard Stark''s bastard did not want to disappoint his father that night. The child was desperately trying to win the approval of the Lord of Winterfell. " Don''t worry, brother! I promise that Theon nor I will seduce your Brisea Girlfriend too much! Eheheh! I''ll only get a song or two sung... After that, maybe Theon will ask her for a kiss, but only on the cheek. Ahahaha!" Robb ran away after the provocation threw. Jon sprang to his feet furiously, shouting, "She''s not my girlfriend!!! Run, you coward!!! I''ll see you at dinner anyway!" "Don''t run up the stairs, Robb! Or I''ll tell your mother!" So admonished Luwin, trying to throw water on the small fire that had broken out. Moreughter and a howling "Oh, my sweet Brisea! Where are you, my beloved maiden! Your future lord seeks you!" "Grr... That''s not fair, Maester Luwin! I have at least twice as many pages to read and copy than Robb!" The boy was not to the me-theint had some truth to it, and Jon had noticed. His father had ordered Luwin to instruct the Winterfell bastard on particr subjects to the best of his ability. Within the next two years, Jon was to memorize the history, culture, customs, religions, folk beliefs, and the most famous names of all the Mountain ns, the Moon ns, and even the Wildlings people... By the twelfth day, poor Jon was supposed to know every fortress, ruin, vige, stream, hill, mountain, forest, stone or sapling known throughout the North, from The Neak down to the Frost ws... The first was undoubtedly the most arduous. From what Luwin remembered, there were hundreds of ns in the Free Folk--all with different cultures and customs. In addition, dozens of othernguages and deities were worshipped. Soon the maester would be forced to request copies from the Castle ck library. Not even Winterfell''s well-stocked library contained enough learning materials for this arduous task. Why such a request? More importantly, why at the same time did that ordere to him from the Citadel about the Free Folk specifically? What on earth was going on in Westeros? Usually, Oldtown moved as quietly as an owl on a new moon night, but now Luwin was just rolling out and burning orders upon orders. The Citadel was more responsive and pressing than ever in the past five years... "Maester?" Luwin was lost in thought, forgetting to answer the question posed. "Yes, Jon. In the future, you will be a vassal servant of Robb. Your father expects great things from you. You need to be more knowledgeable on some subjects and for Robb to specialize in others. No one can be an expert on every subject. It is part of the duty of lords to delegate more suitable tasks to servants and advisers trained in them. Robb will one day need your advice, and it will be your duty to help him to the best of your ability." Luwin replied. "But I don''t want to serve that traitorous bully!" Finally, the child realized the grave mistake he had just made. "Young boy! Always remember who you are and what your ce is! What is your name?" The maester scolded him. "... Jon Snow," The penitent child. "And why is thest name Snow and not Stark?" The maester fumed. "Because I am the illegitimate son of Lord Eddard Stark...a Bastard of the North." "Precisely, young boy. Remember that not many illegitimate sons in the Seven Kingdoms are granted the many privileges you are blessed with, Jon. You live as a noble, but in fact, you are not. It will be your honour and privilege to forever serve the family that took you in instead of disowning you. Robb will be your lord, and you must always work hard to bring honour to the Stark name." Luwin''s words were harsh, but it was no longer the time for favouritism. The motto of House Stark could not have been more metaphorically apt. ''Winter Is Coming.'' Thought with sombre sadness about the man who had given birth to three beautiful children. The man''s old, the fragile heart was growing too attached to this family. He absolutely had to find a way to save House Stark before it was toote... "Yes, maester... I''m sorry. I-I didn''t mean to say those bad things about Robb. I don''t really mean them." The child seemed on the verge of tears. Maester softened when he saw that the point had now been made. To the boy''s good fortune, Luwin was the only one who had heard that impudence that was in no way meant to reach the Lady of Winterfell''s sensitive ear. "It can happen, Jon. Now ... let''s see where you stand, and what and where it is best to delve into." The maester sat down beside the child, intending to help him repeat. About half an hourter... "Emm Hugo Wull aka Big Bucket, son of Thedon Wull aka Huge Bucket." Jon. "Well, what about his two heirs? Answer thatst one, and you''ll be free for tonight." Luwin. "Mmm... Ly... no... La... Lanna! Lanna Wull and... " The maester pointed to a small bucket. "Hugo! Hugo Wull, son of Hugo aka Small Bucket!" Jon. Luwin nodded with a small smile and gave the child a signal of freedom. "Yes! Thank you, maester Luwin! See you tomorrow! " Jon slipped out of the raised chair heading for the door but stopped atst. "Maester...," "Yes, Jon?" "Are the rumours true? Is it true that wizards areing to visit us soon? Of magic users?" Asked the child with sparks of hope and wonder in his eyes. Luwin had to be very careful in answering. "They are guests from very distantnds of the east, Jon. Not much is known about the civilizations beyond the Bone Mountains. Even distant Qarth boasts of having ''Sorcerers'' within its walls. But I assure you that those so-called ''Magic Users'' are nothing but abject chatans in reprehensible and meaningless sacrifices... You shouldn''t believe such rumours, Jon." "But... But my father told me that one of these distinguished guests gets himself appointed ''Chief Sorcerer Supreme''! He is the King of the Sorcerers! And the city hees from is called Carcosa, the ''Starry City.''" Jon replied. "Just boastful titles, Jon... We have no certainties yet." Luwin. "I''m looking forward to them, master. Do you think I could ask the Witch-King to let me, Robb, and Sansa attend a magic show?" The man sighed sadly. He did not want to be the one to throw icy buckets of water on the young man''s sparks of hope. "Jon... You will not be in Winterfell when the guests arrive." "What?! Why? B-But this is my home too... Where will I go?" "Your father was supposed to visit the Mountain ns this year, and since those unexpected guests will be arriving soon, he delegated the task to Lord Benjen. You will apany your uncle on that tour..." Luwin. "NO!!! Why me?! It''s not fair! I want to stay with Robb, Sansa..." the child''s outburst was interrupted. "It has already been decided, Jon. You will leave with Ser Haymitch in four days, who will head the delegation until your uncle joins you." A hundred servants and three hundred swords would soon leave Winterfell. Lord Stark wisely chose to empty as many dormitories and remove as many mouths as possible from the castle before The Wizarding Army arrived. "B-but... But... I..." The child fled, leaving behind trails of tears and sobs. End POV. -------------------------------------- POV: The Bastard of Raventree Hall. Winterfell A few hours after, a child escaped... Minor spasms of migraine struck Haymitch''s mind. The Knight was forced to give in to another sip of his faithfulpanion in adventure ''sk''. Jory Cassel and a couple of his boys had already made their way into the castle crypts to search for the wayward fugitive. But Haymitch had a different feeling this time. When he opened the gate to the penultimate kennel cage, he found the culprit intent on hugging the newly weaned puppies. It was Haymitch himself who showed the child the new mongrel hounds. Two of them were intent on licking the cheeks and neck of the child wrapped in the pairs. "Your father is irate, Jon... you shouldn''t have skipped dinner." So said Haymitch, crouching beside the boy. "I don''t mind... The Stark family may enjoy the meal without the presence of the Bastard of Winterfell." Jon. "And how is the ''Bastard of Raventree'' going to enjoy his own dinner if he is forced to nurse the Non-Stark of Winterfell?" Haymitch. "I... You didn''t have to look for me, Ser. I know you disobeyed many other orders anyway." Jon. "Ahahah. And from whom did you hear such rumours?" Haymitch. "Emm... From no one! I found out on my own!" Jon seemed to be caught off guard. ''The Bread Witch... I''d bet a hundred barrels of Vodka it was her.'' So suggested a still sober little voice inside the Knight''s head. ''Mh, I see... Ahh... such a shame you didn''te to dinner, Jon. Brisea had prepared some fantastic stuffed dumplings, warm and filling. However, now I will be forced to eat a cold one here amid all this filth." Haymitch pulled out of the cloth a golden semolina bun dripping with gravy. Jon''s eyes and nose pointed firmly at the bundle. The Knight snagged a bite, grumbling and smearing the phyllo with gravy. "Hmm, no, I was wrong. The stuffing is still warm...Seven have mercy...mmh, I hope there is some more deliciousness in the kitchens..." The child''s stomach growled as he continued to silently observe the scene. The two puppies abandoned Jon to join their brothers, intent on licking the floor and Haymitch''s robes. "But that''s...", "Stuffed with stewed venison, with string cheese and crispy spicy onions... Hmm... Yes, one of my favourites. Ah, would you look at that! Did you wake up too? You want a little piece, yes? Here..." The Knight snatched a piece of bread toward the mother-breed bitch of the puppies. Haymitch stroked the animal''s neck well confident of the scent of the hand stroking her. Almost all the animals in the kennel loved Ser Haymitch. The child seemed ready to retort something to every noisy bite of the psychological torturer. "Yes, Jon? Did you want to say something? No...wait. The cheese is leaking everywhere...the bundle needs my full attention." Jon''sst hope dissolved when Haymitch tossed the remaining bits of the delicacy to the dogs, who scuffled end masse over the prey. The Knight stood up, removing the crumbs on his remaining robes. "Don''t look at me like that, Jon. Your father''s order. Tonight the little illegitimate son of the Honorable Lord Eddard Stark will go to bed without supper. But perhaps, a chance of that not happening exists..." "And how?" asked the ravenous child, ready to throw himself into the fray among the dogs to snatch a piece of bread. "Follow me, and you will find out." End POV. ----------------------------------- POV: A Northern Watcher Training Courtyard, Winterfell. A few minutes after two individuals emerged from a kennel... It was a rtively warm evening. The man from the North could afford to conceal himself on the esnade unlit by braziers. He did not want to intrude on the boy''s first lesson. "Gather shield and sword." Ser Haymitch ordered in the centre of the courtyard holding only a stick thinner and coarser than a wooden sword. "So... I''ll stand for a minute with shield and sword and..." "And you will be free to enter the kitchens and eat the leftovers of this evening, yes, exactly. You''ll just have to be able to wield both for a minute -- let''s get started." Spurred the knight. Jon did as ordered and confidently approached the rounded piece of studded oak and the blunt steel long sword. They were objects too heavy for that petite figure... *Stock!* "Ouch! You hit me!" Screamed the child, clutching his sore hand. "Oops, how careless of me. ''But where''s my head?''... Pick it up quickly!" The Knight continued to walk in circles within ten feet of the focus objects. Jon tried again with more celerity this time. *Stock!* "Aargh!" another hit caught the apprentice off guard. "A tad faster, Oh my non-noble lord! Ahah," said Haymitch, returning to his former position with a backward leap. The child attempted a third time, and then a fourth...the result was identical except for the young man''s angry snorts. "It is not a Knight''s act not to allow one''s opponent to pick up one''s weapon, Ser!" Shouted Jon indignantly after the fifth failure. This time the child almost managed to clutch both objects while dodging the firstsh to the side. "You are absolutely right! It''s not... Too bad that of Knights who grant such privileges to their enemy on the battlefield, there are very few. Go ahead, Jon, grab them." Provoked Haymitch. "... I can''t grab them both in time, are too heavy!" Jon. "Once again, I bow to your boundless wisdom, milord." The Knight bowed in a broad, burlesque movement, giving the boy an opportunity he did not miss. Jon leapt toward the sword, rolling away with it in his arms as a strike missed him by a whisker. "Mmm... bad choice, you whiny little lord. Of the two, I would certainly have preferred the shield." Said Haymitch. "The shield is not a weapon! And without a weapon I can''t hit you!" said the confident child, furiously brandishing the heavy piece of metal with both hands. Jon leaned back too far during the first assault. Half a shter, the boy was down without even being touched. "Aye, I see it, little lord..." Haymitch threw his staff to the perimeter side and calmly grabbed the five-pound shield on the ground. Jon tried more ungainly assaults ending up on the ground dozens of times with a simple side thrust of the shield. "I''m afraid you''re going to learn this valuable first lesson to the tune of grazes and stomach grumbles, Jon." "Aaargh!" The boy did not give up and charged tenaciously toward his opponent. Haymitch continued to speak between assaults. "The shield..." The weapons master discarded to the side, " it is the best weapon..." he struck his back with the t of the wood, "the best armour..." he parried the one partially sessful sh, " and" Jon''s view was blocked on the third assault, and the child did not notice the sweeping foot on his legs, "the best diversionary item for a warrior eager to make it out of a battle alive," Haymitch concluded. **** Thirty minutester. The child was lying on the ground, panting, exhausted and swollen. Jon tried several times to reach his feet, but his legs gave out. "Well... I''d say as a first warm-up lesson, that''s enough. Starting tomorrow, we''ll begin to get serious, ''Lord Snow''. Ahahah!" Jon''s survival instincts allowed the child to lift his head and ask: "What do you mean by serious?" " But how? Didn''t I tell you yet?" Haymitch. "Told me what?" Jon. "Ah, how careless of me. Too much wine is to me. I humbly apologize, Lord Snow. From tomorrow you will be forever denied a meal. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner will depend on my assiduous and onerous schedule who knows. If you want to eat, you will have to earn it. One hour a day of opportunity. If in that interval you manage to hit me at least once or parry all my shots, you''ll get your meal; otherwise, there''s always stealing or poaching, always hoping you don''t get caught. Ahahah! From now on, I strongly suggest you eat whatever speck of porridge is offered to you." So exined an ardent Haymitch ndly, satiated and fresh as a rose. "What! But this is an inju..." "An injustice? A brutality? Yes, it is, it really is... Ah! Forgive me, Lord Snow; I must take my leave now. I have a shift to guard the kitchens and pantries that I look forward to tonight. How ''hard'' and ''unfair'' is the life of us poor bastards! Ahahah!" The man in the stands waited a few more moments before retreating to wrap up the day''s many tasks. Then, finally, the child stood up and prepared to limp slowly toward the dormitory tower. A figure of female features concealed in the shadows began to approach Jon as soon as she was sure the master-at-arms had departed. It seemed that, at least for that evening, Jon would not go hungry. The boy was in excellent hands... The time had alsoe for the Lord of Winterfell to take his leave and confess to his Lady wife the marriage contract he had just entered into. Many other matters still required his attention... it would be a long night. There was arge confederacy to host, enemies to deceive, alliances to be solidified, maesters to be brought into line, an army to train, a fleet to deploy, a city to rebuild, a loan to repay, barbarian ns to annex, forts to restore, and a North to be revived... And all this had to be done before Winter came. --------------------------- End Chapter Chapter 125: The Offense Plagued Chapter 125: The Offense gued POV: Benjen Stark White Arbor. On the morning of the same night that a bastard of the North was punished... Five hundred Stark men were armed and dressed to the nines, without a single crease on their robes or a single rust stain on the metal they wore. More than a hundred rods with the grey banner on a white background of his house waved in the same direction. At their side stood Manderly knights and Tallhart soldiers. Benjen Stark, Duncan Tallhart and Wyman Manderly were lined up in the front row, waiting for the delegation ships to arrive. Benjen still didn''t like the guy very much. He no longer felt the resentment of the beginning of the voyage certainly, but it would take time for the anger to dissipate. It was Bloody Snow''s fault that Benjen could not yet join the Night''s Watch. He understood this... Ned had forced him into the role of Casten of the Moat Cailin because of him. His brother hung on the eleven-year-old''s every word. Finally, he had him in his grasp. However...today was a special day. Until yesterday, that boy was bubbling with energy and happiness. He was looking forward to meeting this famous teacher again, but something must have shaken him noticeably that night. The absence of jests and pathetic jokes was proof of that. "Is something wrong, boy? Why haven''t you ruined my morning yet with your jokes about Northmen and Dornians?" asked Benjen in a low voice so that only he could hear him. "Huh? Ah, forgive me, my lord... Indeed, it is not exactly the joyous day I had hoped it would be. Sad and rming news reached my ears the other night..." replied Bloody Snow. "Can any of them be confided in?" Benjen. "...Ser Denys Mallister reported that Euron Greyjoy has not yet crossed the Bay of Ice. Admiral Davos Seaworth has found traces of debris that may belong to the Raven Sentinel, the ship carrying twenty-six members of the Night''s Watch and the prisoner. And a few days ago, four brave men of House Tallhart died fighting while defending a mill. The owners of that mill were reported missing..." Benjen frowned. It was, in fact, dark news. "A storm and Marauders?" the would-be Guardian tried to ask. "A storm is not to be ruled out... But I strongly sense that Euron Greyjoy has been handed a simr fate to Bittersteel." Bloody Snow. Aegon Rivers, the celebrated founder of the Golden Company, was defeated and captured during the Third ckfire Rebellion. More than sixty years ago, he was to join the Night''s Watch, but the ship charged with escorting him to the Wall was attacked by his fellow armigers, freeing him. "What about the raiders?" asked Benjen, noting that the boy hadpletely glossed over the second assumption. "Whoever they were, they were not mere marauders." The answer was terse and without the possibility of debate. *Woouuu!!!, *WOOUUUUU!!!!* Two thundering horn sts gave the signal at the harbour gates. "Everyone in position!" Both Benjen and Lord Manderly ordered in unison. The parade garrisons settled in four neat rows all along the main street. The noble hosts positioned themselves at the end of the arch created on the long woollen walkway made especially for such a ceremony. Handmaids were ready with baskets of flower petals to wee the guests. No item not strictly authorized was within a thousand feet of the procession. The levers of the two lookout towers operated. Boulders and counterweights lowered, using the opening mechanisms of the two massive gates made of cold-hardened wood and iron. A gap was formed nearly a hundred and fifty feet wide over the water. The first Galea was already in sight. A ship distinctlyrger than Lord Manderly''s gship. At least two hundred oars from what Benjen could glimpse. A ck keel at least sixty feet wide, two hundred long and at least forty high. Three majestic white sails are embossed with a symbol simr to the seven-pointed star. Only on each point does it represent an element... A red me, a white snowke, a ck mist, a golden light, a kind of earthen dune, a small green tornado, and a drop of water. All the distinct colours of the elements came together in a circr runic pattern surrounding a silver cup with ck and golden wings with a starry night-coloured gem set in the centre. ''Well, that''s impressive, isn''t it,'' but then another identical galley passed...and then another. And at that moment, Benjen saw its... A titanic monstrosity with a keel almost as high as the harbour''s defensive walls! Six hundred oars of that abomination of naval engineering were retracted inside. The only way to allow the hull to pass without affecting the gates. The four most giant sails Benjen had ever seen... Trees as thick as century-old redwoods... Dozens of scorpions could be glimpsed from the bow ... and at least three trebuchets. Lord Manderly''s gaze shared Benjen''s disdain. ''It could not.. no, such a titanic structure cannot exist! Other than a thousand men?! That monstrosity could have crammed all the city''s militia with horses included!'' both Benjen and Wyman thought in synchrony. It would have taken at least twenty, if not thirty Galleys, to attempt an assault on such a gargantuan war device! What could the longships of the Iron Inds have done against that floating edifice but crumble at the slightest collision? ***** About twenty minutester... Twelve knights more conspicuous and shining than the royal guard opened the passage of the procession. A hundred figures in robes of different colours swarmed immediately behind with slow but firm steps. Flowers and apuse greeted the procession festively--blue rose petals, lilies, daisies and every other ceremonial petal anticipated the feet of the guests. Now that the knights were in sight, Benjen''s experienced eye alerted him never for any reason in the world to attack a quarrel with any of them. Especially the red-eyed knight. His gazecerated more than The Wall''s scythe. The ceremonial guard opened, and three figures stepped forward. It only took him a moment to guess that the individual in the centre was the Leader of the Procession. Long golden ceremonial oriental robe with pearly embroidered grooves. Showy rings and jewellery on every inch of exposed skin. Long ck hair oiled andbed back, piercing grey eyes with gold and ebony veins, a square, thin face with unusual Nordic features, pale skin outlined by minor signs of age. Every inch of the figure shrieked Royalty. Even from the hardened, firm expression, any hermitmoner could tell this individual was a king. Benjen did not hesitate. It was his job to be the first to wee. "I, Benjen, Casten of the Moat Cailin and Protector of the Neck, rightful son of Rickard, and only surviving younger brother of the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North Eddard of the Stark dynasty, wee to thesends you, Duq of the Noble and Ancient dynasty of the Yellow Chai Emperors, the descendant of the First Emperor of Dawn, The God-On-Earth, Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation of Wizards and Supreme Lord of the Starry City Carcosa. House Stark offers you, my Lord, the warmest and most sincere hospitality for as long as you and your retinue decide to wee." The bow rehearsed and rehearsed countless times over the past week had alsoe out distinctly well. Yet ... when Benjen raised his head again, he fulminated on the spot. The Sorcerer''s expression looked offended and indignant at a snub he had suffered. What had he done wrong? Had he forgotten a name? Some title? Was the tone of voice wrong? Should he have said King in The Yellow, too? But no... Bloody Snow had rmended not to say it in the first greeting; he was more than sure! Chai Duq gritted his teeth. The elderly figure with ordinary clothes and ornaments looked at hispanion with a doubtful and uncertain expression... Perhaps even he did not understand why the Sorcerer was reacting that way by missing his part of the etiquette. The King in The Yellow cast a dirty look at his elderlypanion as if to demand an exnation for the affront he had just suffered, but he did not get what he was looking for. Benjen Stark turned to Duncan for support, but the boy looked as bewildered as he was. "Is everything all right, Chai?" asked what Benjen assumed was the celebrated The Watcher. "No, it''s not all right, Zick. Why didn''t this man introduce himself as Prince? And why did he not mention the title King of the North?! Aren''t the ''Kings of Winter'' no longer the true rulers of the remainingnds of the First Men?!" The female figure with a face covered by a red mask and a sumptuous ck robe to the ruler''s left approached to whisper exnations to her master. "Huh? What do you take me for, Quaithe?! Look, I know too that Torrhen Stark submitted to the Sons of Fire dynasty! But you also told me that the Three-Headed Dragon dynasty had fallen six years ago! What, in less than a decade have dragons risen by ident?" the assistant muttered more whispers. "... What?! Baratheon?!!! But who, the unclean descendants of the Storm Dynasty? Are you mocking me perhaps?!..." The masked woman assiduously continued to provide elucidation. The Sorcerer turned toward Benjen. "Descendant of the Wolf King, is it true what my assistant says? The oldest lineage of the Ice, the dynasty that survived the Long Night, that bent the power of the Barrow King by prevailing over the epic Thousand Years War, and that repelled dozens of Andals invasions, submitted to the dirty drops of the Storm Stir without even fighting?!" asked The King in The Yellow with astonishment and disdain. "Emm-yes, your eminence Chai Duq. Six years ago, House Stark swore allegiance to the Iron Throne on which King Robert of House Baratheon currently sits." Benjen replied, feeling strangely mortified by the unfortunate situation. "And by what archaic devilry have you allowed this? But is the Old Druid aware of all this absurd political situation?" Quaithe nodded. "This is stupid stuff... The order of the World has already copsed upon itself. The power of the Dynasty of Kings thrown as if it were nothing into the dung of the Zorse rides..." Commented the Sorcerer to himself. Chai Duq turned back to Zick. "But is the treaty still valid? Could I set foot in thesends even if the Wolves were not King, or did I just start a war with the Andals?" The man named Zick was caught off guard for a moment. "And why are you asking me? You know very well that I don''t deal with bureaucratic quibbles." "Why?! Because you are the Guardian Guarantor, Old-ckers!! And you have to dot the ''i'' on such matters!! So I find myself amid the Counts and Quacks of the Seven, unarmed and with my back to the wall! And I''m the one here who''s dumbfounded?!!!" scolded the Sorcerer King with disdain, "Shhh!!! Why are you screaming? Are you out of your mind? There''s a whole town within earshot!!! The Old Witch will then me me!!!" "May the city burn to the ground! And may the Old Spider make you scream withshings on your buttocks! Who cares!!! I want to know if you just handed my priceless head on an ivory tter to the enemy!!! Do you have any idea how much of my research remains unfinished?!!! I want to see the dawn rise for at least another millennium!" Lord Manderly''s face whitened as he heard the enormous danger facing the city. "Dawn? But what dawns would you have seen?! You wouldn''t have even sniffed it again if it hadn''t been for me dragging you out of that tomb you call ''Research Studio''!!! And what do you want me to care about your head?! I know that your Grandfather-Master runs to save you as soon as you start sobbing!" So retorted the alleged Guardian of Love in tone. "How dare you?! When did I, Chai Duq, The King in The Yellow, ever sob?! Where did you hear such rubbish?!!! I warn you, Zick, if I am ever captured alive, rest assured I will sing like a bird! Everyone will be privy to your dirty secrets, and then we''ll see who among us will run crying to his foster mother!!!" The debate was degenerating more and more... The Masked Witch approached Benjen. "Lord Stark.... My name is Quaithe of Asshai. I''m the personal assistant of the Noble Archwizard Chai Dug. On behalf of the Confederation, I apologize to you, your noble House, your noble bannermen, and all the people of the First Men for theck of courtesy just disyed, my lord. The Confederation of Mages will make amends for the wrong." So said Quaithe, bowing in the Westerosi manner. "No offence given, noble Quaithe. Might the North be of some help in appeasing turbulent tempers, mydy?" asked Benjen in a not-so-hidden tone of concern. "Indeed it would, my lord. Might I ask you kindly to have all eyes and ears turned away... ''not too trusting''? My noble master and the noble Guardian would need discreet... privacy." Quaithe requested politely. "Of course, yes, no problem!" said Benjen, "Thank you very much, my lord." The duo continued to argue tempestuously. Finally, Benjen, Wyman and Duncan gave orders to the receptionmittee so the Sorcerer and the Guardian could continue their diatribe in peace. As soon as the area was secured, three hooded figures dressed in sumptuous blue robes waved stirrups made of what looked like Weirdwood Tree with ebony stones set at the tip. Then, a chant uttered in an unknownnguage, a small circle of light and the sound dissipated from the two thundering warlike voices... An almost invisible translucent bubble enveloped the Chief Sorcerer and the Guardian. "T-That... That was...," "A magic. One of those useful but harmless ones," Bloody Snow exined serenely. "Why are you so calm? Aren''t you afraid that it mighte to a confrontation here? We don''t have the strength to put out such a fire!" Benjen. "Nah! They are just bickering amicably. Fear not, milords; Zick and the Chai Dug have many things inmon. They are both art seekers, ckers, delegators of responsibility, figures of enormous power, and both protected by a wet nurse. Ahahah!... Ah! Don''t ever mention this in front of them, though... I think only the Guardians have permission to address the King in The Yellow in this way. The Confederation of Mages is an organization that dislikes insults and disrespect. It would be preferable to kill one of their members rather than give him offence... [Kill a Mage of the Confederation, and his master or student will show up to im revenge. Offend him, and the Shadows of Asshai and the Light of Carcosa wille upon you]. Come on! Rejoice, Benjen Stark! The North has just earned an enormous tribute from the Confederation of Wizards. The Chief Sorcerer Supreme himself has unjustly caused offence to House Stark by not returning the official wee." "Ah, yes? Do you really believe that the weing ceremony went smoothly?" Benjen asked, heartening himself in the slightest. "Yeah, it did. Quite a ''stroke of luck''! I didn''t expect that at all... But, mmm, now that I think of it, I''ll have to think about whatpensation to demand from the Confederacy before your brother hears about it. Lord Stark would certainly dive headlong into the gold. Ahahah!" End POV. --------------------------------- POV: An Old Prankster New Castle, White Arbor. That same night. "My Turn: [A Merchant of Lys and a Red Priest of Myr-]" "Thank you, master." Duncan interrupted the elder before he could retort. The Watcher''s experienced eye instantly guessed where his pupil was going with this, but he replied with an borate old man''s expression taken aback. "I don''t know what you''re thanking me for, my boy," one of Duncan''s eyebrows arched. "You may have passed for valid in the eyes of a Braavosian, but the dragon posing as gold cannot conceal its true brass nature from the gaze of the master forger''s pupil... I don''t know if there is another individual in this world with a gift simr to yours who can deeply understand a person''s true nature. Still, I am sure that there is only one who can boast of being both a longtime friend and confidant of The King in The Yellow." "A im that is incapable of proving anything... Certainly not any ''unofficially permitted'' action by a neutral Guardian guarantor of three conflicting factions." Zick closed the topic with a good sip of hot herbal brew. "How do my ex-alumni look among the Twelve Arcane Shields? Have you been able to identify the three chosen ones yet?" Zick asked, changing the subject. "I think so... Does Oldtown also possess three such monsters, master?" "Six plus one more to whom I have given no guidance." Zick would still have refused to teach that monster anything.... "So, seven demons d from toe to toe in Valyrian steel, against which I would be no match, and armed by ''the Old Gods only know'' what dark and deadly spells..." the boy admitted affliction. "Wrong. Seven demons you are not ''yet'' able topete against, my boy. Give it time. Focus your attention on the next step and not on your opponent''s position on thedder." Duncan smiled with loving sadness. The boy was about to confess something that deeply troubled him. Zick guessed what it might be. "Master...I should-" he was interrupted, "No, you shouldn''t. Not tonight, at least. We will resume our sses tomorrow night. There is still time before the tournament. We will make the most of it, but not before tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?" Admonished Zick withpassionate seriousness. "Yes, master..." "How did it go with my Petnt Adoptive Mother? How much blood did the Old Spider drain from your uncle?" asked the man with an affectionate grin. The Watcher''s inhuman senses alerted him to a swift, unexpected, but harmless movement about toe. *Snap!* "Ouch! What was that for?!" Zick clutched his sore, flushed ear. "I''m just respecting Madame''s conditions, master. Don''t mean me any harm. Less than I actually expected. In addition to requiring me to p you on the ear whenever you disrespect her in my presence, Madame Zishua demands free ess to Damascus steel at a favourable price. If called upon, the three royal families will always have to answer for the Organization should an entity threaten you or any of your protgs. Plus, I''ll have to visit the Old Spider in person, and here I quote her words, ''before The Strangeres for me.''" His protg exined, triggering a burst of mutual hrity. "You don''t know what you''re in for, kid," Zick shuddered for a moment but then sputtered back, asking, "So what? Come on, Duncan, don''t keep me on my toes. What did you get from Ol-- I mean, from ''My-Loving-Mother''?" "Respectively four thousand recruits for each. It will be up to you to choose the respective instructors best suited for the task, ''My-Beloved-Loving-Master''," replied the boy looking at Zick with pleading eyes filled with expectation. "Yes, yes, have no fear. I have the right boys for the task. But where will they train them without rming the entire world order? Have you found a way around the ''Tower and Titan Spies'' problem?" Zick asked, unleashing a ruckus of smiles and victorious glints from his avid pupil searching for lethal armies. "Yes, master! Madame Zishua and uncle Leobald felt that the Disputed Lands were the perfect training ground of choice." "Ahaa... Sellswords in the pay of Tyrosh, Myr and Lys... An excellent gimmick. Yes, it might work, but blood will flow for the deception to hold. Are you aware of this?" The boy grew gloomy but rekindled firmly a few momentster. "We are aware of it, master." Resolutely replied the revolutionary who would soon upset the bnce of the World. "Well... So be it, then." The master nodded and then ranted impatiently, "Up! Let''s get to my part! There''s a poor exploited Guardian here who desperately needs peace!!! So? How many new pupils can I get?" "For now, twenty-six. Ten for Dorne and the West and six pupils from the North. The Mercantess does not miss a single detail. She counts me, Syggha, Josua, and de One already as ''four barrels of goods already packed and delivered,''" grinned the boy, "But if I go to her in person and am ''convincing'' enough, I should be able to snatch four more of my own choice." "Twenty-six new promising pupils, eh? Plus four more future cats in the bag! Ah! Can''t wait to get started! Well done, my boy! Well done! Ahahah!" Between his jolts of joy, Zick recalled an urgent matter. "Speaking of pupils, I have matters to discuss with you concerning your cousin Elminster..." --------------------- End Chapter. Chapter 126: The Most Beloved Unlucky Dwarf Chapter 126: The Most Beloved Unlucky Dwarf POV: Cersei Lannister King''s Road, a few miles from Harroway. Year 289 A.C. first day of the twelfth moon. Twenty-nine days to go before the start of the Marriage of Barrowton... The imposing two-story eight-wheeled monstrosity continued on the rutted Road built two centuries earlier by Jaenhaerys I. Her father''s gift for the birth of Princess Myrce was a true masterpiece offort and affluence. The luxury ironwood armoured carriage had been built by House Ryswell''s best carpenters directly at King''s Landing. Reluctant as she was to grant des, Cersei admitted that those metal rods called ''shock absorbers'' made the ride veryfortablepared to ordinary jerky carriages. Apparently, the Protector of the West and Lord Ryswell had struck an important business deal. Tens of thousands of gold dragons alone in wagons, merchant caravans and noble carriages. Cersei had no idea how much gold Tywin Lannister might have spent to have such a cursed gift built by the North. It was an ursed gift because along with it came her father''s order to persuade Robert to engineer a marriage between her little Myrce and that brute from the North, Bloody Snow... The Queen fiddled with the fingers of her sweet creature, given birth by little more than a moon. Not even a moon of life, and someone already wanted to take her away! First the prank with that little monster of a brother of hers, and now this... The Old Lion must have reached a venerable age to have gone so mad to that extent! Cersei would not have allowed it... she would have set fire to every brushwood called home, run every barbarian of the First Men through the sword, and sprinkled salt on every muddy acre they called ''field'' in the North rather than deprive herself of her smiling golden joy. There were still some twenty days before their arrival in Barrowton; she had to find a way to nip that union in the bud... but how? A thud near the carriage entrance broke Cersei''s thoughts. Someone had climbed into the carriage... The armoured door opened all of a sudden, startling the Queen. A very familiar man in a white cloak entered without even knocking. "This is no way to enter, Jaime," Cersei admonished the twin in a low voice. "Forgive me, sister. I did not mean to interrupt the march just to visit you." Jaime replied in his usual brash tone. "Keep your voice down; Joffrey is asleep," she pointed to the little boy of just over three years old perched with his eyes closed between velvet pillows. "Phew... You''ve had this attitude toward me for over a month now. When will it end?" "What attitude?" asked Cersei in the same voice and expression. "The one you''re using now... You haven''t left the carriage in two days. I just came to see how you and my ''nephews and niece'' were doing." Jaime. "You could have visited us yesterday, too. You didn''t just because Robert was there, but now that the king is hunting-" Jaime shushed his sister. "Stop it-you know I can''t stand it, and I had night watches. So what? When will you stop being mad at me? It''s been since before the war that we-" this time, it was Cersei''s turn to break the sentence. "When are you going back to thinking about me, Joffrey and Myrce. Your family." "You know I think about them all the time. I think about you all the time..." Jaime. "Do you? Then why is that Bastard of the North still alive! Why did you protect him during the siege of Pyke? It was all the talk at court about the ''Heroic Hundred Proud Volunteers'' led by Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister, who risked their lives facing more than a thousand armed enemies to protect the Hero of the North''s back. You could have gotten rid of the threat, and you could even have done so without getting your hands dirty..." Jaime''s face grew gloomy. His eyes became cold and contemptuous. "I did it, and I would do it again. We were allies surrounded by enemies on a mission for the king. We are still allies. The North-" "It''s a threat! I warned you, and you didn''t listen! And now?! Look what has happened! Our father wants Myrce to marry that monster!!! A bastard from the North! Myrce--our dau--my daughter, your niece." "Now you''re the one screaming." Jaime pointed to Joffrey, who tossed and turned for a moment from themotion but curled up in deep sleep secondster. "Nothing has been decided yet. Robert has not yet given his consent. Besides, ording to our uncle, that boy is infatuated with Lord Jorah Mormont''s cousin." Jaime justified himself. "Dacey Mormont? Pff, please... Even if they weren''t just rumours, do you think House Tallhart, a minor household in the North, would turn down a Royal marriage proposal for a viger from an ind made of rocks and pines?" Cersei sneered as if it were the most ridiculous of jokes. "A minor household?... Say, my beloved sister, do you know what''s been going on in the North and all of Westeros for thest six years or so? Putting aside the issue that soon Jorah Mormont will be the influential lord of two emerging great Houses of the North, do you think our father would impose on you a marriage between your daughter, the princess, and a lesser lord? Do you have any idea how much influence and fame Duncan Tallhart currently possesses on the continent?" "No one can impose anything on me. I am the Queen!" Cersei. "So was Rhae Targaryen, yet no one lifted a finger when Aerys raped and beat her almost every night while the poor woman continued to plead for mercy and help." Cersei dodged the tasteless jibe with a snort. "Rhae was a weakling. I would have smothered Aerys with a pillow as soon as he basked in sleep." Jaime did not seem to doubt that she could have done so. After all, Cersei had already stunned a drunken King Stags at Estermont after their first year of marriage. "All that neighing and the halting of the procession a few hours ago, what was that due to?" Cersei asked, changing the subject. "Ser Gregor gane, Ser Armory Lorch and another fifty or so escort armigers sent by our father have joined the retinue. They will travel with us all the way." "Ser Gregor has been invited to the tournament?" a spark of astonishment and opportunity shimmered between Cersei''s pupils. "Half of Westeros has been invited. The prizes up for grabs are higher than the Harrenhall Tournament. Even Ser Barristan seems to be intent on joining the joust." Jaime exined in an excited tone full of high expectations. "Will the little monster also attend the tournament?" Cersei asked, trying to confuse Jaime''s dull-witted thoughts. The valiant Kingsguard thought of nothing but swords and spears. Even throughout the journey, Jaime never neglected his training routine. "Tyrion? Of course, he wille. In a few days, he will sail with our father to Waterdeep. But, at this rate, they will arrive before us. And quite certain that Uncle Gerion has pushed for him and the heir of House Tallhart to form a good rtionship." Jaime affirmed. "Hmm... I see... And do you think our celebrated Bloody Snow will also participate in the tournament?" Cersei asked lightheartedly. "I don''t think so; I know so. That boy can''t wait to prove himself." Jaime replied,municating identical perspectives with his expression. ''An opportunity!" thought Cersei as she passed little Myrce for the first time into the arms of her real father. "Where are you going?" Jaime asked after carefully grasping the infant. "I''ve been cooped up inside this box for days. I need some fresh air." Cersei approached the cabin, giving orders to the Kingsguard to take care of the princes for as long as necessary. "But we are crossing-" Cersei anticipated him " I''m sure your valiant brethren, Ser Boros Blunt and Ser Meryn Trant, will be more than enough of an escort to guard their Queen." End POV. ------------------------- POV: The Dwarf of Casterly Rock Lord''s Srium, Casterly Rock. Year 289 A.C. The twelfth day of the tenth moon. About a month and a half before a queen devised a n... The vacation would end the exact moment Tyrion crossed that threshold. Lord Tywin Lannister''s rightful son had been urgently summoned by the first as soon as the ship''s gangnk touched the dock at Lannisport Pier. The creature, considered unclean and cursed in the eyes of the Seven, hoped to be able to sce himself another couple of days in the brothels of the city before returning to their of the Lion of the Mount. Tyrion inhaled a good breath of air and walked through the doors. "My Lord Beloved Father, your son has answered the call to arms as soon as possible!" Tywin Lannister did not react to the taunt. Instead, he waited patiently for Tyrion to raise his head again from the ridiculous guiser''s bow before ordering: "Sit down, Tyrion. I have no time to waste." The tone of voice was his usual one, cold and filled with contempt, but Tyrion could do nothing but promptly obey the order for some reason unknown to him. The dwarf had suddenly lost his rebellious streak... "You are inte." Tywin pushed the wine jug away from the drunken dwarf''s hands and approached the water jug, filling it. "Forgive me, father. A minor ''unfortunate'' mishap in Lys required my most total attention. Moreover, our worthy Captain Willem has wisely decided to circumvent florid storms in the Redwine Strait. I inform you, with joy, that my assignment has been sessfully fulfilled. Vntis has received every ounce of promised goods in time and intact, and our holds areden with silks and spices." Tyrion. "Thirst, spices and ''wine''... Your little stop in Lord Paxter''s cerssted even too long." Tywin. "Lord Paxter graciously offered me his hospitality. It would have been rather rude of me to refuse such courtesy. The Lord of the Arbor wanted my personal opinion on thest harvest of the season. What was I to do? Tarnish the honour of my noble House, perhaps?" He justified himself boldly. "And how many undamaged barrels did you manage to save in thest four days of the trade?" asked Tywin with a semnce of irony. "It was not easy to wrest those treasures from Arbor, but the tongue and mind of your exalted dwarf champion of Cyvasse were able to wrest from Lord Paxter''s clutches twenty casks of fantastic Golden Nectar, twelve of Sweet Honey Red, and five of very rare ckberry Wine, the best of the three in my humble opinion." But, unfortunately, almost House Redwine did not banish Tyrion from hisnds. The defeats suffered by Cyvasse''s supposed expert, Ser Desmond Redwine, seemed as serious as a raid of the entire ind by ironborn fleets... "Good. Those barrels will depart again tomorrow at dawn," promulgated the Lord, stabbing the poor barrel-draining connoisseur in the belly. "What? Why? I was hoping to cheer my uncle''s enforced stay with a small gift," retorted Tyrion. "Gerion is leading an urgent trading expedition to the Narrow Sea. He will not return before the new moon. Barrowton is raiding everywhere for wine, seasonal delicacies, spices and every other expensive necessity that the promised extravaganzas for the celebrations will need. Casterly Rock will make a good profit from House Redwine." At least his father dignified him with a deserving reply, even if it was still ill-received by the poor thirsty dwarf. "I thought Uncle Gerion was to remain segregated-" "Gerion will go where Imand for as long as I deem necessary, and you too will do as you aremanded. You need only know this, Tyrion," the Old Lion anticipated, tearing a scornful frown from his son. "I have a task for you... But first, I want you to analyze these documents. Then, you may drink only after I have heard your honest opinion on the matter." Tywin pointed to a dozen rolls neatly sealed and stacked neatly at the corner of the desk. **** About an hourter... "These...I will need more time to study all the details, but...do you really want to implement these changes in such a tight time frame? It will take thousands of arms, capable minds and mountains of gold to implement them..." asked Tyrion with shock. He knew his father was no short sleeve. The Old Lion did not waste a single opportunity to disy the lustre of his Household in the eyes of Westeros, but this? It was far too much even for him. Although many ns were worthwhile, it would require a gargantuan amount of work. Moreover, it seemed more like apetitive war against the North rather than a smooth development growth for the West. "I don''t want to waste a peaceful day of the spring that remains or the summer toe. The city guard, building engineers, architects, sculptors, customs officers, street-jesters, cooks, bards, harlots, and all the other reasonable minds and forces needed to achieve those goals, I need someone who can choose capable elements and exploit them to their full potential by rewarding them for their just value. And all this will have to be done before the New Year. So? Will you be able to shoulder those burdens?" Then came the second unexpected hammering that disrupted the dwarf''s thoughts. "Me? You want to put me in charge of everything? Of course, but you should-" Tyrion did not know whether to hazard that guess. "You would have the Lannisport''s keys... You would rule the city. And if you can prove yourself worthy of the task in these three years, we will discuss other possible prospects for your future." Spat Tywin Lannister reluctantly. "Why me... ? Why not Uncle Kevan or Gerion?" he asked with fervent desire to know. It was an assignment filled with responsibility and expectation. Tywin might as well have ordered him to go to King''s Landing and yank the chain from Hand of The King to Jon Arryn from his chest for all he was worth. His father was investing him with unquestionable authority over the city and much of the resources of Casterly Rock! How much gold and power would he have on his hands? Three, maybe even Four Million Dragoons? He would even have stripped away the privileges granted to the Lannisters of Lannisport. "Gerion will be busy with the fleet, Kevan with the army, and it will be up to me to hold the reins of all changes and developments with the West. Soon the mines of Casterly Rock will be exhausted. Six kingdoms are waiting patiently for our strength to falter; I will not allow it. Lannisport will have to be our new prosperous and inexhaustible mine. Oldtown, Lordsport, Barrowton, Waterdeep, Gulltown, King''s Landing and Sunspear will have to dim in the shadow of the splendour of the Golden City of the West. So? Will you be able to seize the opportunity I am giving you, or not?" The Lord Warden of the West asked expectantly. "Not that I despise such trust in me, Father, but you have not yet answered my question. Why me? You might as well delegate the task to Stefford, Damond, Damion, or any other Lannister with some salt in his noggin and experience behind him. You have always despised me by entrusting me with minor and repugnant assignments--from the sewers of Casterly Rock to the throne of Lannisport? Why choose the 16-year-old Imp, Abject, Drunkard and Whoremonger with whom the gods have punished you?" Roared Little Lion. ''If this is another attempt at taunting the old bastard, I swear-'' "Because you are a Lannister. And my son." ***** That same evening... Tyrion workedte into the night to make sure to present a draft n by tomorrow to his father. He left the library reading room after his eyes began to burn from exhaustion and the now hallucinogenic fumes from the candles. He was proud of his work and impressed by the notes and ns his father had left for him. Lannisport could have risen again to the heights of tourism andmerce. The design of thergest auction centre on the continent, the hall--no, the building set up for gambling called the ''Casino,'' the catering, but most of all ''the Courtesans,'' those were the elements that would attract all the great merchants, wealthy pirates, and nobles from everywhere to the future Lannisport and plump up the town''s coffers with tax and good coins. Thest of the three would be the most promising. After all, the Braavos Courtesans were figures coveted by many wealthy patrons seeking the charm, sophistication and sexuality of revered creatures that could not be bought with standard gold. They were lovers of high rank. Queens among Whores, if one could call them that... Tyrion was the right man for the task. He knew where to find and how to instruct such female deities. Even the Courtesans of Lannisport would have reached those levels. They would have been more coveted women than the virgindies of Westeros, and they would have driven men mad. And the Lord of Lannisport already had an idea about the price to be paid to gain their favour: -The winners of the auctions would get the most delicate jewels and treasures... -The bravest men who had proved their temerity in the Casino... -The most valiant knights and warriors who had captured or killed the most wanted criminals in the West or gloried in heroic deeds in war... -But above all, those who possessed secrets and information of proven value... ''I wonder what price men would be willing to pay if one day I spread the rumour that a Queen among them was none other than Lord Tywin Lannister''s mistress. Ehehe! And who knows how my father would react!'' Tyrionughed to himself as he closed the door to his personal chambers. The future Lord of Lannisport noticed that a gift had been left above the bed, bearing the seal of House Tallhart. Tyrion opened the case and pulled out a leather-bound book written on paper. "The Most Beloved Unlucky Dwarf. A fictional tale written and edited by the ywright Joblin Fairytales." He read the title aloud. He was familiar with Joblin Fairytales, the celebrated author of "The Shield Maiden" a fairy tale sponsored by House Glover-Tallhart. ''Could this be another ''vindictive hit'' by Leobald Tallhart?" The dwarf unfurled an introductory note, reading it. "Ah! What an honour... The first copy released outside Tallhart''s borders." Tyrion''s curiosity got the better of him, and he began to read the fairy tale''s introduction. He at least wanted to understand if it was a ''poisoned gift'' to mock him or if the authors were really interested in making the story a second sess on par with the "Shield Maiden." The first five pages soon became ten... and then twenty, until thest candle was consumed and the room was lit by the glow of dawn... The wine jug was empty, but Tyrion did not care. The story was rather mundane, the plot entirely predictable from the title, yet he could not stop reading. The exhausted 16-year-old did not even know how he had reached thest among the four hundred pages. He decided that thatst skimpy page of a few lines was worthy of being read aloud. {The old hunchback approached it a little taller than the crying boy. No one in the town knew the beggar, much less what his name was. No one knew where he came from, much less his past. Some witnesses to his passing while still alive, on a distant continent hundreds of leagues from the world-forsaken ind, would describe him as the unluckiest person in the World, others the most beloved, but the old beggar, once nicknamed simply as ''The Dwarf,'' would deny both rumours about him. He believed that he had been blessed with a life worth living, for better or worse. But now ... the time hade to repay the debt to those who in the past most helped make his darkest moments bright. "Hey, kid. Do this poor old man with the not-so-good eye a favour? Could you look over there for me? Yes, right there -- what do you see under the feet of those haughty bullying fools?" The boy first mentioned dirty straws, puddles of beer, crushed cups, and butts of bread and finally came to the answer the old man was looking for. "The shadow?" asked the orphaned child of the frail constitution still perched with folded arms at the wall of themon room. "That''s right... the shadow. And what does it look like to you? Could you describe it to me, please?" asked the old man with interest. "Shaky, faint, and small," replied the child. It was then that the old dwarf pointed to the wall of the wall that reflected his own shadow, arousing slight astonishment in thest descendant of an ancient dynasty. The high stone wall was speckled with an Insurmountable ck Giant that belittled the mightiest and most feared warrior in the lord''s hall. The old wanderer, with a wealth of knowledge and lived experience more frightening and overpowering than that shadow itself, bestowed the first of countless life lessons waiting to be learned from the grandson of his dearest friend. "You know... It is said that once, on another continent, there existed a young man no taller than you who could generate a shadow even greater than this one... Many valiant high enemies perished in the grip of that shadow, and many courses of history were changed. Empires toppled, forgotten dynasties risen from the ashes... there were many adventures of that famous ''Dwarf''. But... s, I no longer remember his name. Ahah!" "Really, old man? Did such a man really exist?" Asked the child with sceptical astonishment. "Always remember, little boy... Even the smallest, frailest, and most denigrated person in this World can change the course of the future."} ****** End Chapter. ---------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 127: House Hightower Chapter 127: House Hightower POV: Barbrey Dustin Barrow Hall. Year 289, twenty-eighth day of the twelfth moon. Three days before the start of the ceremony... The big show was about to begin. Barbrey and her betrothed, Jorah, were at the front gates of the manor to wee and offer hospitality to every wedding guest. It was an exhausting role, the list seemed endless, but the couple fulfilled their duties admirably... All the minor and significant Houses of the North had now arrived and settled in, except House Stark, which woulde along with the delegation from Carcosa. Ser Duncan and the infamous master, The Watcher, were travelling along with them. The real news from Winterfell in recent weeks widened the smile on the Soon-to-be-No-More-Widow of Barrowton''s face... The entire delegation from Dorne arrived at dawn that same day. House Allyrion, ckmont, Uller, Galen, Jordayne, Ladybright, Manwoody, Qorgyle, Fowler, Dayne of Starfall, Vaith, Wells, Wyl, Yrowood, and of course, Nymeros Martell had sent all the highest-ranking figures of their lineage with their respective champions intent on registering for the tournament. Though afflicted with gout, Prince Doran himself showed up escorted in a carriage along with the heir of Sunspears, Princess Arianne. The Red Viper of Dorne, Prince Oberyn, was the representative champion of House Martell. More than two hundred esteemed guests of noble births from Dorne alone and an escort of three hundred others, including armigers and servants, to be given asylum. Only noble lords anddies of high lineage could be granted a room within Barrowhall; the remaining lesser lords, knights and squires had been given an area outside the walls to set up pavilions. It had been quite a dilemma to choose where to ce the ''Dornian Alleged Traitors'' hated by all the remaining Six Kingdoms... The most suitable choice was between the Northern Houses and the noble guests of Essos. On the highest turret of the Castle, one could already see tents and banners set up on par with an army. Already for a couple of days, that number had reached five thousand, and many more guests were yet to arrive... A few hourster, the significant representatives of The Reach arrived. Tarly, Florent, Fossoway of Cider Hall, Fossoway of New Barrel, Ambrose, Ashford, Beesbury, Merryweather, Footly, Oakheart, Peake, Rowan, Varner, Vyrvel, Shermer, Mullendore, Cuy, Crane, Bulwer, Caswell, Redwine, Tyrell, and of course the most eagerly awaited of them all...House Hightower. "Fear not, my lord Tyrell, we have prepared your amodations on the opposite side of the Dorne delegation--hospitality in the North is as sacred and ancient as the very gods we worship. You have my word that you and your family, nor any of your noble bannermen under our table, will be inconvenienced in any way." So he reassured the bold and wrathful Mace Tyrell for the second time. "My Lady, I rmend extreme caution with those barbaric traitors of the sands who have crippled my poor Wys. A vile Dornian can never be trusted who-" "Now knock it off, sucker! We have listened to this chant three times! Turn around and look at the endless tail you have spawned. Up! Now step aside and let me do the talking!" mmed the Queen of Thorns, Olenna Tyrell, literally shoving the Lord Protector of the South and his wife Alerie Hightower to the side. "Lord Jorah, Lady Barbrey, House Tyrell is honoured to have received your invitation. We wish eternal felicitations and prosperity for your union." Thest point marked the end of House Tyrell''s turn as he waited only for the House host to take his leave. It was Lord Jorah who responded this time. "Thank you, Lady Olenna, the honour is ours for responding to our invitation. Wee to Barrow Hall, my Lords and Ladies. Please, savoury bread and mead await you after the end of the hall. Our steward will attend to all your needs." The seven members of House Tyrell bowed and continued on. The understanding of respectful nces between Olenna and Barbrey did not seem to be noticed by anyone. It was the turn of the noble bannermen most closely associated with the Tyrells. The individual, dubbed ''The Old Man of Oldtown'', stepped forward with all his grace and splendour. Yet, that alias seemed undeserved at Barbrey''s first nce. The man indeed showed signs of age, but his spirit and bearing did not seem to belong to that of a 50-year-old. "Lord Leyton, what a long-awaited honour-we finally have a chance to interact face to face with each other, my lord. Mh, Mh, Mh!" Barbrey offered her hand, which was promptly epted, and bowed, bestowing a friendly wee. "Lady Barbrey, the honour is mine alone... You may well say so, mydy. Your beauty and elegance excellently reflect your fine and impable writing." Replied with a warm smile and a polite tone The Defender of Oldtown. "Oh, oh! Too kind, my lord. So you cause me embarrassment... The trade rtions between Barrowton and Oldtown are so prosperous and enduring that we could not possibly afford to delegate the task to be cold and hasty Chief Stewards." All Honend kitchens and taverns could not help but use Barrowton salt. The Northern Lady and the Southern Lord often pursued trade negotiations through direct correspondence. House Hightower had a monopoly on the resale of Northern salt throughout The Reach, which consumed nearly one-tenth of the spice produced by the Salt Lance refineries. A profit on both sides of at least 5,000 gold dragons a month... "Absolutely agree, mydy... Lord Jorah, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Eternal congrattions on your union, my lord." Leyton bowed to the betrothed d in the bear symbols of House Mormont. "Thank you, it is my immense pleasure as well. Wee to Barrow Hall, Lord Leyton." Jorah returned the greeting with all due honours. "The Citadel and my fleet admiral have peppered me with pleas, almost to the point of torment, in seizing this festive opportunity to intercede as an intermediary between Oldtown and Bear Ind. We hear rumours that House Mormont ss and all instrumentation products rted to it are of the finest and most sophisticated quality possible... I hope there exists, in the not too distant future, the possibility of establishing a friendly rtionship between House Hightower and House Mormont with the same coborative rtionship that has long existed with your lovely bride." Lord Leyton had no qualms about flinging a carpet ofpliments and veiled messages under the radar. Of course, after the wedding, Jorah would have decision-making power over all Dustin Salt and Mormont ss businesses... The portentous new spotting scopes and binocrs, released into the market two moons ago, were stirring up a storm in the world of maritimemerce and warfare. Every galley captain, merchantman, corvette, longship, barge, fishing boat, or piece of wood capable of floating on water coveted one. And for a good reason. If the lookout doubled its ability to scan the horizon, the ship would have an undue advantage in evading obstacles and threats. Rumour had it that, The Master of the Fleets, Prince Stannis Baratheon, had marched royal emissaries day and night to establish negotiations with House Mormont as soon as possible, even having beasts and cker men whipped to the point of exhaustion who dared to rest more than three hours a day en route. It did not seem so unfounded as a rumour since the eight-hundred-mile distance between King''s Landing and Barrowton was travelled in less than seven days. Who knows how the best archers and readers of the Seven Kingdoms would have reacted in the future when the new ss masters released the revolutionary prescription lenses... All the magisters of the free city of Myr had immediately withdrawn their confirmation of participation in the wedding. Instead, they sent countless death threats and open warfare with Bear Ind, using them of stealing the secrets of the fine art of ssmaking (of which Myr had held a monopoly from Oldtown to Qarth for over four centuries). However, Myr''s eternal rivals, the free cities of Tyrosh and Lys, had instead doubled their noble emissaries at such an event, bringing with them caravans overflowing with gifts... "For certain, the possibility exists, my lord... However, I should politely ask you to postpone this pleasant future conversation, at least after the wedding. O..." Jorah cast a yful nce at Barbrey. "Well, I''m afraid I could face the pains of my beautiful and enchanting bride." "Ahaha. Absolutely, my lord. Certainly..." Leyton jovially weed the joke. "But who are these sparkling youths and graceful maidens?" Asked the Lady of Barrowton, trying to break the awkward silence. "Lord Jorah, Lady Barbrey, allow me to introduce my heir, Ser Baelor Hightower, and his young wife, Lady Rhonda." The two couples exchanged respectful greetings. Barbrey forcefully restrained a small impulse to giggle. About sixteen years ago, Prince Oberyn nicknamed the poor boy: "Baelor Breakwind" for unintentionally farting in front of him and his sister Elia. The heir to the most powerful man in Westeros was perpetually crucified by that infamy. Nevertheless, Baelor was said to be one of the best Knights of The Reach. The boy worked hard to break the curse that marred his good name. It was not so much the alias ''Breakwind'' that made Barbreyugh, but more the idea of how a simple fart could bring the son of the most powerful man on the continent to his knees! ''Hold back, Barbrey!!! Damn you! The fate of the North is on the line!!!'' the Widow of Barrowton admonished herself fiercely inwardly while maintaining her impable bearing. "Next, we have my second son, Ser Garth Hightower. The champion of Oldtown who looks forward to honouring these nuptials by bestowing pageantry and lustre in the tournament." Garth, also known as ''Greysteel,'' the knight who served three years in the Second Sons only to gain experience in the art of actual warfare... "My daughter Le and her husband, Ser Jon Cupps, the current Commander of my Personal Guard." And here is the most dangerous knight of the group. The one for whom Barbrey never wanted to see a sword drawn against her future husband. The knight had a good eye; he was a guard worthy of his reputation. Cupps kept casting nces over the shadowy colonnades of the reception hall. He had sensed the presence of her hidden guards. ording to Bloody Snow, Ser Jon Cupps had to be at least twice as dangerous as the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower... Nevertheless, the White Sword crushed the life of her William with a final surprise sh at the Battle of the Tower of Joy. "My youngest son, recently elevated knight, Ser Humfrey..." Barbrey''s spies had recently informed her that, most likely, Leyton had every intention of arranging a marriage between his youngest son and a nobledy from the North. Dacey Mormont was Lord Hightower''s most coveted target, ording to the partially reliable sources... "And finally... My youngest daughter, Lynesse." Leyton saved the best forst. The girl, who showed at least two years younger than she should be (17), looked like the embodiment of the Maiden... The beautiful Lynesse had lustrous golden hair with tinum veins, cream-coloured skin, graceful and soft hands, cupped breasts and perfectly proportioned curves, a face that roared innocence and virtue, with two dazzling sapphires for eyes and a pair of plump red lips that would have made even Barbrey want to bite. The Maiden seemed to havee down to earth only to belittle any other woman on the continent! The silver and the pearl-white dress was made of the finest velvet and wool, structured so that a poor noble Southern girl could ''elegantly'' disy all her soft graces without shivering in the inclement Northern climate. Barbrey recognized the workmanship of House Flint of Widow''s Watch--the same house from which the bride-to-be hadmissioned her expensive wedding dress. "Charmed, young Lady Lynesse ... Coff ... ''My Beloved''?" Barbrey coughed out a warning to the stodgy fool of her betrothed to rouse him from his more than inappropriate shock. "Huh? Yes! Forgive me, my Lady... Wee to Barrowton... I meant to say ''Barrow Hall,'' Lady Lynesse! Wee..." The Widow of Barrowton was ready to renew her nickname for the second time. Jorah* humbly lowered his head in most heartfelt apology to his beloved. Today''s evening would end in another hysterical fight-but. Now was not the time to think about it. "Thank you, Lord Jorah. Thank you, my Lady..." The little bitch with the honeyed voice had issued her a clearly concealed provocation by paying homage first and foremost to her man and not disdaining to even call her by her first name! ''Fuck the ns! I swear by the Old Gods. I will start World War IV, today!'' No...she had to calm down. Barbrey inhaled as much air as she could through her nostrils, calming her pulse. The trained mind warned her that that provocation had all the air of being a little stab from Lord Leyton to test her temper. "Lady Barbrey-I could not fail to notice the absence of the banners of House Tallhart in the Northern pavilions. Might I ask if Ser Helman''s heir, Duncan Tallhart, the one they call ''the Hero of the North,'' will being to Barrowton to take part in the celebrations of this happy event?" candied-toned little bitch with eyes brimming with hope asked softly. "Ah, yes, my dear, amon misunderstanding. House Tallhart already joined the celebrations two days ago. You probably still do not know that the protectors of Torrhen''s Square have recently changed the old banner. In any case, the one you seek has not yet arrived in Barrowton... The infamous ''Bloody Snow'' is currently en route along with Lord Eddard Stark and the entire Winterfell retinue. They should arrive within two days, barring unforeseen circumstances, youngdy." ''Pff!!! Ahahah! Seriously, Leyton? Is that what you''re aiming for? Humfrey & Dacey, and Lynesse & Duncan?'' Barbrey''s day lifted. Perhaps, and she emphasized ''perhaps,'' there was the remote possibility that war might break out through no fault of her own. Evidently, Oldtown had not yet gathered enough information about the belligerent and jawbreaking first-born of the fierce ''She-Bear,'' Dacey Mormont... Well, after all, the heroic former maester of Bear Ind, Louis, had been mercilessly ughtered under a banner of peace by Denys Drumm before he could reveal in detail the true nature of the spark that had broken out between the young Northern duo. Barbrey would have happily bet 10,000 gold dragons on Little Angry Bear tearing locks of lustrous hair from the innocent Maiden of Oldtown. Still, she would have more than willingly lost them witnessing the scene of Dacey biting off the perfect Lynesse''s small, candied pink cheeks. The ''gant Green Knight,'' Ser Jorah Mormont, and the cousin of the ''Indomitable Vengeful Beast,'' seemed intent on shouting a warning for the preservation of the poor defenceless Maiden. Still, a simple nce from Barbrey with the printed message: [If-You-Do, Tonight I''ll-Cut-Your-Throat-In-The-Sleep!] muffled ''the Bear Hero. "Ah... I see. Thank you, mydy." Lynesse retreated back, leaving the ce of honour to her father. "We heard House Stark hosted a ''peculiar'' delegation from the Far East... Are the rumours true, mydy?" Lord Leyton asked without qualms. The yer wanted to test the ground to see ''how much'' Barbrey was meddling in the Great Game. "Oh, yes, my lord, it is so. My Lord Protector, Eddard Stark, has kindly responded to my request for help regarding these celebrated mysterious guests from a far east city called ''Carcosa''... Mh mh mh. To tell the truth, I didn''t even know there were any cities beyond the very mysterious Asshai by the Shadows. It was Lord Duncan''s master-at-arms, a kindly adventurer named ''Zick'' who first told me about them." Leyton remained impassive, but his Commander, Ser Jon Cupps, involuntarily stiffened his shoulders at the thundering name he had just uttered... Very few in the Known World had the privilege of addressing The Watcher by his real name. Leyton and Jon were among the seven individuals in Oldtown who benefited from that privilege. "A true gentleman and a great explorer, that ''Zick.'' He graciously allowed me to get in touch with many of his acquaintances throughout Essos, helping me forge excellent trade rtions with Archons, Magisters and Lords of distant cities. s... the Lord of Carcosa seemed unwilling to ept my invitation because of my low noble rank. Still, he was willing to join the celebrations, taking on the burden of this long and demanding journey, if and only if it was the Noble and Ancient House Stark who would grant him the honour of hospitality... The cultures and traditions of the Far East still remain a mystery to me. Mh, Mh, Mh!" Barbrey exined in a subtly joking tone. "Ahah, I see... I look forward to meeting these ''mysterious'' fascinating characters in person. Maybe Oldtown will also get a chance to form a close partnership with this infamous ''Carcosa.'' Well, the time hase for us to take off. We have kept you even too long. I perceive numerous grudging nces from poor Lord Redwine and from the remaining noble lords of The Reach waiting behind me. Lady Barbrey, Lord Jorah, it was an absolute pleasure for us to receive your wee." The Hightower family bowed. "The pleasure of bestowing hospitality upon you noblemen and noblewomen is ours alone, my lords anddies... So please enjoy the celebrations and entertainment Barrow Hall has in store for you." End Chapter. ----------------------------------- *{Note Author: For those who have not read the books, Lynesse Hightower was Jorah''s young second wife in the original book''s canon. The woman who had driven him mad enough to bankrupt House Mormont to pay for any extravagance for the demanding Maiden bored with the monotonous life of Bear Ind.} Chapter 128: The Night Watch & The Humble Customsman Chapter 128: The Night Watch & The Humble Customsman POV: Jeor Mormont Barrow Hall. A couple of hours after thest noble guest of The Reach received his wee... It was almost dusk, and the darkness of night loomed over the Barronds. The new 997th Lord Commander of the Night''s Watch approached the front door further. The man was escorted by two other trusted members of the brotherhood in ck, the first recruiter Yoren and the first attendant Bowen Marsh. The long waiting line wasing to an end--very soon, after Lord Yohn Royce and his family had paid their respects to the Lord and Lady of Barrotown, it would be his turn. The Old Bear would see his beloved boy again... It had been almost ten years since theirst meeting. Jeor had to lock himself in his private srium for an entire day and night when, months ago, he received an invitation to his son Jorah''s wedding from Maester Aemon. The newly elected Lord Commander of the Night''s Watch could not possibly allow his sworn brethren to see him cry... The crushing victory at Bear Ind, the revenge on House Greyjoy with the siege of Pyke, the iron naval control over all of Ice Bay, his family''s newly acquired fame in trade, and now these nuptials... House Mormont would soon be one of the most respected and prosperous Houses in the North. Many rumours affirmed Barrowton''s newly acquired greatness, even almost on par with the Mouth of the North, White Arbor. The good-for-nothing Old Man had left hovels of slush, pines and rocks to that boy, and, in less than ten years, his Jorah had turned the fortunes of the Isle around... Jeor could not contemte the figure of a prouder father. The poor boy, tormented by tragedy and suffering, deserved every good that this infamous world could offer. "Yonh Royce''s brat, William, it seems to me, has been watching us for a while now with sparkling sparks in his eyes. Perhaps I could sing a ditty or two to the boy-who knows, maybe he might join the fraternity someday. What do you think, Lord Commander?" Jeor awoke from his inappropriate emotional memories. "Yonh Royce''s third son-inw -- go ahead, Yoren, but mind you, I don''t want any more tricks or puns like the ones you sang to poor Edd Tollet." The admonition was more than fair. Poor Edd, recently nicknamed ''Dolorous Edd'' by his brethren, had been recruited into the Night''s Watch by Yoren during thest expedition to the Valley. The recruiter had affably sung to him about how women could not resist a man in a ck uniform, cunningly leaving out the vow of celibacy that the oath imposed. "Ahaha! If our noble glory-seeking boy ignored his chained master''s history lessons, the fault is not mine." Yoren resumed chewing his liquorice stick. "But if House Tollet did not even have enough coin to afford to buy him a sword. Let alone the service of a maester." Bowen retorted in poor Edd''s defence. "Well, not that I''m not saying I was aware of his unfortunate past, but-" The Lord stopped the debate. "Enough, you two. This is no time for showmanship. It''s our turn." House Royce had entered the manor. The representative trio climbed thest step up the hill, stepping through the oak main door reinforced in cold-hardened iron tes. Entries more than three feet thick with faded markings of ancient bronze runes in thenguage of the First Men, which, in the distant past, had prevented ess to many armies of the Kings of Winter in the Epic Thousand Years'' War. The future Lord of that ancient manor was standing there, ready to greet him in all hisposure deeply inculcated by his father by pping the back of his head. Beside it stood his beautiful youngest bride, one of the most feared and respected women in the North, the soon-to-be Ex-Widow-of-Barrowton whose nickname was increasingly being overshadowed by a newer one: ''The Frosty Spice Queen,'' Lady Barbrey Dustin. "Lord Commander and gant sworn men of the brotherhood, it is an honour and a joy for Barrowhall to wee members of the Night''s Watch. I, Lady Barbrey Dustin and my groom, Jorah Mormont, wee you, Heroes." First, the host performed a perfect Lady bow. Then, Jeor Mormont elegantly gathered and kissed his daughter-inw''s hand. "Lady Barbrey, ''Lord Jorah,'' the honour is ours alone. The Night''s Watch is grateful for the more than appreciated invitation to this glorious and happy event. In the past, I had the good fortune and honour to fight alongside your grandfather, Lord Wembel Ryswell, one of the finest men I have ever met. And today, I am blessed to receive a greater honour by knowing you, mydy, the one who inherited that man''s highest virtues and merits." At the time of the famous War of the Ninepenny Kings, Wembel Ryswell''s name was glorified by King Jaehaerys II himself. Lord Ryswell underscored the story by sacrificing himself on the field while holding back the enemy''s heavy cavalry of less than half his men. Jeor Mormont, Wembel Ryswell and Brynden Tully, ''The ck Fish,'' fought in various battles, turning their names into legends. "You honour me, Barrowton and House Ryswell. You will be our wee guests for as long as you wish, my lord." ***** A couple of minutes of formality and various introductions. "Brother Yoren will be more than free to perform his duties throughout our domains for as long as he wishes. Only the Old Gods know how necessary it is for strong new valiant arms to serve your good order. As for you, honourable First Attendant, Bowen Marsh, I am more than certain that our storehouses will overflow with many provisions given the ''sparse'' attendance at these festivities. Therefore, it will be more your help than ours to allow you to store in the iceboxes of Castle ck many provisions that would go rotten in our overflowing pantries. I will put you in touch with my Chief Steward Edmund at once." Promulgated Barbrey in a dignified yet charitable manner. "Thank you, mydy. I promise I will try to cause as little disturbance as possible." Yoren bowed, retreating one step immediately after finishing. "Thank you, mydy. The Brotherhood in ck will always be grateful for eternity to all the Lords and Ladies of Barrowton." Bowen also withdrew. Jorah and Jeor had not yet been able to interact verbally even once. And perhaps it was for the best... He was no longer a father, no longer ownednds, no longer had sisters, only brethren. He was the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the Wall... Only loving ncesmunicated what could not be said, and they were more than enough. "Tell me, my lord, have you encountered adversity on your journey?" Asked thedy gently. "''Unfortunately,'' none, mydy. Thank you for asking. We set out from Castle ck with an armed escort of ny good Rangers and about ten attendants. We hoped on the way to rout some vile horde of the Wildlings responsible for all those atrocities, but those cowardly rats kept well clear of the fight... Later, in the New Gift, we gathered on thest stretch following Lord Benjen Stark and the n Chiefs on their way to the celebrations." In the past month, the sword brutally passed more than three viges. Daughters kidnapped, sons tortured and roasted in bonfires, and all the remaining indications of the horrific barbarities all pointed to the work of the vilest Cannibal ns of the Wildlings. The most obscene spectacle ever in the minds of Mormont and so many of his brethren will be forgotten. The image of dozens of bodies of poor peasants and vigers skinned, boiled, and hacked to pieces, found hanging as decorations near the Weirdwood Tree nearest Castle ck, led to the desertion of two novice Brethren... Although the Night''s Watch had recently restored their forces to just over two thousand in number, it was not enough to patrol all the vastnds of Brandon''s Gift, let alone the New Gift. At least two hundred raiding wildlings must have somehow managed to get past The Wall... Wraiths appearing suddenly at night and dissipating a momentter like fog at first light. Jeor hoped that his rtively small but well-trained number, armed and ready to fight, might draw in an attempted surprise sortie of the enemy. But such was not the case... The bait had not attracted those beasts against nature. Whoever led the horde did not seem interested in weakening the Guardians but only in wreaking havoc on thends, they could not safeguard. "House Mormont will be d to help the Brotherhood patrol itsnds, Lord Commander." So sentenced without reason, his dastardly son as he gripped Longw''s hilt more tightly. "House Mormont has already helped the brotherhood more than enough this year, ''my lord.'' The 467 new recruits and the hundreds of scopes and telescopes your House has graciously bestowed upon us are already far more than many other Houses of Westeros have done to contribute to our order..." House Mormont had recently contributed far more than all the remaining six kingdoms on that continent, blind and deaf to the pleas of the brotherhood in ck. Exposing more would have benefited The Wall in the short run but, at the same time, would have set a dangerous precedent. Every man on The Wall got what he deserved, winning it by his own actions--not by name, not by the wealth and contributions of his Household, but by his own merits. The Lord Commander, most of all, had to shoulder the burden of being a role model... His son''s actions would undoubtedly have detracted from the necessary contributions of other Houses and weakened his leadership position. That ''blessed gift of the Gods'' that idiot Jorah was about to marry leapt to their rescue, saying: "My beloved spouse merely meant that both House Mormont and Barrowton will be more than happy to rmend gestures of help from our other friendly Houses, my lord warmly. In fact, if I am not mistaken, it hade to my attention that House Tallhart was looking for a field experience opportunity for a new army unit still in training. Might I suggest that milord discuss possible coboration with Ser Helman Tallhart?" The underlying message was clear and resounding: [Seeks help from Torrhen''s Square.] ''So it is as they say... my boy has found himself a more dangerouspanion than Maege.'' Thought The Old Bear with relief and endless expectation. There was no need to wonder if the pair felt affection for each other... His Jorah would be in good hands. "A much-appreciated suggestion, mdy. The Brotherhood of the Night''s Watch is grateful to you... Bowen, Yoren, let''s get this out of the way. So many other guests are waiting to receive the same wee." The trio bowed for thest time, heading toward the hall. Jeor walked past the future lord of Barrowton just after his brethren had their backs to him, distancing themselves from theirmander. "Are you taking care of your grandfather''s sword?" the man asked the bright-eyed babe who was still clutching Longw''s silver bear-shaped pommel tightly. "Every day, Fa-" Jeor glowered at him, "Every day, Lord Commander." "Good... And do you also remember the words of the founder of the house that once bore the same name as you?" "{Here We Stand.}" Jorah uttered with a roar of pride thest three words that, ten years earlier, his father spoke to him before embarking on The Wall. Jeor nodded coldly without reciprocating the motto he once revered most of all. No hugs, no inappropriate expressions, no loving words. Jeor Mormont gritted his teeth... The old scar on his right arm, caused by the foolish recklessness of a naive bear cub-loving boy, began to give him phantom tingles. Tingles that brought back a thousand other nostalgic memories... ''I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the Wall...'' the verses of the Oath brought the man back to reason. The ck cape of the 997th Lord Commander of the Night''s Watch blended into the shadows of the corridor. And the man who wore it returned to watch over that night and all the nights toe... End POV. -------------------------------------- POV: A Humble Chief Customs Officer of Gulltown Barrow Hall. Year 289 A.C. Twenty-ninth day of the twelfth moon. Two days remain before the ceremony... Petyr Baelish, the talented new Chief Customs Officer of Gulltown, responded to the greeting of the Betrothed of Barrowton, giving them a bow worthy of Kings and Queens. "It was as wee an honour as ever expected, Lady Barbrey. Thank you for inviting me to this unmissable event, my lord anddy." Said Petyr with an imperceptible tone of sarcasm but nevertheless expressed in words full of sincerity. The humble minor lord of the brushwood of rocks and goat droppings in the Fingers of the Valley had not really expected to receive that invitation. Petyr was ready to ask yet another favour of Lysa by asking her to subtly intercede with her husband Jon Arryn on the pretext of making other trade deals with the Northern lords, but there was no need... The underestimated and invisible New yer of the Throne wanted to find out who and how he hade up with the idea of inviting a guest whom the vast majority of Westeros would more than dly spare the trouble of showing up at thevish events reserved for the Great Lords. "Lord Baelish... " thedy was interrupted, "Mydy, please, even just Baelish will suffice...I hold neithernds nor titles so deserving as to be apanied by the appetion ''lord.''" "But you at least possess the humility of a true lord, ''my lord''. Mh! Mh! Mh!" Baelish epted the minor defeat with dignity by giving his slight assent to the kindness shown. "You may not be a great Lord of the Vale, my lord, but you have certainly more than deserved the hospitality of Barrow Hall. My ountants and Chief Steward have not missed the figure of the talented young Chief Customs Officer of Gulltown responsible for doubling the trade between the North and thetter in just eight moons. Truly remarkable...House Dustin, Mormont and all the northern houses are indebted to you, Lord Baelish." And immediately, a legitimate and credible reason for his invitation presented itself...but could that really be the reason? Petyr chose not to lower his defences too much. "You honour me with too much credit, Lady Barbrey. The achievements between Gulltown and the Northern Houses have been a fruit plucked through the efforts of all of us humble men ofmerce. Your Chief Attendant Edmure is at least as deserving of such ttery as I am." Baelish replied, bowing his head. Then Baelish cast a little bit... "My Lady... As you said, I am only a humble Customs Officer, so I fear I have not brought gifts worthy of such an event. However... a slightly rming piece of information has recently reached my ears that I hope will benefit and better prepare House Dustin and House Mormont..." Baelish waited, and the answer he sought came. "Oh, really? Lord Baelish...you know how to arouse the interest of a poordy as yielding to court gossip as I am; please don''t hold back, my lord, please satisfy our curiosity!" replied Barbrey. "Well, mydy, as you well know, the royal delegation has just passed through the gates of your beautiful city. Presently the King and Queen are proceeding at a modestly slow pace in response to the warm wee the popce is bestowing upon them. However, as you mentioned earlier, a'' rumour'' has reached my ears... It seems that Queen Cersei was rather annoyed, to the point of bestowing a slight disappointment on the King himself, that you, my nobledy and your betrothed did not directly bring your homage and wee to the entrance of the city itself... I don''t know if the rumours are true, but from what is said in the ports of Gulltown, Queen Cersei Lannister is haughty above all talk. I hope these rumours are only the result ofmon prevalent slurs. Otherwise... I fear that the wee, carefully prepared by you for our majesties, may be ill-appreciated." Baelish utterly defensively and vacantly elided the whisper his spy delivered to him less than a few minutes earlier. From how Lady Barbrey would react, Petyr would know whether she was really deserving of the reputation as a shrewd Northern yer that his sources suspected she was... The First Rule of the Great Game was to figure out ''Who'' really were the yers and the pawns on the chessboard. The Second Rule of the Great Game was to determine who among the discovered yers was the prey and the predator. And if in a short time the prey could not be found-then, it meant that the prey was you. ''Pawn, Prey or Predator?" wondered Petyr instantly within himself. By now, that question had be a routine toward anyone he met in person for the first time. Barbrey put her hand on her chest with an astonished, anxiety-filled expression. The woman exchanged a worried nce with Lord Jorah Mormont, who remained steadfast and neutral to the woman''s visual prompts. "Lord Baelish, I-I do not know how to repay this kindness of yours. I I had no idea that thank you. Thank you so much, my lord." The act seemed convincing enough. "You''re wee, mydy, please... There is no need to attach too much importance to a ''likely'' false rumour. I''m afraid I can''t guarantee that, on this little piece of information..." ''Let it be a possible pawn?" thought Baelish with discreet hints of doubt. Was it really possible that all the information gathered was actually an exaggeration? "No, milord. It is only fair that the gesture of courtesy be returned. Let''s see-ah, of course. What better way to repay a valuable piece of information than with one that will pique your interest! But, milord, please. Just between us." She pleaded with embarrassment. "Of course, mdy. You have my word of honour." Elegantly replied the intrigued young yer. The Barrowton Widow''s face lit up with renewed confidence toward her promising new friend. "I don''t know if you''re aware of it, but it seems that the Crown is desperate for sources of gold," whispered the woman naively as if she were revealing a lovers'' gossip amongdies. It was no secret; all the houses in thend of the Crown knew about it. But then thedy continued to speak... "It seems that Lord Gyles Rosby, the current Master of Coin, had requested a loan of over one million two hundred thousand gold dragons from the Iron Bank, but that ''mysteriously'' the King''s emissaries withdrew the loan negotiations soon after Pyke''s fall... It is not yet clear exactly how and where Robert managed to make up for such an exorbitant gap in the pockets of the realm. Still, a mysterious, well-drained, and armed Prince Stannis naval contingent inexplicably docked in White Arbor two moons ago. I wonder if the Crown may have found a possible backer right here in the North? Why did the Grand Royal Fleet fragment into smaller contingents on the way back? And why set sail on a new moon night? To conceal arge cargo that could not be jeopardized on a single voyage?" Petyr was disarmed. He was not aware of any of this invaluable information! But the time for amazement had not yete; the song was not over... "Of course, this Lord Gyles doesn''t seem quite suited to handle the King''s ravenous appetites. Rumour has it that the Queen is spurring Robert to organize an event for Prince Joffrey''s fifth name-day with prizes and festivities bigger than my wedding. But how will the Crown afford such pageantry when it already burned through the nine million eight hundred and thirty-seven thousand gold dragons found in the royal coffers of Aerys barely six years ago? The Small Council could really use a new Master of Coinage... A younger, enterprising man with a brilliant mind who has sound new ideas, business wit, and above all, who does not harass the other council members with a cough with every word spoken... mmm... Ah! A man like you, my lord! Yes! You would be perfect for that position!" Young Petyr''s blood froze... "Of course, it must be said that you should still show a little more aplishment for that position; after all, you are still invisible in the eyes of the Vale and the Kingdom... mmm... Might I advise you to nurture your warm childhood rtions with Lady Lysa Arryn? Caution, my lord, try not to get too close to Lady Catelyn during your stay in Barrowton. It hase to my attention that Lysa has paid some minor knights and squires in the Vale, seeking the favour of the Wife of the Hand of the King, to keep an eye on you... She seems to harbor an inexplicable jealousy toward her sister, but I''m afraid I don''t know why. Mh, Mh, Mh!" Petyr''s eyes could no longer hold a candle to that look! The gaze of the Abominable Witch who, in a short, terrifying, and well-researched song, had just prophesied his past, present, and future ns! The pressure was too much... The still shocked, young promising customs officer sought sce in the impassive figure at the monster''s side. The clear message of Jorah Mormont''s silent expression was: [Why are you looking at me, you fool? You were the one who teased the Beast.] ''Predator! She is definitely a Predator! And a big, ravenous one at that!'' ***** End Chapter. ______________ Chapter 129: Bronze, Fire and Ice (I) Chapter 129: Bronze, Fire and Ice (I) POV: The Legitimate Queen Barrow Hall. About half an hour after a small yer retired with his tail between his legs... The first formal greetings and bows were performed appropriately enough. Robert noisily embraced Lord Jorah Mormont, who futilely tried to maintain a semnce ofposure. The King dragged one of the alleged Heroes of the Siege of Pyke into the hallway of the Hall, almost disregarding receiving permission from the Lady of Barrowton first... Perhaps the harassment of that swine of a husband of hers could benefit her from time to time... "Come on, Lord Jorah! Come have a cup of wine with me! It is your King''s order! Ahahah!!" the man seemed reluctant for a moment, but after casting a little mortified nce at his bride and receiving a look of assent, he did as the King requested. Ser Barristan and Ser Mandon followed in the King''s ranting wake, bringing a slight bow to the Widow of Barrowton. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn remained to guard the Queen. Jaime and Ser Preston were still in the carriage, intent on defending the wet nurse who looked after Myrce and Joffrey... Joffrey was too young to drink mead, and Myrce was still an infant to be fed with mother''s milk. The ancientws of Northern hospitality would have been passed down indirectly to the princes when the womb or seed that gave birth to them was protected. Cersei would not allow her children to set a single foot inside Barrow Hall until she, and not Robert, benefited from bread, salt and Mead... There were two Kingsguards left in the Hall, The Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and an old Northern harlot who changed husbands as if they were dirty linen... A whore-owner of a dirty brothel called Barrowton, whom she would soon sell out to her future husband, losing thest bit of power she had left. ording to Varys, many individuals in Westeros and Essos were beginning to attach another moniker to her; after thest one as an old maid widow, they had given her... ''The Frosty Spice Queen.'' Cersei should have cut the tongue out of every dirty unpunished wild sheep in the North who had dared to bleat the word ''Queen'' except to refer to the continent''s only true Lioness. ''You are an old sheep dealing salt in a grave, my dear. And I the Lioness of King''s Landing.'' Thought the woman that was four years younger than thetter. Cersei''s prejudiced animosity toward Lady Barbrey Ryswell-Dustin-And-Soon-Mormont was not so much because of that moniker-even old Granny Tyrell was still referred to as ''The Queen of Thorns''-but so much because of the disy of pageantry and influence the Whore of the North had over all of Westeros! Not even at her royal wedding was there such an attendance! Outside the walls were hundreds of banners and pavilions, endless pageantry and merriment... Cersei had to bring any possible threat to her rule into line for the sake of her children... So she would roar and show the sheep of the North who was the True Ruler Here. But first, she would have let the Crone''s guard down with ''due etiquette talk''... ***** About five minutester... "A beautiful city, Lady Barbrey. Your people are so alive, full of joy and festivity... Truly a pleasant wee." Pricked Cersei in the first ce. "You honour me and my city, Your Majesty. I am not worthy of such apliment." So replied the Whore, performing what savages ten thousand years ago would perhaps once have called a ''bow. "Of course, I must admit my slight disappointment at not having enjoyed your presence at the gates of the City, as any good loyal servant of the Kingdom would customarily show to the King, Queen and Royal family..." The first naturalsh was thrown. "Ah... My Queen, I... I did not think that this might have given offence to the ''King'' " ''You have given offence to me!!!'' roared the Queen inwardly but still maintaining the same smiling expression. "My groom and I felt this was the correct way to wee, Your Majesties. I had asked Maester Ellyn to dust off all the historical records of Barrowton, and he had assured me that all previous Kings and Queens, who had honoured the House of Dustin with a visit in the past, had been weed to the town in the same way. A folk parade at the gates and a formal wee at Barrow Hall... King Aegon I, Jaehaerys I, Queen Alysanne, and Daeron II seemed to appreciate the ceremony. Before the Dustin name perished, I wished to give lustre to the name of the descendants of the First Tomb Kings by honouring tradition. Have Imitted an unfortunatepse in judgment, your majesty?" The old sheep dared to roar back, and for a moment, the Lioness did not know how to retort to the provocation--but only for a moment. "No... not at all. It was an honour for the royal family to uphold the tradition of the ancient and ''dying'' House of Dustin by lending lustre to its name for onest time, my Lady... So sad the fate of these noble and ancient lineages. First House Tarbeck, then-House Rayne, House Targaryen, and now Dustin... I will pray to the Seven that the new and promising House of Mormont may ever prosper for the next thousand years here in the Barronds." Cersei. "Too kind, Your Grace. Although here in the North, the deities we worship are slightly older and different from the Seven, I would certainly never refuse a blessing from the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." It sounded more like an insult than apliment, but more importantly, the old hen did not seem to react in the slightest to her implied threat "Come to think of it, there is one point that has left me puzzled and somewhat displeased at the entrance of the remarkable Barrowton..." However, Cersei kept her tone and expression cordial. "Really, Your Grace?... My duty and honour would be to help her majesty clear up any displeasure. Please..." Bleated the sheep stuffed with wool. "Well, the honourable Knights of the royal escort, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch, were not bestowed permission to pass through the gates of your city, Lady Barbrey... I wondered why such an insult to the valiant men who loyally served my father and family for so many years? I thought the Dustins and Mormonts were friends and allies of the Lannisters." Cersei asked with polite effrontery. "House Lannister is a good friend and ally of the entire North, my Queen, but...I fear that statement cannot extend to Ser Gregor and Ser Amory... Too many unfortunate and disturbing events gue the areas that ''coincidentally'' those worthy and brave Knights anointed by the Seven traverses. A poor tavern maid raped and battered in Salt Pans less than a moon is the most recent example. ording to eyewitnesses, Ser Gregor and his men, unfortunate for their good name, were the only customers on that tragic evening... Many viges and small towns have suffered simr and even more unfortunate fates in thends of Rivers, The Reach and The Crown in thest...well, ten years, I would say. And all these events coincided with the unfortunate passing of your two worthy Knights, my Queen. You will forgive me if, as the patroness of peaceful Barrowton, I wish that other ''coincidences'' do not stain their good name." "Coincidences and misfortunes indeed... You are an intelligent, well-educated woman with much experience on your shoulders..." an elegant way of saying ''Old Woman.'' The Lady''s armour seemed to have been partly nicked by what Cersei''s watchful eye could see. That was her weakness... "I am confident that a woman of experience such as yourself will not give credence to such unfounded rumours that would go to discredit the Temple of Baelor and The High Septon himself. The one who personally anointed Ser Gregor Clegane. My father would be-" The Old Whore dared to interrupt her! "Truly, my Queen, justst afternoon, I sought permission from Lord Tywin Lannister, the Protector of the West himself. When he and his son and Heir, ''Lord Tyrion Lannister,'' the Shield and Protector of Lannisport, crossed the threshold of this hall, willingly epting the hospitality of Barrow Hall, I expressed to them my concerns. Your beloved brother, Lord Tyrion, was kind enough to suggest the idea of binding Ser Gregor and Ser Amory in the hall areas, and your father weed his ''Heir''s'' suggestion." Cersei felt the urge to hurl Ser Meryn and Ser Boros at the Old Witch, having her flogged and tearing her beautiful, very expensive woollen dress with her rod. The Queen''s nails scratched perceptibly at her palms. It was really hard for her to hold back all those murderous impulses while keeping the same expression... but she could not remain silent. Every second that passed without a worthy response was an open p to her image! "Well, indeed, my father and my loving brother could not yet have been aware of my concerns about the safety of Prince Joffrey and Princess Myrce. Ser Gregor and Ser Amory helped immensely to dispel such disturbing concerns from Harrenhall to Barrowton. But, just the thought of the recent disagreements between Myr and House Mormont, the brutal, barbaric attacks of the Wildlings in thends of the New Gift, alleged vengeful incursions of rebellious Ironmen into the shores of House Ryswell, and not to mention the five hundred Dornish traitors present at these celebrations...my and the Princes'' sleep will be more peaceful if the sworn swords of House Lannister can watch over us." Cersei sensed an indignant snort from Ser Meryn Trant. Her Knight, too, was tired of the bitch''s brazen gaze. "Ah! Your Majesty, I... I did not know... I could not imagine..." victory seemed within reach. "Who, Majesty? What celebrated Sword of the Royal Guard fell on the way?!" Again, Cersei''s eyes widened; this time, the fake smile withered... "Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Mandon Moore were with the King...Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Boros Blunt are right in front of me...Then who? The valiant Ser Preston Greenfield! Ser Wyatt Estermont, perhaps? No!... Please, Your Majesty! Don''t tell me that Ser Ja-" "My brother is alive and well!!!" Cerseipletely fell for the provocation by roaring a hysterical shriek. The Queen immediately realized the foul and instantly rposed herself. "I meant... None of the valiant White Swords has fallen, mydy." ''Unless Ser Wyatt''s protruding swollen goitre has already crushed him during this talk...'' thought the Queen as she recalled the precarious health of Robert''s second cousin. "Ah, what a relief! Phew... Phew... Forgive me, Your Grace, but the way you had stated the matter, my anxiety could not help but take over reason. I thought... I mistakenly believed that a tragedy might have urred and that Ser Gregor and Ser Amory had already been able to rece the brethren who had fallen in service to safeguard the Royal Family." "Misunderstandings that can happen, Lady Barbrey." Cersei. "After all, the ''Seven White Swords'' are tasked with protecting the Royal Family. Am I wrong, Your Grace?" Cersei promised herself that one day, not far from now, she would have that Old Whore of the North raped and trampled by Ser Gregor, Ser Amory, and all the men and horses of the Casterly Rock garrison if that were not enough... but not today. "The Seven White Hats have that honour, mydy, it is true ... But, ''Nine Swords'' protect better than Seven." It was the only sensible thing Cersei could extrapte at that moment. "I can do nothing but bow to your majesty''s wisdom." Replied the bitch in a subtly annoyingly ironic tone! "That''s enough, mydy! You dare mock our White Order and her majesty the Queen in front of the Royal Guard?!" Intimated Ser Meryn, taking a long step forward with his hand gripped on the hilt of the sword not yet drawn. ''What are you doing, you piece of idiot! Roared Cersei inwardly, attempting to admonish the Knight with her gaze. The fool even dared to take another step, intimating: "Her Majesty has given you an order." No, she had not yet done so. "Shemands you to open the city gates to Ser Gregor and Ser Amory! To disobey is Treason!" Said the imbecile. The two Dustin guards behind Lady Barbrey had not yet moved an inch, but a dozen shadows promptly slipped from the columns of the entrance hall. Ten pairs of experienced hands were ready to intervene at the slightest nod ofmand. Not even if Jaime and the Royal escort had arrived in time to join the fray would Ser Meryn and Ser Boros have made it out alive... "Forgive me, Ser, yours was just an unintentionally impulsive gesture or-" The idiot had not even noticed the ten new des in the shadows ready to pounce like panthers at any moment! "Ser Me-" Cersei''s attempt was in vain... the events unfolded too quickly. Only after he had snuffed the steel did the imbecile realize the fatal mistake! "Drop it, ''Ser,'' and don''t move a muscle..." Intimated one of ten des well-aimed at each of the Knight''s exposed vital points. The voice was guttural but also strangely sweet. It took only a handful of seconds to force Ser Meryn to drop the sword and kneel. But, unfortunately, Ser Boros had already released his grip on the hilt handle... "Well, Ser... ording to thews still in force of King Jaehaeris I, threatening a poor Lady under her desco, without a charge of High Treason and without a man in defence of her honour, is an offence punishable by death even for a ''Brave'' Royal Guard ready to harm an unarmed woman..." Ser Meryn was paralyzed on the spot, looking around. His ''fearless'' confrere Ser Boros seemed to show more discernment than thetter by remaining as still as a man of pairs. Cersei, for a moment, did not understand what Barbrey meant by ''without a man to defend her honour.'' But then she understood... as absurd as it was, those twelve monstrosities of muscle, leather and steel that surrounded them were all women!!! Armed women instead of Men! The Law was her favour! And if Cersei remembered correctly, there was another barbaric custom of the First Men here in the North that gave her support...but it just didn''te to mind at the time. What was certain was that she, Ser Boros, nor even Ser Meryn had yet enjoyed the bread, salt, and mead of Barrow Hall. In the eyes of thews of gods and men, none of them still benefited from the protection of guests. To unleash steel against a nobleman under his table, without a firmly valid reason, was an act that could have started a war! The Widow of Barrowton stepped forward with a disturbing smile on her face. "You have broken what we descendants of the First Men call the ''Law of Blood and Iron,'' Ser Meryn. It is customary here in the ancient traditional Barronds that the transgressor of that Law pays the ''Price of Blood'' with eyes, nose, teeth and tongue, which will be removed with Bronze, Fire and Ice... And that in pursuit, after you have returned to the state with which the womb nourished you, you be buried alive, and well bound, together with earth, water, and Weirdwood Tree seeds; so that the Old Gods may wee you back into the womb of the world by feeding on your sins and giving light to a new life more deserving to avail of the fruits of the earth. Fear not, Ser, of water to quench your thirst, there will be no shortage, and the white roots will dig into your skin, killing you before hunger or ... ''madness'' consumes you." Even Cersei''s stomach turned at the thought of such an atrocity. In Casterly Rock, such an act would be punished by locking the criminal up in the most cramped of cells in the rock for an entire season, but, in her heart, Cersei was undecided as to which option to choose... "Of course, Ser you would be entitled to a fair trial should the Queen wish to defend you by testifying on your behalf. Is it your wish to deny the crime, my Queen?" The trembling hot-headed fool turned his gaze toward her with frightened, pleading eyes. If the man could have spoken, he would surely have cried out, "Help me, my Queen! I am your faithful servant!!! I did it for you!!! I only wanted to defend your honour!!!" This Law Cersei knew well instead. It was the work of that dastardly Jaehaerys I, Daeron II, or III for as long as she could remember. [A Kingsguard cannot avail himself of due process if there was no member of the royal family or the Lord Commander of the White Swords as his guarantor advocate.] Cersei had memorized all the quibbles of the stupid rules of the Kingsguard when her twin brother Jaime joined it. Rules were designed primarily to make the best use of her swords in times of need and to better conceal their forbidden tryst... But Cersei was no idiot... Who knows what Ser Boros might have said or not said if his Lord Commander or Robert himself had put him under the knife. It was her words and Ser Meryn''s, against that of thirteen and a half witnesses and thousands of noble ears and genuinely willing to lick the Wealthy Salt Whore''s ass to hear them! "I''m sorry, Ser Meryn, but your unforgivable act was perpetrated right in front of me... As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the witness of the New and Old Gods, and Mother Protector of all her subjects, I cannot intercede on your behalf... ''Fairness'' and ''Justice'' are, and always will be, two of the supporting pirs of the Crown." It was an explicit death sentence unless a divine thunderbolt had struck Robert and gifted him with the prescience to instantly seal a Royal counter-edict. Yes... Ser Meryn was definitely screwed, and his look of despair testified that he was aware of it too. "But there is still time to offer an apology, Ser-the Iron has been unsheathed, but the Blood has not been shed. So you would still have a chance to escape the ''Price of Blood'' and have your life saved. So choose wisely, Knight." The Widow''s icy, calm tone gave the Lioness of Casterly Rock goosebumps. "Ser Meryn!!! Apologize immediately to Lady Barbrey Dustin! And admit your guilt!!!" So roared the Lioness in an attempt to stem the damage. "I invoke the forgiveness of mydy!!! Mercy, mydy! Mercy! I admit my faults! I humbly beg your pardon! I am your humble and penitent servant!!! I invoke the mercy of the Lady of Barrowton!!!" The word ''Merciful'' was not enough to describe that scene. Meryn crawled, crawling like a worm at the feet of the Lady of Barrowton, invoking every synonym of the word ''mercy''. A faint lick of shifty fart came from a chilled and motionless Ser Boros at her side and a more acrid and pungent whit of urine from Ser Meryn. "Oh,e on. Rise, Ser Meryn... Your sincere apologies have been epted. The Blood Price will not be imed. You have my forgiveness and my word as Noblewoman of the North." Lady Barbrey nced at one of her shield-women, who promptly weed the silent message and walked briskly down the dark corridor of the manor. "Thank you, mydy! Thank you!" Sobbed Meryn as he crawled contritely back behind his regal shield. "My queen..." The Lioness'' hair stood up at the call of the Witch''s icy voice. But Cersei faced the enemy head-on like a true Queen of the Jungle! "Yes, Lady Barbrey?" demanded the Lioness straight, proud, and ready to pull out jaws and ws in the next fight. The Northern Whore might have pulled out tricks formed by some barbaric rule forgotten by the Gods, but such intimidating ploys could not scratch Lion''s hide! "If it is Your Grace''s will to avail itself of two prouder and ... mmm ... ''tenacious'' knights during the Royal Family''s stay in the Barronds, then surely Barrow Hall will not deny such a request. Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch will benefit from our hospitality." "It is your grace''s will. Thank you, mydy." The Queen replied politely, roaring inwardly, ''Victory!'' ******** End Part I ----------------------------------- Chapter 130: Bronze, Fire and Ice (II) Chapter 130: Bronze, Fire and Ice (II) POV: Ser Meryn ''The Brave Andal'' Barrow Hall. A few minutes after a Lioness exulted within herself... Meryn had to be careful and take his to leave his rooms at the first opportunity. He had to change his pants and breeches before he wasughed at by all the nobility of Westeros. But to do so, he had first to receive the hospitality of those Northern Barbarians, eating bread and salt and drinking their damned mead. The danger was not yet wholly averted... How he wished he could vent his fury and frustration in a brothel. Barrowton and Waterdeep were said to have the best brothels in the North. But he could not have demanded his ''explicit needs'' in the town of that Mad Hag. Not after recent events, at least... ''I must join the joust and the fray! I must!'' He could redeem his name by showing a modicum of lustre before the nobility. And when he would finally return to King''s Landing, to his domain, Meryn would head at the first opportunity to his favourite brothel and squander all his gold reserves to demand a Nordic girl of more simr features and age to that whore called Barbrey! He would strike and strike her hard with strokes of his rod until every p of skin was dripping blood, and after his prey had roared itsst gasp of despair and mercy, he would **** her until thest gleam of life in the eyes was disappear... ''Oh, yes... I certainly will.'' Meryn could already feel his member stiffening at the very thought. One way or another, he would get his revenge with a Northern Whore. They were in the Main Hall with dozens of nobledies, lords and knights intent on talking and exchanging banter among themselves. Three servants of House Dustin at the entrance were holding jugs, cups and baskets of slices of white spiced bread. Just what Ser Meryn needed. The Knight removed his helmet so that he could drink freely from the cup. The Queen served herself first, then it was Ser Boros''s turn, but when it was his turn... the servants turned away, denying him what was rightfully his! Before he could breathe, a thundering, furious voice broke theughter and general quiet of the Hall. "Remove the women and children! Take them away!!! IS AN ORDER!!!" Swarms of obliging rats promptly sprang forth, bestowing apologies and forcing dozens of figures to head for exits throughout the hall. ''By the Seven Hells! What the hell is going on now? Damned Barbarians!'' Meryn thought instinctively as he put his hand on... his sword! The Harlot Bitches had not returned his sword and dagger! A servant of Barrow Hall ventured to grasp the Queen''s hand. "This way, Your Grace, please-orders from your father and the King himself. It will not be a sight worthy of your royal sight." The Queen abandoned him, and Ser Boros remorselessly followed in the wake without even ncing at his confrere held by four hands that had pinned him down and stripped him even of his helmet. ''Damned Coward! Hypocritically thought the Knight still stained with his own urine. Nobles from the North, the West, Dorne, the Vale, the Stornds, the Reach, Knights, and even a couple of the Night''s Watch stood by, all pointing their gaze at Ser Meryn. Some looks seemed confused; others were well aware of what was about to happen... The crowd opened up to let the screaming, furious man pass... It was the witch''s betrothed! That Mormont! What was he clutching in his hand? A rusty chain mail? No, it wasn''t rust-it was bronze chainmail! ''Bronze, Fire and Ice had quoted the old woman!'' Blood & Iron! The witch had tricked him! The Bitch had only sworn not to im the Blood Price!!! "Release him!" Roared the Hellbear, only a few inches taller than Ser Meryn but much more muscr than him. But though more athletic, the man had no des or clubs of any kind; he wore only dark green and ck leather farsetto. If it was a bare-knuckle fight he wanted, the witch''s groom would have to weep bitter tears against the breastte, leggings, forearm covers, and especially Meryn''s fine steelminated gloves! The hands that held him down loosened their grip. The figure came closer and closer... Now what? What to do? Was he to struggle with his bare hands? Would he be able to strike back or not? Can... Thest doubt in his mind had no time to be formted. Meryn''s fighting instinct spurred him into action. After all, [whoever struck first struck twice!] "Arrgh!" Roared Meryn as he unleashed a right-gloved hook toward Jorah''s chin. The blow was not as urate as Meryn had hoped. The Knight was trained to fight in armour with sword, mace, spear, and dagger, but thest real fight Ser Meryn had faced was long before the beginning of the Rebellion, and certainly, that previous tavern fight had not been fought in forbidding steel tes... The Bear did not dodge but only seemed to soften the impact by ducking to the side... "Good..." Heard Meryn utter before his arm was grabbed and an overwhelming headbutt shattered his nasal septum. The impact was so fierce that the bobbing head could not even signal pulses of pain. Instead, Meryn perceived only some fractured bone and cartge and a flood of oozing body fluid all over his chin. His vision was still blurred, but the Royal Guard could still see what was going on-he had been lifted into the air! More than two hundred pounds were raised by two logs of wood and a furious steel grip! "ARRGHH!!!" the ''Bear''s War Roar'' sounded like a rumble of thunderpared to the fart spat by Meryn in his first assault. The Knight in armour was mmed like a wet cloth onto a long marble table, shattering and knocking over ss, porcin, drinks and various delicacies arranged on silver trays. The collision was devastating; without his armour, the Knight would have suffered multiple fractures from the neck. Meryn was face down immersed in tangles of blood, mashed something and pulpy fruit. Then he felt the iron grip on his no-longer-shiny red hair pulling hard, tearing locks and triggering an involuntary cry of pain from the victim. To Meryn''s misfortune, the curved te of golden enamelled steel slid perfectly over the smooth marble. Sharp ss, boiling cold foodstuffs, cutlery, trays, ceramic pitchers, everything on the table, more than thirty feet long, struck the Knight''s already battered face, already unable to react... In confusion, Meryn managed to catch some part of the Bear''s furious cry, "You!!!" *Crash!!* "Andal!!!..." *&#%#!!*"You Dared!!!" *Patacrash!!#&!*"Draw" *#%&* "Iron!!!" finally, the sound became clearer. The thirty feet ofbouring and humiliating ride ended with a thud to the ground. But the knight''s pains had just begun... The man felt the weight of the Bear''s mighty body crushing his chest, torso and arms, immobilizing him so that his opponent could make havoc on his already maimed face uncovered. "In front of my Bride?!" A devastating fist coated in hard, scratchy bronze crush shattered the man''s left cheekbone. Jorah Mormont lifted Meryn''s torso from the filthy silk cor with his left hand and struck the defenceless knight repeatedly with his right bronze fist. "Threatening her in my absence!!!" The second deadly blow broke at least one tooth, filling his mouth with warm blood. The only part of his face is still intact... "Under her roof!!!" Another couple of teeth less... "In the dwelling of my Lady!!!" What was left of the nose turned to mush... "Of my Queen!!!" Thest remaining cheekbone met the same end... "Of my Godness!!!" Fractured jaw... "OF MY MAIDENNN!!!" Meryn''s still-functioning right eardrum nearly exploded from the din of thest roar shrieked near his ear. Then the pain of flesh and torn cartginous ligaments came... "Uuuaaarghh!!! IiiaaAARRHHGH!" The Fearless Knight''s cries of pain touched feminine tones as the climax of the fierce bite tore thest shred, depriving him of an ear... Finally, ''by the grace of his mother''s mercy,'' the Inferocite Beast stood up ... spitting the missing limb to the ground with a mixture of blood and saliva. "Lift him up and hold him down..." Said the same voice in a calmer but still hate-filled manner... ''What did he mean?" thought the miraculously still-conscious Meryn Trant... Only the stabbing pain allowed the knight not to faint like a helpless maiden. Was it not over yet? Was this not the Price of Iron? ''Or... No!'' The mind in Ultra-Survival mode, pumping adrenaline into every neuron of the victim, alerted him to the possibility that, perhaps, the punishment had not even begun... Perhaps all the punishment and humiliation endured was just a legitimate response to the blow delivered first by Ser Meryn!!! Why else would that monster have sneered at uttering the word ''Good''!?!! ''Father, protect me. Mother, have mercy...'' Meryn began to pray as two guards lifted him by the arms, forcing him up on his knees. Meryn''s one good eye managed to catch a glimpse of the figure of the King!!! Robert Baratheon was right in the front row next to Lord Tywin and a few other minor nobles!!! "Y-Your Majjeestyii!!! P-Plefeee!!! Cough! Coff!!!" Meryn spat out phlegmy lumps of blood and broken teeth as he cycled those words, but he did not give up and tried his best to articte the wheeze for help with all the breath he could muster in his lungs: "Merffyyy!!! Merfyy!!! Yoor GREASSSS!!! PLEEFFEEE!!! MERFFYYYY!!!" At that point, Lord Commander Barristan nked the King and cast a disgusted and scornful look of shame at him. But Meryn could only give a damn about his disapproval at that tragic moment! The King had the power of the Word of Grace! Absolute forgiveness that overrode any edict even attempted Regicide! The possibility of salvation existed! Four servants dragged to the spot a sizeable burning brazier, another an open casket with what looked like snow inside... Thest exhibited a white wooden box containing an array of torture instruments. The Bear chose a dagger with a bronze hooked de! "YOUR GREAASSS!!!" It was the best-uttered plea so far... Robert was still holding a cup showing himself more like a spectator than a High Judge... Few nobles and a ''knight'' waited for the King''s response. "I''m sorry, Ser Meryn... Threatening a poor Lady Helpless with a de and intent on offering hospitality under her roof to boot is a crime that must be punished ording to all thews of Gods and Men." Proimed the King, earning nods of respect and several murmurs of "Aye!" from the witnesses present. Even Lord Tywin seemed pleased with his son-inw''s choice! And only the Gods knew how little respect the Queen''s Father had for the King!!! The Bear Beast seemed to disregard the pleas or opinion of the King of the Seven Kingdoms and continued to prepare by plunging the bronze de into the fire! Meryn''s impellence peaked. "T-THFE FALLL!!! THFE FALL!!! Ghuf! Ghung! Sigh...Thfe Fall...sigh!" The sobs of despair and tears were not helping. Ser Meryn''s battered mouth tried to sound out a pleading ''The Wall''. The man would never be able to utter suchplex phrases as ''I will take the ck! I will join the Night''s Watch!'' At least that chance had to be given to him! ck or White belittled inparison to that me-red fate! Robert''s gaze was merciful for a moment... And for just one more moment, he even seemed undecided whether to offer him that chance. "Your Majesty... if I may." So said an old man in ck, looking strangely like the Bear Beast. "Speak freely, Lord Commander Mormont," replied the King. ''L-Lord...Lord Commander MORMONT?!'' The Knight shrieked a cry of injustice within himself. "The sacred and honourable order of the Night''s Watch would be tainted by such scum... We dly ept poor vigers without a home or a ce to serve the Kingdom, criminal orphans born without a parent who could teach them thews of the Gods and Men, men poisoned and corrupted by vengeance-seeking redemption for forgiveness, and even traitors fighting for a wrong cause but one they believed in their hearts to be right... This being without rules or religion is no ordinary poacher who poached game so as not to let his family starve!" "Aye!" Several nobles agreed. "But a Knight of noble birth, educated, and well aware of the horrendous crime he was perpetrating such scum would not survive long on The Wall. If his noble Mother House could not teach Ser Meryn the honour and duty of every man, I doubt the Night''s Watch would do any better. There is only one exemry punishment to impress upon them the proper path that every man of honour should walk..." "Aye!!!" Replied the witnessing crowd with more ardour. "And here in the North, in thend of the First Men, the Andal, the Rhoynar, or foreigner who vites the ''Sacred and Ancient Law of Iron'' is punished with Bronze, Fire and Ice!" So sang with more fervour the second Bear Beast. "Ayee!!!" Roared dozens of Northern barbarians. It was the end... The two Bears even exchanged shameless assents ofplicity in public. "Wise words, Lord Commander...Lord Jorah, go ahead." So promulgated The King of the Andals, Rhoynars, and ''First Men''. The Bear brandished the handle of the searing knife as he approached... "Hold your head still." Ordered the man, and in an instant, another hand yanked back Meryn''s scalp while holding his aching chin with the other. "The Offense for House Ryswell..." The dagger barely grazed the icy snow in the chest generating the faintest sizzle. "With Bronze, Fire and Ice!" Roared Jorah Mormont, raising the de aloft as a gesture of demonstration. "Bronze, Fire and Ice." An echo of voices answered. Meryn could feel the heat already a palm away from his face. The de dug without hesitation into the eye, already swollen and unable to open, generating a foul, disgusting noise. "IIIIAAAAAARRGGG!!!" The pain was excruciating and unbearable. Meryn''s vocal cords gave vent to the least manly but liberating squeal they had ever generated. The stench would have been indescribably obscene if his mush-called nose had been working again. Meryn''s orifices littered the floor, generating a mixture of blood, urine, and shit... Fame and respect were lost forever, but what was worse... The eye! He would forever be blind in one eye! The hatred felt by Meryn managed to win out against the pain. Nevertheless, he vowed that if ever a single glimmer of the opportunity presented itself to redeem vengeance, the Knight would wee his with open arms, even riding to certain death if necessary. ''Fuck the King, the Queen or any other rule orw is written in this fucking world! I will have my revenge!" roared a voice in Meryn''s head. At least that charade would finallye to an end... "The eye that dared to peer hatefully at the Lady of Barrowton has been cleansed, and the Price of Iron repaid!" Roared the barbarian. "Ayee!" It was over-it was all over. Meryn had to go to a maester and swallow as much poppy milk as possible-they were going to take him to a maester, right? But then why had the Northern bastard thrown more tools into the brazier!!! "Now... The Price of Iron for ''House Dustin''. The tongs! ... Open your mouth, ''Ser''." ''House Dustin?! B-but you had said Ryswell! You had told Ryswell!!! Knight tried to say, but the slimy lickers of Barrow Hall forced him to open his fractured mouth! "You seem confused, Ser... Let me rify your doubts and questions." Said the angry voice calmly as he prepared for the second act. "You have not offended a single Household of the North, but rather ''Three'': House Ryswell... House Dustin... and House Mormont. And Three Iron Prices will be justly imed." The fool turned to the guards and enacted: "Bronze..." A servant with bronze tongs dug into the mouth, pulling Meryn''s tongue almost to the tearing point. "Ghhhgnnn!!! Ghhuu!!!" tried to confabte the shocked and indignant knight. The furious groom pulled out another torture instrument with one hand and picked up a fistful of snow. Large red-hot shears came up over the stretched soft muscle. "Fire..." The des closed in, slicing cleanly through all the flesh in their path. "And Ice!" The Bear''s left hand forcefully pushed the snow inside the bloody mouth to the point of choking him. Meryn could not tell which pain was worse, the severed sensitive limb or the hundreds of icy bites that trilled over every tooth, cut or cauterized wound in his mouth. The need for air was pressing. The servants released him for a moment to give him a chance to spit out and cough out whatever obstructed the passage of air -- another pitiful and disgusting scene. ''Enough... Enough... Seven save me!'' thought a pleading worm. "The tongue that dared to voice threats toward the Lady of Barrowton!" "Aye..." At least, this time, the consensus was more faint and hesitant. Even the Northern Barbarians began to take pity on poor Meryn. "The jug of Vodka..." Ordered the merciless voice. The only functioning limb on Meryn''s face instinctively peered at the following preparation for thetest atrocity. Abundant handfuls of snow were stirred into the pitcher filled with pure alcohol. The victim had tasted Vodka before. That disgusting, filthy drink from the North that almost burned his insides. Was that the punishment of ''Fire and Ice'' then? No... The Bear threw the bronze crush into the glowing brazier... Whatever that madman had in mind did not bode well. Two pairs of thick gloves were brought to the monster, who promptly put them on. "We''ll have to make your face unrecognizable in the eyes of Barrow Hall and the Old Gods who witnessed your crime, Ser. Prepare him." The demon''s hands lifted him for the third time. The burning crush was gathered in mes with cksmith''s pincers. The boiled leather gloved hands of the monster fearlessly weed the offered red-hot bronze. "A new face purified by Bronze and Fire." Each individual''s Beauty''s instrument of ruin rested on Meryn''s head and face causing the pains of the seven hells... "GHIUUUUGGGHUU!!! UMMMGGGH!!!!!" Shrieked the steaming knight without a tongue. "And blessed with Ice!!!" The icy alcoholic contents of the pitcher dropped onto the mes and the toasted but not yet melting skin. *Sffrzzzz!* was thest audible sound before the man lost consciousness. Then, finally, the bleak and unspeakablebination of relief and burning was too much to bear. Everything went ck... End POV. ------------------------------------- POV: The Maiden Fair Reception Hall, Barrow Hall. Less than a minute after a Valiant Knight fainted amidst his sewage... She was sorry that her nephew Domeric had chosen to witness the dreary spectacle...but Winter ising. In theing years, the Lord of Dreadfort would soon have tomand more respect and reverence than ever before. Jackals would not hesitate for a moment to try to bite the juicy hand of the most coveted future merchant in the Known World... The Maiden Fair had watched the whole scene in the shadows. Not that corridors and walls could conceal Meryn''s cries of pain and her Bear''s furious roars. The time hade for her to make her entrance. The procession of valiant Lords and Knights instantly parted, opening a gap for the passage of the Icy Spice Queen and future Lady Mormont... Her groom noticed her presence and elegantly offered a hand to his bride as a gesture of protection andpanionship. By now, the sun had set, and thest guests who would require her personal attention would show up the following morning. Unfortunately, the Braavosians and Magicians had not had a chance to witness the first little show, but after all, not everything could be predicted... Imagining that Cersei Lannister surrounded herself with such idiots was beyond any vivid imagination Barbrey could anticipate. Bloody Snow was proper; the haughty, incestuous Lioness of King''s Landing was a barrel of wildfire ready to explode at the slightest spark--a hardened pyromaniac who had to be drained one drop at a time. "My Lady," "Lady Barbrey," "Lady Dustin..." Dornians, men of the Valley, the North, the West, the Rivends, the Reach, and men of the Storm bowed politely as she passed by, paying respectful greetings. Arriving at the feet of the victim, still helpless on the ground, Barbrey gently ced her hand on the steel grip of her Bear and said: "My King, my respected Lords and Knights, once again, my groom and I renew our warm wee here at Barrow Hall, wishing that this unfortunate mishap has not dulled your veins of celebration..." The Maiden bowed to King Robert, who jerked at her gentle but prating gaze for a moment. ''The Drunken Stag is less nave than he would have you believe...'' The Great yer jotted down that little note from her newly perfected mnemonic archive. The Maiden also bestowed a slight smile on The Great Wizard, Guardian and Protector of the Andalus High Council, Lord Leyton Hightower, who responded to the concealed message with a slight nod of respect. "Escort what remains of Ser Meryn Trant to Maester Ellyn. As soon as our future guest is able ... or rather ... ''if'' he is still able to feed himself ..." many lesser lords and knights swallowed and paled conspicuously, "let him be bestowed with bread, salt and mead. I would not like to see rumours spread in the future that, here in Barrow Hall, we do not offer hospitality to penitent knights. Mh! Mh! Mh!..." No one shared the macabre humour as a pitiful knight was dragged badly toward the tower stairs. "Wee to Barrowton, my Lords. May you, my most wee guests, benefit from the hospitality and enjoy the traditions of the North. May the music resume, and drinks and delicacies flow again like rivers." An inspiration further brightened her splendid evening. "Enjoy the evening and have fun." The musicians resumed ying, the servants serving and cleaning a semnce of tranquillity and lightheartedness refreshed the room. "My beloved, shall we take our leave? I''m feeling a little ... ''tired''." So proposed the Maiden Fair, casting her Bear a look full of lust and desire. "Of course, my beloved." Still overflowing with adrenaline and naughtiness, the Bear promptly responded to the invitation. Three beautiful gifts of Bronze, Fire and Ice had been bestowed upon her by the Bear. And the Famelic Maiden was eager to repay such treasures with equally valuable gifts... The Bride would bestow passionate and sinful acts of Love, Beauty and Magic on her future husband that night. ''A beautiful bad... Yes, the protagonist would definitely be ''Ser Meryn The Brave Andal'' ahah... I shall have tomission Domeric''s master at once.'' Thought the Lady of Barrowton lightheartedly as she exchanged nces with Tywin Lannister. ''But how to title it, I wonder? Simplicity is the harmony of the World... Yes, all the Known World shall hear it... {A Song of Bronze, Fire and Ice?}...mmm...No. Perhaps...{A Song of Ice & Fire?}...mmmcks a personal touch... {The Icy Bronze Bear on Fire.} ''Yes! Perfect!'' ***** End Chapter. Chapter 131: Family, Duty, Honor. Chapter 131: Family, Duty, Honor. Sorry for the dy, dear readers. I am recently back from 5 hours of unnned overtime at work.... But I still promised you that the chapter would be out on Tuesday. It is still 10:55 Pm here at my ce, so I am still in the time slot of Tuesday, July 12. Happy Reading, all of you! And I hope the wait was worth it! ************** POV: The Lady of Winterfell Barrow Hall Entrance. Year 289, thirtieth day of the twelfth moon. The wedding is one day away. About an hour after a bard named Abel began singing a new bad through the streets of Barrowton... It was almost noon, and the day was glorious. Clear skies with a few small rounded clouds decorating the vast celestial painting. Barrowton reflected such serenity and magnificence. Catelyn had never visited the town of House Dustin. From what Maester Luwin had exined to her, before the Rebellion, Barrowton may have had ten thousand inhabitants at most... Too few to be called a town, but also too many for an ordinary vige. Yet, from what the Lady of Winterfell could see, the town of the infamous North Widow could far surpass the poption of Winter Town. Sure, thousands of guests hade from all over the streets, but all those new stone dwellings, chiselled into what looked like small earthen bricks, were evidence of the impressive increase in inhabitants. How many must there have been? Forty? Perhaps sixty thousand? Had Barrowton grown that much in less than a decade? What was certain was that the wooden city walls, which had once been the city''s first and only defence, had been reced with high walls of solid stone (about 80 feet high and 30 f. thick), equipped with fourpleted towers (about twenty feet taller) and six more still under construction. Only the east side, covered by a branch of the Salt River, was missing toplete the entire wall. And it seemed that a vast moat was also nearingpletion. There was something familiar about that whole architectural arrangement of the city, but in that brief moment, it didn''te to mind... Nevertheless, that feeling flowed as Winterfell''s procession passed through one of the city''s massive four gates. Warm and pleasant memories of the past flowed through the no longer young Tully''s mind as she observed the mighty log-thick chains that supported the lowered bridge. Riverrun also possessed such an entrance. Barrowton had been reborn, and the surface area tripled-and now House Mormont would have control over everything? In less than two days, Jorah Mormont would have ess to all the military forces, trade, naval fleets and domains of the Barronds. One of the most extensive and fertilends in the North, tripling the vastness ofnd holdingspared to House Tully. ''Maester Luwin''s concerns were well-founded...'' Catelyn thought of the one man of wisdom and knowledge present in Winterfell who seemed to share Lady Stark''s doubts and anxieties. Catelyn could not speak out against her husband''s ruling decisions, not after Ned had returned to treating her with the respect and dignity that any true Lady of a Protector should have. She was not quite sure what the Lord of the North had faced in the war expedition against the Greyjoys, but her heart melted when her loving husband apologized for not being more understanding and open with her in recent years. By now, the tragedies of the past were past and forgotten. Catelyn and Ned would turn a page, continue their journey, and never look back. The hardpromises and sacrifices Cat had faced in thest five years after ''the incident'', had finally paid off. Hoster Tully''s eldest daughter even faced Ned''s choice to promise Sansa to Lord Domeric Bolton with dignity and understanding. She had not been pleased, of course, but she understood him... Catelyn recalled the excellent impression made on her by that boy of just nine years old, when he came to Winterfell to swear allegiance to her husband, after the tragic death of his father, Roose Bolton. A sweet, polite, modest, well-educated boy. There were far worse choices in Westeros, particrly in the North... Before the arrival of the Andals, the Red Kings were the fervent rivals of the Winter Kings. The only kingdom in the North could hold their own against the ancient and powerful Wolf dynasty. House Stark would seal a worthy, necessary, prosperous marriage alliance for their future. But most of all...they would have a valuable and powerful ally at their side against a more than likely future rebellion. Ned would never listen to her-but; she knew it, she was sure. So soon, the day woulde when House Tallhart would turn against the Starks. Cat sealed these forbidden thoughts in the depths of her heart by not revealing them to anyone, not even Maester Luwin, her most loyal friend and confidant. But sooner orter, willy-nilly, the Tully of Riverrun would have to intervene for the sake of her family... The Rains of Castamere were a warning to all the great Houses of the Continent. When a vassal House obtained power, influence and wealth on par with the House to which it had sworn allegiance, soon that House, like House Reyne of Castamere, would rise up... and House Tallhart was already very close to that result. A short time ago, Maester Luwin exined to her ''how much'' the influence of Torrhen''s Square was taking root throughout the North, Westeros and Essos. Catelyn did not sleep there for two nights in a row... Basically, on any top product consumed or exported in the North, House Tallhart was getting a percentage. So they made their fortune from trading in soap, fertilizer, agricultural implements, alcohol, mining and ships, and on all Northern products! Paper, salt, ss, horses, carriages, clothes, stoves, ivory products, furniture furnishings, leather, hides, livestock, wheat, barley, fruit, or any other damn product grown with fertilizers and ploughs! She could no longer remember what other products or services were missing from the roll call... What was worse was that all the nobles from the North or the South with whom Torrhen''s Square had entered into partnership seemed happy to pay their dues... It was as if they were redeeming a tax on the whole Continent! Only the Old One knew how rich the Tallharts were. And sooner orter, all that power and influence would change hands to that demon-that abomination born of sin. The advocate of all her woes for the past five years. The one whom all the North considered ''A Hero'' but only Catelyn knew his true nature... ''That look... When will that demonic look stop haunting my sleep?'' thought Catelyn with less despair but just as much weariness. She could take no more; she wanted to try to forget the past and pretend that everything was a figment of her imagination, but she could not. And how could she seed? Every damn day, one way or another, Bloody Snow''s name would pop up from some corner. It was true, throughout his stay in Winterfell, Duncan Tallhart had been impable in his manners and in words in the few moments he did not venture into the Wolf Forest with his strange master. However, those alert and shrewd green eyes, that cold and devilish mind was always working... What else was he up to? How would Bloody Snow gain more influence and support? Was he really the one who had forced Ned to host all those Seven Underworld worshippers in Winterfell? [Beware of those Seven Underworld worshippers, mydy... Certain ''forbidden customs'' were banned millennia ago from the Continent by the warriors of the Seven. All the tricks they call ''magic'' are nothing but evil arts that your ancestors fought for millennia. Dark and unnamable Blood Sorcery, mdy]. The Lady of Winterfell did not doubt the warning of one of the Citadel''s most trusted and honourable maesters. The voice of wisdom from the man who had birthed her three beautiful children. One of the few minds in Westeros who had among his chain a steel ring of Valyria. Proof that Luwin had studied the high mysteries of the Unknown. Catelyn shuddered for the umpteenth time as she tried not to look again at the haughty, spoiled, unhinged, and crazy man who called himself King in The Yellow... When would he and his witch ves leave? When would those worshipers of abject arts and sacrifices still enjoy Winterfell''s hospitality? The pantries and coffers of House Stark were drying up by feeding those disbelievers from the East with boundless pomp and frivolity. Another period of her life she would never forget. Magic really existed-this. Even Luwin could no longer deny it. It had been two months in a row that some ''jester sorcerer'' was about to deliver a magic show at the Winterfell court. They were not mere conjurer''s tricks, no... Fire and snow that took on animal and human guises... Spectacles with puppets of earth and water that came to life... Candles and floating trays... That pair of dancers who danced in the air on the roof as if the sky and not the earth attracted them... The starry ceiling... Shadows and lights that moved in the most diverse ways... Sorcerers who vanished from nowhere and reappeared momentster... They were worshippers of blood and demons--no doubt about it. Catelyn witnessed the scene of two sorcerers engaging in a wager with each other, the loser paying a pair of strange ck stones, a vial of blood and a small jar containing an eyeball to the winner! The bargaining chips in that town called Carcosa were blood and organs! When she revealed this to Ned in their private rooms, he simply let it go, justifying those barbarians with simple excuses such as ''Cultures and Customs Different from Ours...'' Cat remembered well the day the Carcosa ''delegation'' (or army) arrived. Winterfell prepared a wee that seemed worthy of a royal visit from Aegon the Conqueror himself. And soon after the Leader of Carcosa and the Lord of Winterfell exchanged obsequious and distinguished greetings, the Mad Sorcerer dared to openly denigrate the fortress of House Stark. ["Not even a ckstone wall, Wolf King? What about the gate! Why did your ancestors not build it in Weirwood Tree or reinforce it in Valyrian Steel?! Yet, the World Tree Singers gave you permission to tap into the resources of the Trees of Life!" "One Long Night was not enough for you, by any chance?" "What about these runes? Look at this rubbish; Winterfell only has Earth, Water and Fire matrices still active?!"] Ned was pilloried by countless other questions he could not answer. Was Winterfell offering royal hospitality to an army, and was their Lord insulting the honour of House Stark? And not only that, in the two months that followed, dozens of Sorcerers daubed the walls of House Stark''s mansion with hundreds of circles of blood... The creepy and rude ''Chief Sorcerer Supreme'' even dared to pollute their bedroom and that of their children with his demonic rituals! Cat could not wash away that havoc of ck blood on the room''s walls, even trying. It was as if the stone had perpetually absorbed the blood. She had asked Ned to at least move Robb, Sansa and Arya to other rooms, but he would not let her... ["The Chief Sorcerer has honoured us with his blessing and protection, Cat. In theirnds, it is considered a great honour and privilege. There is no danger..."] No danger... And meanwhile, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell would be forced to sleep under six eerie circles with a ck eye in the centre spying on them day and night... What if it was really Duncan Tallhart who arranged the visit? Was Bloody Snow studying ult magic? Had he bewitched her with magic five years earlier? The Lady of Winterfell had secretly sought Luwin''s opinion on the matter and whether all those strange symbols were hidden curses against her household. ["It is not a possibility to be ruled out, mdy...I do not possess the knowledge to identify the nature of such dark magic, but...I know someone at the citadel which would even be able to erase said spells... I must confess to you, Lady Stark, those disturbing rumours have reached the High Septon and the Starry Temple. The entire Creed of the Seven strongly repudiates the guests of House Stark. To have the Creed against ... would be ''rming'' to say the least."] And he was right. Maegor ''The Cruel'' and Jeahaerys ''the Conciliator'' taught Westeros that even the Dragon Kings could not bend the Gods... ["With your permission, mydy, I ... here I could enlist the help of very influential figures in the Starry Temple. If the Creed were in part reassured by the support of House Tully, an ancient family that has always been loyal to the cult of the Seven, this might ''help'' to appease tempers..."] Catelyn gave him her permission while keeping her husband in the dark... Ned would not understand. Here in the North, the descendants of the First Men worshipped the Old Gods. After that speech, Cat created dozens of straw and thread idols depicting the Seven. And she would ster them on every wall of the rooms as soon as their ''honoured guests'' returned from whence they came. A familiar boyish voice broke Catelyn''s concentration... "Wizard Chai! Wizard Chai! More magic, please!" Robb loudly demanded as he sauntered around the King In The Yellow. "No! What do you take me for, Spoiled Wolf Prince?! For your court jester, perhaps?! And to you, I am always the ''Great Chief Sorcerer Chai Duq,'' or ''A-R-C-H Wizard Chai Duq'' at best." Why did that fool keep addressing them with appetions such as ''Wolf King,'' ''Wolf King Queen,'' or ''Wolf Prince and Princess''? They were about to join King Robert and the Queen. Such words could have been misconstrued as ''High Treason''. "Do you think the spellcasters of the Seventh Circle are everywhere after the Valyria disaster?! Hey! Don''t you dare crease my robe! Stop pulling on my sleeve at once, young man!'''' Robb let go of his grip on the golden sleeve but continued to insist, buzzing around him amidints andughter. "Thest magic, I swear! Please, Great Archsorcerer Chief Dug Wizard Chai!" "Pfft... Ahahah!" Old Zick burst outughing and added, "Come on, Great Archsorcerer Chief Dug Wizard Chai! Pff... it was amazing. Coff... Your princely host asks you for the ultimate magic." "...You are behind all these names and title mistakes, am I right?! Don''t you dare lie to me, Zick! Your hand is behind it!" The Sorcerer pointed his finger at the old Zick. "Prince Wolf, confess! Did Zick suggest anything to you about it?" Robb betrayed himself by looking for a moment for an answer from the old man, who imperceptibly shook his head. "Emm... No." Shamelessly replied her son. "Liar! Liars and aplices both!" Ned heard the racket and turned around, scolding Robb. "Robb, stop inconveniencing our guests and be respectful. Go to your mother''s side and prepare to pay your respects to Lady Barbrey and Lord Jorah. As for you, Master Zick... please." Ned sent an implied message to the man as well. Both Robb and Zick went off in rebuke, lowering their heads. The Sorcerer gloated childishly as he saw the scene. Catelyn dared not intrude. Her husband, the Lord, had repeatedly admonished her never to disrespect the strange couple. Except for Zick and Robb, no one in Winterfell ever dared to disrespect the Lord of Carcosa. All the members of his immense retinue always treated him as if they were addressing the undisputed Emperor of the World, bowing and acting more like humble ves than servants. What the prankster Master-at-Arms had to do with all this was still an unsolved mystery to her... All Cat knew was that Maester Luwin sweated and stiffened like a statue whenever he had the misfortune to meet him... That the old man was also a Sorcerer? "You promised me a rey of the battle between Balerion and Quicksilver, Oldman, plus a performance of the ck Lion and the Maiden of Light for Jon and me..." Catelyn sensed the reproachful whisper. "Yes, yes, and you will have them. Trust me, you will have both shows within three days at most. Word of The Watcher." Robb nodded, eyeing the old man with a final ''The North Remembers'' admonition, and reached to her right side, taking her hand. Jon Snow-at least the threat of Eddard Stark''s Bastard seemed to have passed. Ned began to treat the boy more sternly. Finally, forcing him to study mainly cultures, histories and traditions of all Barbarian ns present in Westeros... ording to Luwin, the Lord of Winterfell probably wanted to better prepare the boy for a future career in the Night''s Watch. Teaching him from the start all the possible dangers of the enemy he would face, mainly The Wildlings. Jon was not even allowed to stay in Winterfell during the visit of the Sorcerers of Carcosa. Ned had sent him along with Benjen and the Drunken Knight to visit the ns of the Mountains. The Starks would not wee Jon inside Barrow Hall. The symbol of her dishonour would have been well away from the eyes of the Westeros court, remaining segregated in the northern encampments near outside the walls. Better that way--the Bastard would have done his duty defending the North from marauding Barbarian attacks by relinquishing any possible im on the Stark domains. "Robb, Sansa, how will we address Lady Barbrey and Lord Jorah?" asked Cat to her sweet three-year-old daughter and Winterfell''s proud six-year-old heir. "Thank you, Lady emm...Barbra and Lord...Jorah, for your hospitality." Attempted the still too young Sansa. "Thank you, Lady Barbrey and Lord Jorah, for your wee and hospitality. Your beauty and splendour, mydy, is even more significant than the magnificence of Barrowton. I will pray to the Old Gods that, one day, fate may favour me with such a creature blessed by the Gods. Please, my Lord Jorah, if you know the correct divine invocations or the magic form to make this happen, I beg you to reveal it to me." ... Catelyn was dumbfounded and somewhat irritated. The mother was more than sure that neither she nor Ned had ever suggested anything of the sort to their six-year-old son... "Robb! Who suggested this-this ''too well-articted praise for a little lord?''" Her son reacted simrly to the Sorcerer''s usatory question. He lowered his gaze, his ears flushed, but he did not look around for his aplice... "Emm...No one." Bloody Snow-and who else but him. Duncan Tallhart broke away from the group three days before their arrival. But Catelyn let it slide; after all, the praise of Lady Barbrey''s beauty yed in her and her family''s favour. "I see... and what is it that you will have to do this evening as soon as the dances open?" "Phew! I''ll ask ''Lady Dacey'' if she can give me the honour of the first dance... But mother-" "No ''Buts'', Robb. You will behave like a true lord gentleman and bestow on Lord Jorah''s cousin the same well-rehearsed, poeticpliments you bestowed on Lady Barbrey." Catelyn knew whatints her little Robb wanted to express: -But Dacey Mormont is the daughter of ''the She Bear''! -She beat the shit out of Smalljon Umber!- -During the Golden and Silver Snow''s Battle, she killed ten iron men with her bare hands! Robb was afraid of her. Catelyn could understand that, but her son needed to dance with Dacey that night... Doubts and questions stormed the mind of the Lady of Winterfell, but then Cat steeled herself and chased away all dark and wavering thoughts. ["Family, Duty, Honor... Family, first and foremost, my sweet Cat."] One of her father''s and her uncle''s earliest teachings, which the woman, mother of three beautiful children, repeated to herself every morning before she got out of bed. ''And soon perhaps a fourth...'' the woman thought, finding her smile as she patted her belly and kept walking, holding little Sansa''s hand with the other. She had to protect her family no matter the cost, even if it meant failing her duties as Lady of Winterfell or tarnishing the honour of House Stark... The procession of the North was forced to walk thest quarter mile of Great Barrow Hill. The stables and courtyards of Barrow Hall were apparently overflowing with horses and carriages. A petite escort of attendants and town guards escorted them, apologizing several times for the inconvenience of the final journey. But ''no one'' seemed to be offended, apparently. Ned was at the head of the group, wearing his characteristic Wolf fur instead of a cape or cloak. Only Jory Cassel would be weed as a guest guard to the Protector of the North. Unfortunately, Barrow Hall already did not have enough rooms to amodate all the nobility of Westeros. The Royal family, the Great Houses, present, Stark, Tully, Arryn, Baratheon, Tyrell, Martell, Lannister and the new protectors of the Iron Isles, the Haws, would be weed into the rooms of the manor, along with other distinguished guests from Essos, such as ''The Overlord of Carcosa''. The other Great Vassal Houses, such as the Northern Lords (except the Mormonts and Ryswells), would be amodated in appropriate buildings within Barrowton, and all the great retinues, lesser Houses, and knights, in pavilions just outside the walls. Within minutes Cat would be in the presence of Lady Barbrey Dustin and Lord Jorah Mormont, one of the most influential and wealthiest lords in the North. In Luwin''s estimation, soon, ss-Mormont would bring more gold and influence to his household than even Salt-Dustin and Alcohol-Umber... She reworked her ideas for the umpteenth time. With the marriage of Sansa and Domeric House, Stark would secure the support of House Bolton. Therefore, in case of open rebellion, House Stark would count on the particr support of Karstark, Bolton, Reed, Magnar, and all the ns of the Mountains. On the other hand, Torrhen''s Square had House Cerwyn, Hornwood, Glover, and at least the Flint of Widow''s Watch in its grip... In her opinion, Manderly, Umber, Locke, Flint of Flint Fingers, Ryswell, Dustin and Mormont would have remained neutral. All thest-mentioned houses owed debts of gratitude to both sides... The hottest point was certainly Ryswell-Dustin-Mormont. Catelyn was well aware that The Widow of Barrowton bore rancour and resentment toward House Stark-Tully. She was the woman for whom Brandon had abandoned her after plucking her flower... All the nobles of the North knew this. But now that Lord Jorah would soon assume control of House Dustin''s inheritance, the key to gaining the support of Rills Keep, Barrowton, and Mormont Keep was to gain thetter''s favour. The Barronds could already boast a military force on par with Torrhen''s Square. Neither Catelyn nor Luwin knew exactly with which other Southern Houses the Tallharts had forged ties. However, if the rumours of a possible marriage between Eddara Tallhart and Lancel Lannister were true, the Starks would have been in big trouble. Ned would not have been able to count on the Crown''s support. At best, King Robert would have chosen neutrality lest he is forced to march against the Queen''s family, or his dear childhood friend. Had Jon Arryn (currently 71) survived the fateful day of the probable rebellion, her sister Lysa and the Knights of the Vale could not have helped her... But there was still the Trident. Mallisters, Mootons, Darrys, Vances, Wents, Pypers, Rygers, Brakens and ckwoods were vassal houses extremely loyal to her father, Hoster Tully... ''Walder Frey ''The Late Lord'' would certainly abstain should Tywin Lannister choose to support the Tallharts... Unless...'' Catelyn turned her head toward the wet nurse carrying little Arya. Rtions between the North and the Twin Towers were not the rosiest. The Freys felt insulted by so many Northern Houses who kept rejecting their marriage offers. But, unpleasant as it was, the House of Frey was the second richest and most powerful in the Tridentnds. Walder Frey was a renowned marriage hunter. He had an army of children and grandchildren to settle. ''No, first Sansa, and maybe Robb... I can''t give up my little Arya already... Besides, Ned would never agree. So should I suggest to my father a possible marriage between Edmure and one of Lord Walder''s daughters? But would he agree?'' Catelyn wondered doubtfully. But of one thing, she was sure. Unless the Seven Kingdoms sought arge-scale civil war, the conflict between the Starks and Tallhart had to remain confined to the North... The Starks had to curry favour with the Mormonts. In this way, a rebellion could even have been avoided. The demon Tallhart would not make impulsive moves against Winterfell as long as the influence and power of House Stark outweighed Torrhen''s Square. Sealing the alliance in blood and marriage with the Mormonts was necessary for the good of her family... Jorah''s seed was of uncertain fertility. After three painful miscarriages with Lady Gibsy Glover, there was a real possibility that not even Lady Barbrey would ever give birth to an heir, and no man willing to leave the nuptial thmus alive to produce a male would ever marry the fierce, brutal, very unattractive, and near-menopausal Maege Mormont, the ''She-Bear''. Therefore, the key to gaining the support of nearly half of the best heavy and light cavalry in the North, the infinite resources of the Barronds, and the impressive new Mormont Military Fleet was... ''Dacey Mormont... The first legitimate daughter of Maege Mormont, the Heir of Bear Ind and next Heir of the Barronds.'' ****** End Chapter. _________________ Chapter 132: The Last Player Chapter 132: The Last yer POV: Tycho Nestoris Personal travelling carriage of the Director General, Barrowton. A few minutes after, a little prince from the North bestowed on the Lady and Lord of Barrow Hall an eloquent thanks... The escort of mercenaries in the pay of the new Director General of the Iron Bank, Tycho Nestoris, had just been politely directed to the prepared halls. Only Tycho, his two personal assistants, and his loyal captain of the armed escort, Berand, had been granted an invitation to stay in Barrow Hall. But to his pleasant surprise, Lady Barbrey entrusted his former pupil trainee Ronan with the task of assistant guide. "Congrattions on your well-deserved appointment, Director General Tycho." Said the now-man-of-fact boy soon after the coachman resumed his route. The Braavosian ordered his followers to leave him alone with Ronan. "Deserved is too gracious a word from you, my boy. If fate had not favoured me with excellent opportunities, you could not have bestowed such kindness on me." Replied Tycho with a friendly grin. "About three years ago, a very able and wise ountant at the Iron Bank taught me that ''opportunity'' is an event that urs when luck meets talent." Ronan. Tychoughed and replied, "Skillful and elegant shot, my boy. My dear Ronan, you don''t know how much I regret theck of you by my side. I will never stop repeating it... You, my boy, would climb the ranks of the Iron Bank in a very few years, breaking all the records of our institution, if you ever choose to return to Braavos." These were not vain words. Tycho was one of the few who knew the actual value of that mathematical marvel. And that was not all his virtue... Iron memory, creativity, intuition, loyalty, adamantine industriousness, and impressive adaptability toplex situations, if to all this was also added eagerness for power and inexorability, now he would stand a palpable First World Ruler. A scarce and precious gem... "I am honoured by your ttery and offer, Master Tycho-" the Braavosi interrupted Ronan with a wave of his hand. "Please, Ronan. Just Tycho. You have long since overtaken this old mind in the process of rusting." "I may well have approached your podium, Master Warden, but the experience between us is an arduous and long goal to reach, under which I will graciously decline your offer." ''I forgot the virtue, ''humility'' to the list...'' thought Tycho surrenderingly. "As I was saying... I am honoured by your ttery and your offer, ''master,'' but... very arduous debts to repay await settlement here in the North, thend of my ancestors, my family, and my creditors and doers of priceless opportunities." Concluded Ronan. "A true Braavosian ounting officer would never run away from unpaid debts. So, ordinarily, all I can do is surrender, express my sincerest respect, and wish you well, my boy..." Ronan bowed his head in Braavosi style to convey his heartfelt thanks. "Having said that, it is time for us gentlemen to serve our institutions, Chief Treasury Delegate and Head of Trade Ronan." Tycho was already aware of Ronan''s assumed role in Torrhen''s Square. However, the Braavos representative had yet to understand how much, but more importantly, ''why'' he was meddling in Barrowton''s affairs... "Vr Dohaeris, General Manager Tycho Nestoris... Shall we start with ss?" And already, one answer dispelled one of his doubts. ''So it wasn''t just rumoured... The Heir of Torrhen''s Square has indeed already chosen his betrothed. If Bloody Snow permitted Ronan to show the cards, it means that soon Duncan Tallhart will announce the news to the whole world...'' deduced Tycho for the sake of logic. "That sounds like a perfect start to me. I will be frank and devoid of futile spin, the Iron Bank is nothing short of eager to obtain a Monopoly in all Essos territories, from Braavos to Qarth, Sea of Summer and Sea of Shivers, on all current and future products of House Mormont, with a binding contract of not less than twenty years. And we desire priority on deliveries over the Southern Lords, including the Crown..." Tycho took the lead on the first diatribe between gentleman negotiators. "The Iron Bank is asking a lot... These are quite difficult demands to meet. Also, the negotiation was on ''ss'' and not on ''All Products'' of Bear Ind and Barrowton..." Tycho nodded with praise at the first remarkable parade of the attentive trade manager. "What does the Titan offer for the Monopoly on ss-Mormont products? Bear Ind requires an equal value to weigh the scales." Asked Ronan defensively. "Thirty percent more than the price offered to the Northern Lords, the guarantee, responsibility and burden on ship andnd transportation from White Port or Widow''s Port onward, forgiveness for Barrowton of the 1,064,000 gold dragons owed to the Bank, and...the settling of all possible ''tribtions'' of Myr against House Mormont." So proposed Tycho in the voice of a skilled merchant expounding the bargain of the century. "Barrowton''s debt is ''957,600'' gold dragons, Director. The first instalment of 10 percent well weighed, on time and properly ounted for, arrived in Braavos two days ago." So specified the Torrhen''s Square ountant in a simple tone of rification. "Oops... My mistake. I am mortified. Simple dys on notifications, Chief Executive. Praise to your responsivemunicationwork." Tycho was not in good faith, but he had not lied either. Assume and Know were words with different meanings... "Bear Ind has already struck an excellent deal with the Crown. Prince Stannis Baratheon has been in favour of epting a 75% surcharge... And I am more than confident that all the other Houses of the South would also be willing to pay simr if not higher. The quality of ss, and of all products rted to it, is far higher than that of Myr... Every Archon, Prince, Magisters, Sage and Grand Master from Braavos down to Qarth would be willing to go as high as 400% of the base price. Not to mention the ''Lords of the Sea'' inclined to such illicit activities as ''Piracy''... Sadhor Saan has already delivered an offer of 100 gold coins apiece for whatever number of scopes House Mormont was willing to sell him... Evidently, ''The Prince of the Narrow Sea'' is quite confident that he can make some decent profit in the ck market. And here, Director Nestoris, we''re only talking about the Spysses... More than forty-three thousand current ship captains throughout Essos willing to do anything to obtain a vital tool for the safety of their voyages. And many new captains and ships in the future will seek the same instruments... The ''binocrs'' and ''telescopes,'' on the other hand ... well, any watchman on a lookout tower, merchant, hunter, starry sky researcher, explorer or spy would be ''Very Interested'' in Mormont products." So the young merchant began his counteroffensive without hesitation in targeting vital points... "I admit that the hypotheses just argued may have a kernel of truth..." Tycho conceded again. The ruthless assault was not yet over. "The ''assumption of all responsibility on goods'' offer is much appreciated, but as for the true Iron Bank''s intercession with Myr... Director, Bear Ind and ''the Entire North'' are well prepared to wee any foreigner located a thousand miles away in a line. I doubt that Myr would be willing to let ''representative demonstrations of their discontent'' cross... or rather, no known mercenarypany would be crazy enough to dock on the Eastern shores of the North. Karstarks, Boltons, Manderlys, Lockes and Flint of Widow''s Watch would not be so inclined to grant passage, I fear. The only realistic, viable route left to attempt this "demonstration of discontent" would be the circumnavigation of the West Coast. More than three thousand miles of the coastal road to cover, assuming Sunspear, Arbor, Oldtown, Lannisport, or Lordsport willingly wee what will be left of Myr''s armed fleet desperate for supplies... And even should the foreign crew manage to curry favour with the Drowned God, avoiding unwanted confrontations, storms, bonanzas, and possible problems of scurvy and malnutrition, in the Ice Bay, a hundred warships, in excellent condition, with a fresh, rested and bloodthirsty crew would be ready to bestow a frosty wee on the foreigners from the South... Therefore, honourable Director Nestoris and my esteemed teacher, I hope you can forgive me if I dare to judge the Iron Bank''s offer of Protection somewhat flimsy..." Unfortunately, his former pupil had hit on all the weaknesses of the first ''seemingly unmissable'' proposal... Ronan was right. The territorial location of the ss production site gave House Mormont a tremendous advantage. Myr would realistically have a better chance of attempting a raid on King''s Landing than hitting Bear Ind. Not even the Golden Company would have epted such a suicidal assignment... How would the Myrensi have reached House Mormont if not by the two routes just mentioned? Passing into the territories under the protection of the Night''s Watch? Coming into conflict with the order in ck meant dering war on the Seven Kingdoms. In the frozennds of the Wildlings? Even assuming half the forces had managed to travel more than two hundred miles into the Haunted Forest, with what ships would Myr''s mercenaries attack the Mormont Fleet, ready to sink any makeshift barge and raft? The offer of protection was essentially worthless. No Titan spy sent to Bear Ind had returned or sent any sign of life from several moons... House Mormont was already equipped with the same Anti-Spy defence as Torrhen''s Square or House Dustin. Only the services of the House of ck and White could threaten the members of House Mormont in any way... "I guess my shrewd and brilliant former disciple-treasurer has a counterproposal tovish on the Iron Bank." Said Tycho bestowing a warm smile. "Indeed, a possible counterproposal does exist, Director General... Lord Jorah Mormont would like to give his beloved bride a wedding gift that is very, very ''difficult'' and very ''rare'' to obtain. I dare say even ''highly improbable''... The future lord of Barrowton would like to give ''peace'' and ''tranquillity'' to his beloved Lady Barbrey... A woman has faced so much pain, sorrow and grief during her young life. The gratitude of a soon-to-be husband would be immense and boundless towards any ''True Friend'' who was willing to help him in such a ''Titanic Undertaking''..." Tycho''s curiosity had been enraptured by this preface. The words ''Titanic Undertaking'' could only mean that not even Oldtown and Carcosa would be able to bestow such a gift and that only the honourable Iron Bank could seed... "I wonder ''How'' the Titan of Braavos can attempt to earn the desirable appetion of ''True Friend'' of Lord Jorah Mormont?" Asked the Director politely. "Well, here in the North '', The Family'' meaning all individuals who share their name or blood, is as sacred as ever ording to the customs of the First Men. Lord Jorah would greatly wish that his beloved Barbrey would never again have to face the pain of losing her loved one... As you quoted a few moments ago, Warden Tycho, ''Myr'' is a possible threat to all of Barbrey''s poor family members. If an enemy cannot attack the opponent''s mind or body, he will target the heart... And Jorah and Lady Barbrey''s heart lies in their love for all their family members. Rumours, and I emphasize the word ''Rumors,'' have reached Lord Jorah''s ears. ording to which there would exist the possibility for the Honorable Iron Bank to... ''rmend'' the most distinguished priests of the Ancient and respected House of ck and White not to ept names to offer as gifts to the Many-Faced God..." The veil dropped, and the Ice Giant, intent on plundering the Titan''s domains, stepped forward... Tycho could not conceal his face of astonishment... ''How? How in the name of the Many-Faced God, Bloody Snow managed to extract this most secret information from The Watcher?!'' shrieked a voice in Tycho''s head. ''No, it is not possible that The Watcher broke his word to the Former Guardian of Love...'' Tycho discarded that hypothesis. Only the High Priest of the Many-Faced Gods, ''The Gentle Man,'' the Lord of the Shroud, and the thirteen members of the Titan High Council were aware of that secret information before The Watcher''s debut into the Known World. The Gentle Man had bestowed that secret upon his sessor in the role of the Watcher of Love. Unless... ''The Watcher appointed Duncan Tallhart his Heir?!?!'' was the only usible guess. That bloodthirsty demon must have implied the hypothesis to Ronan by reprehensible tricks and wordy so as not to break the oath... Bloody Snow, heir to the role of Guardian of Love... It was a catastrophe, a massive catastrophe... But then why would the Watcher lower the veil of protection over his favourite pupil? What would have happened if Balon Greyjoy had seeded in the task entrusted to him by the Iron Bank? Was the Spider Queen behind all that immense loss of client depositors in thest quarter? Was it payback to the Titan''s experiment for trying to harm a protg of the Guardian of Love? But then why would the House of ck and White ept the gift of Bloody Snow''s name at that ''much'' more affordable price? A storm of questions and hypothetical dangerous past risks swept through Tycho''s mind forcing him into a religious silence to voice all possibilities. Ronan did not disturb the thoughtful and rmed Director General. **** A few minutester, less than a mile from Barrow Hall. "Well, my boy, I cannot guarantee anything in this matter... But, as you have rightly surmised, what you ask is highly unlikely, if not ''impossible'' to achieve... I can already assure you that even ''asking'' the High Priest of the Many-Faced God about ''All'' members of Lady Barbrey''s blood and the name is unreasonable and impossible. Before engaging in this ''Titanic Attempt,'' the Iron Bank wonders how ''Lord Jorah'' would reciprocate this gesture of friendship?" Tycho asked after weighing all the pros and cons. It was, in fact, possible for the Titan to obtain the requested favour. However, it would never agree in terms of numbers to ept such obscenity... There were only twenty-six names that the Many-Faced God would never ept as gifts, and only four of them were still living. Two of these were The Watcher and the Lord of the Shroud--and only thetter had been rmended by the Iron Bank. The only entity, other than the Chief Priest of the Temple, who could bestow such a request... But in the history of the World, The Watcher was the only one still alive who had earned that right for services rendered to the Many-Faced God... If a name was offered but could not be epted, the Faceless Men would im the applicant''s name. [A name for a name...] And if a madman signed his sentence of certain death by requesting a Titan-protected name from the House of ck and White, it would be the Iron Bank''s burden to pay ''the price.'' Currently, only the Lord of the Shroud, the most potent weapon in Braavos, enjoyed that right in perpetuity... So, yes, it was possible but equally inconvenient to bestow such a gift on Lord Jorah for all those names. What was certain was that the Titan could not allow Bloody Snow to enjoy such a benefit... Only the gods knew how many people in the Known World wished to see Duncan Tallhart dead and buried, and Tycho Nestoris and the remaining twelve council members were among them... "Well, since The Iron Bank would show a sincere show of help, Lord Jorah would be willing in turn to help the honourable and Ancient Institution of Braavos currently in the grip of ''unforeseen difficulties''..." Torrhen''s Square knew-the Tallharts knew where those 41,837,400 gold coins had gone and why they had been withdrawn. Losing that deposit amount for any other known lending institution would have meant the Broken Bank... For the most powerful institution in the World, that blow was a ''modest spanking,'' but still a very painful spanking... Getting that ss trade deal would have healed several losses in theing quarters. "Monopoly of all past, present and future products on ss-Mormont throughout Central Essos, excluding IB and the Summer Inds, an honest 80% markup on the basic selling price, the warranty and liability offered on transportation and goods, kindly offered by you above, the forgiveness of only half of Barrowton''s debt, or 478,800 gold dragons, and the ''suggestion'' of refusal of the ''gift'' for all who bear the name Mormont, Ryswell or Bolton, so long as the terms of the contract are fulfilled... Ah ... I almost forgot, and we shall have the honour and privilege of enjoying the presence of The Watcher as witness and guarantor of this gentleman''s agreement, which, if reached, will be duly sealed, well-sealed and duly countersigned." Tycho carefully scrutinized the determined gaze of Ronan, ''The Iron Apprentice.'' The boy was ready to fight tooth and nail... It was going to be a ''long gentleman''s fight,'' where both sides would war tenaciously to snatch every single coin, percentage, ground nail, and name from the other''s hands... "I see-boy, I''m afraid time is a tyrant to us in this pleasant negotiation that will follow. Might I suggest-" Ronan anticipated him. "I had already considered that possibility, Master Tycho. But, hoping not to have offended you, I took the liberty of suggesting to the coachman that we take a little detour to the best restaurant in Barrowton. There we will have a private room to enjoy refreshments and tranquillity to discuss our business calmly. Master Zick and my esteemed scribal associates are already there waiting for us..." End POV. --------------------------------------- POV: The Lady of Barrowton Barrow Hall Entrance. About four hours after a long, on both sides unsatisfactory, troubled, and arduously fought negotiation between gentlemen took ce... Thest banquet before the ceremony had long since ended. The final dish of the evening had been served, thest cup filled, and thest song yed. As expected, poor Dacey Mormont, in hopeful anticipation of the arrival of a brave Green Knight intent on saving her from her grim fate, was harassed by dozens of young noble scions from Westeros and Essos desperate to curry favour with the Maiden-Knight to gain ess to the rich coffers of the North. To deny or deny that truth was now meaningless. Barbrey and William tried countless times to be blessed with the joy of a child...Six moons of failure gave credence to Maester Ellyn''s hypothesis. Something in Lady Ryswell''s womb was irreparably damaged during her abortion... Whether it was due to bad luck or because of one too many ingredients put into the Moon Tea by the ''faithful maester'' in the service of House Ryswell, she would soon find out. Barbrey and Jorah would never have a son...William''sst uncles and Great Uncles passed away without leaving behind sons or daughters. So Dacey was and, in all likelihood, would remain the only true heir to Bear Ind and the Barronds... But there was no longer any point in thinking about what had been taken from her. Another path had been offered to her by the Old Gods, a path other than dark and lonely revenge, and Barbrey would walk it with her new family and never look back. "You arete." So promulgated Barbrey in a reproachful tone to the boy with straight, white hair like enamelled steel, with green eyes and silvery veins, five feet and at least six inches tall, d from ankle to neck with a lustrous, unique, artfully chiselled, freshly forged, and priceless te armour made of Steel-Mott. The new form of tempered steel was discovered by Grand Master Craftsman Tobho Mott himself. The metal''s distinct rippled patterns, not unlike those of Damascus or Valyrian steel, blended homogeneously with one another, creating strange runic spiral patterns... Strips of silk and small portions of red leather could be glimpsed from the thin, uncoated seams of the hardest and most durable steel ever forged at Gauntlgrym or any other non-Valyrian forge in the Known World. The engravings of the new House Tallhart banner stood out in the centre of the breastte. Three grey Weirwood Trees with red foliage are arranged in a triangle on a snow-white background and joined in the centre by branches that shape a crimson-red snowke... Ser Duncan Tallhart bowed, holding his left hand resting on the hilt of Red Rain. The Karstark leather belt carried a sword, a pair of throwing knives and a unicorn horn hilt dagger. Probably another new de forged by Mott... "I beg your pardon, Lady Barbrey. Far be it from me to me the simr dy on my personal master armourer, but ... well, let''s just say the art takes its time." Replied the Green Knight. "What events worthy of being chiselled into history have I not had a chance to witness, mydy?" Bloody Snow asked with fervent curiosity. "Has the new song of Master Abel the Bard not yet reached your ears?" Barbrey. "New song?! No... don''t tell me... Did I miss your debut? Ser Meryn or Ser Boros? No, no, I''d rather not spoil the surprise. I will find out when I listen to the song. Unless our would-be future champion needs immediate treatment... How bad is he?" Bloody Snow. "Quite a lot... But Maester Ellen is confident that ''the knight'' will make it through this night as well." Barbrey. "Mmm... Well, then there''s no hurry. But instead, tell me, how did it go for our promising General Manager?" Asked the boy with impelling curiosity. "I would say pretty excellently. Although Ronan took it as a personal defeat... The boy wrested from the Braavosian a five-year deal with a 49% surcharge, saving Barrowton enough gold to enable us to pay back more than 9/10 of this glitzy event, omitted from the Monopoly all the Summer Isles, and.... mmm... Freed from pesky threats, all members of House Mormont and House Bolton? He would not or ''could not'' specify to me in detail the extent of the threat in question." Barbrey summed up. "Really?! All the members? Jeor Mormont included?" Duncan asked in amazement. "All members who bear or will bear the name of the Mormonts and Boltons in the next five years starting tomorrow, ording to him. In return for all this, the honourable Director General requested the help of ''Lord Jorah Mormont'' to obtain information about the mysterious gold escape...Ronan assured him that within five days, we would be able to provide him with clear and detailed information." Barbrey replied, triggering a smile for both of them. "Ahaha! That boy is a true prodigy...Praise be to Seraphinus for causing him to be born in thends of the Tallharts... I wouldn''t even know how to reward him. A song...mmm no..." Mumbled the boy to himself and then asked in a sh of concern: "Speaking of the Bard! You didn''t scare the poor guy away from me, did you? Please tell me he''s still free and untouched here in Barrowton..." "He''s still in Barrowton strumming and squandering some of the gold he''s earned on the road, dressing up in new outfits, changing inns, and milking some information by buying drinks at half the taverns in town. He is not yet rmed, but he is very cautious and perceptive of any possible threat. A more invisible and elusive target than Ser Haymitch, ording to my men." Barbrey. "Oh oh, he is, he certainly is. Phew...good. Go ahead and give him the irrelevant information he''s looking for, but don''t make it too easy for him, or he''ll notice. After I find him, he''ll definitely want to run for the hills. If you can, prepare a credible caravan for him to Waterdeep. My uncle has already prepared safe passage in anticipation of his arrival." Duncan. Barbrey nodded as if the matter was of little consequence. "Your Lady has copsed from exhaustion after a ruthless courtship of half the bachelors in Westeros. But ... I believe there is someone still wandering the halls and walls of Barrow Hall who seems eager to meet you in person." Teased the Lady. "Even that much? I hope there aren''t too many better-looking, funnier, and more ruthless than me... And is that someone a he or a she?" Bloody Snow. "That''s for you to find out. Why should I spoil the surprise for you? I rmend ... ''prudence, my lord.''" The boy seemed to fall for Barbrey''s little deception. "So, is everyone on roll call?" Bloody Snow. "Everyone. Only you were missing." The Frosty Spice Queen. "Good... Are you tired, my Lady? Would you have the chance to do me onest favour?" The Green Knight. "Not at all. I doubt I''ll get any sleep tonight. What do you need, Ser?" Lady Barbrey. "Well, since the ballroom is empty, if any musicians were still standing, I would like to receive the honour and privilege of being remembered by history as thest bachelor man in this world to attempt to seduce Lady Barbrey Dustin with a dance." The Knight offered the palm of his bare hand after slipping off his glove. Tiny wet gleams bathed the eyes of the Widow of Barrowton. The Demon Puppeteer wanted to make her cry on purpose again. This Grand Spectacle had begun with a simple dance between a Bear and a Maiden Fair four years ago in Torrhen''s Square... Barbrey forcefully held back her tears and acted like a true Lady by epting the offered hand. "The honour shall be mine, Ser. ...Let the dancing begin." End Chapter. Chapter 133: Jokes Chapter 133: Jokes POV: Duncan Barron Hall. Year 290, first day of the first moon. (Less than half a day before the start of the Wedding). About half an hour a couple danced... I paused to admire the light show in front of me from the east tower balcony. Barrowton bore a slight resemnce to Edoras, the capital of Rohan. There was a breathtaking view from the hilltop fortress of Great Barrow. Not to the levels of Casterly Rock indeed, but still admirable. Nearly a thousand pavilions adorned with tens of thousands of braziers and shlights surrounded the new high walls of Barrowton. More than six thousand noble guests from Westeros and Essos. Only the Keeper of Beauty and Magic was missing to seed in an epic feat never aplished in more than three thousand years. The upper echelons of the world''s most significant forces were gathered here... ''And to think that less than four years ago, Barrow Hall was the only stone building here.'' I thought, realizing that maybe, just maybe, my ns were not so crazy and unfeasible after all... There were hundreds of new houses and buildings made of brick, stone, and insted wood, gravel and mud roads reced by granite street pavers, and soon many iron and ss streetmps that would illuminate them, making them safer at night. The water and sewer lines were the real pride of Barrowton; House Manderly was working hard. White Harbor would be unable to keep up with all the demands for construction work. The arrival of thousands of refugee Trhalls from the Iron Inds was a blessing for the North. Soon many Northern Houses would have severebour shortages... Although security would undoubtedly take a hit, we had to start taking in unemployed emigrants or those seeking better fortunes from the South. King''s Landing was home to more than eight hundred thousand inhabitants, and one-third of them were either unemployed or on wages too meager to live decently...The Rivends and the Vale were the best-supplied sources of potential immigrants to wee into Westeros. The North could not yet take in the people of The Reach; too many potential means of infiltration from Oldtown. The Sparrows were unleashing quite a frenzy from Fairmarket all the way to Gulltown, but the creed, for now, was manageable, and the High Sparrow did not seem so inclined to cooperate with the Starry Temple. The future vastnds of House ckwood were the most urgent case, but I could not have moved immediately. First, the New Gift and Brandon''s Gift had to be cleansed of the monsters that infested them... ''Euron Greyjoy, Ramsay Snow, and now these vicious attacks of Cannibal Wildlings... This is not a coincidence. Someone is moving against the North... But how? Who? What kind of enemy could reduce de Seven and his team like that? How did the enemy dissipate like fog from the radar of Torrhen''s Square and the Spider Queen and manage to leave the North undisturbed? Would one of Oldtown''s elite forces? Would Lord Leyton risk that much? No... there is no way he could have done it. It can''t even be the work of Braavos... Then who?'' A voice dragged me away from my troubling thoughts. "It sounds almost hypnotic, doesn''t it?" I turned in the direction of the male voice, finding no one behind me. "Ah, forgive me... Did I interrupt deep thoughts by any chance?" A childlike figure perched on a Gargoyle statue eight feet above the floor asked. "Not so deep... I would have drawn my sword, cleaving a blow blindly otherwise." I replied wryly. "Then I chose the position wisely. Too bad I forgot crossbow and darts; I would have had a chance to remark my good name in the books of history if the opportunity for a duel with the legendary Bloody Snow arose. Ahaha." Said the figure still concealed in the shadows. "Duncan Tallhart, ''The Hero of the North, the undisputed leader of four glorious battles, the one who prevailed in a duel to the death against the mighty Denys Drumm, defeated by the diabolical cunning of the Imp, the Halfman, son of Tywin of the powerful, wealthy and feared House of Lannister... Yes, I admit, it would make a good story. One that would exalt the descendant of Lann ''The Cunning One'' as his true heir... Even I in your ce would have given it a try." At that point, Tyrion Lannister appeared just enough to show his face. I was surprised... the resemnce to a young Peter Dinge was there. But, of course, he was not identical; his forehead was slightly more prominent, his hair straighter and blonder, one eye was light green and the other much darker. The voice was different, but the wordsden with mockery and witty irony were worthy of the character I remembered him to be. "''Five'' battles, and ''Three'' duels in the opinion of the poor leader of the Brave Companions and former Prince Victarion Greyjoy..." Tyrion rified. "Nah...those skirmishes don''t count. The skirmish with Victarion was more of a little ''Bite and run before the squid catches you'' guerri action, and Quorik...well, he was already with a boot in the grave since before our des crossed." I emphasized. "My uncle and brother warned me that you asionally sin your immacte image with an overabundance of humility..." Replicated the ironic dwarf. "Humility is the best virtue for a warrior The virtue that most attracts girls into the humble but brave arms of any true hero. Why should I give up such a virtue?" The dwarf stared at me for a moment before bursting outughing. I joined him but in a more restrained manner. "Do me a favour and catch it on the fly." Tyrion threw a half-gallon bag of leather, still nearlyplete, and then engaged in an actual daredevil stunt by performing a perfect somersault through the air andnding gracefully on the ground. "Thank you." The dwarf uncorked the sk rinsing his mouth with a small gulp. "ckberry wine?" he asked. "Depends. Is it part of the wine looted from Ser Desmond Redwine''s personal pantries?" I asked in turn. "Ahah... Word travels fast here in the North. Lady Barbrey''s Chief Attendant assured me it was." I epted the offered sip. "Why were you perched there in that ufortable position at thiste hour?" I asked. "I don''t like to sleep much. Life is so full of stories and possibilities. And personally, I consider it a significant waste to squander some of our short remaining time in sleep. Sooner orter, we will all wee the eternal sleep of the Stranger, never having the chance to open our eyes again." Tyrion toasted by raising his sk to the starry sky and then resumed. "And to answer your question in its entirety, let''s just say that I needed an excellent position to try to glean all the secrets of promising and prosperous Barrowton... Tell me, Bloody Snow in your opinion, has Lord Hoster Tully already guessed that Lady Barbrey is attempting to reproduce Riverrun''s flood defence system? And always in your opinion, why is it that within a two-mile radius of the city, there is no scrutiny of any structure prepared to host what will stand as the greatest Tournament in thest two centuries in the history of Westeros?" Asked the Dwarf. ''Impressive... My fears were unfounded after all.'' I assessed, nodding in praise. I had feared that the West''s brightest mind was not yet mature and prepared for theplex political challenges and power ys that he would soon have to face. But it turns out I was wrong. "Arduous questions for a poor boy who has not yet seen his twelfth name day... How could I know the ideas and ns of a mind as capable and experienced as Lady Barbrey''s? I am just a inexpert heir to a modest northern knighthood fief, still trying my hand at learning the noble art of government and chivalry, milord." I replied to test the waters a little more. "True... Forgive me, young lord, it was my fault to put a promising but still ''too young'' noble heir in such a thorny position... " Tyrion offered me the wine again, which I dly epted. And then, after that unbelievable lyric from both of us, he went on to say: "However ... said individual, currently wearing perhaps the most peculiar, fine, gleaming, and freshly forged armour these untrained eyes have ever seen. An armour that I would point out d in metal with hues eerily simr to a portentous new sword recently posted in my father''s srium has just been weedte at night in the fortress of Barrow Hall by Lady Barbrey herself, even getting a private dance from perhaps the most influential, dangerous, and powerful woman in Westeros. Of the North for sure, at least..." The dwarf''s eye may have been chromatically squinting, but it was undoubtedly more detail-oriented than Blood Raven''s... Unfortunately, the faint moonlight and shlights were not so bright. "Well, my lord, perhaps said individual wishes to remain cautious and vague in the face of the most derided and underestimated individual in the West... A noble scion, tainted in the course of his boyhood with acts unbing the virtues of an authentic lineage worthy of respect. A Lannister who, though despised by the powerful and feared Protector of the West and our current irascible Queen, gained the office of ''Shield of Lannisport'' by triggering, in the shadows and in just two months, innovations and improvements in the Golden City of the West worthy of praise." And it was the truth. In that brief interval, Tyrion had already purged Lannisport of all the bad apples and wastrels who held key positions in the city, recing them with far more capable and hardworking minds. The port customs and city tax collectors had already found a 20 % tax increase in thest moon, and the entire present workforce was continuously operating with tireless efficiency without squandering a single minute or copper coin of the City Lord. "Nah, I give in. I''m too tired, drunk, and with a sore neck to continue this hostile verbal skirmish... Opl!" Tyrion climbed nimbly onto the tce of the walls, sittingfortably so he could address me at the same height. "My Uncle tells me you are a lover of jokes and games..... There is still enough wine left to stun one of us. Do you feel like entertaining a poor alcoholic dwarf with insomnia disorders like me in a little game?" Proposed Tyrion. "Lay out the rules of the game," I replied, smiling. "A joke in turn. If otherughs at the storyteller''s joke, he is forced to drink. Victory will determine who at the end of the bag has drunk the most." Tyrion. "A true aspiring joke master such as myself certainly cannot back down from the challenge above issued... I''m in. The stakes?" I asked. "My game with my own rules, so I leave the honour of choice to you," Tyrion replied. "Mmm, all right... The winner will have the option to refrain from receiving the other''s infamous ''name day gift'' -- uncles and intermediaries included." Tyrion snapped. "Wait! That''s not fair; your name day is in less than five days! You know how much gold and dedication I spent on-" I interrupted him. "''Your Game and Your Rules,'' my lord. You said it yourself-" the dwarf cashed in on the hit with dignity. "And... The loser must reveal a secret of the winner''s choice. ''Personal secrets'' and not concerning business or family politics. Are you in?" I asked. "... To me, the first round." And the challenge began... End POV. ----------------------- POV: The Dwarf of Casterly Rock. Barrow Hall. About two hours after a game began... The wine was almost gone. The challenge was nearing its end, and Tyrion was down a sip against his fierce opponent. The fight was a draw for the duration of the game. Nevertheless, both opponentsughed and made each otherugh with the sleaziest, dirtiest, and most distressing jokes the Seven Kingdoms had heard. In his defence, Tyrion was tipsy enough as it was, and the giggle turned out to be easier for him. But thest mistake he made was unforgivable. Although Bloody Snow still seemed on the verge of exploding, the damn Perdigiorno-writer-of-worldly-jokes managed to hold back on the penultimate one. The joke referring to the Lannister, the Dornish, and the Stark proved far less ineffective now that the North had be rich and prosperous... How had he not thought of that! The Dwarf of Casterly Rock did not give up; there were just two gulps to go. After that, Tyrion had to pull out his best card and seal his lips for his opponent''s next song, and the challenge would result in at least a draw. The personal secret could also go screw itself. Tyrion and his Uncle Gerion absolutely could not afford to throw Duncan Tallhart''s 12th name-day gift to the wind. The honour of House Lannister depended on it! All the nobility of Westeros and Essos absolutely had to attend the unprecedented theatrical spectacle about Bloody Snow''s famous exploits at Bear Ind. How much gold had they invested only to find out that Dacey Mormont gave Bloody Snow a humiliating repast before the battle? The best actors and badposers in Essos had been hired by his Uncle during his trip to Pentos. How many hours of rehearsals andpositions were spent, and how many good ideas were thrown to the wind? ''No. I absolutely cannot lose!" thought the dwarf as he pped his cheeks to recover from his daze. The time hade to throw heavy cavalry into the fray. "It''s my turn... [There was once a dwarf named ... ''Tyblion'' who rode day and night on his new mule to reach the best brothel in ... ''Bannisgort'' as quickly as possible. ''Tyblion'' trotted into the brothel with a bottle, a honeb and his new jackass.]." The boy seemed taken aback, as if Tyrion had just used an unfair move. He was not viting any of thest inserted rules, such as: {Do not use names of cities, ces or families in the Known World.''} The dwarf continued to strike fiercely and mercilessly at the opening of the boy''s defences, interpreting the voices with the best theatrical emphasis he could muster. "[What can we do for you?" Madame Mistress of the brothel asked. "Auch!... I need a woman toy with, for mine has left me." So replied the poor dwarf afflicted with pains. "Whatever for? And what''s with the empty bottle, the honeb and the mule?" "Three days ago, my woman found a genie in a bottle, and he granted her three wishes. That traitor left me immediately after fulfilling them! The first was for a house fit for a queen, so the genie gave her this damn honeb. The second wish was that she has the nicest ass in all thend, so he gave her this damn donkey..." "And what about the third wish?" The brothel matron asked curiously. "Well... she asked the genie to make my cock hang down past the knee." "Well, that one''s not so bad, eh?" "Not so bad!? The bastard took her knee as a reference! It''s been three days that this damned third stiffy leg has been lifting me one foot off the ground! Please, Madame, help me!!!"]"... the dwarf waited patiently and carefully for his opponent''s reaction. "Pff...cough...Pfff... ahaha...Sprrzz...AHAHAHA!!!! AHAHAH!" The boy burst out, bending over from the blows of his big fatugh. It took him almost more than a minute to recover. "Drink!" The boy obeyed with a grunt of regret. "Good joke, my lord... Really a nice little story...But, now...phew! It''s my turn. If you even tilt those lips a millimetre or spit the tiniest puff of air out of your damn mouth, victory will be mine!" So rumbled an angry and motivated 12-year-old drunk. "Come on! Bring it on, Bloody Snow! I''m ready! You are provoking the son of the Leonine Statue of Casterly Rock! You''ll only hear the buried of Barrowtonugh!" So roared the dwarf of Casterly Rock with equal ferocity. "[In another world of another age not too dissimr to this one, two youngdies and two young princesses, all of marriageable age, gathered for dinner at the same table in the presence of the Grand Archmaester of... ''Ancient Town''."] The dwarf interjected. "Ancient Town, really? That sounds a little too much like Oldtown to me." "Shhh! Interrupting the narrator is against the rules. And yes, the town is indeed called Ancient Town!" "It''s fine go ahead, my lord. I will not interrupt you again." Replied Tyrion ndly. "Yes, where was I?... Ah, right: [Lady... ''Lyanne Stank,'' Cer... ''Cersinia Lonnister,'' and Princesses... ''Eliat Marwell,'' and ''Rhener Targaryes'' were forced to try their hand at various tests of virtue and merit to vie for the hand of the prince and sessor to the... emm...''Bronze Throne,'' Reaghar Targaryes." Tyrion suffered the first bout of giggles, which he nipped in the bud by remaining still and impassive. The most brutal blow was certainly ''Cersinia Lonnister.'' His sister would have already cried ''scandal'' had she been present. "[The North, the South, the West and the Crown Lands were in conflict with each other to decide which noble maiden was the most deserving to marry the next King of the... Eight Kingdoms! But to avoid a war, the same Lords, Princes and Kings decided to let the wisest and most educated man in the...''Citadelly'' determines the winner. All possible betrothed struggled bitterly and fiercely toward the various tests of knowledge, dance, etiquette, politics and potential situations of court scandal and kingdom crisis. Hatred and rivalry were especially fierce between Lady Cersinia and Princess Rhener... Cersinia never failed to sneer ormit improprieties against the Dragon... with ''Two Heads,'' but the princess always managed to use with ss without falling into the traps set by the very improper Lioness of... ''Camelot Rock''. The Grand Archmaester... mmm... ''Pyrcell'' finally proposed thest challenge before making his final decision. "Tonight, I would like to propose to you nobledies and princesses onest challenge. Each of you must tell a story or anecdote concerning your noble House that ends with a moral worthy of its name. Lady Cersinia, you begin, please." "With pleasure, Grand Archmaester... I would like to tell the story of the Rains of Castamure!"]" The narrator was interrupted for a second time. "Oh, Come on! Really?! Cercinia Lonnister of Camelot Rock quoting The Rains of Castamure?! You''re the one ying dirty here!" The ninth drunk ranted a gasp of injustice. "Any simrities and coincidences in the references are totally random and legitimate! One more interruption, my lord, and I will dere this challenge won by andslide." Tyrion huffed and let the very incorrect song finish, which touched all of poor Lannister''s weak points of hrity. "So... as I was saying, ["Oops, sorry princess..." Roared Lady Cersinia with a bound, ''carelessly'' spilling the cup of wine on Princess Drago''s pretty gown. The otherdiesughed at the scene, but Rhener Targaryes remained impassive at the affront she suffered. "Once upon a time, there was an envious young vassal lord who rebelled against his Lord Lion of Camelot Rock. The Lord of Castamure felt stronger, younger, bolder and more handsome than the Old Lion of Camelot, and so, he decided to sing his exploits as a fearless Lion hunter to all the lord bannermen of ''my father.'' The hunter and all the fools enchanted by his persuasive songs were almost all mauled andcerated alive by the firm, experienced and more cunning Great Lion Lord of the Rock. But despite this ... many friends surviving Their Lord''s first vicious punitive attack decided to resist in ast desperate struggle against the fierce Lions. Only ''My Father'' did not use fangs and ws this time, but simply ''Roared''..." Cersinia noticed the pale faces of Lyanne and young Eliat, awed by the famous story that terrorized the entire continent. But to her chagrin, Cersinia also detected that Princess Dragon still did not seem in the least threatened by her tale... The haughty and fearless Lioness concluded by saying: ''My Father'' roared to them The Rains of Castamure! And all the rebels trembled at the story of their young hunter-hero''s bitter end, bowing to their Sovereign Lion and never daring to challenge him a second time! The Moral: Sometimes a mere Roar is more powerful than an army of a hundred thousand swords!" Concluded the Lioness of Camelot Rock with a verse as proud and proud as her name. Silence pervaded the entire table... until... *p! p!* Grand Archmaester Pyrcelle began to p. "Well done! Very well done, my Lady Cersinia. Excellent proof." Cersinia prepared to sit down, deliberately stepping on the robe of the impassive Princess Dragon. "Princess Rhener, please, it is your turn." Rhener stood up, but part of her beautiful dress tore off, eliciting thunderousughter from the Lioness and the other opposing nobledies. Rhener remained impassive at the affront she suffered and quietly began to chant: "Once upon a time, there was a Lion King who ruled fiercely over all the lower creatures in creation. Wolves, Sun-kissed Men, eagles, trout, horses, sheep and many more... all bowed to the great proud mighty Lion of the High Rock. But the Lion, not satisfied with that, decided he wanted to oust the throne from the only creature in that vast and ancientnd who had dared not bow to him. An Ancient Giant and Pacific Dragon who continued to rest on the top of the world''s highest Mountain, not caring about the intive roars of King Lion of the Rock or any other animal in creation... The Furious, Offended, Belligerent, and Fearless Lion thus decided to face the Ancient, Gigantic, and Peaceful Dragon King of the Mountain in a duel. The being that had been sleeping undisturbed for millennia now... The Dragon, awakened by the roar of roars and the sound of soft ws screeching on its Ancient and Giant Adamantine Scales, simply snorted, and with a mere sneeze, a cascade of mespletely incinerated the poor Furious, Offended, Belligerent, and Fearless Lion King of the Rock, and went back to sleep undisturbed... However, The Lion King had Three Lion Prince Cubs...and said princes now Kings of the Rock, having spent years training to im righteous vengeance for their poor father, charged in unison toward the Mountain. The Ancient, Giant, and Peaceful Dragon King incinerated all Three with another feeble sneeze and went back to sleep... But these Three Lions had, in turn, Three Puppy Princes each, and all Nine New Rock Kings, firm in their numbers and prolonged training, charged toward the Mountain seeking revenge for their fathers and grandfather. The Ancient, Giant, and Pacific Dragon King incinerated all nine with yet another feeble sneeze and went back to sleep... However... These Nine Furious, Offended, Belligerent, and Fearless Lions had, in turn, Three Puppy Princes each-" the princess was interrupted by Maester Pyrcelle. "Forgive me, princess, but all of us here have already guessed the continuation of this story. Could you please get straight to the moral?"]" Bloody Snow paused for a moment to grab a shlight and use it as a prop while continuing: "[Princess Dragon suddenly grabbed the lit ssmp filled with boiling wax and, with an *Etchi!*, shattered it in the face of the shocked Lady Cersinia! The maiden cried out in a mixture of despair, pain, tears, blood and steaming skin..."] Bloody Snow threw the shlight to the ground and grabbed Tyrion''s leatherpel amicably, lifting it in midair. "[Then the now helpless, blind, and wounded lioness was tugged and lifted by the cor by two iron hands. Princess Dragon used her as a warning to the other shocked contestants for the podium of future Queen of the Eight Kingdoms... So the Dragon, shaking the maiden-lioness like a rag doll, thundered: "You must ''Never'' try to fuck with the ''Ancient-Gigantic-And-Peaceful-DRAGON QUEEN''!!"]" **** End Chapter. ------- Chapter 134: Bear Growls Chapter 134: Bear Growls POV: Dacey Mormont Godswood, Barrow Hall. Year 290, first day of the first moon. About seven hours after a Dwarf was tugged in mid-air... Three hundred guests were weed inside the Godswood. The royal family, all the great families of Westeros, the great nobles of the North, the Night''s Watch, and representatives of the greatest cities of Essos. Only a few members were the exception to the rule. House Harwood, te, and four more minor new Barronds lineages loyal to Lady Barbrey, whose name Dacey could not remember, were granted the privilege of attending the ceremony as honoured guest witnesses. Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, remained in the capital to rule in the King''s stead, and since there were no other Arryn members, it fell to House Royce to represent the Valley. House Hightower and House Redwine, although they were not two of the Eight Great Protective Houses, still hosted with a close family connection to House Tyrell. And finally, all the lesser Houses of thend of the Crown, Rivers, Storm and West, who had contributed considerably in thest war. These celebrations were not only a eulogy to the wedding between her cousin and Lady Barbrey but also a symbol of celebration for King Robert Baratheon''s victory. Dacey made another attempt and looked up again-he was still standing in front of her, less than thirty feet away and still staring at her. Duncan had a more confident, icy gaze. He was no longer the awkward, hesitant boy he used to be. All those battles must have tempered his inner warrior, along with his shoulders, the muscles in his arms-he was also taller. The almost 13-year-old''s face blushed again. Those silvery-green eyes, the steel-white hair, even the face looked slightly more rectangr than when theyst met in Mormont Keep six long moons ago ... six very long moons. "You are purple again, sister. Is the loving gaze of all your beaus awakening your bear-hunting instincts?" Aly whispered to her, sneering at Lyra together. "Shut up, it''s only-" her mother Maege gave her a reproachful re. Dacey lowered the tone of her voice. "It is merely the heat and the cursed woollen dress of House Flint," the girl justified herself with an argument as false as a wooden coin painted gold. "Sister, it is a grave insult to the Old Gods to lie in the Godswood. But how, you don''t know anything about the story?" So whispered the devilish Lyra, one of the most pestiferous little girls in Bear Ind. "What story?" Dacey asked with a hint of concern. "The story of Baley the Pitchfork!" said Lyra as if it were the most well-known story in the North. "But yes, of course, I almost forgot about Baley, the pimply one," Aly argued. "Who is this Baley? You guys are making it up." Dacey didn''t fall for it, not this time, after all the pranks the two envious ungainly sisters had yed on her in thest period...but her ear couldn''t help but listen. That morning Dacey woke up with a hideous pimple on the outside of her cheekbone. Luckily for her, a Barrowton handmaiden named Wy helped her change her hairstyle, hiding the horror in the ckness of her hair. "Baley was the daughter of a minor nobleman of the North whose incredible beauty enchanted all the nobles at the wedding of Lord Cregan Stark, The Wolf of The North. Baley, confident of the gift that the Old Gods gave her at birth, tried to seduce the future Lord of Winterfell by wresting him from the hands of Arra Norrey, Lord Cregan''s betrothed... When Lady Norrey openly used Baley after she saw her kissing her man under the Weirdwood Tree, the girl denied the act... She made up a little story by lying in front of the face of the Heart-Tree, awakening the wrath of the Old Gods. And so the gods punished her by first scarring her face with hideous boils the size of strawberries, making her the most horrible woman in the North! The girl died sad and alone without any brave young hero who ever wanted to kiss her again." So exined Lyra in a tremendously believable tone making Dacey''s eyes widen. "Poor girl... Legend has it that she ended up being eaten alive by pigs when she tried to kiss a pig in desperation... Pff... Pff... Spuz!." Aly could take no more of theedy. Lyra also burst outughing. "As soon as I get out of this dress, I''m going to hunt you down, and I''m going to make you bloody pay!" Roared the Little She-Bear. "That''s enough, you three! Pay respect to your cousin. I don''t want to hear another word until the ceremony is over, or I will personally coach you every morning until youe of age! Do I make myself clear?" The three daughters nodded and instantly fell silent, lowering their eyes to the ground. There was no master of arms and bare-knuckle fighting more brutal and ruthless on Bear Ind than Maege Mormont. The 45-year-old warrior, casten of Mormont Keep, and soon-to-be heir to her cousin Jorah kept true to her name by donning a new armour of the finest studded leather from Byk, a strange, rare creature from the Basilisk Isles, ording to Karrhold''s attendant who delivered the order. A gift from Lady Barbrey to add a dash of elegance to the soon-to-be acquired aunt who had worn nothing but bear fur, boiled leather and rusty chain mail for decades. The two sisters also kept up the tradition of the women of Bear Ind by donning a new custom-made ceremonial armour. Dacey was the only one of the four Mormonts to wear ady''s dress... The sisters harassed her for days amid all kinds of jokes and taunts about ''the unusual choice.'' Dacey tried to defend herself by exining that it was for the good of House Mormont, but, each time, those witches teased her by retorting with a: [I would say more for the good of House Tallhart.] How much pain and tribtion had the poor girl endured in thest few days in anticipation of this moment? Dacey had lost count... The night before, Maege''s eldest daughter was forced to dance with a garrison of inheritance-grabbing scions. The young merchant prince of Lys, Tregar Ormollen, and the plump son of the Archon of Tyrosh were indeed the most persistent and harassing fleas of them all. The duo nearly came into conflict with Robb Stark, only six years old, for snatching the prize and the honour of the first dance of the evening with Dacey from them. Ser Andar and Robar Royce, Gan and Loras Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hightower, Gerold Dayne, Lyle and Merlon Crakehall, Quentyn Martell, Cleos, and at least a dozen other Freys constantly harassed the poor maiden with courtship gantries, and these were only part of the vanguard of the army that hunted her the night before. In the middle of the evening, Dacey was forced to retreat and hide in the training yard of Barrow Hall. By her luck, she met a promising new friend who helped her hide and hold her ground when the mastiffs, eager to wrest a kiss from her in the moonlight, kicked off the wild chase for the Bear Ind inheritance. ''The kiss... that kiss is reserved only for-'' Dacey looked up again when another presence caught her attention. The second most wanted maiden at this event, Lynesse Hightower, was staring at her man... The little bitch was seeking his gaze, there was no doubt about it. ''Why is the Hightower family so close to the Godswood Heart-Tree?" thought Dacey, reasoning. Except for the royal family and a few odd guests from the East, only the Old Gods-believing lineages were so close to the stage of the celebration... So why did the Hightowers have a position of precedence over House Royce? They were right next to House Cerwyn, less than fifteen feet away from the Tallharts... Dacey highly disregarded Ser Humfrey Hightower''s nod of greeting. ''But what does that Seven-loving sheep want? Stop eating my Northern man with your eyes, you filthy little Southern whore!!!'' Growled ''The Little She Bear'' inwardly, gnashing her teeth. End POV. ----------------------- POV: The Humble Learner. Godswood, Barrow Hall. A few minutes before the bride''s arrival... ''Take it easy, Duncan. Remember Master Dywen''s teachings...'' The boy''s mind was struck by a shback. **** About three weeks earlier, in the training camp in the Wolf Forest... Zick was sleeping blissfully in his tent a few steps from the hearth. It was up to Ramas, Narbo, and Will to take turns on watch. As if there was any need... The entire area within two miles of the camp was surrounded by at least fifty Frost des and an unknowable number of Spider Queen agents. A good part of the forces of the Fourth Most Powerful World Organization was stationed in the domains of House Stark to guarantee the terms of the agreements between Carcosa, Oldtown and Braavos. This was the ce chosen for Duncan''s training before the tournament. The debate among the various masterpanions grew increasingly heated. Ramas had already warned the drunken and festive group more than once to tone it down. "No, young Khkka of the North, do not listen to effeminate Braavosian. You listen to master Cohollo. A young filly only desires to see her dominant stallion fight for her by killing all opponents of Khkka. You open the belly of enemies by cutting off their hair, and she will grant you her body under the Sea of Stars riding you until Mother Mountain donates to you little stallion." Affirmed Cohollo sshing the wineskin wine into the mes, getting a group dissent. "No, she won''t. A man''s vigour is shown with beard and axe mastery, young pupil. Listen to Baragh. No woman ever wanted silver and gold after experiencing the mighty vigour of the Priest of Norvos." Baragh No Dua interjected, shooing the drunken Dothraki to the side. "Guys, guys, sit down-you''re just confusing the boy. Leave it to the Westerosi for tips on seducing a Westeros woman." Then, it was Master Dywen Stone''s turn to stand up, drawing everyone''s attention. "Duncan, Duncan, Duncan..." Dywen walked around the circle friendly, apanying Recallio, Cohollo and Baragh to their seats. Then, the charismatic blond master, originally from Gulltown, conquered the stage. "Love, but more importantly, ''the love of a woman'' is a tricky business and very hard to understand. Am I not right, Duncan?" Asked the womanizer of the group. "It is, maester Dywen. It is indeed." The boy was already hanging on his every word. Dywen walked in circles reaching the master Water Dancer, resting both hands on thetter''s shoulders. "You might listen to the wise, sound advice of Master Recallio, a true Water Dancer swordsman who challenged dozens of duelists to win the favour of the New ck Pearl ... but, s, failing honourably since he did not understand that only the noblest blood was the only jewel she sought." Recallio lowered his gaze in an admission of guilt. Then Dywen moved toward the Dothraki. "You might pay heed to the wild ruler of fillies, who, to our deep regret and full sympathy, suffered a tremendous injury forcing the entire group to seek out the best healer in Vntis, as our drunkenrade Cohollo here decided one evening to attempt an approach with Jhosua of Jh... ''too different'' from the culture of the Summer Inds." Cohollo instinctively closed his legs, eliciting a crotch shiver from the entire group. It was the Norvos Priest''s turn. "You are reasonably good with the axe, so you might as well go the Norvos way, waiting...mmm...let''s say seven to eight years for the beard to reach the right size to show your true vigour." Baragh showed the boy the long, shiny red beard, trying to entice him to grow it. "Or..." Dywen paused, increasing the suspense. "Or else, master?" Bloody Snow asked desperately for a spark of hope. "Or...you could listen to the advice of former young stable boy from Gulltown. A boy who without money, fame, dexterity in arms, or a good name to fall back on won the hearts of dozens of humble young maidens, or those of good family throughout the Valley, with nothing more than a handful of nces, smiles, whispers, and subtle caresses... The only individual in existence in the Known World to have managed to wrest a kiss from none other than Syggha ''the Merciless'' herself. And look here...I still have both lips and all three of my sacred attributes intact to rely on..." The boy looked at Dywen as if he were the goddamn winning golden ticket to the Chocte Factory... "Master Dywen, I bow to your infinite wisdom. I am your humble disciple. Please teach me!" **** ["During the ceremony, devote almost all your attention to her. But remember, lest your prey senses your difort and embarrassment]. ''Stare at her as if she were a potential enemy! A potential threat ready to draw a de on Zick at any moment.'' Bloody Snow refocused his total attention on the imaginary attacker. [''Eyes on the prey, Duncan. Fierce enough to intimidate her and a gentle smile into contradicting her first thoughts. The maiden will have to torment herself with inner questions such as: ''Why is he looking at me like that?'' ''Did I do something to him?'' ''He is furious with me ... but then why is he smiling at me?'' ''What does he want from me?'' You''ll have to torment her with doubts and questions, boy. Drive her mad until shees to you in an attempt to soothe the chaotic storm that gues her thoughts."] ''Yes, that''s right! The storm!... Phew... Calm down, Duncan. She is not ''the Goddess.'' That being is just a mere assassin of the House of ck and White. A very, very expert assassin in disguise... She is a de, and you are the shield ready to intercept her.'' So repeated Duncan for the umpteenth time while maintaining the same cold inquiring gaze on the prey in front of him. Theplexity of the task was extreme. It was challenging to imagine that Valkyrie-Elphic face decorated by hair as ck as night, scented like spring dew, and silky smooth as nothing but a mask. If she was indeed a masked assassin, why were her chest, slim hips, and Olympic champion gymnast arms identical? Bloody Snow immediately discarded the forbiddenscivious images from her head by refocusing on the exercise. ''Wait... Why is the Goddess angry now? Did Dacey manage to read my impure thoughts, perhaps? ''No... She is not looking at me. Who is she staring at with that murderous look?'' Duncan turned in search of his victim. Lord Leyton''s pretty younger daughter was staring at him, throwing him a seductive, warm smile as soon as both their eyes met. At that instant, music began to y, covering the sound of a little female growl some 30 feet away. The bride had arrived, catching the attention of hundreds of noble gazes. The beautiful 27-year-old bride from the North stood out like the sun in the clear sky. The wedding dress was the crown of rays adorning the brightest star. A sumptuous masterpiece of tailoring made of wool, velvet, leather and silk embroidery, assembled to shape an elegant and refined warrior''s ceremonial robe... The silvery embroidery on the bodice and left shoulder pad, sewn on soft shadowy panther skin, came together like roots giving shape to a half-te armour. The bare right shoulder began the only portion of the body uncovered, giving spectators a view of the neck and a small portion of the breast. The entire lower part of the yellow, white and ck robe was dotted with fine stitching of hundreds of small artistic representations of the coat of arms of House Dustin and Ryswell. The jewels crowning the beauty of the Promised Lady at the apex were two: a gold and tinum jewel-studded symbol of Love and Beauty, which every Lord and Lady of the North recognized as the prize won and given four years ago by Jorah to crown her Queen of Love of Beauty, and a rough pendant of dark steel in the shape of a heart... The Queen Lioness''s face frowned when she saw the less imposing but much more refined crown of her... The woollen ceremonial cloak bore thest glimmering symbol of House Dustin''s history: Two rusted longaxes with ck shafts crossed, a ck crown between their points, on yellow. A very elegant Lord Rodrick Ryswell walked arm in arm with his daughter at a slow and steady pace toward the groom, the man in the most elegant and expensive men''s suit in all the North, Jorah Mormont. At the highly anticipated event, the Godswood boasted an element not seen among the ritual marriage ceremonies of the North in hundreds of years. A priest of the Old Gods... An inhabitant of the Eye of the Gods consecrated to the defence and service of the Isle of a Thousand Faces; an old acquaintance of Hond Reed who boasts the title of Green Man called Welk Green Oak. The hard-faced, grizzled Priest was d in dark green leather robes adorned with light green leaves, moss and white root covers that lined his forearms and chest in a kind of chainmail more decorative than helpful in the fray. Very few among those present knew that the man was, in fact, a spellcaster of the magic of life in faithful service to the Guardian of Beauty. And not a weak one at that... The level six hovering above his head gave Duncan confirmation that the man was a spellcaster of the third circle of Druidic magic. A rare individual and not to be provoked. Father and daughter reached the Heart Tree... "What First Man grants this woman to this man?" Asked the Priest in a gentle but thundering voice. "I, Rodrick, son of Hond of House Ryswell, grant my daughter, Barbrey of House Dustin and Ryswell, to Jorah, son of Jeor of House Mormont." So replied the Lord of the Rills in a proud and firm tone. The Priest nodded, and the father released his daughter from his grasp by kissing her on the cheek before retreating to the side. "Do you, Jorah of House Mormont, wish to wee this woman under your protection until the day when Earth, Water, and Wind wee you back into their arms?" So asked the Priest of Life. {"I do."} Jorah replied, smiling at his maiden as the woman returned nces and smiles. "And do you, Barbrey of House of House Dustin and Ryswell, want this man''s protection until the day you are reunited in the Earth, Water and Wind?" {"I do."} Barbrey replied while keeping all her attention on the front man. Both spouses offered their palms. The Priest took a Dragon ss dagger from his belt and lightly cut the skin of both just enough to let out a few drops of blood. The pair joined their wounded hands, mixing the blood that began drip. A young green acolyte of the Priest slipped silently under the source of lifeblood, collecting the drops in a Weirdwood basin. "Make your promises before the Old Gods and your ancestors by swearing it on Blood, Fire and Ice, descendants of the First Men." ["When everyone''s attention is turned to the climax of the ceremony, that is when you will have to strike with the most intense and yearning gaze you can muster. The world will cease to exist; she will be your world!"] The boy followed the essential suggestion by redirecting his eyes toward Dacey. In the corner of the maiden''s eye noticed the impressive attention turned toward her, and she turned her gaze back to her. Jorah and Barbrey''s voices intoned the vows in unison. {"Ancestors, First Men, Old Gods, hear my words: I''m hers/his, and he/she is mine for this night and all those toe. Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, hear my words: my Light is hers/his, and hers/his Light is mine for this season and for all those toe. Blood, Fire, Ice, hear my words: my Heart is hers/his, and hers/his Heart is mine and shall be mine until the Day or the Night when, Bronze or Iron, Shadow or Death, Fire or Ice, shall not im my Soul, my Light and my Heart. I swear this to you Now and Always."} A faint cyclone of wind arose an instant after the end of thest verse eliciting verses of astonishment from many enchanted guests. ''Please, Seraphinus, tell me the wind has done its duty...'' thought the boy, still focused on the figure in front of him as he blindly cast the Druidcraft trick. Lady Barbrey had been clear. If her dress rose higher than her ankles because of the wind, the boy, as penance, would have to run naked three times through all the ramparts of Barrow Hall. Duncan could not tear his eye contact away from those maic honey-amber eyes. The time hade for the final act. Bloody Snow could only rely on hearing. ''Now they should have knelt before the Heart-Tree... The Priest should anoint them with the mixture of blood and sap of Weirwood... and he should speak.'' The voice came a few secondster. "Jorah Mormont, wrap your bride under your protection and lift her up as part of your Soul, Light and Heart." ''Here we go... Yes, that''s the sound of the Dustin cloak falling. Jorah''s footsteps ... and ... Now!'' Duncan whispered the exact words, imagining the spot about twenty-five feet away from him. [Druidcraft] *UrROaaarhuu-Fruush!....* a faint bear growl mixed with the rustling of the wind hovered in the air, eliciting more soporific and heated murmurs. "Did you hear it too?" Lady Cerwyn whispered to her husband. "Yes, I heard it... The bruit was not from Lord Jorah, I am sure... This was the work of the Old Gods." Lord Cerwyn replied. "Medger..." called his wife. "Yes, my dear?" "I want to renew our vows. I want the same ceremony blessed by the Old Gods..." said Lady Cerwyn with a childish whine. "Shh...not now, my dear, not now. We will discuss itter..." Medger replied in a low voice. Duncan sighed with relief... Eye contact broke the moment the new Lord of Barrowton, greeted with a roar of apuse and invocations of jubtion, crossed the threshold carrying in strong arms his lovely, extremely wealthy, influential, dangerous, and powerful new wife... Lady Barbrey Mormont. **** End Chapter. -------- Chapter 135: Wedding Gifts (I) Chapter 135: Wedding Gifts (I) POV: Domeric Bolton Festive pavilions, northwest side a quarter mile from the walls of Barrowton. About two hours after a ceremony took ce... Northern tradition required the husband to carry the bride to the wedding banquet table. Obviously, this was not within the possibilities of Jorah Mormont since the couple, wanting to bestow honours and festivities on all the thousands of guests, could not set up the banquet inside Barrow Hall. Therefore, hundreds of pavilions, party tents and endless tables were set up just outside the walls, while hundreds of carriages escorted guests to their seats in everyfort and pomp required. The cooks'' area and serving staff alone numbered more than a thousand servants. The Lady and the new Lord of Barrowton had ensured that the town with all its inhabitants could also celebrate the wedding. Hundreds of kegs of ale, wine, carts with delicacies, bards and entertainers from the people ran all over the main street tovish festivity and entertainment on all the inhabitants. In addition to the Mormont-Dustin soldiers, jugglers, fire-eaters, dancers, jesters, puppeteers, rare beast trainers, merchants, and residents of Barrowton itself, the Northeast area behind the walls numbered more than ten thousand people... an army. And Domeric was there together with his mother and his new family at the main table that included every member of House Mormont, Ryswell and Bolton. Not to offend the Royal Family nor the Protectors of the North, for all members of House Baratheon, Lannister and Stark, two equallyvish curved tables followed in the second row joining the main table forming an open arch in the centre in the shape of a horseshoe. Guests from the east, deemed by his aunt as ''unofficially more important than the King himself'' followed immediately behind House Stark. The notorious sorcerers of Carcosa... Domeric''s gaze slid a second time to his betrothed Sansa. The little girl, not even four years old, was pretty and sunny. Sansa would undoubtedly be a beautiful woman, but she still remained a child... And no sparks of affection would ever erupt between the two before another ten or twelve years. Domeric''s nce attempted to head far beyond the first three tables... But unfortunately, the boy could not find her and sighed with a hint of sadness. During the ceremony, the Lord of Dreadfort had noticed the exchange of amorous nces between Duncan and Dacey (although his friend''s gaze seemed a little too maniacal, in his opinion), and he was happy for them. But Duncan certainly would not have been happy about his exchange of nces with the figure next to him, his sister Eddara... No one seemed to notice them, except for that strange old merchant with the piercing gaze whose name or origin Domeric did not know. There were several bizarre figures in this marriage... The night before, he and Eddara, after they freed themselves from the agreed-upon courtesy dances, danced under the notes of the famous The Song of Beal the Bard. It was a magical moment: neither of them uttered a word for the entire song duration. Instead, it was the dance and the music thatmunicated... Every nce, caress between their hands, steps, and elegant turnsmunicated more than a hundred poems and stories written between their letters... The second of the seven courses was served. The waiter served Domeric a pigeon and broad bean roll gratinated in almonds, turmeric, and mint leaves and poured an oily, dark, fragrant sauce on the side of the te. There was no shortage of appetite, so the boy did not makepliments and tasted the dish... It was delicious... Crunchiness, softness, cooking, and freshness were mingled suavely in a bnced riot of vours. Only after tasting did Domeric notice that at the heart of each roll was a little treasure chest of cheese and spicy bell pepper sauce. All the porcin tes, silver and ss bowls, and cutlery were engraved with the coat of arms of House Mormont. The second course had undoubtedly surpassed the first entre-and knowing Auntie, that was intentional. In all likelihood, each sessive course would overpower the previous one, thus igniting the curiosity, surprise and appetite of every guest. All the while, the alcohol and drinks were flowing. Dark or light beer, mead, Dorne wine, Arbor wine, Summer wine, juices of every kind, Northern drinks of every kind of strength, one was spoiled for choice. The King was already drunk and trying by some devious means to get away from the boring family table. Probably Robert wanted to join tables of knights and lesser nobles who were allowed to escape the rigid etiquette that the role of Father of the Kingdom prevented him from giving vent to his true nature. As soon as the third course began to be served, the ceremonial Chief Herald positioned himself in the centre of the open space of the three main tables to loudly announce: "My King and Queen, my Lords and Ladies, and all of you noble gentlemens of the East, the bride and groom are ready to receive all of your highly appreciated wedding gifts." Several other servants repeated the message at various key points around the tables. Multiple cries of jubtion and surprise spread throughout the area. "Your Majesties, would you dden these celebrations by granting House Mormont the honour of opening the gift ceremony first?" asked Barrowton''s chief herald. Robert tried to stand up but staggered slightly; the Queen took over as representative of the Crown with joy. Cersei Lannister was escorted by her twin and Ser Boros, along with a pair of royal valets carrying a chest. "Lord and Lady Mormont." The Queen had the right not to bow and took full advantage of that privilege... "My Queen." Replied the newlyweds in unison. "Truly a lovely and ''majestic'' ceremony, Lady Barbrey. Mypliments are due," the Queen. "You honour me and my groom, my Queen." Replied his Aunt kindly. "The wedding dress, the ceremony, the stage effects, and that Crown truly a lovely jewel. Perhaps, your nickname ''Frosty Spice Queen'' that one hears so much about even in the court of King''s Landinges from that fantastic jewel... Don''t you think, Lady Barbrey?" Poked Cersei in a more pronounced tone. "Oh, you mean my beloved Jorah''s token of love, my Queen? Well, indeed, it cannot be said that her Majesty may be in the wrong. Unfortunately, I could not answer you frankly. ''Frosty Spice Queen'' is certainly not a moniker intended by me. I really have no idea who started the rumours, Mh! Mh! Mh! However, yes. This is, in fact, a jewel created for a queen. The Queen of Love and Beauty, to be exact. My valiant knight gave me a simple tournament prize after winning the joust in Torrhen''s Square." Barbrey turned to Jorah, kissing his hand. "Do you remember, my beloved? Your first gesture of deration? Already four years have passed since that happy day..." Uncle Jorah returned the kiss, choosing loving silences and smiles as his response. The Queen''s smile faded for a moment recing it with an expression of rancour, but Cersei returned to a smile a momentter and said: "But where are my manners? I hade here to bestow on your gifts of thanks and felicitations... the chest." The Queenmanded and the valets to ce the chest in front of her. "To thank you noble, loyal subjects of the Crown, the Royal Family is pleased to bestow upon you hope... Hope that the Seven will bless you soon with an heir of Mormont and Ryswell blood..." The valets opened the chest and disyed the contents. "Our Grand Maester Pycelle hasvished all his knowledge, expertise and field research in such a way as to ensure that you, my Lord and Lady, have a more concrete chance of conceiving the joy of a new life... Herbs, potions, state-of-the-art tools for conception and the best rare texts from the citadel and all the Known World." Domeric tightened his grip on the silver chalice, suppressing his anger and outrage at what he had just witnessed. Those were not gifts... they were insults disguised as gifts. It was an unspoken butmon knowledge rumour that both spouses were of dubious fertility... The slightly amused smile of the Lioness was proof that the insult was premeditated. Domeric heard the teeth of her mother, Bethany, Barbrey''s sister, grinding with disdain. His mother was always telling him that he should behave more like a son than a nephew in front of his Aunt because, in all likelihood, the Old Gods would never bless with a child... Lady Mormont stood up, and Domeric feared for the worst. His Uncle Jorah held her hand, probably to try to calm her down, but to his surprise, the wrathful and vengeful Lady Barbrey replied with a: "Thank you, Your Grace, for your wee gift. My Jorah and I will make many attempts to make such a miracle happen, and...fear not, my Queen, I assure you that during each and every act, our thoughts will always fall upon you." "Pff... Cough...coff..." Both Domeric, his mother and a couple of other members of House Ryswell choked, holding back augh. A couple of Dacey''s sisters gave free rein to theirughter, earning a p on the back of the head each from their mother, who, under what appeared to be a scolding of disdain, there too lurked approval from the sneering She-Bear. The Queen''s face turned purple from the concealed insult. His Aunt pressed her mercilessly. "My lord and I tonight will loudly call upon the Old Gods to bless us with a child... And to reciprocate your much-appreciated gesture, Your Grace, we will shout the name ''Cersei''... that is, the name we will give our first daughter if the Gods ever wish us." This time Barbrey Mormont''s tone openly sinned in mockery. "Pfff...ahahaha...cough..." The Queen also cast a dirty look at Domeric and his mother. Almost every member of the table and other noble guests in an ear-splitting lineughed. "How dare you-" the Lioness'' roar was interrupted by a voice behind her back. "LADY BARBREY... Lord Jorah, forgive me, mydies and lords, if I interrupt this pleasant exchange of innocent joviality. Her Majesty the Queen, my beloved sister, has not noticed that a procession of her loyal subjects is eagerly awaiting their turn to pay homage to you..." It was the imp, Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf exchanged a look of rm at his brother, Jaime Lannister, who firmly grasped the twin''s arm to prevent her from aggravating the attention any further. "I would like to take this opportunity to present to you, noble spouses, the gifts of House Lannister." The dwarf stepped forward, taking the podium and his Aunt''s attention. "Lord Tyrion ... My husband and I will be honoured to ept the noble gifts offered by none other than the newly promising Shield of Lannisport." End POV. ------------------------------------------- POV: A Book Collector Festive Pavilions, Northwest side a quarter mile from the walls of Barrowton. About two seconds after, a Queen retreated... ''That idiot has no idea who she is provoking...'' Thought the new Governor of Lannisport, hoping that the crack on the eggshell was not so extensive as to cook up a nice omelette. Out of the gods'' goodness, his father permitted him to interrupt this madness. Even Tywin Lannister seemed to dislike the tasteless gift personally chosen by their dear and loving Queen. Casterly Rock, Lannisport, and the entire West could not afford to offend the North. Cersei was probably not even aware that it was House Stark that provided the gold to stem the Crown''s severe deficit. And now that House Lannister''s expenses were touching heights not seen since Aegon the Conqueror, even the wealthy Lions of Casterly Rock could not give up their excellent trade rtions with the North... Rtionships on which, for the past five years, their Uncle Gerion devoted body and soul so that they would be as firm andsting as possible. Tallharts, Starks, and Mormonts were now the three key lineages to ess all the benefits of the North. And his sister wanted to openly insult thetter! Madness! Duncan had even confirmed his suspicions by warning him directly... ["How can Lannisport increase trade with the North? Simple, my lord, all it takes is good rtions with Waterdeep and Barrowton. Your uncle and father have already created the former. It will be up to you to get thetter. And if you wish to increase thetter ... you need only pay homage and tokens of friendship to the undisputed Sovereign of the Barronds."] The first two gifts were ced to the respective interested parties. They were a solid book of excellent workmanship and a closed wooden jewellery box of equally fine workmanship. "Lord Jorah, with the best wishes and felicitations of my uncle Gerion and House Lannister, I present to you this volume... {The First Kings} the first edition written by Maester Vrik and edited by myself. In this text, my lord, are gathered all the most established information, from all the library sources in Westeros from which Casterly Rock has been able to draw, concerning the histories, folk cultures and customs of the Barronds, from the time of the Legendary Barrow Kings to thetest exploits of the noble descendant House, House Dustin. A gift that I hope will help you cement your new rule over these fascinatingnds rich in history and tradition, new Lord of Barrowton." Tyrion bowed his head, waiting for the response. "A wonderful gift, beneficial, and one of a kind. I will treasure it, my lord. I thank you. I renew the promises made to your uncle at Bear Ind, extending them to you, Lord Tyrion. House Lannister will always be wee in all thends under the protection of House Mormont." nce and voice seemed sincere and devoid of irony. Even Lady Barbrey''s eyes shone with wee surprise and appreciation. ''A good start...'' Tyrion''s mind exhumed in a sh Bloody Snow''s second valuable piece of advice. ["The Frosty Spice Queen? And how can a poor bachelor dwarf gued by defeat attempt to curry favour with such ady?" "If I were in that dwarf''s shoes, I would begin by praising the feelings of joy and love that peculiar pretty pendant of thedy mentioned above brings you with a single nce."] "And, hoping not to offend the Lord Bear, two gifts for the lovely Maiden Fair of the North... Oh, forgive me, mydy-I-I had not noticed." Tyrion became spellbound with his eyes fixed on Valyria''s heart-shaped steel pendant. "Is there a problem, my lord Tyrion?" Thedy asked in a slightly annoyed tone. Indeed, the position of the pendant was somewhat equivocal, and the gesture could be interpreted as ''highly rude and inappropriate. "No in truth, yes, mdy, I apologize for any misunderstanding. I was admiring your beautiful pendant. May I dare to ask yourdyship if the metal is as I assume it to be Valyrian Steel?" Tyrion asked politely. Barbrey scrutinized him carefully with a piercing and invasive gaze, but then thedy rxed and answered: "It is, milord. A token of my husband''s love designed in his own hand and forged by a jeweller of Qohor... May I ask why so much interest?" Barbrey. "Behold, mdy, House Lannister is ashamed and apologizes to you for bringing you such an ephemeral, counterfeit and meaningless first gift. I fear, mydy, that said ne will never have the honour of resting around your neck, not with apetitor so rich in uniqueness, love, personality and feeling at the very least..." Tyrion opened the box showing the ne his fathermissioned from the finest jeweller in Lannisport two moons ago... The dwarf began to suspect that this whole scene had been strategically premeditated and orchestrated by Bloody Snow and The Old Lion... The gold-spun ne, ted with colours of the coats of arms of House Mormont and Dustin, was united with a pendant jewel, arge dark green emerald cut out in an oval shape with a small yellow diamond heart in the centre, finely carved and set. The two stones were crowned by a bear and a knight maiden wielding an axe. A masterpiece of goldsmithing and gem art. Neen thousand three hundred and ten gold dragons ofmission rounded up to twenty thousand to reward excellent workmanship and work done ahead of schedule. Jorah Mormont frowned in embarrassment and resignation; Lady Barbrey, on the other hand, held a steady, detached gaze but betrayed by a tiny glint of desire in her eyes. Now that Tyrion could admire thedy''s crown up close, he noticed a certain harmony between the two jewels, as if one was created to support the other in a single set of jewels. "I must offer my deepest apologies to you as well, my lord Jorah. I can assure you that this gift was not meant to cause you offence. It was a mere unintentional failing on the part of my Household for failing to obtain the information we needed to prevent such an affront. It will be my concern and the endeavour of the Lord Protector of the West to rectify such disrespect as soon as possible." Tyrion closed the case and slowly withdrew the box until... "No-no, milord, please. No offence has been done to me. On the contrary, a mere coincidence has unjustly defamed your beautiful gift for my bride. What do you think, my beloved?" Thest word belonged to the interested party... "My Lord husband is right, Lord Tyrion-no offence has been caused. Although, as you say, I could not wear such a gift,... in any case, it may well adorn my private chambers constantly reminding me of the pledge of sincere friendship and thoughtfulness that your noble Household has shown to ours. So ... stop your hand, my good friend Lannister." Barbrey extended her hand and dragged the rich casket toward her with grace and dignity. "The courtesy and magnanimity of House Mormont are unparalleled, my lord anddy. The honour of the privilege of such friendship belongs to House Lannister alone." Tyrion bowed for the umpteenth time, preparing himself for the final act. "But in any case, I had mentioned two gifts, mdy... Allow a humble and unoriginal book-loving dwarf to spread a semnce of symbolic balm on this grievous wound that your lordships have nobly chosen to conceal..." A second tome, prized but significantly more worn than the first, was carefully ced on the table by one of the two Lannister servants. "Again, a book, mydy, which, though not edited by yours truly, is equally rare. Nowadays, almost everyone gives credit for the golden age of the Seven Kingdoms solely to the wisdom of Jaehaerys, the Conciliator, but very few know the story of the most extraordinary advisory member of the King Council. One of the few texts that survived the great burning of Baelor the Blessed, fortuitously found four years ago by an attendant of Dragonstone: {History of the Good Queen Alysanne}, written and edited by Archmaester Vaegon Targaryen, the most brilliant mind among the sons of Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen. This, mdy, is supposed to be the first copy Vaegon gave to her mother shortly before she died. The signed personal dedication on the first introductory page, which also bears the Archmaester''s personal seal, is proof of this..." Thest tear of blood from the heart of an avid collector was shed... It was his Uncle who ''suggested'' that gift... Unfortunately, the Lannister spies could not bring back a piece of relevant information from the North, but "as it happens," a lofty song by a poor Lady admirer of Alysanne Targaryen reached Gerion''s ears. "A coveted text among many collectors containing all the testimonies of Barth, King Jaehaerys, Alysanne, her son Vaegon himself, and all her most trusteddies-in-waiting regarding the exploits, achievements, thoughts and opinions of the greatest Queen Westeros has ever known. A book that everydy or queen should be able to read, in my humble opinion. I hope you can find points of inspiration and glimmers of wisdom from this humble gift, Lady Mormont." Finally, the exorbitant wager was wagered, and thest dice rolled... The woman who had publicly pped and trapped the Queen Lioness twice in a row and in only three days took a great moment of reflection before passing her judgment. [I know Lady Barbrey... Trust me, Tyrion. If you elegantly sing the right song paying the proper homage to the sovereign, at the very least, Lannisport will benefit tenfold ... Bloody Snow''s word]. ''The library and the future businesses of Lannisport are banking on you, boy.'' Tyrion waited ... and the response came. "I have only had a chance to read a fraction of a few corroded and poorly guarded pages of the writing of {History of the Good Queen Alysanne}... Your gift, milord,pels a humbledy lover and book collector like myself to reciprocate that favour with an equally rare text. If the libraries of Casterly Rock or Lannisportck a copy, it will be my care and pleasure to procure one for you, Lord Tyrion." So replied the Trade Queen to the great relief of the ruler of a city in search of quick cash. "It would be unseemly for me to ept such a kindness, ''But'' equally rude of me to refuse such a gesture of friendship... Could I quench my unquenchable thirst for knowledge and curiosity by asking mdy what text it is?" inquired the greedy Lord of hypocrites. "Step closer, milord," Barbrey wanted to whisper the title? Tyrion humoured him... "{Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History} by Septon Barth." The Storm God unleashed his full fury, and the King of Lightning struck down a lion imp who sinned through curiosity and greed... A chill burst to Tyrion Lannister''s joints, legs, arms and everything else in his body. Breath missed, and the sound of the elerated beat rumbled over the eardrums,pletely embalming the amateur collector who foolishly believed he was a giant in the field... before that title was uttered. ''D-Dra- Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History?!!! May the Seven electrocute me!'' That work was an artefact beyond legend! In the past five years, Tyrion had squandered countless amounts of his allowance to get his hands on that text. One of the most sought-after and impossible-to-obtain texts in all of Westeros and Essos!!! At the age of seven, his Uncle Tygett asked him what he wished for his eighth name day; Tyrion replied, ''a Dragon.'' Yearster, after facing the hard truth about the extinction of dragons, a more mature, educated and hopeful Tyrion again answered his Uncle''s question with: [Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History, by Septon Barth!] His passion and love for dragons made that work undoubtedly Tyrion''s most coveted book. After months of waiting, Uncle Tygett returned defeated by his nephew, sentencing one sentence: ["That goddamn book is Unobtainable."]. Why was that book unobtainable? Tyrion squandered hundreds of gold dragons only to learn that all copies were promptly destroyed and banned by the maesters during the reign of Aegon III and Baelor the Blessed. The Citadel had condemned Barth''s book as ''provocative and unfounded.'' Who was Septon Barth to have caused such an uproar? Historians considered Barth to be King Jaehaerys I Targaryen''s greatest friend, a man of humble origins among the most brilliant and outspoken. Archmaester Gyldayn described him as ''the wisest man who ever served as Hand of the King''. However, Barth''s enemies imed that he was more of a sorcerer than Septon, and he still holds the record as the individual with the most enduring tenure as Hand of The King. Forty-one years of rule alongside the best King and Queen the Seven Kingdoms had ever known at a time when the Targaryens were in the process of recreating a second Valyria... Even King Aegon V ''The Unlikely,'' whose obsession with the return of the Dragons doomed him to death in the Summerhall disaster, had desperately sought a copy of that text, failing miserably in the attempt... Why was the King of the Seven Kingdoms desperately seeking that book? Because in all likelihood, in the midst of those legendary pages, there might have been the secret to hatching the darned Dragon Eggs! As well as bearing the testimony of the only known traveller who had returned to Valyria riding Balerion, Aerea Targaryen! In six years of assiduous and exhaustive searching, Tyrion obtained only a whisper, ''nothing but a whisper,'' about the possible existence of a copy in the forbidden section of the Archmaesters'' tower. And Barbrey proposed the offer just as if a pair of boreddies were exchanging romance novels... ''She is not lying... She does indeed possess a copy. In the name of the Seven Hells... WHO THE HELL ARE YOU REALLY, BARBREY MORMONT??!'' **** End Part I -------- Chapter 136: Wedding Gifts (II) Chapter 136: Wedding Gifts (II) POV: The Bride Table of the bride and groom. A minute after a dwarf epted with infinite gratitude a gesture of friendship... "The Representative of the Sealord of Braavos and the Honorable Iron Bank, Director General Tycho Nestoris." Announced the Chief Herald in Barrowton''s service. The foreigner d in leather and silken farsettos bowed in Braavosi style. "Honorable, Warden Tycho... Truly, milord, there was no need for any gift. Your city has already done so much for my family," greeted Barbrey. "Nonsense, mdy. Every wedding ceremony deserves to be celebrated with a gift. And in all my life, I have never witnessed a wedding of such magnificence. Weddings worthy of kings and queens. A symbolic gesture of gratitude is in order, or I would tarnish the honour of my hometown otherwise." Barbrey smiled amicably and, holding her Jorah''s hand, replied. "If that is the case, honourable representative, far be it from us to stop your hand." Tycho pped his hands twice, and two servants carried an object covered with a silk veil. "Lord Jorah, my Sealord is aware that your family is privileged to possess a sword in Valyrian Steel. And many in Braavos sing of the brave Bear Knight who won at the jousting of Torrhen''s Square, is all this correct, milord?" Asked the representative. "It is, Director, but I would not want too ''enriched'' rumours to circte in Braavos. Fortune and love spurred my arm and spurs four years ago. I am not deserving of songs." Why did every word uttered by her man excite her so much? Could it be because of the thrill of danger? Of the impending demonstrations of power by all the representative forces of the Known World? Or would it be because of the smell of beer and forest scent that her Bear''s breath emitted with every breath? There was no certain answer... But what was certain was that tonight the Maiden would try to outdo herself to satisfy her Bear, and both of them, upon reaching the climax of pleasure, would shout that fucking name. All the Barronds would hear the name {Cersei}. "Humility is the mark of a true warrior, and therefore, milord, allow Braavos to honour such a renowned fighter with this humble gift..." The cloth was uncovered... It was a hollow shield on the head and two channels that closed with two side arches on edge. A versatile shape for both battles and tournaments, but more importantly, the advantages and all the ck and white wood trim were reinforced with dark-hued steel... "Forged especially for you and all your descendants. It may look heavy from the looks of it, but I assure you it is the strongest and lightest shield Bear Ind has ever seen. No wooden spear will ever make a dent in such an object, and they will have to shatter dozens of iron spikes or impact hundreds of shes of excellent steel before they leave a mark... Seasoned wood of Weirwood Tree and ck Barked Tree reinforced by Valyrian steel edging and ting." The crowd of spectating nobles and servants emitted a small mour of surprise-and with just cause. No one ''of known'' in Westeros should possess such a tool of workmanship... a truly royal gift. Barbrey''s thoughts muffled all the voices around her. ''Therefore, Braavos still hopes for a possible alliance with Barrowton to overthrow the North... This is no mere disy of power. How much could such a rarity be worth on the market? Two hundred--three hundred thousand gold coins minimum? Coin counters hate to invest their money poorly. Hmm... Yes, no doubt, they are banking on my hatred of House Stark and want to make the Lions of the West jealous. But, putting aside the stupid Lioness... the ne and the book were no coincidence.'' Barbrey eyed the box given to her by House Lannister with a hint of skepticism and suspicion. ''You''re behind the new appointment as Governor and Protector of Lannisport, aren''t you, Duncan? Holy Seraphine ... How many moves and countermoves have you already calcted?'' The bride was aware that this boy was privy to secret information impossible to reveal unless one wanted to unleash war and destruction throughout the known world. Barbrey had to surmise certain truths on her own... However, the missing piece that intrigued her most was sure: ''Why would you want an alliance with the West at all costs?'' So the Reach and the Iron Inds were to be ruled out by obviousness of fact... but that still left the Trident, the Stornds, the Crown Lands and the Valley. Because of the strategic location? Because Casterly Rock is impregnable? No...it could not be just that. It was not even a matter of the concentration of Magic Blood... ''That the history of House Lannister is deeper and more ult than imagined?'' Barbrey awoke. "And to the most beautiful bride in the North, the most beautiful jewel... Directly from Sealord''s personal collection, the pledge of love that Aegon IV gave to the piratess Begere Otherys, who nicknamed her by the very title ''ck Pearl''" A small chest opened and inside, resting on a bed of red velvet, resided a pearl ck as night, hypnotic and spendthriftrger than a walnut... ''Another pledge too exorbitant for amon gift...'' "I am dazzled and breathless, Director... I... I wouldn''t even know what to say... How could I ever..." Barbrey yed her part to perfection. "Please, mdy, there is no need to say anything. This gift is not meant to cause you difort but only to reward your beauty... It is time for me to retire and make room for other guests who havee from the far east. Thank you again for the invitation, Lord and Lady Mormont." **** A minuteter... ''As expected, Oldtown doesn''t give a damn about silly demonstrations of power...'' House Hightower abandoned the podium of Second World Power, giving space to many guests in the formed line. "From the legendarynds in the Far East, the honourable Chief Sorcerer Dug of the Yellow Chai Emperor Dynasty, Descendant of the First Emperor of Dawn, The God-On-Earth, and Lord Supreme of the Starry City Carcosa. And his personal assistant, the Honorable Quaithe of The Shadow from Asshai." Barbrey had to remember to reward Chief Herald William for not missing a single letter... "Honorable, Sorcerer lord Chai Dug, honourable shadowbinger Quaithe, Carcosa honours us with your presence." The imposing sorcerer was the figure that most intimidated Barbrey of all... Etiquette and courtesy had to be impable in front of the 69th Emperor of Yi Ti. Thousands, including subjects, guests, enemies and even rtives, had been ughtered or, worse, tortured with atrocities that would put the ancient customs of the Red Kings to shame. The King in The Yellow ruled the Yi Ti empire for more than a century under an iron fist and a palm of gold that prevented the birth of any semnce of rebellion... From all the information The Watcher''s Organization had provided, Chai Duq was the best War Mage that the Wizards Confederacy had known in thest millennium. An-Army-in-One-Man... More than one-tenth of all the war power of the Third World Organization was packed into one individual. After abdicating his throne to devote himself to the Arcane way, a sorcerer eradicated dozens of rebel Rogue Mage groups, leading several punitive expeditions to destroy whatever other arcane organizations opposed Carcosa. A genius originator of hundreds of innovations, a skilled forger, and the third greatest rune expert ever in Carcosa''s memory. The title of Chief Sorcerer was not inherited but earned through merit. Although very was legitimate in thosends, anyone had the opportunity to prove their worth. The Sacred Doctrine of Magocracy left by the legendary Gods-On-Earth, the greatest Ruler of the Dawn Empire, was a divine and immutablew. Any simple ve who showed gifts and merit had the chance to rise to the position of King of Mages and Semi-God of Men... This was Chai Duq in thends of the Confederation... a Semi-God who answered only to the orders of the Guardian of Magic, the God. Of all this fantastic deadly puppet show organized by Bloody Snow, what most terrified Barbrey was not the presence of Lord Leyton Hightower, the only individual in Oldtown who could stand up to The King in The Yellow... No It was The Watcher. Technically, The Watcher, the Guarantor responsible for keeping Chai Duq at bay, could be defeated by a mere novice squire... So how and why was that individual able to gain the respect and favour of such a Monster? It was not because of the position of Guardian of Love. Zick won the friendship of the Lord Supreme of Carcosa years before his appointment. The Chief Sorcerer, a millennial entity capable of taking on Balerion the ck Dread, with thousands of deadly mages behind him and tens of thousands of seasoned warriors ready to die on his whim, is brought into line by a frail and defenceless old man... ''It will remain for me the greatest and most disturbing mystery of the century.'' The host, d in jewels and a broad yellow Oriental pageantry robe, offered the Yin noble-style greeting. A simple weing opening of the arms with the head slightly tilted. It was the masked sorceress who spoke. "My noble master pays homage and respect to the happy bride and groom. And he wishes millennia of prosperity and victories to the noble House of Mormont, congratting the new Lord of Barrowton on having seeded in conquering the millennial domains of the fearsome Barrow Kings." Barbrey had been warned of this possibility.... Throughout the ceremony, The King In The Yellow could no longer utter free speech to the audience unless Zick was within thirty feet of him at all times. At this moment, the Sorcerer was telepathically transmitting his thoughts through magic to the assistant herald. The little incident in White Arbor had forced the hand of the Spider Queen. It was close to half the city learning of the forbidden truths of the World... It was up to Jorah to respond. Barbrey had firmly instructed her husband about their ''particr'' guest from the East. "I deserve no such praise from a living legend such as the Lord Supreme of Carcosa. The mere honour of hosting the noble Chief Sorcerer Dug of the Chai dynasty is the greatest gift Barrowton and House Mormont could ever hope to obtain. Thank you, noble Quaithe, formunicating your honourable master''s thoughts to us." ''Perfect.'' Barbrey smiled at Jorah. The Sorcerer nodded, closing his eyes as if such constructed statements corresponded to the most obvious truth in the World...then turned his gaze to Quaithe. "Since the...Braavosians..." Chai Dug scrutinized the assistant fiercely. "But, Master, it would be disrespectful..." another reproachful nce, "Because the ''Coin Counters'' have openly challenged the prestige and honour of the Starry City with two gifts, the noble Chai Dug offers the bride and groom Three gifts. Henceforth, all bearers of the Noble Mormont name shall be granted in perpetuity to address the Noble Chief Sorcerer of the Confederation of Wizards, with the simple appetion of ''King in The Yellow'' or ''Noble Chai.''" It was Barbrey''s turn to respond. "Honor-... Noble Chai, your generosity knows no bounds! House Mormont will always be grateful for this first incredible gift of yours." The Sorcerer nodded with the air of a phnthropic benefactor who had justvished millions of gold coins on the poor... "Thank you, Noble Chai." Jorah indulged her. "As second gift, Carcosa offers the protection of Love, Beauty and Magic to the noble couple." The Sorcerer silently moved two fingers. Then, out of nowhere, materialized two prized open jade boxes containing two metal rings of nearly identical shape and runes except for the colour: one oak-ck and the other crystalline silver. "Wow! Aly, Dacey, did you see that?! The Sorcerer just did magic! The boxes appeared out of nowhere!" Maege Mormont forcibly dragged her wayward daughter to her seat, shushing her. "I apologize for the unseemly behaviour of my young cousin, Noble Chai." The Sorcerer seemed irritated for a moment but then sighed, closing his eyes. "My Noble Master is ustomed to the unseemly behaviour of young First Men in these times polluted by chaos andplete anarchy... No offence has been given, Lord Jorah." Fortunately for them, The Watcher and the members of House Stark had softened the inflexible hyper-susceptible King in The Yellow. "As my master said, Love, Beauty, and Magic as a second wedding gift. The steel rings of Valyria inside the box are unique protective magical objects of invention by Archwizard Chai Duq himself, bound by two cores of Phoenix tears from the Legendary rsurix ''Root of the Night'' and Mhystril ''Silver Dawn.'' As long as such artefacts bound by True Love are worn, no known disease or poison can ever harm the bearers. No lies polluting the great Beauty of their Love can ever be concealed before the bearers of the rings. Moreover, within a limiting radius of 3 miles, the rings will always warn their bearers of any possible Magical threat designed to injure their Love." Both Barbrey and Jorah''s eyes widened in Shock... ***** Three minutes of thanks and praiseter... "As a third and final gift, the magnanimous Dug of the Chai Dynasty offers Barrowton and Bear Ind, in perpetuity, trade and diplomatic safe-conducts throughout the domains of the Confederation of Mages." On the same arcane cantrip as before, two leather and jade documents, signed and stamped with strange seals and symbols with unknownnguages, materialized along with two gold tablets engraved with runes and coats of arms of the Confederation... "The Noble Chai rmends carefully storing the magic scrolls. As long as the ink does not fade, House Mormont will always enjoy the benefits of the Protection of Carcosa in the domains of the Confederation. Golden tablets are the recognized and respected passes at any port or checkpoint from Faros to the dreaded city of K''dath. Any emissary, provided with such a symbol of honour and privilege, will be treated the same as a Crown Prince of the Yi Ti Empire." ''Safe trade, safe conduct?! Safeguards for the steel route! The Jade Sea! The Strait of Mossovy! The Morning Mountains! Even the freaking passage of the Five Forts!'' In thest three hundred years, before the Dance of Dragons, only one man in Westeros seeded in establishing a single sea trade route to the Jade Sea, the legendary sailor-adventurer Corlys Vryon, also known as '' the Sea Snake.'' Corlys needed only fourteen ships with their holdsden with silks, jewels and spices from Yin, Leng and Asshai to elevate the Vryons among the richest Houses in Westeros... And now Barbrey and Jorah had sea andnd trade routes (secured and protected by the Confederacy of Wizards) to all markets east of Qarth... Barbrey''s mind sank into an abyss of jewels, gems, spices, and silks of all colours, and the imaginary roar of showers of coins muffled all the sounds of the surroundings... End POV ------------------------------ POV Tywin Lannister Table of the Royal Family. Four hourster a married couple thanked the Noblest and Magnanimous Sorcerer in the Known World... Until now, Tywin yed his part to perfection. Curiosity and doubt toward the bizarre guests of House Stark concealed respect and awe for the emissary of the Iron Bank, an air of defiance toward House Martell and Tyrell, and total indifference to the Hightowers... That damned hopeful seer puppeteer was right on all fronts... Tyrion was getting results that no Lannister of Lannisport ever managed to achieve so quickly and without waste of resources, and that foolish daughter of his was trying to trick him and the King into causing an ''ident'' to the Heir of House Tallhart... Had he really been so blind to his daughter? Did Cersei really think that a dash of cunning and a good name could rule the world? Did that fool really think she could use Ser Gregor and Ser Armory without the knowledge of the Protector of the West... Cersei still could not sense the true power hidden behind Lady Barbrey. Not even after all those disys of strength... Yet, Tywin had even warned her. [Never challenge or offend first forces you do not know.] [Know your enemy first and if you must strike him, strike to kill, not to hurt him.] Hundreds of teachings are thrown to the wind. To his deep regret and disappointment, Tywin thought back to the words of his sister Genna ... ["Jaime is more like Tygett and Kevan. Tyrion is your true heir"]. It was too early to sing defeat in words like [She was right.] but every wretched minute of this day was further proof to the mockery with which the gods had cursed him ... Cersei kept pestering him and Robert about how wild and untrustworthy the Mormonts and Tallharts were. Jaime scrutinized each knight, probably thinking about jousting and melee, and instead, Tyrion...his shame was ying the True Game. He was the only one who was sensing what was really going on here... Ever since Tyrion returned from his assigned task of representing and bestowing the gifts of House Lannister, his son never took his eyes off each and every guest imprinted to pay homage to the newlyweds. At the moment, Cersei was distracted with Joffrey, and Jaime was a shadow of his son-inw''s depraved drunkard Tywin was alone with Tyrion. "Your opinion on this wedding and Lady Mormont?" "Do you want my honest opinion, or would you rather I sing praises about the magnificence and undefeatability of Lannister Power and Prestige?" Tywin did not even dignify him with a reply. "I have no idea what you and Lord Helman ... or rather ''Lord Duncan'' have nned, but it is a fact that, if in the next three ... maybe five years at most, we fail to increase trade tenfold or, at the very least, triple mining, soon House Mormont will have more power and wealth than House Lannister... At this rate, within ten years, Starks, Tallharts and Mormonts will rise above... well I would say all the Houses of Westeros. Now it is more evident to me why there is so much urgency. I know why you want to invest half the gold of Casterly Rock, and I find it a wise move... Lady Barbrey She may be one of the greatest benefactors or threats to the Crown and our family. Lady Mormont has something huge nned for this event. I still don''t know what or why, but she needed all these guests, and she needed all of Westeros and Essos to witness her demonstrate prestige and strength. Barbrey wished that your daughter, the Queen, wouldmit a faux pas." Another resounding p in the face from harsh reality. "What would you suggest we do for the good of the family?" Tyrion scrutinized him for a moment to better grasp what Tywin meant and then replied "Well, it''s still a little early toe up with a sound strategy. At the moment, I can only think of two... Either you rece Robert and Jon Arryn with puppet rulers, and we dere all-out war on the entire North by allying with the Tyrells, Myr, the Iron Inds and the Iron Bank, unleashing the most tremendous blood conflict since the Dance of Dragons, and thus bestowing an excellent opportunity on Aegon Targaryen Sixth of his Name to wrest the Crown from the hands of your heirs..." The Crown Prince''s Grandfather pushed the cup of wine away from his inappropriately ironic son''s reach. "Or?" "Or... you move heaven and earth to forge any kind of alliance with House Tallhart and Mormont. The almost certain heir to Bear Ind and the heir to Torrhen''s Square are the real keys of the North. Any nobleman with a hint of foresight in his head will be able to see the potential behind the highly prized Tallhart-Mormont gems. Likely, the Protector of the North has already attempted to propose Robb and Sansa Stark as possible-candidates-promised-spouses, and the Crown will have to be no less...but to do so, I would strongly advise depriving your daughter of any kind of authority or influence at court, locking her in a tower until the eventual marriages between the untouchables Joffrey and Myrce and the ''Savage Barbarians of the North'' are formalized and consummated." Tywin cast a reproachful nce at the dwarf, who concluded with: "If you want your grandson to one day sit on the Iron Throne, the most powerful weapons to prevent Aegon''s return are not War, Misery and Devastation, but Peace, Stability and Prosperity. Robert has just proved that he has the strength. If the Usurper''s new regime shows the people of Westeros years of splendour and tranquillity, with the entire North, West and Stornds at his side, all Aegon Targaryen can hope to achieve in the future will be a ''Throne of Sand''." After a few seconds of ufortable silence, the Protector of the West returned the cup of spiced wine to its rightful inebriated and witty owner. "My Lords, my Ladies, please approach. Lady Barbrey Mormont wishes to make an announcement to all of you honourable guests." Various simr echoes from other heralds poured in from different parts of the tables, attracting the guests'' attention. "Observe, listen and carefully capture every single undertone word, expression or peculiar reaction of anyone who will be present here in the next announcement." So ordered the most powerful man in the West, concealing within himself an imperceptible sense of defeat and resignation. ****** End Chapter. ------------------------ Chapter 137: Announcements & Dances Chapter 137: Announcements & Dances Thank you for your patience, Dear Readers. Duncan_Randar is back bright and strong after sniffing some mountain air and keeping (as much as possible) away from electronic devices! Here is a new chapter for you, as promised! Happy Reading! ********* POV: The Frosty Queen of Spices Main Table. A few minutes after a reluctant father decided to ept the humiliating fate that awaited his Ancient, Respected and Honorable Household... There was still a need to wait a few minutes; Prince Doran suffered from gout and was unable to move quickly. A tform and a small podium for two people less than four feet high were ced in the centre of the small square of the main tables. The newlyweds already stood a couple of heads taller than the listening spectators. Barbrey took advantage of the wait to rework in her mental archives the most precious gifts she and her husband had received from this magical and historic event... The first ce had indisputably been taken by the very generous Carcosa. She was followed by Braavos with her three gifts, the shield, the pearl, and the fruitful and peaceful trade agreement wrested from the new General Manager of the Never Winter Bank. The Spider Queen upied the third by donating no less than two precious protective undercoats made of pure Acromant Silk, the rarest and most sought-after fabric in the Known World of which The Watcher''s Organization held the absolute Monopoly. A garment as light as a feather but as durable as dragon skin. Acromant Silk provided protection as irond as triple chain mail of the finest steel. It was the scourge of any assassin armed with dagger or poison darts, for in addition to being adequate to any lethal de or point outside the magical steel of Valyria and, very soon, Mott Steel, the silk generated by magical creatures that favoured as sustenance every known kind of poison, absorbed and neutralized any poison in contact with it. Barbrey personally heard, from nobles and magisters, many whispers and hallway cackles against the ''ungant and sophisticated'' attire worn by The Watcher at banquets and celebrations. Very few knew that the man''s robe was proof against standard weapons and even resistant to magic... The best spells of The Guardian of Magic, The Guardian of Beauty and The Sect Leader of the House of ck and White had been imprinted in those finely wrought weavings of Silk of the rarest Ancient Acromant. Even Red Rain, Longw, or Ice would have had difficulty damaging Zick''s robe armour. The value of such an artefact was not estimable, nor could it be exchanged for simple gold... As soon as House Mormont provided the ss needed to build the promised greenhouses, Dorne could beginmercial coboration with The Spider Queen. The Acromants needed a warm, sterile, moist environment chock-full of poisonous prey to weave their egg cocoons. There was only one known ce in Sothoryus dominated by such poison-loving predatory magical beasts. It would not have been easy to reproduce a suitable artificial environment. Still, thends of Dorne possessed three of the four necessary conditions, and the engineering designs of House Tallhart and Mormont ss would make up for thest. The guests who earned Fourth ce on the ''Best Wedding Gifts'' hierarchy arrived. It was time. "Gracious guests of Barrowton, House Mormont and the entire North! Thank you all for gathering so far just to hear one of our boring and spoiling announcements. Even if it means forgoing the seventh most expensive and most deliciousst course of the banquet..." Moderate bursts of hrity and approval pervaded the spectating crowd. "My husband and I, before you gentle Lords and you mischievous Gentlewomen Ladies, rudely undress us for the ''Bedding'' ceremony..." "Yeeargh!" "To bed! To bed!" Barbrey let the drunker in the mood for revelry give vent to their merriment. Then she continued. "My husband Jorah and I wanted to thank you again for your magnificent gifts, but more importantly, for your presence here at our Barrowton wedding." Another small wave of appreciative nods and apuse resounded through the crowd, the loudest being undoubtedly the Northern nobles. "Having said that, I will have to make a confession to you, your Majesties, my Lords, Ladies and egregious nobility of the East..." silence took over the hubbub. "There are three houses very closely connected with Barrowton who were aware of this wedding long before you... And who, by virtue of this event, have long since prepared to bestow upon me and my groom incredible gifts. And therefore, it is my and my husband''s duty, here before you, to thank especially said friends and family benefactors. The first lord I would like to thank is Ser Helman Tallhart!... Step forward, milord. Let us encourage Ser Helman with a round of apuse." The crowd responded enthusiastically. Greatjon Umber shoved the poor man with a devastating friendly pat, nearly knocking him over. "Here he is, our hero!" the apuse diminished soon after Lady Barbrey called for attention. "Six years ago, my good friend Ser Helman was the first to rmend that I know the virtues and merits of my honourable husband, spurring us both to give ourselves a second chance after our sad losses... And before Winter came, my heart had already been won by our ''Icy Bronze Bear on Fire,''" Barbrey smiled amicably as she cast a subtle nce at an enraged Lioness in the front row. "But beyond this priceless gift, Ser Helman proposed a project... I would emphasise a grand project of coboration between Barrowton and Torrhen''s Square, incorrectly leveraging a poordy in love," Helman smiled at her withplicity and admission of guilt, and she returned the gesture generating another jovial hrity in the audience. "{The Silk Road} was the name of that Grand Project. We both dreamed of creating a that would manage Mercantile-Road-Town to rise above any other trade route across the continent... It would have required an iron and assiduous cooperation, the best master designers and builders, rivers of gold to invest out-of-pocket, and hundreds of thousands of drops of sweat and blood of the valuable arms of the North and Essos lending their will and manpower... And, both of us are pleased to report that such work has recently beenpleted!" The orchestra apanied the final announcement by decorating it with several roaring cheers. Both Helman and Barbrey bowed to the crowd. "Thergest Road-Mercantile ever created in Westeros, more than a hundred and fifty feet wide and seven miles long... Seven miles of brand new and enchanting vis and dwellings, stores, markets, recreation centres, pleasure houses, auction centres, taverns, inns, high-ss restaurants, ''new institutions,'' and many... many more centres of cultural andmercial exchange... By now, I think many noble knights and jousting beaus seeking glory and entertainment must have asked themselves, "But where are the promised tournament facilities?" Am I right? " There were many assents to the question. "Well, my noble lords anddies, it will be in this new modern facility that amusements, prizes and heroic deeds await you, along with many other winnings not yet announced!" A ngour of amazement and anticipated curiosity flooded the area. "Fear not, my Lords, all of you will befortably escorted with all theforts worthy of your lustre on this adventurous half-day carriage ride that awaits us tomorrow. There will be lodging and celebratory pageantry for all of you. This is the second gift bestowed upon us by House Tallhart: Never-before-seen Celebrations, Spectacles and Festivities!" A great wave of apuse came along with the orchestra''s notes, and the cheerssted for more than a minute. **** Three minutester. "Now, I would like to call, here on the podium, the two remaining great benefactors of mine... The Protector of the North and Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark, and my beloved nephew, the Lord of Dreadfort, Domeric Bolton. Another round of apuse." The imposing wolf advanced with his daughter Sansa holding the little one by the hand. Domeric came from behind. "The greatest gift an aunt could receive was bestowed by our two honourable Great Lords of the North...Milord Eddard, would you do us the honour of the announcement?" Barbrey stepped back to Jorah''s side, leaving room for the three main actors. "Your majesties, honourable lords anddies, and archons, triarchs and nobles of distant and ancient cities, Lord Domeric and I are pleased to announce to you all that very soon, House Stark and House Bolton will surprise the entire Known World with new product lines... New items that, if Lord Jorah allows me to dare topare...may even overshadow the incredible masterpieces of Bear Ind!" Hundreds of greedy lords,dies, and merchants roared an ovation of wonder and surprise. The representatives of the Iron Bank were the only ones to show difort... Many spectators could not resist asking impatiently in a loud voice: "What are they?!", "What product line will House Stark and House Boltonunch?!", "Tell us, milord!" This time, it was her nephew who stepped forward. "You will have to be patient a little longer, milords and mdies. A demonstration performance will await you in the day before the tournament begins, that is, four days from today..." a small roar of dissent followed after the cruel news. "But we can tell you that many unexpected prizes for melee and quintain will await all of you noble warriors." Said Lord Stark, supporting his allied vassal, and continued: "Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jaime Lannister and all the remaining ''Heroic Hundred Valiant Volunteers'' turn to you... ''The North Does Not Forget'', Heroes of Pyke. In four days, all of you will have a token of recognition offered by the North for your bravery, valour and heroic deeds that have spared thousands of Kingdom lives in this war. It will be you, Heroes, who will be the first to enjoy the well-deserved humble privileges that Winterfell and Dreadfort can offer." The two Royal Guards and a few other knights present bowed, obtaining jubtion, apuse and a few envious nces. "Having said that, I am pleased to announce that I, Lord Eddard Stark, having entered into perpetual and unbreakable cooperation with Barrowton, Dreadfort and Torrhen''s Square, have requested Lord Domeric to seal thismercial partnership in blood and love... And he graciously agreed. As soon as my daughter, Sansa of House Stark, reaches a suitable age, she will join Lord Domeric in the sacred bond of marriage. Soon, House Stark and House Bolton will be one great family!" *Spoosh!* a hundred doves hovered from beneath the podium as Barrowton''s attendants simultaneously tossed blue rose petals to decorate the scene. The Lord of Dreadfort gathered the one stunning blue rose at his feet and knelt down to reach the height of his auburn-haired bride-to-be to offer her a token of love. As nned, Sansa Stark epted the rose and gently kissed her gant betrothed on the cheek, melting hundreds of hearts. Domeric gently grasped the hand of the Northern princess, snatching an embarrassed smile from her, and bowed to the audience, which reached the height of jubtion and celebratory mour. **** Three minutester... Helman Tallhart, her brothers Roger and Rickard, Medger Cerwyn, Rickard Karstark and Galbart Glover were ready to wee her for the long-awaited ''Bedding.'' That foolish Cersei thought she could propose ''a Crown Witness'' toy her in the bridal thmus... Myra Tallhart, Maege Mormont, Lyessa Flint, Berysa Cerwyn, Done Manderly and Li Umber waited amidst cackles and littleughter for Her Jorah. "To Bed!", "To Bed!", "To Bed!" the time hade for the newlyweds to make this union carnally official. "Come on, Ned! Give the order!" roared Robert Baratheon with a resounding pat on the back of the Protector of the North. Ned Stark stepped forward and thundered: "Let Lady Barbrey and Lord Jorah be escorted to the wedding, thmus!" "YEEAAARG!!!" exploded the crowd. The Bear smiled at her, and The Maiden Fair returned it with the same surrendered, eager look. Lord and Lady Mormont abandoned themselves to their demure fate... End POV. ----------------------------- POV: Eddara Tallhart Dance Floor. A few minutes after harassing screams and shrieks offensive to the Royal Family forced the Chief Herald to anticipate the opening of the dances by ordering the orchestra to unleash high notes... Benfred was busy dancing with Margery Tyrell, Eddard Karstark was with her cousin Jonelle, and not even Halys Hornwood could save her. Eddara''s list of helper dancers was so minimal... ''Where the heck has Lancel gotten himself into? Damn it!'' Eddara wanted to escape or sink into the shadows. But, she could give no more attention to that traitor Bolton... Domeric was looking for her, she realized, and only the wall of hosts could still conceal her presence. Twenty-six letters...twenty-six damn letters enough to write a book, and that filthy liar had never mentioned anything to her about this marriage. The poems, the secret love letters ... that dance ... all false lies. The scene of the engagement announcement, the rose and the kiss traumatized the Torrhen''s Square maiden enormously, with her heart now broken. Eddara would have immediately soughtfort from her tears in the arms of her mother, Benfred or Duncan if all of them had not been engaged or kidnapped by someone. Who could she ask to dance? Eddara did not want to stoop to asking some slimy squire or knight from the South for rescue. Maester Qyburn had warned her about all potential ''unsavoury'' or ''insincere'' guests. The squires of the Stornds and Crown Lands were undoubtedly among the worst... Eddara excelled in History and Heraldry; ording to Qyburn, she had an impressive visual memory. ''House Connington... mmm, no. Ro Connington is a little shit under that false smile, and Bryce Caron is even worse... A striding huntsman in red on a green field, House Tarly...'' the girl moved quickly in the direction of her target. "Oh, but who is this graceful noble maiden?" Asked what must have been Melessa Florent/Tarly along with the chubby firstborn of Horn Hill. "My name is Eddara Tallhart, Lady Tarly. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Randyll Tarly''s wife stiffened suddenly, and only for a moment did the maiden of Torrhen''s Square notice a gleam in thedy''s eyes... It seemed that Melessa Tarly was still unfamiliar with the new coat of arms of House Tallhart.... she must have mistaken her for the daughter of a minor noble from the North. "L-Lady Eddara, b-but what a pleasant surprise. The honour is ours alone. Isn''t that right, Samwell? Come on, Sam, say hello to Lord Helman''s young daughter." Thedy forcefully tugged the seven-year-old half-hidden among her gown. "M-my pleasure, ldy E-Edd-Eddara..." was definitely still a hopeless case, but at least she was not cruel and profiteering scum. But unfortunately, the maiden seeking to safeguard her honour had to make do with the stuttering and clumsy aspirant. "My pleasure, Lord Samwell. May I request the honour of a dance, valiant knight of Horn Hill?" The child was overwhelmed by requests, gasping and shaking like a leaf. "Of course, he would! Sam would be honoured!" The greatest lover and purchaser of Northern produce in all the Reach pushed the plump child into Eddara''s hands. **** About three minutester... "Auch!" Eddara''s foot was stepped on for the fourth time. "I-I''m sorry, I... I''m terrible at dancing." Samwell apologized. Domeric twirled for the third time in search of her gaze as she danced in thepany of Meera Reed. "Never mind, Sam... you''re not that bad. Trust me, my older brother was even worse." Eddara ignored the Lord of Dreadfort for the third time, focusing her attention on her knight. "B-Bloody Snow worse than me? I-impossible!" Samwell. "Are you calling me a liar, Lord Tarly?" Eddara asked ironically, but unfortunately, the poor man did not get the joke. "I-I n-not, m-mdy. I-I wouldn''t dare." Samwell trembled in terror. "Rx, Sam, I was only joking... Eh, yes, my mother forced Duncan to dance with her or me for more than a half-year in preparation for the Torrhen''s Square Tournament. Even my five-year-old twin looked like a water dancerpared to Duncan. Ahaha," Samwell breathed again, decreasing the shaking. The pair twirled near a small group of envious nobles from the Reach. "Hey, Lady Tarly piggy, be careful not to trip your dame." "Ahahah! Where''s your apple,dy pig?" Horas Redwine and a couple of fellow Peake and Fossway mocked poor Sam, whose face turned purple with shame. "Words are wind, Sam; let that filthy breath slip away." The encouragement did not seem to toughen her knight, who continued to stiffen more and more. Eddara tried to think of something else... "You know, I once heard my brother Duncan talking about you..." The child''s shiny eyes rose in curiosity. "A-About me?" "Yes, before he left for Dorne. I was in lesson with Maester Qyburn, intent on questioning Benfred and me about the lineages of the Reach. Duncan was nearby in his research, and when I mentioned the name of Randyll Tarly''s firstborn son, he said: ''Ah! Sam the yer! I almost forgot about the Wizard yer!''" Sam''s eyes widened. "D-did he? And why did he call me W-Wizard yer?" the child asked more boldly. "Ah, don''t ask me. Sometimes my brother travels in a fantasy world of his own, haha... Did you happen to kill any Evil Wizards in the past, Sam?" Eddara asked jovially. "Me?! No, mdy. I-I love magic. I would never kill a wizard... I used to dream of bing a wizard, m-but m-my father says that magics no longer exist and that they are cursed by the Seven and that someday I will have to be a great knight..." Exined Sam. "Your father is wrong. Magic still persists in the world today, Sam. Maester Qyburn says that, during the Age of Heroes, the continent had so many researchers of magic that they outnumbered all the maesters of Westeros. I have seen wizards use real magic..." Samwell''s gaze changed suddenly. "Are you serious, mdy? Real magicians?!" They were the first sensible sentences the clumsy child managed not to eat himself and pronounce correctly.... "Can you keep a secret, Sam?" Eddara asked, attracting the full attention of a dreamy boy who promptly nodded. "Do you see those two kids over there?... Yes, them. They are Lord Eddard''s sons, Robb Stark and Jon Snow. As soon as the song ends, run over to them. Robb had invited me earlier to attend a private magic show. If you wish to see a real magicians live at work, join the group. Go ahead and tell them I sent you." ***** End Chapter. --------------------------- Chapter 138: Will you help the Seven Kingdoms, milord? Chapter 138: Will you help the Seven Kingdoms, milord? POV: Duncan Dance Floor. A minute after Sam the yer secretly sneaked off in search of two Northern children... ''Easy, Duncan-you''ve been practising. You''re an aplished dancer, and you''re going to look great. Look steady, touch graceful, follow the rhythm and keep your thoughts pure.'' I was alreadyte, but like hell, I was going to jump into the fray in those sweat-stained clothes. I had noticed her, and she had noticed me. Dacey had been sitting there waiting for me to arrive... Who knows how many drooling suitors seeking death and ruin had already tried to pester her to snatch the first dance out of my hands... I looked for thest time at Master Recallio, the ablest dancer of that herd of idle buffoons, who had done nothing but torture me with cascades of double-meaning jokes for the past two months during my dance ss sessions. ''What are those jokers doing? Are they betting?!'' Baragh, Josua, Recallio, Dywen, Narbo, Leng, Cohollo, Gadon, Will, Syggha, Zick, and even Ramas! They had all thrown a bag of coins on two points of the table! Nine on one side and three on the other... ''Damn you, you oldyabout! But didn''t you have to y wet nurse to the Sorcerer to avoid a war?!!! If I find out that you bet on some event unfavourable to me, I''ll make you pay dearly!'' I roared inwardly, also worrying about the ''Jon Snow'' issue... but I dispelled the rming thoughts. At least an evening of healthy leisure was to be afforded me. I inhaled a big breath of air into my lungs and wandered off toward my goal. Nobles anddies noticed my presence by whispering among themselves and opening an ever-widening gap as I passed... Various maidens began to pop up like mushrooms from all directions, shamelessly positioning themselves in unavoidable spots to cross. The most fearless one positioned herself as an obstacle--a girl not much taller than me, straight golden hair and a truly beautiful appearance, the maiden who in another storey bewitched and cursed a Northern lord... "Uh... I beg your pardon, Ser. I didn''t mean to stand in your way," said an equally enchanting voice. A trail of ''Essence of Maiden,'' the market''s most sought-after Tyrell perfume, intoxicated my nostrils. "Nothing to apologize for, mdy. And I have no knight''s honours anointed by the Seven." I responded politely to the tant polite falsehood. "Yet, it hase to my attention that King Robert Baratheon wished to bestow such an honour upon a young Hero of the North, being able to make him the youngest Knight has ever known in Westeros, but as he is a faithful believer in the Old Gods, he had to renounce such a title..." sang the well-informed maiden... "Even if I had renounced my Gods, mdy, I still would not have deserved the title of ''Youngest Knight''... "I replied. "What do you mean, milord? Daemon ckfire was invested with the Knighthood at the age of twelve, and he is the youngest knight remembered in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. So, you have not yet celebrated your twelfth name-day..." asked the maiden with seductive curiosity. "There have existed many Knights younger than Daemon ckfire, but far fewer remembered by history... The most recent was Ser Tygett Lannister, the second youngest brother of Lord Tywin Lannister, who tragically died of smallpox five years ago... He earned the title at the mere age of ten for his epic exploits in the War of Ninepenny Kings, killing in several battles four mercenary enemies well-hardened in the art of war, one of none other than a veteran Knight of the Golden Company. Still, because the boy was considered too young, he was denied that right. Ser Tygett did not win that title until seven moonster, immediately after the Battle of Tarbeck Hall. No one could dispute that honour anymore, and yet, very few nowadays credit him as the ''Youngest Knight Ever''." The maiden and many other witnesses were slightly surprised by the little history lesson. The horrors carried out by House Lannister were always remembered by all, but as for the merits and honours... "A young Hero of War and even very erudite in history-let, me introduce myself, Lord Duncan, I am-" I anticipated the maiden: "You are Lady Lynesse Hightower, the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower and Lady Rhea Florent. Even in the far North, your virtues are well known to me, mdy. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." "Even in the South, your virtues are well known, Lord Duncan Tallhart. However ... no southerndy knows of your prowess in dancing. Might I ask milord for the honour of primacy in such a mystery domain?" Lynesse asked, drawing toward her dozens of furious nces from other noble maidens seeking the same primacy. "I must beg your pardon, mdy. I had already promised such mystery to another maiden. ''The North Remember'' and our promises are a debt to repay. But do not fear, Lady Lynesse, I can assure you that you have been spared a great disappointment... s, with the sword, I admit I manage, but in dancing, I am just in bad." I bowed politely and left the ruin of House Mormont behind. I had almost reached my goal before another obstacle of a different kind anticipated me a few feet from mydy... A good-looking boy, tall, slender, and well dressed in sumptuous Braavosi ceremonial robes. A hand rested elegantly on the gilded, sapphire-studded pommel of the long thin sword, the weapon most used by the Water Dancers. "Lady Dacey, my name is Gelledo Antaryon, second legitimate son of the Sealord of Braavos, Ferrego Antaryon. May I ask you for the honour and privilege of the first dance, mdy?" So asked the lofty young nobleman showing off all his magnificence in titles. The way he anticipated me by leaping to a swift foot. ''This asshole was tantly waiting to see which noble maiden I would approach!'' He was looking for trouble. It was no coincidence; the Titan, at the very least, suspected my interest in Dacey... My maiden looked at me with covetous but uncertain eyes. She was clearly afraid of offending the Sealord''s son. And she was right to be. Any semnce of offence or look of defiance was a pretext for a duel in Braavos... "Forgive the intrusion, milord... Lady Dacey, my name is Duncan Tallhart, first legitimate son and ''Heir'' of the Master of Torrhen''s Square, Marshall Protector of Dragonsea Point and Shield of Waterdeep, Ser Helman Tallhart. And I too would like to request from you, mdy, the honour and privilege of the first dance." I emphasized the word ''Heir'' because the title of Sealord in Braavos did not pass by the legitimacy of blood but by the election of magisters and keyholders. I attracted the attention of the hardened-eyed Braavosian who craved blood. "I beg your pardon, Ser Westerosii, it''s the case that I first requested the honour of the first dance from thisdy. You will have to wait your turn." The nobleman of twenty-two cast a defiant nce. I did not need the scintiting [Level 8; ss King] to know that he was an excellent duelist... I knew the fame of the duel-seeking brawler Gelledo Antaryon, nicknamed ''The Titan''s Thorn'' winner of no fewer than nine duels to the death and twenty-six to the first. He was a favourite pupil of the current first sword of Braavos, Syrio Forel. Until the Braavosian master and Sealord banished him from Sealord''s Pce for alleged heinous crimes. From what de One had managed to find out, Gelledo was a monster on par with Joffrey Baratheon''s golden years, with the slight difference that he was much better at killing and torture... Based on numbers alone, Gelledo could dance on the tip of his sword equaling a Recallio with five years less experience and training. But, of course, after all this time in Zick''spany, now I would surely have put good money on Master Recallio, a hardened and in his prime [Level 9, Knight ss]. "Emm...milords, I-" I raised a wave of my hand to interrupt her. "As it happens, I am not a ''Ser'', and certainly not a ''Ser Westerosii,'' Ser Water Dancer. And no one here in Westeros has the right to im the honour of the first dance by mere primacy over time. Titles and merits trump all other privileges, except by the will of thedy in question, but since Lady Dacey Mormont prefers not to be disturbed by said silly diatribe, my Lord Bravoosi, I have much more right than you do." I retorted. "You dare to denigrate my titles and merits, ''Not-a-Ser''? To offend the honour of my father''s name, the Sealord, is to offend all of Braavos." And as expected, the longed-for offence came. [Futile to try to avoid trouble when trouble seeks you.] ''Such wisdom, my friend...'' Braavos sought an excuse to justify a conflict with the North. And an offence against a noble Water Dancer could only be washed away with a duel. Simple words of apology were meaningless withoutpensation, especially if the alleged offender was the Sealord''s son... If, as I presumed, the straw-tailed Braavosi was going for a duel to the death, the Titan would win in both loss and defeat. Should Gelledo win, the Iron Bank would get rid of the cause of all its woes legitimately and cheaply, without attracting the wrath of The Watcher. And should House Tallhart or the North seek revenge against the Titan for my death, thetter was entitled to dere war against the First Men with the favour of the arbitration of the Three Guardians... But if I had emerged victorious from the duel, Sealord (and not the real Titan) was entitled to repay the shame of losing the Hero of Braavos by seeking conflict with the North and the Crown... All this could have been avoided with an apology, and some juicy slice of the North''s extra market conveniently advised to Sealord by the Iron Bank''s top delegates... ''Very clever indeed ... but there is one little ''though'' that the Titan misses.'' "You speak for Sealord by representing Braavos, rightful son of Ferrego Antaryon?" the question touched a small sore spot in the duelist, but the boiling blood got the better of him. "I represent the honour of the good name of my father and my city!" the public attention began to head to the hot spot on the dance floor. "I beg pardon for the excellent name of the Honorable Sealord Ferrego Antaryon ... It was my failing. Thestw history books of the Nine Free Cities recited that the Ruler of Braavos could only be elected by the noble people of the city and that no blood right could ever be seeded to the throne of the Titan... The Honorable Director General Tycho Nestoris presented himself in the North as the representative spokesman of the Sealord. Therefore, milord, could you rify my doubts?" Then, the music began to stop. The Protector of the North started to approach, thus attracting everyone''s public attention. Arge circle of noble onlookers crowded around me and Gelledo, who did not know how to respond to the legitimate pshing out. "If, on the other hand, my previous statements were addressed to a mere noble son with almost no privilege and authority, then yes, I dare to offend you, Gelledo Antaryon. And not only do I dere, here and now, yourck of titles and merits for the honour of the Maiden of the North, but I also affirm that you, Gelledo, are nothing more than a poor alley brawler looking for any excuse to see blood flow. You are not wee here in the North, not on this day of celebration and holiday!" A small roar of astonishment and assent erupted all around us. "How dare you insult me?! These are duelling words!!!" The Braavosi unsheathed the long, thin, well-sharpened sword. "Wield your steel, Westerosii, and face me!!!" "No one will face anyone on this festive evening, noble Gelledo Antaryon. Nor will I allow blood to be spilt in the North, not in front on my eyes, and not without my consent." The authoritative Eddard of House Stark interposed in the middle and immediately behind him followed Jory Cassel as a bodyguard with his hand ready on the hilt should the need arise. The Guardian of Love was less than fifteen feet away in thepany of the ''True Titan Emissary''. "Your vassal, Noble Protector of the North, has openly offended my honour as a swordsman and my good name as a noble Braavosian. I demand justice for such an affront!" Openly dered Gelledo. "And justice in Braavos means iming blood from an unarmed Northern nobleman not yet of age and half your age to boot, Braavosian nobleman? That is not justice. Not here in the North." A female voice, elegant butced with a hint of arrogance, joined the debate. "Forgive the intrusion, Lord Stark I happen to have had the privilege of witnessing the entirety of the proceedings that took ce and can speak as one of the direct witnesses." A much taller, beautiful, young Dolores Umbridge, with golden hair, green eyes, a regal ceremonial gown and an equal fondness for felines, stepped forward. "Your Grace... your testimony is always greatly appreciated, but here-" the Lioness interrupted the Protector of the North. "An injustice has just urred here, my lord. And I am not alone in witnessing it. Lady Tanda Stokeworth, Lord Ulmer Bywaters and his daughter Lanna, Lady She Whent and Lady Shiera Crakehall were also by my side and within eyes and ears." All the witnesses from the Crown Lands, the West and the Rivers (but none from the North and especially the Maiden concerned) were presented as supporters of the Queen. "And what injustice would Your Grace and all these nobledies and a lord witness?" Ned asked. "Well, the noble host of Braavos was intent on first politely and gantly asking young Lady Mormont for a dance. The girl did not even have the opportunity to choose whether to ept or deny such a request that, immediately, came to our fearless Hero of the North here to attempt to wrest the honour of the first dance from the youngdy, by waving all her well-deserved titles of the nobility against her in a deliberately provocative and ... in my humble opinion, slightly haughty manner... The rightful son of the noble Sealord of Braavos rightly pointed out to the young northern lord that he had first asked the maiden to dance, and that he should respectfully wait his turn before a rival proposal. Am I not right, noble Gelledo?" Well, it could not be said that the Queen had testified of the forgery... "The words of her grace the Queen are true, Lord Stark." Ned frowned for a moment and then sought my gaze. I nodded. "Despite the admonition ofck of good manners, Lord Duncan provoked our guest by appealing to his hard-won titles and merits by not judging them superior to those of the noble Gelledo and, under that, used him of being unworthy to dance first with a Noble maiden of the North, discarding as if nothing else Lord Antaryon''s right of the firsting. Thetest lofty diatribes have reached the ears of half of those present, Lord Stark, and I suppose yours as well..." no one could deny the appropriately staged speech. "Even if every word of your grace''s testimony corresponded to the most crystal-clear truth, the Protector of the North must elicit judgment on such prevarication. Blood is not the proper response for simple words spoken defiantly. ''Words are Simple Wind, but Actions are Torrid Blizzards.'' Therefore, Lord Duncan, if it is not your intention to deny that you have fulfilled such a verbal offence, offer your public apology to the noble Gelledo Antaryon, and you milord, sheathe your steel." Promulgated my King. My father and mother had arrived along with Benfred in the front row to watch and get elucidation; Hond Reed and his wife began whispering to them thetest events. Chai Dug, apanied by Quaithe and Ser Tristan, also arrived at Zick''s side, Lord Leyton, Ser Jon Cupps, and almost all the Hightower progeny joined the audience... The [Level 12; ss: Page] of Carcosa''s best Eldritch Knight was always eerie to behold. Sure, it paledpared to the monstrous [Level 14; ss: Squire] of the Archwizard, but it was still creepy. ''Ser Jon Cupps, a former disciple of Zick and Lord Commander of the Seven Keepers, [Level 11; ss: King], Lord Leyton Hightower, Great Wizard and current most powerful weapon in Oldtown, [Level 12; ss: Lord].'' It was a fact that in a war, Wizards were, at a minimum, weapons twenty times more potent than a Knight of the same level. However, Eldritch Knights were an exception to the rule. They were considered more like Battle Mages than Fighters, still excellent fencers but much more simr to Pdins and equally deadly to spellcasters. ording to Zick, the Guardian of the Andalus High Council possessed an Ancient Artifact Armor that gave the spellcaster owner the power to simultaneously face all twelve Arcane Shields of Carcosa well equipped and armed to the teeth... Compared to such monsters, the duelling dancer (armed with standard forged steel), Gelledo Antaryon, appeared to my eyes more as a stain on Leyton''s underwear rather than a threat... "Verbal apology?... No. I will not ept such ephemeral retribution. In Braavos, only a duel to the death can clean up such a disgrace in the eyes of the Many-Faced God!" Said the fearless Gelledo, making my poor stepmother Myra wince... "But you are not in Braavos, milord. This is the North, the domain of the First Men and the Old Gods. And as a foreign guest, dutiful of your own cultures and rules, you will have to show proper respect even to our rules..." The Protector''s tone hardened considerably after the utterance of: ''Duel to the Last Blood''. "Forgive me again, Lord Stark... I doubt that our honoured Braavosian guest here meant any disrespect to the Ancient and Noble traditions of the North, but only to rightly point out that Lord Duncan first broke the etiquette of the noble customs extended throughout the Seven Kingdoms and the friendlynds of the Crown. Typically, such an affront between nobles should be settled with a First Blood Duel. That is true, but in these times of hard-won peace and harmony, the Crown will always have to stand up for the safety and well-being of its people. Therefore, the King will not allow the North to go to war against the respected free city of Braavos, thus forcing the Iron Throne''s hand to side with his loyal vassals and subjects." Cersei grew bolder as soon as her father, the Protector of the West, positioned himself behind her. Gelledo bowed to the Queen''s words filled with respect and wisdom... "Not to offend you, my Queen, but these are your words and not the King''s words Lord Gelledo is not a guest of the Crown but of Barrowton." Ned cast a stern look at the golden-haired witch. "But the Lord and Lady of Barrowton are presently ''indisposed'' in the wedding thmus, my lord." Dolores Lannister. "They are, but we will hear the opinion of King Robe-" "The King is also indisposed at the moment. His Grace has recently retired to Barrow Hall due to a sudden illness. The Hand of the King is in King''s Landing; therefore the burden of representing the Crown falls on me, unfortunately." ''Sudden illness'' another way of describing His Grace''sscivious and dishonourable appetites recently seen in thepany of Delena Florent... "Jory, go to Ser Haymitch. I want you two to find Ser Barristan or Ser Jaime and request the King''s urgent presence." "Yes, my lord." Jory snapped instantly. "We will postpone this matter until King Robe-" "No, we will not. We will not allow our guest to remain with simr shame for such an indefinite time, nor can we allow it to worsen our King''s unwell condition." Cersei Umbridge. "Therefore, Your Grace would have us understand that it is the will of the Crown that the Last Blood Duel between the Hero of Bear Ind and Pyke, and the noble second son of the Sealord of Braavos, shall ensue?" My King asked in a sobering tone of contempt and defiance. Dacey moved to step forward, but a shout stopped her, drawing widespread attention. "Helman! You must stop this madness at once!" Roared Myra Tallhart to the Master of Torrhen''s Square. My father scrutinized me, and I responded with our silent signal: [Let It Be.] Then he covertly sought confirmation from Zick, to which I could not appeal without drawing too much attention. " Calm, my beloved, the situation is under co-" a fierce roar broke the man''s voice and eardrums. "Under control a darn! They are openly dering to duel our son to death!! Move out of the way! Let me through!" how I loved that woman... "My Queen, Lord Stark, Lord Antaryon, I beg of you to stop this bloody diatribe here and now. I am very sure that by reasonably discussing, we could find an alternative to this-" "Is the Hero of the North not grown up enough to defend his honour alone? Does he need but to hide in his mother''s skirts? Correction, ''stepmother'' Lady Myra, Braavos has long wondered: ''who was she, and where did Lord Helman''s ''noble'' first wifee from?'' And ''howe the men of Torrhen''s Square nicknamed your godson Bloody Snow?'' I had hoped that it was referred to because of the merit of battlefield skills and the boldness shown in duels... Was it not for this reason, perhaps, Bloody Snow? Was it then for the peculiar hair colour never found in members of House Tallhart or a reference for his dubious origin of noble birth? Here in the North, do you not appeal to children born outside the marriage thmus by the call sign ''Snow''?" Instead of the hoped-for whispers and vociferations, the Braavosian got a halo of silence and looks of fierce dissent. The most dazzling scene to my eyes was my mother''s controlled but fury-filled reaction, apanied by a second anomaly. Myra''s feeble [Level 2; ss: Page] mutated into an oversized [Level 2; ss: Squire] a millimetre away from breaking through the [Knight] ss. "If you insist, milord I will leave it to my ''godson'' to choose the most appropriate choice to resolve such a diatribe." Myra took her to leave, positioning herself elegantly behind me, but as she did so, she threw me a tant roaring message titled: [Tear this filthy son of a harlot to pieces!] "Come on, Lord Gelledo. There''s no need to stoop to such hallway rumours..." Cersei turned to the Protector of the North. "To answer your earlier question, Lord Stark ''Of course not.'' The Crown would never want to unnecessarily jeopardize such a renowned and respected Hero as Lord Duncan, let alone venture to impose such a burden on such a benefactor of the Seven Kingdoms..." "But?" Ned asked. "But... The most decisive and sure solution for our King''s people, the solution that will save the Seven Kingdoms from another possible war with the most renowned and honourable free city of Essos, is that such a decisive duel to settle friction and disagreement subsume, here and before the sun rises. Of course, the Crown will first appeal to our most renowned Savior-Hero, asking him for help..." For the first time, Cersei Dolores Umbridge of House Lannister addressed me, asking in a pleading tone, adorned with a hand over her heart: "Lord Duncan, in the name of your King and the people of the Seven Kingdoms, will you help the North and the entire continent foil this possible conflict that could see thousands of innocents suffer? Will you foil a possible war with Braavos by epting this duel, milord?" ***** End Chapter ------------------------------------------------ Chapter 139: The Monstrous Titan Chapter 139: The Monstrous Titan POV: A Concerned Mother A few dozen feet from a heated diatribe. A second after a Queen heartily appealed to a Hero... Catelyn, unbeknownst to those present, had also witnessed the whole affair. It had been two days since the Lady of Winterfell had been keeping an eye on Dacey Mormont, the key to the North. The woman knew she had sinned in superficiality by thinking that she had been one of the few who had deduced that Jorah''s cousin was the future winning horse to tap into all the riches and power of the Barronds and the Bay of Ice, but she certainly did not believe that half the noble scions of Westeros and Essos would be feuding over the honour of a single dance with young Dacey... Catelyn rejoiced when st night'' her son Robb behaved like a true gant gentleman by dancing first with the maiden. During the dance, she approached Lady Maege, trying to subtly test the waters... Lady Maege seemed honoured by the chivalry of her young future Lord Protector, but, after several chats and praises with ady not precisely of the same temperament as the southerndies, Catelyn tried to ask about a possible future union between Dacey and Robb, and her mother hesitated, remaining as vague as possible... In all likelihood, someone had managed to anticipate a marriage proposal... The mother''s duty as the future Lord Protector of the North was to find out ''Who''. Therefore Catelyn tried to keep Dacey''s every possible candidate well in sight. Humfrey Hightower and the two scions of Tyrosh and Lys seemed the most palpable candidates so far... When Bloody Snow showed up at Barrow Hall, all her worst fears came to pass... During the wedding ceremony, the couple seemed never to take their eyes off each other. Catelyn knew that look. The same look that Brandon returned to her eight years ago at their first meeting. An engagement between Duncan Tallhart and Dacey Mormont would have been the undoing of House Stark. Nothing could have stopped the rise of Torrhen''s Square any longer... Starks, Boltons, Karstarks, the ns of the Mountains, Reeds, and Manderlys would not have been enough to prevent the birth of a rebellion. Perhaps a tiny chance to prevent the tragedy still existed... If her Arya had married Benfred Tallhart; the bloodshed could still have been avoided. Catelyn fulfilled her duty as Lady of Winterfell by responding with kindness and honest conversational openness toward Lady Myra Tallhart and, surprisingly, found her to be a pleasant and good-hearted person. A mother who, like her, adored her children and would not hesitate for a second to fight at the risk of her own life to protect them. A principle of friendship that filled their respective husbands with serenity and satisfaction. Ser Helman Tallhart was also a good man, honest, fair, honourable and open to everyone. Catelyn even went so far as to seek unexpected advice from Myra... They both lived in thepany of another woman''s son, but she did not dare to suppose that they might alsoe together by harbouring a bastard... ["I could not give you advice, mdy. The day I arrived at Torrhen''s Square, I noticed a child in desperate need of a mother, and I chose to shoulder that burden by giving him some love. To this day, that child has always repaid me tenfold for that bit of love he was able to provide him with... Duncan was the brightest child I had ever known. He was always well aware that we were not united by the bond of blood, and yet, never once in nine years did I hear him utter the word ''stepmother,'' let alone call Benfred and Eddara half-brother or half-sister. ... He is not my blood, but he is still my son."] Myra''s instinctive gesture of going against the Queen''s wishes and the murderous fury that shone in her eyes the instant Braavosian publicly offended the family bond with Duncan Tallhart, lent credence to two certainties: 1) Myra Tallhart truly loved Bloody Snow as if he were her son. 2) Ned and Ser Helman moved strings and influences to ensure that Myra never learned of the Winterfell Incident... Catelyn felt a sense of shame... She knew... She knew that the Braavosian had voluntarily chosen to provoke Duncan Tallhart, and she had note forward. Her duty as Lady of Winterfell and her honour as Tully had failed. Both are silenced by the Family''s valour... The Queen, the Braavosian, her husband, Ser Helman, Myra, and all the hundreds of onlookers...none of them knew that ''Bloody Snow,'' the real demon hidden inside that Loving and honourable boy, was anything but in trouble. Catelyn recognized that look, that confidence, that damned impassivity to the world catching fire around him. Duncan Tallhart had the situation in hand, and very soon, he would make his move trapping all his enemies in his steel grip. Gelledo Antaryon already had his steps counted. Bloody Snow longed for that duel; his demonic eyes craved blood. He was only waiting for the most opportune moment to inflict tremendous blows. Catelyn had survived a simr experience, and every pore of her skin screamed ''Danger.'' Futile to hope that Bloody Snow would lose that duel. Cersei and the Sealord''s son had no idea who they were dealing with... A Monster... simply a Demon in human flesh. And now that Demon would sing his devilish bad... "My Queen, my Lord Protector, and you, milord Gelledo Antaryon, so far I have chosen silence to try to understand all three of your points of view to the best of my ability, and I can say that I have concluded that all arguments have points of extreme value and truth... My answer is yes, Your Grace... For the sake of the North and the Seven Kingdoms, I will ept this challenge." The Queen seemed to glow like morning dew in the sun, Ned frowned, and Gelledo nodded with determination. "However... Yes, this duel will have to be held here and now, but in the right way..." The Queen and Gelledo peered distrustfully at the monster. "What do you mean by ''the right way,'' milord?" "Just a moment, Your Grace." The Demon brazenly ignored the question by turning to the duelist. "Noble Gelledo Antaryon, I beg your pardon. I was sincere when I told you that my statements were not meant to offend the Sealord, but I admit my faults... I have offended your city, your people, and the noble history and tradition upon which the foundation of the Titan is built. Tell me, milord, is it your intention to duel with said weapon and garb? Will you choose to follow the noble path of the Water Dance by giving up armour?" Gelledo was taken aback for a moment by this sudden outburst of gantry and show of respect. "It is, Lord Duncan... A true Braavosi does not need chain mail, leather, or iron tes. A true Water Dancer proves his worth with nothing but good steel in his hand." So replied the duelist with pride and bravado. "Well ... then, milord, as a gesture of good faith and respect for your honourable city, I too will opt to duel on the same terms. And I will wield not Red Rain but a real Water Dancer''s sword." A roar of surprise and shock flooded almost the entire hill. "Is this a trick to denigrate the Water Dancers, Bloody Snow? I warn you, you will have no hope of matching me without your Steel of Valyria and your armour!" Gelledo. "Far from denigrating, Lord Gelledo. I have such respect for the noble art of the Water Dance that even I wished to learn a few lessons from a true Braavosi master a few years ago... I assure you that, though, at a disadvantage, I still have my fair chance to hold my own against your outstanding and promising swordsmanship." The Demon. "Lord Gelledo, our estimated Hero of the North, is offering a sincere show of respect for your city and culture. Abandon your moods of distrust and wee Lord Duncan''s offer." The Braavosian hesitated but then nodded as he bowed to the Queen. ''I know what you think, your grace ... but it will not do. It will not be enough to deprive him of his steel and armour. He has prepared the battleground and his rules, and you are giving the enemy what he wants...'' ["My first rule of war, Cat... never give the enemy his wish."] Her uncle was right... However haughty and arrogant, Catelyn understood the Queen''s choice to force the Hero of the North into legitimate danger. She, too, like Cat, understood that Bloody Snow was gaining too much influence across the continent. All that power in the hands of one individual was dangerous. What if House Tallhart chose one day to side with the Targaryens instead of the Baratheons? What could House Stark and the Crown have done to prevent a devastating civil war that would have broken the Seven Kingdoms? Very soon, Catelyn Stark and Cersei Lannister would be joined by amon monstrous enemy... the question was: {Would they be able to warn their husbands of the danger in time before it was toote?} Catelyn had to wait... wait for the right moment. But, then, the Queen had to taste the same bitter poison before being considered a ''possible ally''... Catelyn sensed that Bloody Snow''s ''However'' was still missing from the roll call. "However... I will agree to duel in the true Braavosi style only if you also show respect for the traditions of the North." Cersei seethed, and the indignant opposing swordsman replied: "Then, for this reason, you have shown false esteem to the Water Dance! To try to deceive Braavos with a cheap trick!" Many Northern nobles did not seem to appreciate the bold statement, now intent on prevaricating the front ranks to get closer to the stranger who continued to mock their Hero and theirnd... The Braavosi looked around for a moment, wisely pondering his following words, and then, with more politeness and a modicum ofmon sense, asked: "... How can this man show respect to the honourable people of the North?" The Demon smiled and replied: "By honouring the ancient custom of the North and all of Westeros of ''Trial by Combat''..." Even Catelyn was interjected by Bloody Snow''s choice. Why a Trial by Combat? Neither of them was on trial, nows had been broken or crimes perpetrated, plus they had already established a Last Blood Duel... ''No... It is not for the trial, but...'' Catelyn began to get to the point, but the Queen did not. "Lord Duncan, no crime has been perpetrated in the eyes of gods and men, so why propose to our guest at Trial by Combat?" "For many reasons, Your Grace. You just now expressed the King''s wishes not to seek war with the noble friendly city of Braavos. A Last Blood Duel may end with only the opponent''s death. A Trial by Combat, on the other hand, holds the possibility before the eyes of the gods to end even with an official surrender by uttering the word ''I renounce.'' Certain death will create an inevitable resentment between the Noble Sealord of Braavos and House Tallhart, which sooner orter will spread throughout the North, and since the Crown would ''never'' leave its loyal vassals alone in this possible conflict, offering a possible way out of this circle of hatred would be the wisest choice. ... Do you not agree with me, my Queen?" A thousand pairs of eyes turned to a dishevelled and slightly annoyed Cersei Lannister, who rposed herself in the blink of an eye to reply: "Of course... The Crown does not wish to see unnecessary bloodshed and will always primarily promote peace and prosperity with our honourable Free Cities of Essos friends. However, milord, the gods stand above Kings and Men. The Creed is an essential pir of the Seven Kingdoms, and to insult the Gods with the such sacred custom of Westeros, used solely to safeguard thew and justice of Men, would be too great an affront... Unfortunately, the duel is the only way forward." Cersei had taken the bait... Now the fisherman would pull her out of the pond, rudely strip her of all her scales, eviscerate her, slow-cook her, and ultimately devour her. Even the impassive and ever-proud Tywin Lannister slightly squinted his eyes in shame... "Your grace is sure you do not wish to delegate this arbitration to Lord Eddard Stark or to choose another representative you indicate? I would suggest her honourable father, former Hand of The King and current Protector of the West, Tywin Lannister, perhaps..." The tremendous p was apanied by littleughter and murmurs. The Queen could no longer keep her false smile stered on, her eyes brimming with hatred and murderous intent, and she looked ready to explode at any moment. The Old Lion stepped forward, and before the furious Lioness roared, the wiser Lion roared back: "Lord Stark, Lord Duncan, Lord Antaryon, the Queen has faced a heavy day. Thest words must result from fatigue from the festivities and themitment to the newborn... I will be d to bear that burden momentarily until the King joins us." "Lord Father! Don''t-" Cersei stopped the hysteria at the mere first nce of those icy eyes apanied by a face more hardened than leather. Unfortunately, Bloody Snow granted the Queen no respite... "Understandable, Lord Tywin. All of us here have enjoyed the sumptuous and sometimes ''boozy'' delicacies that Lady and Lord Mormont have graciously offered." GreatJon Umber''s fatugh rose above the many others. "Otherwise, Her Grace the Queen would surely remember that the ''Trial-By-Combat'' is a sacred custom much older than theing Ands, and that any nobleman of Westeros can call upon the favour of the gods to settle disputes and diatribes of all kinds, should the Kings or Men fail to resolve the conflict... An ancientw of the First Men that the Andals annexed into their culture. Fortunately for us, our current true King Robert Baratheon, First in His Name and Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, has wisely chosen to preserve the Great Code of Jaehaerys the Conciliator... But surely now, His Grace remembers that the Laws of the Crown enshrine Trial By Combat as the inalienable right of all noble Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men to appeal to the Gods in whom they believe should both opposing sides judge any diatribe of a political,mercial, family, cultural, matrimonial, legal, ludic, contractual, and honour nature to be beyond the capacity of man''s judgment." The Demon was right... Catelyn certainly did not know thew in question in such detail, but she was sure that the bard had not missed a single note. Countless hostilities in the Rivends between ''the eternal rivals'' House Bracken and House ckwood came and continued to be resolved through a Trial By Combat. Many bloody battles were avoided over the centuries through this custom. Cersei had been defeated and humiliated before the entire nobility of Westeros and Essos. The Queen had only one way out to safeguard the little remaining honour of the Royal Family... "... ''Yes-My-Lord'' ... now I remember. ''I thank you'' for your helpful note." Spat Cersei with extreme reluctance. "My ''Honor'' and my ''Duty,'' my Queen." Bloody Snow shamelessly replied, bowing. The Queen''s joined hands began to change colour from pink to purple...then she addressed the crowd. "My lords, mydies, you must forgive me. The hour has grownte, and weariness hangs over a mother of two energetic Princes... As Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I sanction here and now that Lord Tywin Lannister represent the ''Voice and Will of the Crown'' until the King returns." And so the first opponent, tantly torn to pieces, exited the scene... "So... Lord Tywin, Lord Stark, the Crown and the Protector of the North support House Tallhart''s proposal?" The Queen''s father tried to stem the massive breach in the ship''s hull. "The Crown supports this solution to the dispute." Tywin. "Winterfell supports the resolution for Trial by Combat." Ned. "What about you, noble Gelledo Antaryon? Do you ept the traditions of Westeros? Will you let the Old Gods and the Many-Faced Gods decide who will be right or wrong in this dispute of honour?" Hundreds of nces turned toward the Braavosian. "Why should I grant you the chance to surrender without paying the price of blood due, milord? Are the Heroes of the North afraid of death? Or is it by any chance the North itself that is afraid of Braavos? The Titan has no reason to ept!" Roars of anger and dissent pervaded the arena, but Bloody Snow waved his hands to appease the tempers...and after the beginning of a massacre was averted, the Demon replied: "You ask me Why, milord? Well, because my Lord Protector Eddard is right; Braavos has its God, Laws, and Traditions... but this..." So Bloody Snow picked up a small handful of dirt and des of grass and turned to her husband''s bannermen. "This is the North!" Roared the charismatic Demon, showing his fistful of earth. "Aye!" A dozen lords anddies replied in chorus... Bloody Snow opened his hand, dropping the wet soil, then wielded a small dagger and shed the same palm open, clutched the dagger tightly dripping with dirty blood and thundered proudly: "Thend inhabited by our Ancestors! Watered by the blood of the First Men!!!" "Aye!!!" The dozen became three times more numerous... "Here, we worship The-Our-Gods! The Old Gods!!!" The Puppeteer. "Ayee!!!" that number increased again... Bloody Snow pped his bloody hand twice on his chest, covered with silver and white leather farsetto. *Stump!*"We too have ''our'' Laws!" "Ayee!!!" *Stump!* "Our Traditions!!!" "Ayeee!!!", "Right!!!", "This is The North!!!", "Yeeess!!!" Bolton, Tallhart, Glover, Reed, Manderly, Cerwyn, Ashwood, Bole, Hornwood, Karstark, Lake, Forrester, Umber, Flint, Ryswell, Woods, Knott, Magnar, Mormont, a variety of other major and minor lineages loyal to House Stark, and even ckwood and Royce... the whole North and several believers in the Old Gods were answering Bloody Snow''s call. Gelledo paled at the wave of approval and support from the Hero of the North. All thedies and lord first witnessing and supporting the Queen''s wee guest slipped silently into the crowd to avoid a possible ''wild chase toward Braavos sympathizers.'' Duncan Tallhart raised a hand, and the mour subsided until silence reigned ... the boy took in the air again, and as he inhaled deeply while closing his eyes, his bloody hand smoothed his white hair back. Duncan Tallhart''s snow-colored hair became stained with blood ... and ... concluded his stage ritual, ''Bloody Snow'' sang thest verse of the war hymn. "Therefore, Gelledo son of Ferredo Antaryon, if you want the North to show respect to Braavos... Braavos, ''in turn'', will have to show respect to the North!!!" The audience exploded... "AYEEE!!!!", "UAAARGHH!!!", "RESPECT TO THE NORTH!!!", "YEESS!!!" all that was missing was the ring of horns and the roll of drums to start the battle 400 angry Westerosi vs 1 Braavosian... Dozens of Northmen sprinkled the sky with showers of ale and wine as they brandished cups and jugs upward as if wielding swords... Greatjon Umber incited a chorus thundering at the top of his voice: "Bloody Snow! Bloo-dy-Snow!!!" and hundreds, including men, women, young men and maidens, answered: "BLOO-DY-SNOW!", "BLOO-DY-SNOW!", "BLOO-DY-SNOW!" hundreds more, includingte nobles, guards, and servants of Barrowton, joined all around them until they became thousands... "BLOO-DY-SNOW!!!", "BLOO-DY-SNOW!!!", "BLOO-DY-SNOW!!!" the wave seemed unstoppable. The walls of Barrowton were less than a thousand feet away. Torches and shlights could be seen rising and falling to the rhythm of the anthem. And then ... the wave spread to the lively city. Catelyn tried to sharpen her ear to hear the crescendo of thousands more voices far away from there ... tens of thousands ... "Bloo-dy-Snow!", "Bloo-dy-SnOW!!!", "Bloo-dY-SNOW!!!", "BLOO-DY-SNOW!!!" the streets of the city were chanting the Hero of the North... A year ago, Catelyn listened to Old Nan tell stories to Robb about the Mighty Titan of Braavos. ording to the old nanny of Winterfell, the Titan was a giant as tall as a mountain and whenever the city was in danger, he woke up with fire in his eyes, and his roar was able to awaken a thousand sleeping deities by summoning them from the heavens toe down upon all the enemies of the Braavosians. Asking Maester Luwin if there was even a sliver of truth in Nan''s story, the maester exined to her that yes, a Titan existed, but it was not a divine entity but rather a gargantuan Statue, a masterpiece of master carpenters and stonemasons. A granite and bronze fortress in the shape of a Titan garnished with hundreds of armed men, ready to throw stone, pitch, fire and arrows toward any enemy ship attempting to enter thegoon city of a hundred inds. The colossal Statue-Fortress emitted a shrill roar audible for miles, not to summon the gods but to warn the Braavos Arsenal that a ship had entered the city. To Gelledo Antaryon and the few Braavosi delegates nearby, at that moment, here in the vast and wild North, the Colossal Titan Protector must have seemed to them so distant, artificial and insignificant. The True Titan... The monstrosity to which Old Nan referred... The entity capable of awakening the ardour of Cities, Men, and Gods... It was right there. ***** End Chapter. ---------------------- Chapter 140: The Great Bet (I) Chapter 140: The Great Bet (I) POV: Tycho Nestoris Less than fifty feet from the Lady of Winterfell. Seconds after, the Champion of Braavos was forced to ept a Trial By Combat... ''An unexpected situation, to say the least. All the nobles andmoners hang on that boy''s lips... '' Tycho instinctively snapped his tongue, subtly grinding his teeth. To Bank of Iron, let alone the Sealord of Braavos, Gelledo counted for nothing. Ferredo had reached his limit with that troubled boy. His son had been guilty of the most debauched crimes in the past decade, and the Sealord was tired of milking wheels and gears to clean up and cover up that murderer''s shenanigans... Less than two moons ago, a poor merchant father, who had nothing left to lose, prayed to the Many-Faced Gods for Gelledo to receive ''the Gift.'' Unbeknownst to Ferredo, the Iron Bank interposed with the Sect Leader of the House of ck and White to postpone the ''Gift,'' promising the sure return of the Name to the Many-Faced God of Death by the end of the year. It was a risky gamble; the Iron Bank was to pay a tribute of Gerredo''s weight in silver to the House of ck and White for each day of dy ... but after the spectacle he had just witnessed, Tycho was convinced that the game was worth the candle. Bloody Snow had to fall ... After the boy''s epic disy of power, the Warden elevated him in his mind as {Threat No. 1'' of the Titan}. Longspoon, the Green King, The Old Man of Oldtown, The King in The Yellow, The Watcher, Aegon Targaryen, and the Nine Demons had just been downgraded because of a single hymn of glory that nearly shook the foundations of the hill. Duncan Tallhart seemed very confident about winning. But the boy was not to sing victory, so soon-Gelledo stood among the top ten Water Dancers of Braavos. If Bloody Snow had chosen to fight with armour, Valyrian steel, and his own style... well, their champion-sicarian''s chances of victory would have been less than 10 to 1 at the very least... But wielding a braavosi rapier in standard hardened steel, in the Dance-of-Gelledo and without Karstark leather and Forged Steel, the chances sshed to 1 in 3 in Tycho''s mathematical mind. Gelledo also had that ''hidden card up his sleeve'' that would almost certainly take the under-equipped Hero of the North by surprise... ''Perhaps even 40 %, if not 45 %, thanks to the surprise effect,'' the chances of crashing a dangerous future Titan threat here and now were not so low. The investments made were worth the risk... It did not matter too much if Gelledo failed to kill Bloody Snow. What mattered most to the Titan at the moment was information... Now the Council of Thirteen knew what had to be done, even at the cost of attracting the enmity of the Fourth Organization. The Iron Bank would pay those 4,159,265 gold coins to the House of ck and White. It was a certainty as solid as mathematics that the ''price'' for Bloody Snow''s Name would inevitably rise with each waiting moon... The boy no longer enjoyed the protection of The Watcher; the council had to strike now or never. The Name Duncan Tallhart ''Categorically'' had to be given to the Many-Faced Gods before it was toote. If Gelledo and the Many-Faced Gods failed, the Titan would have to seek cooperation with ''other forces.'' And if that was not enough, there remained no other alternative... It would have been ''Total War'' against the First Men. A tremendous war that would squander rivers of blood and gold would not end until the new city of Waterdeep became ashes, thest stone of Torrhen''s Square copsed, and thest Tallhart Name was erased from World History. All that remained for the Iron Bank was to figure out Who, How, and When. A World War had to be avoided, ''if possible''. Carcosa and Oldtown were eager to oust Braavos from first ce. The Titan had not yet been forgiven for the cunning deceptions of the Iron Bank in World War III ... nor had Braavos'' mass supply of relics, treasures and Valyrian steel just before the fall of Valyria been forgotten. ''If the Spider Queen chose to give full support to House Tallhart, a direct war would be too dangerous and obscenely expensive. Besides...'' Tycho tried to catch Chai Dug''s gaze...and detached it in the next instant. ''That mad warmonger is waiting for nothing else!'' Tycho got goosebumps at the mere contact with the Archwizard''s eyes. The King in The Yellow was undoubtedly the most belligerent and bloodthirsty Sovereign that Carcosa had in thest two millennia. No one could stop Chai Duq from running amok. Only The Guardian of Magic could give orders to that individual. And only The Watcher was able to reason with the War-Wizard-Demon. It was only thanks to the current Guardian of Love that, for the past three decades, the Confederation of Mages had remained neutral and quiet... Losing the friendship and support of The Watcher meant losing one of the two containment barriers that prevented the War-Wizard Leader from unleashing rains of fire and lightning on the Braavosians. Carcosa was a big problem--Braavos could not rely on their most powerful weapon to attack... If the Titan chose to invade thends of the First Men, The Shrouded Lord and his armies had to remain to protect the borders to the east. Otherwise, the Mage Confederacy would have wrested from them at least a third of their domains and valuable sources of ie... ''I wonder if Oldtown would ept any cooperation?" Tycho sought the gaze of the calm and impassive Lord Leyton. Even The Old Man of Oldtown seemed seething at the dangerous spectacle he had just witnessed. Would Oldtown trust Braavos? More importantly, could the Braavosians trust the Andals? The task would have been a daunting one. Theirmon enemy was not yet dangerous enough to force the two wary towns to cooperate... Lord Leyton, unlike Chai Duq, was a strong promoter of peace; moreover, he too had great respect for The Watcher. ''The Watcher...'' Tycho eyed the weight of the scales that could weigh or tip the bnce of all. That frail old man was the key to peace and harmony in the Known World... For more than twenty years, the conflicts in the ''Eternal Race for Resources'' on the continent of Sothoryos had been masterfully arbitrated by the Fourth World Organization. The Sons of Light. The Sons of Night. The Iron Company... Sixty thousand men-at-arms abided by every rule and code of honour suggested by the Guardian of Love, bringing profits and reductions in idents unseen in more than a millennium. None of the Three World Powers would have wanted to lose the favour of the Guardian of Love lightly, let alone test the patience of the Spider Queen... No... it was still too risky. The numbers were not in their favour, and it was crucial to find out where those 41 million had gone... It had not been House Tallhart''s doing, or at least, not directly. Perhaps another dangerous enemy was lurking. A possible ally of the North... In any case, the focus of indecision for the Bank remained Madame Zishua''s Organization. Even if Braavos attempted a partnership with Oldtown, who could guarantee them that the High Tower would not stand by and watch as the Titan lost rivers of blood, gold, and magic, weakening more and more as they attacked the First Men and The Watcher in the West and defended against Carcosa from the East? From there, the Andals would only have to bide their time to feast on what was left of the Titan and stand as the undisputed First World force. It was too great an opportunity, and business was business... Braavos would not hesitate for a moment if they were in Oldtown''s ce, and the High Tower was well aware of this. The greatest weakness of the First World Organization was its own central location. The Titan Domains were proper in the middle, surrounded on two opposite sides by the Tower and the Sorcerers... No... the most convenient choice for Braavos was ''False Neutrality''. Forcing the Tower and the Sorcerer to consume each other in the North while the Titan continued to umte strength and wealth and, with luck, crush all rival forces would elevate his position to a height no longer attainable by ordinary mortals... Westeros had no shortage of excellent opportunities to destabilize the North. Cersei Lannister was an example-the Raging Lioness had just sealed with blood the eternal strife and grudge against House Tallhart. The Old Lion and the Smiling Lion were seeking an alliance with the North; it was apparent, but with a little push, perhaps the West and the North could be forced into a war. And the West was not the only Kingdom envious of the North... Many lords of the Vale and some of the Trident were other examples... Lady Barbrey Mormont seemed to be dangerous ''too'' ambitious... On the surface, the North seemed too dangerously united. But was this really the case? What would have happened if their Hero had fallen? Would House Tallhart always support House Stark, or would they aim for a higher position? Tycho pondered for a moment on the just-announced future union between Domeric Bolton and Sansa Stark... That union between House Stark and House Bolton could also create unexpected delicious fruit. Should the male Starks perish due to ''tragic unforeseen events,'' the Boltons, with the support of House Mormont, would be the new ''Masters of the North''... but the key question was: {Would the other Northern lords willingly ept their new lords? Or would a tragic civil war have ensued}? Eddard Stark also had a Bastard named Jon Snow...and many whispers of a bastard-hating Lady of Winterfell had reached the Titan''s ears. Tycho searched Lady Catelyn Stark''s face, and, to his happy surprise, her gaze seemed very wary and contemptuous of the supposed bastard nicknamed Bloody Snow... There were still little rotten apples among the lesser nobles of the North, and the Wildlings'' attacks were bing increasingly reckless and aggressivetely... ''Reasoning better and with a clearer mind, the Ship of the North still has many leaks on which it can take on water...'' Tycho thought it was worth investing a few more bags of gold in those leaks rather than acting too rashly. ''Yes... funding instability is and always will be the key opportunity in the cas-'' "Am I interrupting deep thoughts, Director Tycho?" A tremendously familiar voice made poor Braavosian''s heart swallow. "Gulp... Couff, coff... Honourable maes- coff... Zick. No... Coff... I beg your pardon..." The saliva went tremendously sideways. *Pack!* "Come on, Director! Don''t die on me here before the show! Ahahah!" To Tycho''s surprise, the two resounding and ill-mannered pats on the back seemed to help him considerably to regain air. "Please, Will, could you get our poor Director some water?" "Right away, Master." Not even ten secondster, a cup of water came to help. "Thank you... Coff! Surpl... anf... anf, much better. Thank you, master. Thank you, Sir Will." "You''re wee, Director. The me for his difort was mine alone, after all. So, Mr Tycho,...the Sealord and Ser Helman sure have two turbulent boys, huh? Ahahah! ...Your opinion on that?" It was futile to lie to The Watcher. That man could read the soul and thoughts of any individual who stood before him. Not even the Sect Leader of the House of ck and White, the best faceless man ever, could hide the truth from that gaze. Lying was useless, but good manners were always appreciated... "Yes, you may well say, master... Braavos hopes this little ''incident'' has not soured this festive day too much, Honorable Guardian..." "No, no, you''re wee, Warden. It would take more than that to anger me or old Zishua. Ahahahah! Fear not, Sir Nestoris! As the Dothraki say: [A marriage turns out to be boring if there are not at least three mortal duels to honour it!] Ahahaha!" The old Guardian''sughter was always disturbing. "Ahaha... Right, if-" Tycho was interrupted. "Of course, that boy Gelledo is quite a pepper, isn''t he? He is a skilled swordsman, and he almost seems to act as if he has nothing to lose in the deadly sh that will follow..." Nestoris swallowed. "And look at his bearing, the confidence in his shoulders, chest and neck... See how rxed he is? It''s as if... I don''t know, as if he''s wearing some kind of veryfortable armour that he''s very confident about... It''s not Acromant Silk, is it?" Tycho petrified. Still, the House of ck and White had guaranteed the incredible camouge work in Gelledo''s clothes! The best tailors and best spellcasters worked on that garment-over 140,000 gold coins invested. "Ah, it is then... So you have gifted your turbulent boy with just such a beautiful, tailor-made trinket, no doubt about it... I wonder how? Mmm... the shirt looks likemon silk... Then, how? Aaah I get it. The farsettos and leather pants! And I suppose gloves and boots too then... The tailors did incredible craftsmanship to sew the fabric inside twoyers. Twoyers that look like one... Is there some trick to deceive the eye, I wonder? Still, the weight of the clothes seems consistent with the muscture and rxation..." Tycho''s mouth refused to open to channel air... "I don''t think Braavos can conceal a magical object from Noble Chai Duq, and I don''t think the Titan would be so rude as not to dere such an object to his guarantor host... So... where will the trick be? [A magical object that itself is not magical.] ... mmm... quite a riddle." The Watcher seemed amused by the dilemma, but his two fellow bodyguards, Will and Ramas, did not seem so in the mood for riddles... On the contrary, both expert assassins seemed to be dying to torture someone to wrest the whole truth from him and bring justice... The tension in the air was as solid as stone, and each breath was a monumental effort. "Ah! I may have found... I am certainly not an arcanist, but my good friend Sorcerer is sometimes rather long-winded on scientific topics... Ah, but don''t tell him I said that, please. Chai would be hurt." Tycho nodded with a clear message: [I would never dare! I will take the secret to the Tomb!] "Yes, as I was saying... There was a very rare branch of magic that, if I remember correctly, was called... ''Transmutation Magic''? Ah, did I guess right? Ahahaha! then my memory is not as bad as I thought! Transmutation, of course! A magic so different but at the same time so simr to illusion. Yet, if I remember correctly, the Chief Sorcerer guaranteed that the noble arcane art of ''Transmutation'' is considered ''Forbidden'' if used in the neutral zone by a wizard or witch who does not hold the explicit permission of the Confederation, and, again if my memory serves me right... ''Transmutation spells'' are even firmly constrained between and not beyond the borders of the Starry City and Asshai of Shadows. Carcosa would really pay a good coin for anyone who would bestow a piece of information for any Rogue Wizard or Witch intent on illicit profits from such forbidden arts... It was one''s own weight in gold if I''m not mistaken, am I right, Ramas?" "A base reward of one''s own weight in silver for anyone who reports illegal magic, and the weight in gold for the head of every rogue spellcaster in the first circle. The reward triples exponentially for each arcane circle of said Rogue-Wizard or Witch, Master." So promptly replied the soulless voice, yearning for lives to be reaped. "Ah, right, right, thank you, Ramas... Hear my good friend? The boy made his bones in the Street of Steel for two years as a bounty hunter. Ramas is a real expert on wanted criminals and Rogue Sorcerers. Ahahah!" ''Forbidden Magic?! Rogue Wizard?!'' Tycho was totally unaware of said vition. He had not been in charge of the assignment, let alone knew the details! The Vice-President had simply assured him that ording to the House of ck and White, the armour was not by definition a magical item and that no vitions of the rules agreed upon by the guarantor had been broken... They had not broken any rules of The Watcher but were openly insulting Carcosa by viting the rules of the Confederation! ''If that fool Chai Duq found out, the Sorcerer woulde at the very least demand the scalping of every member of the Braavos delegation aspensation! ...Berbo, if I make it back to Braavos alive, I swear I''ll pour buckets of gold out of my pocket to hire the worst street scum and feed you to the crabs in the ck Boatman''s sewers!'' Now Tycho understood the move of his envious colleague intent on making himself Great in the eyes of the Council. The President of the Bank had reached a venerable age, and Berbo wanted to eliminate every possible promisingpeting candidate for the role of Most Powerful Man in the World... The Vice President had taken it upon himself to acquire as much information as possible about The Watcher and the Fourth Organization. This acrobat trick was to test the true potential of The Guardian of Love and eliminate thepetition at the same time! "O-honorable Guardian, I swear to you by everything I believe in that I knew nothing of such untoward vition to the treaties of neutrality andmercial cooperation between Braavos and Carcosa! Never would I allow me to benefit from the services of a filthywless criminal-witchster. I give you my word of honour that as soon as I return to Braavos, I will move heaven and earth to see that all those responsible are severely punished!" Said Tycho with all the sincerity and goodwill he could muster. "Rx, Director. I can see by your look that you are innocent and unaware of any possible vition. After all, you joined the Council of Thirteen not even a year ago. It takes time to be able to untangle yourself in such a vast World full of unfamiliar rules and cultures. Neither am I, as mentioned above, an arcanist or one who dabbles in witchy bureaucracy. Ahahah!" It was a threat...a subtle but unmistakable way ofmunicating to him that his life was hanging by a thread and that if The Watcher really wanted to, he could legitimately sell him to the ruthless, bloodthirsty, and cruel King in The Yellow! "No. No, our good friend, the Chief Sorcerer, is enjoying a well-deserved vacation away from that gloomy nest he calls Arcane Tower. And I am certainly not as rigid and inflexible as my sweet, but still ''tremendously strict,'' foster mother... No, I had simplye here to ask you for a small favour and a proposition of honest, yful amusement... assuming you care, mind you." Then, there came a glimmer of light and salvation! "B-but of curse! Please, Master Zick, don''t be afraid to ask." The Guardian smiled and continued cheerfully with: "My boy there has already asked permission from his father, the Master of Torrhen''s Square, to have aplimentary word to propose a little ''Bet between Gentlemen'' with his challenger, and since poor Gelledo seems not to be on the best of terms with his Sealord father, and you here are the only authoritative delegate from Braavos, I wanted to ask you the favour of granting your boy the same privileges... Of course, we are talking about wagers within the limits of what the Sealord can offer." Finally, Tycho inhaled the first natural healthy breath of air since the beginning of the difficult conversation. "I don''t see why not, master. It is only fair that future noble generations should be given a chance to grow in such trials between gentlemen. Gelledo has the full support of the ''Sealord''..." thest word had to be emphasized. It was one thing to wager Ferredo''s personal treasures or funds on the pot, quite another to wager those of the private caves of the Iron Bank... There were secret and forgotten Treasures-Artifacts in the depths of the Iron Mine that were worth more than every ounce of gold crammed into all of Braavos... "Ah, well! d you agree! And what about a possible friendly bet between the Guardian of Love and the Council of Thirteen? What do you think, Director?" **** End Part I. ------------------------------------------------ Chapter 141: The Great Bet (II) Chapter 141: The Great Bet (II) Continuous POV: Tycho Nestoris ''The Bank, but especially ''the undersigned'' are in a terrible position!'' No one wanted to bet against the man''s gaze anymore... Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor, Tyrosh, Vntis... no fighting pit or big-city arena box office would ept an instalment of The Watcher anymore! ''The Jade Tablet of Gsh!'' The Monito-Legend that few knew about. The event that marked the beginning of the rise of the Fourth World Organization... In the year 252, in the free city of Tyrosh, wealthy ve trader Gsh Hulotha won the election of the 31st conve for the position of Archon and ruler of the city. The richest man in Tyrosh, who seeded in creating a ve trade route that extended all the way to the legendary city of Yi Ti, thus making an immense fortune in just a few years, inaugurated a grand spectacle of fighting to the death between diators and warriors from all over Essos. The greatest spectacle the city had ever witnessed. Guests from all over Essos and Westeros were invited to witness it. Even the Prince of Dragonflies participated in the event as a representative of the Iron Throne. The most bizarre and peculiar creatures and humanoids shed in the Tyrosh arena in anticipation of the grand final spectacle, the Fight of the Nine Champions. Ninepetitors representing each Free City wouldpete to the death in the grand final melee to determine the Winning City. On asion, the wealthy Archon Gsh, to show off the prosperity and influence of the new Hulotha noble family, guaranteed in front of his entire aristocratic audience that the New Sovereign Household would personally ensure any wager in the final fight. The minimum stake in participating could not be less than 100 gold coins, and each bettor was given a receipt with the seal of the Archon on a precious Jade Tablet... Hundreds of possible events could be bet on, in addition to the straightforward victory of the champion. For example, the order of the eliminated, the length of time each hadsted, which champion had faced whom, how many shes had been exchanged... Among the thousands of bets -hidden in the shadows- resided a minor one that was statistically almost impossible to guess... Ten libertine, poor, foreign young men and two younger noble brothers from Norvos hazarded a single bag containing 120 gold and 12 silver pieces on one highly improbable wager, only to vanish like ghosts from the city two days before the big event... By the time the Archon unleashed armies of mercenaries, assassins, spies, privateers, and pirates to hunt down the one piece of jade that would spell the end of him and his dynasty, the young group led by a former ve from Meereen was already at sea aboard a merchant swan ship bound for Braavos, four days ahead of them. Heading for the only institution that could enforce payment of the colossal fortune owed... The 16-year-old nobleman named Zoldhak No Dua, who sold the continent''s most sought-after receipt to the Iron Bank for half of all the Hulotha family''s wealth and possessions, shocked all the employees of the Braavos banking institution when he demanded that his hill of gold and resources owed be titled to a fallen noblewoman residing in Pentos named Zishua Zhao Urat. Archon Gsh Hulotha''s rulested only five moons... Then, he and all his family were forcibly deposed by the council of Tyrosh, deprived of all possessions, captured and resold as ves in the markets of Lys and Vntis, and shortly forgotten by history... It took years to identify the menace terrorizing all the moneylenders, box offices, and arenas of Essos. Because of those events, the young man, a boy invisible to the eyes of the world, who loved to contemte the workouts of hundreds of diators and wrestlers from all over the Known World, waster christened with the name ''The Watcher.'' Tycho observed that famous Jade Tablet hundreds of times, disyed in a ss case in the corridor of the Merchants of Honor. A reminder symbol that always reminded him of the infinite potential of a single bag of gold. Tycho remembered every millimetre of that legendary smooth piece of jade, every engraved letter or number. {89,412 to 1}... possibilities not decreed by the trivial stroke of luck. At that moment, after that fateful question from ''that man,'' with no practicable escape route, the promising fate of Tycho Nestoris and the coffers of the Iron Bank danced on the edge of a razor-sharp... A true Braavosian did not fear death ... the words: [Vr Morghulis] were engraved in the minds of each of them from the tender age of five. No, not death ... but there were fates far worse than it, and the fury of Chai Dug, the student of the former Scarlet God-Emperor of the Golden Empire, Lo Tho ''The Terrible,'' was one among them. "The Thirteen have no reason to denigrate your wee proposal, Master Zick... A ''little'' wager between gentlemen is always an appreciated pastime in Braavos." "Ahahaha! Excellent, Director! It''s been a long time since I''ve been able to dabble in one of my favourite pastimes! I thank you and all the remaining twelve members for this wee opportunity for recreation." The Watcher. "Ahaha... You''re wee, Master... May I ask if both parties hold the option of proposing a "mutually agreed event" and a "bet limit"?" It didn''t hurt to try. "Of course, there is the possibility, Director! What would be the point if the two bettors could not bargain an honest agreement? A pulsion'' wouldn''t be a gentleman''s wager, would it? Ahahaha!" Tycho thanked his lucky star in the heavens but did not let his guard down for a moment. "Stake or Event? I leave the first choice to you, Director." Tycho nodded and pondered the question carefully. "Event..." The Watcher smiled, "Please, I''ll leave it to you." "Thank you, Master... How would you like to bet on an event outside of just winning?" Tycho. "I''m all ears." Zick. "Since the noble custom of Trial By Combat has been proposed and epted, neither of us would like to see our ''protg'' perish tragically in an ephemeral dispute of honour... Therefore, I would propose to bet on surrender. Should Duncan or Gelledo dere surrender, the Titan or the Guardian would win the bet. The death of either contestant, before the surrender, would result in a simple draw and annulment of the agreement." It was the best way out that Tycho''s mind could extrapte in that short time. "Mmm, interesting...interesting indeed. And I guess the duel conditions remain the same, am I right? A challenge between Water Dancers with his Gelledo equipped with Silk of Aant and my boy without Steel of Valyria or armour..." This was the second time in Nestoris''s life that he witnessed the furious mystic gaze of that monster. Tycho braced himself and swallowed his pride, shamelessly stating: "Emm... correct assumption, Guardian. Also..." a use had to be added. "Yes?" The Watcher''s friendly face grew increasingly dull as his gaze became sharper and more oppressive... "Here... ergh emm..." Tycho continued to have difficulty breathing in the face of all that pressure, but the Braavosian steeled himself. "Some rumours in Braavos suggest the ''possibility'' that Duncan is ... here ''special.'' Blessed by the Old Gods, if you can call it that. Blessed with very simr abilities found by the mighty Khal Drogo... Our Gelledo holds no such gifts, so..." the Guardianpleted the sentence: " You would like Duncan to dispense with such ''blessings'' during the duel. And I suppose if my boy were to break that restriction, the wager would likewise be void, am I right?" Tycho nodded with the most convincing friendly, hopeful smile he could muster. "Mmm... Ah! I like that! Gone, Director!" Spat The Watcher softening his eyes. ''He agreed just like that! Without even haggling a bit?!'' Thought the Braavosian rmingly, he recovered from his shock--now it was his turn. "To you the punt proposal, Honorable Guardian." Drum roll... Tycho did not propose the win-lose condition for victory... He was aware of how ephemeral the chances of sess were. Just a nce at the look on Bloody Snow''s face was enough to sense it; the real victory was getting out of this madness unharmed without the Bank losing priceless assets... "Strict conditions for victory deserve rather substantial rewards... Don''t you think?" the heart of Tycho lost a beat. " But... it would be rather rude to turn a friendly match between two institutions ''on excellent terms'' into a mere grudging fight over resources... Therefore, I will request what the assets that Iron Bank most abounds in ... Valyrian steel." Tycho closed his eyes and sighed in prayer. The High Tower had thergest stockpile of Dragon ss, Carcosa of spells and runic forms to create Mana Stones and magical items, and the Bank...the Bank possessed thergest supply of Valyrian Steel ingots in the entire World. Braavos''s most significant financial manoeuvre, the move that downgraded Oldtown and Carcosa a step further by elevating the Titan to the top of the hierarchical pyramid, was the massive purchase of Valyrian Steel stockpiles a decade before the great disaster... That metal was the best-known magical conductor in the World, essential not only for weapons and armour but also for magical items... The current average market price was 40,450 gold coins per pound. It took nearly 4 pounds to forge a standard long sword--and the sale was even more exclusive than Mana Stones. Very few held the license to buy and sell bullion. "How much steel did you have in mind, Master Zick?" Asked the emissary with cautious politeness. "Um, I was thinking two thousand pounds; how about that?" The stab was icy and painful. ''Two thousand pounds?!! He must be kidding, I hope?!'' Tycho mentally calcted the possible tremendous impact the magical ck market would suffer if the Bank ever deprived itself of such lifeblood. The price would skyrocket to around 75,000 gold coins minimum. At that amount, the citadel would have hunted down every High Mystery graduate maester to snatch that bit of treasure from his neck, and they would have categorically abolished free enrollment in the course... There could have been 50plete sets of ke armour forged or 200 swords as big as Ice with that bulk. So it was not only extremely expensive but also deadly dangerous! The Bank and The High Tower absolutely did not want The Watcher to train a deadly toon equipped in Valyrian Steel! There was no more dangerousbination... "Coff, coff... emm... Master, two thousand would be ''a little too much'' above the Bank''s capabilities at the moment... how about One hund- " The Watcher''s hawkish eyes hardened again. "Two-" that wasn''t the correct answer either... "Four hundred! Four hundred pounds!... What do you say?" Tycho could not risk more than that amount...he could not. "Four hundred?... Honestly, that seems a little small. But then again, if the Bank didn''t have such avability... I''ll tell you what. Since I am a great collector of everything about my predecessors, how about we add to the four hundred pounds... mmm let''s see... I''m spoiled for choice. But yes! ckfire! One of the first works of Valgudryel''s apprentice seems like a fairpromise." Unfortunately, a second stab in the same spot but now red-hot hit the poor Braavosian. ''Does The Watcher know that ckfire is kept in our vaults!'' That long sword had unique magical properties... For all the ''non-discendants'' of the Targaryen lineage, ckfire was a mon sword of Valyria,'' but the blood of the Three-Headed Dragon who proved worthy could unleash the powers dormant in that sword!... It was not only a unique object but also a symbol of enormous power! A symbol of legitimacy to the Iron Throne & the hold of influence over the Golden Company! A good portion of those Twenty Thousand Excellent Mercenary Swords might have chosen to break the Iron Agreements with the Bank and follow the dream promised by Bittersteel. "Master...I''m afraid ckfire is still bound in a lease with one of our esteemed clien-" he was interrupted. "Illyrio Mopatis? Ah, fear not, Director, I am sure my mother will be able to find an honest arrangement that will satisfy the loss of Magister Illyrio. No image damage will be perpetrated on the Honorable Iron Bank." The Old Man was damn well prepared to flog the Titan soundly! That sword was a certified magical item {Master} was worth at least five million golden dragons! "There would be no problem then... But such a request would redemand to ''Madame Zhao Urat'' a stake of equal value, Master." It was thest card to y. The peculiarity of the Guardian of Love was that he did not care about goods or treasures but about people. The Spider Queen hadplete control over all the gold and resources of the Fourth Organization. Zick was like a spendthrift young heiress scion dependent on his foster mother''s allowance. "Right... A Silk value of Adult Acromantpensates to thest ounce for the 400 pounds of Steel... and a magical object belonging to the current Guardian of Love." Tycho widened his eyes. "You will not mean-" "My personal robe, Director The Iron Bank has long coveted it ardently, hasn''t it?" And he was absolutely right! Only the Many-Faced Gods knew how many and what powerful spells were imbued in that masterpiece! The strongest Acromant Silk in the World! Even the steel of Valyria had difficulty breaking through that fabric. Unfortunately, the Bank knew only a few of the properties of that Artifact. -Total immunity to poisons and diseases. -Auto-repair of Tissue. -Passive protection from arrows, darts or throwing weapons. -Adaptability and camouge. The Guardian chose of his own volition to make his robe look like ordinary merchant''s clothing. Still, if he really wanted to, he could change the artefact''s appearance to a thousand otherbinations of shape or colour. It was one of the Bank''s most coveted items--a magical artefact of rank: [Grand Master]. President Ultherro desperately wanted it. Twelve years ago, the Titan attempted to purchase the robe from the Spider Queen by offering thirty million in gold, materials, and magical items of the Fourth Organization''s free choice. The Bank would even get forgemaster estimator from Carcosa into their dungeon for such a bargain. Ultherro would have sold out ckfire, Dark Sister, and all the other freaking Valyrian swords of Westeros to get it! A perfect symbol of power for the Head of the World''s Most Powerful Organization to wear. Whichever Bank employee had managed to get his hands on The Watcher''s robe would have been named Rmended Candidate for the session of President! It was a golden opportunity! ''Calm down, Nestoris! Breathe and think with a clear mind... Always remember that ''fear'' and ''desire'' are the greatest enemies of the critical thing-'' another golden opportunity broke Tycho''s critical thinking. "I''ll tell you what. I''ll sweeten the bet further... Except for suicide or self-harm, the Iron Bank will get the victory should both duelists kill each other or my boy identally use one of his ''blessings.''" "The Iron Bank epts!" End POV ------------------------------------------------- POV: A Furious Master Temporary arena was set up for the duel. A few minutes after an agreement between Gentlemen was made... "Force him to surrender, Master? I don''t know if-" "Use all Twelve Closing Gates freely, if necessary." Zick shocked Duncan. "Also, Master Recallio here will lend you his new Damascus steel sword." The kind gifts of Torrhen''s Square for Zick''s entirepany, forged by Master Mott himself, would ovee the Silk defences of Aant. "But, master! Without [Bless], there is a risk that he may-" "What will the chains and bars that will bind the Demon have to be made of?" Zick asked without giving his pupil a chance to indulge in doubt or uncertainty. "...Viscous water and stic like loose resin, stronger than steel but more flexible than leather..." Duncan. "And what will you have to do should the Demon oppose you?" the master. "Use the Demon''s strength absorbed in the water to imprison him again." The student. "Good. You know what, how and when to do it. You won''t need anything else, my boy. Gelledo is confident of his armour, and all the Wine of Courage gobbled up, but he won''t need it. It would take years to desensitise pain receptors on par with the Unsullied. Besides ... that human waste hides another secret, something that even Tycho Nestoris does not know, but I am not sure what it is. It''s about his sword... Don''t worry, he doesn''t see the magic again." Zick tried to unravel the third arcane before the start. "Poison, perhaps?" Duncan asked. "Very difficult to hide. Especially ''to me'' ... but I wouldn''t rule it out either. Even my gaze has its limits. Try not to get hit; focus on disarming and parrying to be safe. And, Duncan..." "Yes, master?" "You have my full permission. Unleash freely within and noter than a nine-minute interval. Strike without qualms the nerve and joint points of that arrogant, disloyal, and dishonourable street cutthroat. Give him a taste of the hell you''ve had to endure, and I assure you he will grovel at your feet, invoking the forgiveness of all Thousand Gods he worships." Zick dered confidently, casting another nce at the Braavosian duo intent on a heated but private conversation. He did not need lip-reading to understand what Nestoris was promising the boy in the event of victory. Total acquittal of all crimesmitted, restoration of his good name, condonation of the ''Gift'' to be given to the Many-Faced Gods, and promise of the Bank''s full support in theing Sealord election... The hope and desire in the face of the Braavosian, who previously had nothing to lose but now had ''everything'' to gain, was palpable from sixty feet away. "Master, I have never seen you so ''troubled''... Is there anything I should know?" Asked his pupil. "In fact, I am, my boy... We can say that your master is ''Sensibly Angry''. The High Tower and the Titan are teasing my patience. First Leyton''s quibbles to conceal some impropriety perpetrated by Oldtown, now the slimy subtleties of thegoon dwellers... A man does his best to understand and endure, but there is a limit to everything..." Duncan became petrified and sought the gaze of all his fellow instructors. Will, Recallio, Baragh, Ramas, Syggha, and all the remaining members were a thread away from the war footing... Zick only needed to move a finger to unleash the fury of eleven dangerous warriors and three hundred hardened killer des waiting for hismand. And that finger itched tremendously... "Master-" Zick knew what Duncan wanted to say to him. "Do you remember the maxim virtue of your father and grandfather? How did he recite it? [If someone throws a stone at you, you respond by throwing a flower in turn... but you must never, ever forget the vase containing it when you do so.] Words full of wisdom, my boy. Go and sonorously smash ''that vase'' against the Titan''s head. I want the whole world to always remember: [What a bitter End looms over all disloyal provocateurs who insist on irritating Bloody Snow]." Zick. "Forgive my insistence, master, but... the look in Director Tycho''s eyes seems rather ted and hopeful... What exactly did you promise him?" So asked the worthy disciple who was learning well from the man they called ''The Watcher''. "Just a little yful wager between gentlemen. Nothing to worry you. Give it your best, and always think of your safety first." Unfortunately, those words were insufficient to convince his stubborn pupil to desist. Before Duncan could breathe a word, Zick gently grasped the boy''s shoulders and, releasing all the conviction and hope he had umted in his own fragile heart, the old man said: "I would bet the World on you." ----------------------------- End Chapter. Chapter 142: The Pack & The Maid Chapter 142: The Pack & The Maid Announcement Sick Fan of ASOIAF: Very urgentmunication for all ASOIAF fans! The first episode of House Of Dragons was released today! The new HBO series based on the epic events of the Dance of Dragons! I can''t spoil anything, but I can tell you that expectations are at 1000!!! It''s Fucking Awesome!!! CAN''T WAIT FOR EPISODE 2 TO COME OUT!!!!!! Thank you all for your attention, and happy reading. **** -------- POV: The Wolf Child Less than nine hundred feet from the arena. About two minutes after a gentleman''s wager was epted... The Heir of Winterfell and his smallpany of friends waited impatiently for Jon to return with the information to figure out what was happening near the dance floor. Why were thousands of people chanting Bloody Snow''s name? All of them, except for Theon, joined the chorus enthusiastically without knowing why. Robb, Jon, Eddard Karstark, little Alys Karstark, Daryn Hornwood, Ulmen Umber, Mira Forrester, Alysane and Lyra Mormont, Hugo Wull, and Theon Greyjoy had an appointment for a private magic show promised by the old master-at-arms named Zick. It was supposed to be just him and Jon at first ... but a word escaped, and a chain of whispers and chatter between young lords anddies of the North forced the little prince to beg old Zick to arrange a small ''private'' magic show in a tent. The kindly Masked Witch Quaithe was supposed to entertain them all until a few minutes before the performance of the Maiden of Light and the Lion of Night began, the sorceress was urgently called away by her master, postponing the show. "The bastard must have gotten lost or taken them at face value from some aristocratic scion," sneered Theon, failing to get the support ofughter to which he aspired. "Mind your tongue, Greyjoy... Pray to your Drowned God that my father never learns what you called Jon." Robb retorted, casting a re at Winterfell''s protege. "Lord Stark does not want the word ''Bastard'' uttered in his abode, but this is not Winterfell. If you prefer, I will call him by the name he deserves: ''Snow''." Theon. "Here in the North, the name ''Snow'' is a thousand times more valued than ''Greyjoy,'' exiled prince withoutnd or home," affirmed the 12-year-old eldest son of n Wull. "Shut up, Little Bucket! Who do you think you are?! You''re the heir to a forgotten little heath in the Bay of Ice!" The ten-year-old ironborn was ready to defend his honour with his fists. "Bring it on, little squid!" Hugo did not back down. "That''s enough, Theon! Stop provoking my friends. Always remember that I can ask Will and Byron to escort you to bed without dessert if necessary." The whole groupughed, making the former Heir of Pyke blush angrily. "Robb! Robb, where are you!?" A battered Jon was in sight. His half-brother seemed to rue the frantic rush made to serve as a scout staff to inform the group of Northern youths what the heck was going on. "Jon! We''re here!" Robb replied, climbing into a chair. "Hurry up, Sam! Hurry, or it will be toote!" Two children tumbled to the foot of the group with breathlessness and urgency in their eyes. The fat child looked like he was about to copse at any moment. "Well? What''s going on? Who is he? And why are you bleeding from the lip?" Robb asked rmingly. "Anf...he...anf...it''s Sam...Samwell Tarly. Robb!... Anf--there is no time for exnations!" The aforementioned sweaty and exhausted Samwell Tarly was more battered and weary than Jon. "Catch your breath and exin yourself, Jon! Water! Give us both some water, quick!" Eddard Karstark grabbed a jug from a passing servant on the fly and offered it to Jon. He had no qualms about gobbling it down greedily without cups or various ceremonies, offering it to hisrade on the ground soon after. "Bloody Snow... Phew... A duel, Robb! A Trial By Combat will soon be held between Lord Duncan and the son of the Sealord of Braavos! They willpete to decide who will have the honour of the first dance with Dacey Mormont! It will be an epic sh! Sam here witnessed the whole scene; he was the one who informed me of everything! We were slowed down by Lord Paxter Redwine''s idiot sons. They had purposely tripped poor Sam and--I''m afraid I broke Horas nose and ripped a few red strands out of Hobber''s hair. They must be calling for reinforcements, Robb. They''lle looking for us!" Thundered Jon, speaking as fast as he could, shocking Robb more and more. "What?!!! A Trial By Combat between Bloody Snow and Gelledo Antaryon?!!! When? How did that happen!!! Who else are looking for you? And why were they looking for trouble with you? How many of them are there?" A heroic Samwell of House Tarly, after emptying his jug, managed to stand up and pronounce: "In less than an hour, the duel will begin... Lor... phew... Lord Eddard Stark promulgated strict control for all spectators... No one under the age of ten will be allowed to attend the duel that will take ce. I was only a few feet from your mother, the noble Lady Catelyn. She ordered a couple of men from her escort to look for you and escort you to your pavilion, young lord." "What?!!! No! This is a legendary event that we absolutely cannot miss!!!" Robb turned around with regret at the tone used and peered at Will and Byron, the two guards assigned by Jory to keep an eye on him and Winterfell''s protg at all times... Fortunately for him, they did not seem to have heard. "We have very little time before my mother''s men get here...What about the Redwine group?" "Six-maybe seven scions of The Reach looking for trouble. We deposed them three hundred feet from here." Jon. Robb looked around and did a quick count. Alysanne (11 years old), Lyra (9 years old), Eddard (11 years old), Daryn (13 years old), Hugo (12 years old), Ulmen (11 years old), Mira (9 years old), Alys (5 years old) and Theon (10 years old)... The biggest problem was Theon, who was sure to rat them out in revenge for the insult he had just suffered... "Byron! Will! Come quickly!" Thundered the little lord, shocking those present. The two men threw their cups and mugs to the ground and instantly rushed in, holding their hands firmly on the hilt. "Young lord! Any problem?" Lieutenant Byron asked urgently. "Yes, Byron. Our protg here, Theon Greyjoy, has brazenly insulted Winterfell and his host House. I ask that you escort our ungrateful guest back to his tent as punishment and that he does not leave his sleeping bunk until the sun rises!" Theon paled at his tormentor''s devious countermove. "Yes, milord... Come with us, young Theon." the boy roared resistance: "No! Let go of me!" Byron and Will lifted the poor prisoner from his armpits, dragging him forcefully toward thefortable prison... "This is all a deception! Robb is deceiving you! Nah!!! You''ll pay for this, Stark! I''ll tell your father!!! Do you hear me!!! You and the Bastard are doomed!" Greyjoy''s threats grew more and more scattered. "Theon is right, Jon... Tomorrow my mother and our father will punish us severely." Robb smiled, and Jon, returning theplicit smile, replied: "But I am already being punished! So don''t worry, Robb, skipping meals and takingshings from Ser Haymitch sooner orter, you get used to it." The brother nodded knowingly,ughing bitterly at the sad fate he had to share, but there was no time to regret the eggs stolen from the basket. What mattered now was making a memorable omelette! ''Three threats down. And now...'', "Mira, Lyra, do you two want to watch the duel?" Asked the Heir of Winterfell authoritatively. "Emm...I...would rather not, milord." Mira Forrester. "Of course, I would! Don''t you dare go without me!" Lyra Mormont. Robb eyed a wizard of his acquaintance in the distance, and an idea began to take shape. "I have a n... Jon and Lyra wille with me. Aly, Daryn, Hugo, Ulmen-we need you. Will you be able to keep the group of Redwine brawlers busy for a while?" Asked the leader. "Keep them upied! If puny Jon here managed to beat two of them, the four of us together will even manage to make them disown their Seven Gods and invoke Seraphine''s mercy!" Roared Alysane Mormont, gaining the trio''s approval. "Well... Mira, Eddard, you two will apany little Alys to her mother, and then Eddard, you must try to arrive as quickly as possible to support Aly and the others." Robb. "Count me in!" Eddard replied, holding his little sister''s hand firmly. "Samwell of House Tarly, I, my brother and mypanions owe you a favour. How can the North repay you?" Asked the heir of Winterfell, drawing everyone''s gaze to the plump, trembling child of Horn Hill. "I m-milord... I d-don''t know..." then Sam looked at the brother who had just rescued him from the clutches of the Redwine... "I''d like to help you and Jon, milord..." "Good. You wille with us then. Let''s separate!" Raising his fist to the sky, the wolf child howled to the pack, "Glory to the North! Glory to Bloody Snow!!!" "Glory to the North! Glory to Bloody Snow!!! Uaarghh!!!" Nine youngrades from the North thundered in response. ***** Three minutester... "Young Wolf Prince, how can the humble Nogul help you?" asked the young wizard of Carcosa, caught off guard by the strange young foursome. In thest two moons spent lemosinating magic shows, Robb had learned how to deal with the Confederacy''s proud wizards... "Honorable ''Great Wizard'' Nogul Ighay Perciviliul Garntadh. I, my brother and my twopanions are desperately seeking the help of the most talented and renowned illusionist wizard in the Noble Confederation." Robb added the icing on the cake by bowing in the Carcosian style. "You honour me, Prince Robb of the noble House Stark. Even many of mypanions have given up pronouncing my name correctly. However, I am afraid I must correct you...I do not yet hold the honour of ''Great'' Wizard; I am only a humble wizard of the third circle..." Replied Nogul sadly, returning his bow in turn. "What?! Impossible!... Then I beg your pardon, Honorable Wizard Nogul Ighay Perciviliul Garntadh... The strict standards of the Noble Confederation must rise beyond the heavens not to bestow such a well-deserved honour on one of the finest spellcasters this inexperienced admirer of magic has ever had the privilege ofying eyes on." Nevertheless, the 30-year-old wizard seemed to greatly appreciate thepliment. "Noble Wizard, might I request your services as an illusionist enchanter for mypanions and me? We would have the need to appear ... ''different'' and ''more mature for a few hours if you could bestow us with the favour of your art." Nogul was bewildered and hesitant by request. "Emm- Noble Prince, actually, I could not use magic-" Robb interrupted him. "Phew... I figured... Please don''t add any more. You don''t need to justify your words, Noble Master of Illusion. So in vain was my enormous expectation... Lady Quaithe warned me that your incredible talents and services could not be used for such childish corbels." Robb lowered his gaze with a sad and surrendering bow and waited... "The Noble Grand Witch Quaithe said that? Well, that is actually I could...however, the Honorable The Watcher specifically requested us-" Robb interrupted him again. He was well aware of the rivalry between the two rival illusionists, Nogul and Baronthi... and they both sought the desperate attention of the Grand Witch Quaithe. "We don''t want to bother you any further, milord--I know when to give up a coveted and impossible wish. As said, a wizard-like you do not deserve to waste his talents on futile childish whims. We will try our luck by asking the favour of the only choice left to us... Lyra, what was the name of the second illusionist rmended to us by Lady Quaithe? Emm. Ba... Baron something..." "Baronthi, my lord." Promptly replied his aplice. Nogul widened his eyes in defiance and enacted: "No, Young Prince! Do not trust the parlor magic of that second-rate illusionist! Nogul will be the one to help you! I will not be able to use magic in public, but there is nothing to prevent me from donating my services to you in my private pavilion... Please follow me!" The Young Wolf turned toward his smilingpanions, casting them a concealed wink of victory. End POV. ------------------------------ POV: Brienne The Beauty About 400 feet away from the centre of the arena. Minutes before an illusionist magician chanted four magic spells for four too-young would-be spectators... It was a short time before the duel began, and Brienne had to hurry to fulfil her duty. She had promised it to her new friend, Dacey. It was the only thing the helpless maiden of Tarth could do for the poor girl distressed by the disastrous event that had just erupted in her honour. A friendship was born the night before when Dacey seeking air from the constant harassment of all the young nobility of Westeros hunting for the Mormont dowry, sought refuge in the training yard of Barrow Hall. It took only two sentences to spark a mutual understanding between the two youngdies who did not want to bedies. ["Your name is Brienne! The main character in my favourite novel is also called that!!! Have you ever read ''The Shield Maiden,'' Brienne of Tarth!"] And that was just the introduction... Next, Dacey tore her precious silk and velvet dress to stuff herself with training armour and engage in an evening sparring with Brienne. Both maidens shed blunt steel and oak wood for an entire hour while all the nobility set about to drink, eat, dance and exchange false praise and ceremonialbels. Dacey was tremendously skilled--Brienne, in her final year, tortured herself with steel and facades on mud with Ser Goodwin from dawn to dusk every day, yet not once did she manage tond the daughter of ''She Bear.'' Although the Maiden of Tarth was taller, heavier and more gifted in physical strength than Dacey, Maege Mormont''s daughter far surpassed her in technique, speed and uracy... The legends on Bear Ind were true. Their women held an infant with one arm while wielding an axe with the other hand. How much advice and inspiration points did Dacey give her in one evening? Her new friend had also promised she would dly host her at Bear Ind and train with her anytime she wanted-her a true first friend. The least Brienne could do in that dark hour for her was to find her sisters and warn them of the urgent family support the poor girl, unable to get away, needed. Alysanne and Lyra hadst been seen walking off with Robb Stark''s group in that direction, and Brienne had been fortunate enough to pick up an additional lead. She had witnessed theughter and cruel taunts that the scions Redwine, Beesbury, and Fossoway hurled at the heir of Horn Hill as he danced with Eddara Tallhart, the second most coveted maiden by the scions of the South. Sam had gone off with Eddard Stark''s natural son soon after the echoes for Bloody Snow ceased, and the twin Redwine twins followed them--probably to teach a cruel lesson to the ''weak'' Tarly, who had stolen the honour of dancing with Helman''s daughter from them. All the guests were massing at the long-awaited event. The halls'' southeast wing was almost deserted except for a few Barrowton servants intent on cleaning and gathering various provisions. Then Brienne''s ear picked up cries of pain, roars of guerri warfare, and various sounds of scuffling. The girl hurriedly turned the corner of the deserted pavilion and found a seemingly incredible scene. Alysane Mormont and three other supposed Northern boys she could not identify were in openbat against six...seven...eight opponents! Brienne recognized the opponents, Horas and Hobber Redwine, Emerick Peake, Bryan Fossoway, the Betran brothers and Hugh Beesbury, and... two scions of the Stornds whom the Maiden of Tarth knew very, very well... ''Ro Connington and Bryce Caron! They were two of the former avid faux suitors who had mocked and humiliated her less than a year ago at the Evenfall Hall ball. Four vs Eight was an unequal challenge, although the North seemed to hold the disparity well. Horas and Hobber were just eight years old-but. Their otherrades were all over twelve. Ro was a fifteen-year-old squire ... and together with thirteen-year-old Bryce, they were beating the crap out of the poor boy surrounded with the banners of House Hornwood. Alysane was beating the Redwine twins to a pulp while the two remaining North were surrounded by the four remaining opponents... Ser Goodwin''s teachings redounded in Brienne''s mind: ["Not everyone is a Ser Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower or Barristan Selmy, Brienne." "In an open field fight, with equal equipment, and surrounded by the enemy: 1 vs 2 is amon challenge to win, 2 vs 4 lessmon, 4 vs 8 more difficult, While 100 vs 200 is almost impossible... Do you know why? Because even if you had the rare gift of being worth two or three times your enemy, it is improbable that your 99rades-in-arms would be worth as much."] ''Five is much better than four!" was the Tarth Maiden''sst thought before her legs moved on their own, charging fiercely into the forty-foot straight that separated her from the glorious battle. "BRYCE CARON!!!" The thirteen-year-old turned away, unprepared for the vengeful fury taller and more muscr than him that swept over him brutally,nding him. Brienne and Bryce rolled twice in the damp, earthy grass before the calloused fist of the Maiden of Tarth managed to find its target. Brienne was on top of her opponent and hit him twice in the face before Bryce raised his arms in a defensive stance. "Ro! Get this lunatic off me!" Squealed the 13-year-old amid the storm of blows that continued to numb his arms and ears. "Aaagh!!!" A hand atrociously tugged at Brienne''s straw-coloured hair, tearing a cry from her. "Brienne The Beauty! Wee to the party, mdy!" A right to the pit of her stomach broke the Maiden''s breath, which inevitably bent downward. But Brienne gritted her teeth and pushed with all the strength she had on her knees. *Smack!"* A resonant headbutt struck Ro in the chin, causing him to stagger backward. "Fucking Bitch!!!" Brienne turned and cushioned Caron''s mighty tread, grabbing his boot with both hands as a handhold to keep from falling backwards. The warrior''s ear suggested to her that the Hornwood boy had recovered sufficiently to fight a second round against her enemy from behind. Now Brienne could focus only on Bryce! "Let go of my foot, you monster!" Brienne lifted her leg with all the strength in her arms, knocking Bryce to the ground for the second time. The Maiden did not hesitate to strike andshed a kick at the rotten mouth of the Nightsong heir, causing him to spit out a mouthful of blood. Next, the scion of House Caron attempted to strike her with a left hook from the ground, but Brienne dodged it and grabbed her arm with both hands, forcing the victim to turn around with her face to the ground as the enraged attacker prepared to leverage her elbow and shoulder. "Surrender or dislocated shoulder, you choose!!!" intimated Brienne, "Arrrghhh!!! I surrender! I surrender!" she released her grip and rose from the ground toward her second target. Alysanne had annihted Horas and made the second Redwine flee in tears by joining the supposed Umber andrade, while another northern boy hade to their rescue, bringing the challenge to 4 vs 4. Ro was again getting the better of the Hornwood boy. "Ro Connington!!!" the 15-year-old shoved his exhausted opponent away and weed the challenge from the Maiden of Tarth. The boy''s first right blunted the Maiden''s defence by striking part of her cheek. Ro was much stronger than the frail Bryce and her. ["If an opponent is physically stronger than you, use his strength against him!"] This teaching came not from Ser Goodwin but from Dacey... Ro attempted to replicate the winning hook, but Brienne beat him to it by parrying the whish at his elbow and, taking advantage of the 15-year-old strongman''s momentum, shoved him behind her, causing him to lurch to the ground. ["Don''t base the force of the blow on your arm, apany the movement with the weight of your torso!"] Brienne anticipated Ro''s defence by a moment and struck viciously with her right hand, spinning her entire torso. The impact was devastating. The Maiden felt a couple of fingers burn with pain; perhaps the fist impacted on Connington''s cheekbone fractured in a few ces...but at least the opponent did not seem to fare any better. Ro rolled a few feet to get away from the dangerous opponent six years his junior ... but then he sprang up and charged furiously toward his prey. Brienne scampered, atst, leaving a foot as an obstacle; the Griffin stumbled but managed to pull the grappled Maiden back with him on the strap. Ro managed to overpower the victim by standing over it. The Griffin was short but tremendously heavy; only one arm was left free of her. Connington began his barrage of punches to the Maiden''s face. Brienne felt the metallic taste in her mouth, a warm fluid run from her nose, and dizzying dizziness. Her left arm was insufficient to hold her defence, but the storm subsided. "You again!!!" the Hornwood boy held back his arms from behind, lifting Ro even slightly, thus allowing Brienne to free her right arm. The Beast of Tarth''s response came a secondter. "Uaaarrrghh!!!" Brienne raised her torso and returned the blows...chin...nose...mouth...cheek. A resounding *Crack* was heard amid the chaos of shouts and exchanges. The fracture of her right hand was almost a certainty at that point, but Brienne did not care and continued to strike again and again. Ro lifted himself up by levering his legs and head-butted the weak attacker behind him, managing to free himself and move away from the ughterhouse. "You filthy monster!... urgh... You broke my nose!" but a distress signal stopped the Griffin''s vengeance: "Away! Away! Retreat! Quick!" Beesbury, Fossoway and Peake gave up the fight against the Northern quartet. Bryce also rose to wee the retreat. "This is not over, Brienne the Beast!" Ro picked up the helpless Redwine on the ground and walked away. A bruised but ted Alysanne Mormont roared to all herrades: "We won! The North won!!" End Chapter. ----------------------------- Chapter 143: Horn Ringing Chapter 143: Horn Ringing POV: Duncan Temporary Arena. About half an hour after a small battle was won... The arena was set up in the centre of the finely manicuredwn as a dance floor. The grass was so thin that it looked like a golf course. Braziers and torches had been arranged in a circle with a sixty-foot radius to mark the temporary arena. Around us, spectators and witnesses almost as far as the eye could see. Tents were dismantled, and longboards were arranged all around to serve as elevations for spectators. The King arrived in time not so much to serve as the first witness of the reign but more to witness the bloody spectacle. To my surprise, Master Recallio was a junior acolyte of the Many-Faced Gods, who, along with Oak Green Welk, would serve as judge and voice of the Gods. Honestly, I had not marked such a scenario in what Barbrey calls the ''Great Puppeteer''s Agenda'' ... not everything could be predicted, and my {Knowledge-Canon-World-Got/Asoiaf} advantage was growing thinner and thinner. Gelledo Antaryon was one of the many unknowns unknown to me until recently, and now, that strange could change the fate of many. I didn''t even want to know what Zick had wagered against Tycho Nestoris; only the thought of it unsettled me. I was pretty confident in being able to crush the Braavosian. However, forcing a drugged and desperate walking dead man to surrender was entirely different from a simple, clean and noble kill... Nor was I to be swayed too much by his level. A Warrior and a Duelist were a different kettle of fish. This was Gelledo''s battlefield... Strange as it was at such a time, one of the thoughts that gued me most was that I would have to lord over the newlyweds'' wedding night with screams of pain and bloodbaths... Inside I fervently hoped that the next day, Barbrey would point her finger at the Iron Bank rather than at yours truly. ''Damn it! All I wanted to do tonight was dance, have fun, and walk with Dacey!!!'' I had nned a beautiful evening... with Seraphinus'' blessing and Master Dywen''s wisdom, maybe, and I say ''Maybe,'' would have ended with a kiss... Instead, that asshole there in front of me had ruined everything! This was certainly not the quiet and pleasant evening I had aspired to. I imagined inwardly what the headlines would read if an imaginary Daily Bugle headed by J. Jonah Jameson existed in Westeros: {Bloody Snow Strikes Again!} {The Butcher of Snow-Mill wants another Pound of Flesh!} {Braavosian Blood Tears Rain on the Widow of Barrowton''s Wedding! } But at least Cersei had yed her part impably, and Tywin''s indignant and resentful look at me was very believable in Zick''s opinion. The High Tower and the Titan would not let a golden opportunity like this pass them by. The best route to such a power stalemate was to incentivize friction between the West and the North. I nce briefly at Ned, who was currently standing at King Robert''s side. The Protector seemed to take in the concealed signal. This unexpected snag could turn into a great opportunity. An opportunity for an event that, in my heart, I hoped I could put off for a few more days... Tension was running high. This duel would decide the fate of the North. My master-at-arms did not seem very supportive in that dark moment. "Duncan, my boy, forgive me for asking this question at such an inopportune time, but I must ask you... Have you provoked Lady Catelyn again, by any chance?" Asked The Watcher in a low voice, a tone more curious than usatory. "Huh? No! I swear, master!... Why are you asking me that?" I asked in turn. "All night long, the Lady of Winterfell has been casting nces at you... mmm, let''s see, how would I describe them... Let''s say she secretly roots for Gelledo to forever eradicate your name from history." Zick. "Even that much?!" I asked in mild astonishment. "I''m afraid so... Involuntary facial muscles and murderous glints in the eyes rarely lie. Said between you and me, I would be undecided of who wants you deader at the moment... The challenge between Gelledo Antaryon, Cersei Lannister and Catelyn Stark is very heated." Affirmed Zick with a subtle tone of seriousness. ''And yet, ording to my father, Myra and Catelyn were forming a very good bond...'' Inside I hoped that the ''Queen of the North''s opinion had improved from ["Burn in hell, Demon!"] to a much more eptable ["I hope you fall off your horse and are paralyzed for life!"]. "Could you tell me the cause, master? I mean, what have I done to deserve such a grudge?" I asked. "Well, if I had definite answers, I wouldn''t have asked you the question, would I? But ... at a guess, I''d say Lady Catelyn doesn''t take kindly to your interest in young Dacey. It''s not really ''resentment'' or ''personal revenge'' but more a firm belief in danger. During the acmation, ''Long live Bloody Snow!'' pff... Ahah..." "I don''t find anything funny about it, master! Half the Known World wants the bearer of that nickname stone dead!" The old man knew how to throw salt in the wounds. "I beg your pardon... Ergn, emm... As I was saying, during the acmation, she scrutinized you as if you were the greatest threat to everything she cared about. It was the frightened look of a ferocious beast ready to do anything to protect her cubs; therefore, I was assuming that you or one of your own had recently ''sensitively threatened'' her." Zick. ''Seraphinus, help all the poor innocent souls of the North and Trident and me...'' I thought, sighing bitterly. It was an urgent item to add to the ''Great Puppeteer''s Agenda.'' That woman was the boiling fuse that had confidently approached the ''Petyr Baelish'' me, thus starting the War of the Five Kings... Impulsively capturing Tyrion Lannister without preparing Ned, Riverrun, the North, and the entire Trident for the nefarious consequences of the war was a mistake so great that perhaps not even the bold Queen Restorer of the Militant Creed would have made it. Thousands of innocents of the Rivends were battered and ughtered by the repercussions of war just because a noble mother demanded justice for the legs and attempted murder of her child... {Family, Duty, Honor} there was no more noble yet catastrophic motto in Westeros... Essentially, the rest of the World could safely burn as long as the good of the Tully family was notpromised. If Catelyn Stark continued to pursue the belief of House Tallhart = Aspiring Protector of the North, any move in the immediate future would only throw more gasoline on the fire... ''But why do I care what Catelyn Stark thinks of me before a mortal duel?!'' Immediately upon thinking this, I noticed a difference... my shoulders, arms, and legs were slightly more rxed. As if other minor problems had distracted me from the tension of the huge situation in front of me. That Cunning Old Eagle had done it on purpose... Female murmurs and various voices further distracted me. "Emm...Lord Duncan?" It was Dacey! "Lady Dacey-you shouldn''t be here. I meant, the duel is about to begin, mdy." Zick and Recallio took two steps away, leaving me and the Goddess in the centre of the World''s attention. "I-I didn''t mean to disturb you, milord. I just came to wish you good luck and-" Dacey''s face turned purple. "And to give you this -- it didn''te out right! But ... it''s the best I''ve been able to do in thest few months ... I ... I didn''t know about the new crest of House Tallhart. I''m afraid I didn''t have time-" "It''s beautiful, Dacey. Thank you-I''ll wear it right away." I took the embroidered handkerchief depicting a ck bear on a brown background surrounded by three sentinel trees and tied it around my wrist. The embroidery stitches were imprecise, and the figures looked as if they had been drawn by a child, but it was the most beautiful and valuable work of art a duelist could receive before a confrontation... "Lord-" "Just Duncan for you, mdy." ["It must not be amonck of formality... Your Lady must believe that privilege belongs only to her."] A pearl of Dywen''s maxim. "Duncan...I wish you luck. I know you can win, but I beg you not to risk your life just for a stupid dance. I don''t wan-" "It''s not about a silly dance, mdy, but '' The Dance''. It will soon be my name-day, and there is no gift in the World I covet more than to dance for the first time with the most beautiful and strongest Warrior in the North. If I win, will you grant me this gift, Dacey?" ["Close your praise of your Goddess'' beauty with an intimate but gant gesture."] I gently gathered the maiden''s hand, caressing it from below with my fingertips, and kissed the back of her hand with a bow while keeping my gaze always focused on her beautiful honey-amber eyes. A slight echo of astonishment pervaded the area; that symbolic gesture could be interpreted as a deration of love in Westeros etiquette. Dacey stood still and stiff as a statue; her purple face began to change to purplish, the same colour as Joffrey''s when poisoned by the Strangler... "Mdy, are you all right?!" I was ready to fire all the spells and pdin skills in my arsenal in front of all the nobility of the World at any time. "Puaaff! No... I meant to say YES!... phew... I beg your pardon, milo-... Duncan! Yes, Duncan, I will dance with you!" End POV. ---------------------- POV: The King of the Seven Kingdoms A few steps away from a pair of duelists. A few minutes after a dazed and throbbing youngdy awkwardly withdrew from the podium... The inebriated Robert was still slightly angry that he had not yet managed to get his hands in the petticoats of thecent young Delena Florent. His private carriage had been stopped by his new drinkingpanion Ser Haymitch... The Knight promised him that he would take it upon himself to ''entertain'' Delena until his return. A duel to the death was a better show to end the evening than a good ride. Sure...having both of them would have been the best. But who knew, if the Braavosi had seeded in the arduous task, maybe even Cersei would have given herself to him withoutints or broken jugs on his head... Perhaps, willy-nilly, Robert would still have taken his Queen that night and mmed her for duty, teaching her ce once and for all... Even though the show he was about to witness seemed to be the most glorious and exciting in years, Robert was still furious. He had only been gone one damn hour and, in that brief interval of absence, his wife had almost seeded in forcing the Crown to a crossroads: War with the North or War against Braavos! To have the Hero of the North killed at the wedding of the Witch Dowager of Barrowton was sheer madness... Should Duncan Tallhart perish, not even a hundred peaceful and friendly Gerion Lannisters could have prevented an imminent bloodbath between Torrhen''s Square and Casterly Rock. ''May the Seven save us... Damn it, Cersei!!! Wasn''t the double thrashing by Lady Barbrey enough for you?! Now you''ve even provoked the sleeping beast?! Bloody Snow''s roar has awakened even the death of the Barronds!'' Grunted the tipsy King looking again at Ned''s worried face. Robert dared not confer with the rich and malignant Witch of Barrowton. Not after the grisly spectacle that befell Ser Meryn Trant-better death than such an end. It seemed that something was still keeping the deformed, burned and maimed Royal Guard alive. Until yesterday, the Maester of Barrowton gave the Knight up for dead. Still, that very morning, Ser Barristan informed him that in a single night, some of the most severe burns seemed to have miraculously healed at an astonishing rate. For Cersei and her ''friends'' supporters, it was the work of the Warrior and Father who deployed their blessings toward the anointed Knight of the Seven as a sword of belief unjustly brutalized by barbarian worshippers of evil gods. To Robert, it was an evil spell cast by the Barrowton Witch to lengthen poor Meryn''s agonies... But this was no time to think about the nefarious fate of a single knight... If the Crown had not extinguished the fire set here and now, thousands of knights would have suffered a fate simr to Meryn Trant. The Protector of the North would have had to make an excellent effort to extinguish the fire of a possible rebellion set by his loving Queen. At least that rancorous fox of a father-inw had tried to stem the damage before the catastrophe... Robert had studied Helman Tallhart''s militia well during the siege of Pyke. The Lannister troops could not have stood up to the Tallhart armed column. Now it was clear how that demon had routed Denys Drumm at Bear Ind. Discipline, equipment, training-not even House Tarly''s forces would hold their own against the Tallhart army, and Robert had recently authorized Torrhen''s Square to increase its militia to six thousand. Ser Barristan also agreed with him. One thousand Tallhart men could have routed two thousand units of any other militia in Westeros... Not to mention House Mormont. Barrowton''s troops were not that far off the level of Torrhen''s Square, and Bear Ind possessed the bloodiest and fiercest warriors in the North. Even if he and Ned had opted for neutrality in an eventual conflict between northern lineages and Casterly Rock, his father-inw would have had to chew huge mouthfuls of lumps of blood and gold to face those two individual lineages. And had the conflict red up beyond that, in all likelihood, the West would have lost in an all-out war against the North... No, the war absolutely had to be avoided! Bloody Snow had to prevail in that confrontation, and if possible, he had to do so without donating belligerent pretexts to the Sealord of Braavos. ''But in case of defeat? What to do?... Propose a reparative marriage between Joffrey and Dacey Mormont, perhaps? Grant my daughter to Benfred Tallhart?'' "Your Majesty..." Ned broke Robert''s nefarious predictions. "Tell me, ''Lord Stark''." Robert was archly dismissive of the formalities with his friend, but too many ears and tensions surrounded the duo. Ned leaned in close for confidentiality and whispered: "Topletely smooth out the frictions of my bishops, after the duel, it would be best to ''reward'' the North in advance..." The king understood what the Lord of Winterfell was referring to. Robert whispered in turn, "You don''t seem so upset about the duel, Ned-if the boy were to perish-" Ned anticipated him " It would be war, I know... but it won''t happen." Robert knew his brother-in-arms better than anyone else; he did not detect the slightest trace of doubt in Ned''s gaze and tone. The king nodded, thinking to himself. ''Fuck it... Jon will take care of it to keep the Creed and the High Septon at bay. Better to face a hundred thousand ranting Septons and unarmed believers than thirty thousand swords of the North.'' The time hade to repay the 1,500,000 favours Winterfell had granted to the Crown''s coffers. The drunken king only hoped to remember the exact words at the decisive moment... **** Three minutester... "I, Robert of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, proim myself as the first witness to the duel of honour between Duncan of House Tallhart and Gelledo of House Antaryon! Since neither men nor Kings can decide which of the two rightfully deserves the honour of the First Dance with Dacey of House Mormont, the Old and New Gods will decide! I appoint as judges of the Trial By Combat the priest of the Old Gods, Welk Oak Green, and the believing acolyte of the Many-Faced Gods, Recallio Sodal! May the Gods guide the hand of the righteous!" The two duelists respectively drew their swords, approaching a distance of ten feet between them. They raised their swords and bowed to him and the judges. After that, they swiftly took their positions. Robert was now supposed to back away, but the corner of his eye caught a somewhat puzzling detailing from Bloody Snow''s thin stock. ''Is that Valyrian Steel?!'' Whispers of unfamiliar new Valyrian des purchased by the northern lords continued to reach the Small Council''s ears. Varys''s little birds perjured themselves that all of Bloody Snow''s militia at Bear Ind wielded Valyrian steel weapons against Danys Drumm''s Ironmen... More than three hundred soldiers armed with Valyrian steel?!...This could not be valid information. ''No, it could not be the wine''s fault. Greatjon Umber''s broadsword, Ned''s suspected sword...and now that!'' Although jugs of wine, praise, and pleading failed to loosen the owners'' tongues about the origin of the new weapons, both Ned and the Lord of Last Hearth had repeatedly perjured themselves to him that their new swords were not Valyrian des. *Woowuu!* There was no more time for theories of the return of a second secret Valyrian Empire, the horn st had already been cast, and the duel began... ------------------------------ End Chapter. Chapter 144: Three Master Swordsmen (I) Chapter 144: Three Master Swordsmen (I) POV: Gelledo Antaryon Circle of Duelists. A second after the horn st decreed the start of the Trial By Combat... Everything depended on the oue of this confrontation... The wager between him and the heir of Torrhen''s Square was of no importance. Sealord''s three petrified dragon eggs were nothingpared to what there was to gain and lose with the Iron Bank. Indeed, if the brat had managed to win by some miracle, his exiled son from Braavos would have evenughed beyond the grave, thinking of the ultimate symbolic revenge against Ferredo. Gelledo Antaryos'' fate would be decreed in that ce far from his hometown, surrounded by filthy Northern barbarians. The Bank had given its Iron Word. If he had seeded in killing or forcing the arrogant brat son of a highborn whore to surrender, Gelledo would have been spared the persecution of the House of ck and White, and, as soon as he returned to Braavos, he might even have been able to kill his traitor father and his guard dog, Syrio Forel, in person. It was undoubtedly his former master who had requested the Gift from the Many-Faced Gods-that coward did not even dare to face him face to face! Gelledo and his men had always cleared all tracks and removed any potential grudging family threat during their ''hunting trips.'' But the iron coin would soon tip in his favour. Soon the most powerful free city in Essos would be his. Braavos would be his essible yground. No one would ever again oppose the new Sealords. His not-so-father, Ferredo, would be first on his list, and then it would be Syrio Forel''s turn. He would not grant his not-most-master a swift death, no... Instead, first, he would deprive him of his proud sword arm, then his feet, and finally, feed him to the stray kittens he loved. And then who knows--maybe he would return to take to wife the shameless little Northern girl who had dared to reject him. All that remained was to defeat the ''Legendary Bloody Snow.'' The two-bit chatan boasted so much, but how could he face him in the Water Dance if he didn''t even know how to hold the sword properly? ''Ahahah, you idiot of a barbarian! You may be a ''valiant and promising'' knight, but you can''t even imagine how much you will regret depriving yourself of your precious armour!'' The two duelists continued to study each other as they rotated in a circle, pointing their des at each other. The hand position was strange, but the boy''s stride seemed fluid, quiet and faultless... ''At least in footwork, the brat knows his stuff.'' Thought the alert Braavosian who never left anything to chance. Not only was Gelledo wearing the best light armour anyone had ever seen, and even if, ording to Director Nestoris, the trick had somehow been revealed, the future Sealord of Braavos had another card hidden from the eyes of the world... No one knew. The forge master hemissioned the work and the poison merchant from whom he bought the supplies had not lived long enough to tell. And Gelledo had not used that card even in official duels. It would have been too easy for any healer to identify the essence of Demon Dance. So far, the Braavosian had reserved that special treatment for only three brazen swordsmen who had dared to tarnish his reputation as an undefeated duelist. His poisoned point and a few burning embers in the ck Boatman''s burrows had disposed of the bodiester... But he was not to be carried away by his impulses; now, the victory mattered. Minimizing risks was the wisest course of action. He could quietly quench his thirst for blood in the future. It was imperative to get rid of the pesky faceless men first... ''Yes, why not...'' Gelledo thought it was worth investing some energy to give the audience some show and intimidate the boy. The Future Sealord smiled and backed away a few steps by lowering his de to the ground and then turned his attention to the crowd. After all, it wasmon knowledge that young aspiring Westerosi knights were nursed from the cradle by songs of chivalry and rules of honour. And ''The Honorable Hero of the North'' would never hit him from behind... not with all those noble witnesses. The Water Dancer performed a refined, fluid, and highly rapid disy of sword skills and footwork. At that speed to themon eye, the thin sword of cold-hardened steel would have appeared as a flexible and deadly whip. Gelledo danced pirouetting back and forth, adding a one-handed double wheel and a few jumps adorned with a double vault. Not even Syrio Forel could match him in show-stopping acrobatics. The Gelledo Dance was the most sought-after attraction in the Sealord Pce... Boos of astonishment and mours of apuse grew louder and louder. When the Dancer concluded the performance by bowing to a group of southerndies and gentlemen, the eye and ear caught some pointing and handing of jingling purses. Even the audience was beginning to doubt Bloody Snow''s chances of victory. It was time to sing the song... "Surrender now, Duncan Tallhart, and you can live another-" was just a blur caught out of the corner of his eye when he turned around... Something hard, blunt, devastating and tremendously precise had struck between the sr plexus and the mouth of the Braavosian''s stomach, knocking him back a few feet. His breath was utterly broken, his lungs empty and desperate for fresh air... Gelledo was on his back and butt on the ground. His grip on the sword had failed; survival instincts managed to get the better of the pain and physical trauma. His head lifted to try to carp at what iron hammer had nearly shattered his rib cage. His silk armour was almost imprable from piercing and shing weapons but ineffective against blunt ones... How had Bloody Snow concealed such a weapon?! What he saw shocked him... It had not been a hammer, a maul or a club, but the fist! The boy had been standing unarmed with his torso forward, and his arm and closed hand still posed after the treacherous blow he had just thrown... ''Was it a simple punch?! It was thest thought before the blowback devastated the victim''s respiratory system. "Cough! Coff! Coff!... Bluerghh!!! FIuuuuurh! Cough! Cough!" A three-course concoction and a half-cup of wine were forcibly returned to the earth as the poor Braavosian tried pitifully to inhale as much air as possible between regurgitations and coughs. Laughter and various rumours of disgust from the audience-which until a few seconds ago were cheering Gelledo-added insult to injury. "It is not knightly behaviour to strike an opponent from behind, milord! Nor is it to strike an honourable and acrobatic Water Dancer like yourself while drowning in your own bile trying to catch your breath... I shall wait ''chivalrously'' for you to catch your breath, Noble Gelledo Antaryon." The Bastard walked calmly away toward the thin de stabbed into the ground. Cheers and choruses from the Norse barbarians apanied the Hero of the North''s every step as Gelledo fumbled, trying to recover as quickly as possible and im his heinous vengeance. "Take your time, milord! I, too, hold the need for a few moments to prepare as best I can!" Every word uttered by that snail dung made him want to impale him repeatedly with the thin de! But what did he mean? What was he doing? Gelledo managed to lift himself off the ground with an enormous effort; it would take him at least another minute to regrize his breathing and get back on his feet... The Bastard was at the opposite end of the circle next to a burning brazier, and... He was plunging half of the de into the mes! ''Why? Why weaken the de with fire?'' He thought urgently. ["Remember, Gelledo, Bloody Snow will not chase victory by killing you. He will try to force you to surrender. Under no circumstances should you give in to the temptation to surrender, my boy... Or I can assure you, your debt to the Many-Faced Gods will be the least of your problems."] Director Nestoris''s iron threats rang like rm bells in the Braavosian''s mind. ''Of course... he will try to wound me by trying to bleed me as little as possible! Heat cauterizes a wound, besides making it unbearably painful.'' He could not deny that it was a shrewd move; in his ce, Gelledo would have made the same decision... In any case, the Northern brat had miscalcted. More was needed to damage his armour. The tip of the sword would have had greater pration, but the de''s edge would have suffered... "Ready when you are, Ser Dancer." The condemned man approached, holding the sword with its red-hot tip and smoke-ckened de. Gelledo picked up his sword and decided it was time to fight earnestly to inflict the most heinous deaths on the boy who had forever stained his good name in ridicule. No surrender-just death and pain. The fire had to be answered with poison... The swordsman pressed with his thumb the invisible pressure lever hidden under the firstyer of leather of the handle. The mechanism inside the sword was activated. A few transparent drops began to drip from the tip of the de... All it would take was one scratch, and in no time, the essence of Demon Dancer would take effect. The victim would be afflicted with minor convulsions, partial paralysis and involuntary muscle cramps. The poison itself was not deadly, and its effects wouldst only a few minutes, but it was a thorn in the side for all duelists and fighters engaged in mortalbat. The boy did not seem to notice anything-it was time to take the initiative. However... something paralyzed both duelists forcing them to turn their attention to the gargantuan presence of danger to their left. No noise, no scream, just a nce-it was that old man called The Watcher! All the sadistic murderer''s body hair stood up, the skin tightened and froze, the dder pressed with urgent urgency to be emptied, and legs and arms began to tremble. Onlookers near the mysterious figure, who personally negotiated with one of the highest officials of the Iron Bank, took a few steps away from the suffocating murderous aura hovering in the air. All Gelledo''s senses of danger thrilled, urgently signalling the threat of a giant new predator! A predator at the head of the natural hierarchy of carnivorous hunters! Those tremendous yellow raptor eyes that caught his gaze were working their way through skin, flesh and bone to the bare soul! Gelledo felt like a miserable, trapped mouse suffocated by the shadow of a majestic Golden Eagle. No...not even a mouse...it was not that important in the eyes of the predator. It was a worm--a mere bait forrger prey that could satisfy that monster''s hunger! ''He knows! He knows about the poison!'' thought the culprit instinctively, shaking like a leaf. But how? How was it possible? The de was already damp from the dew on the ground; an extra transparent drop was impossible to notice at that distance on a night lit only by fires. Nestoris warned him to fight by strictly adhering to the imposed regtions. ["No impropriety will escape the referees or the ''witnesses present,'' Gelledo. Fight ''fairly.''"] The murderous rampage inexplicably died an instantter, allowing the Braavosian to regain control of his body. "So it was really the poison that was your secret weapon... Indeed, a whisper of three mysterious deaths had reached my ears long ago. Three celebrated Braavosi master swordsmen disappeared in the nighttime alleys of Braavos in less than two years without any duelist being credited with an honourable victory..." So exined Bloody Snow quietly, shocking Gelledo. ''Tsz! So the old man''s threatening look only served to warn his pupil of danger!'' "Not to fear, Ser Dancer, it is not an irregrity to use good poison to win a duel to the death... Certainly, perhaps a bit petty and dishonourable for an egregious ''undefeated'' duelist from the respected city of Braavos. Here in Westeros, we say that poison is a weapon for ''Women'', ''Cowards'' and ''Dornians''. I don''t think you''re a woman and not even Dornian... So you''re just a coward, right?" Laughter and murmurs of outrage stifled Gelledo''s pride by fanning his me of anger into a ze. "DIE!!!" Shrieked Gelledo giving vent to all pent-up rage as he leapt forward with the sole purpose of killing... End POV. -------------------- POV: Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Less than seventy feet away from the duelists. A minute before the real fight began... Barristan abandoned personal concerns and favouritism toward the boy and carefully observed every detail with the utmost impartiality. Only the des would sing from that moment until the end of the duel. His curiosity and warrior pride longed to know the truth... Was Ser Jaime right? Did Duncan Tallhart''s talent with the sword surpass even that of his former confrere, Ser Arthur Dayne? Barristan had not yet had the opportunity to observe the boy fight in person; all he had were bads, tales, and firsthand ounts from knights who had had the privilege or misfortune of witnessing Bloody Snow''s legendary actions. Ser Jaime had personally crossed swords with him in a night sparring, and, ording to his former squire, that boy had infinite potential... The Kingyer had been training obsessively for months in preparation for this tournament, tormenting the no longer young Lord Commander with aggravating sparring sessions for his physique. But Barristan refused no request. The chanting of steel was bing the only way to interact with his hated brother, who stained the honour of the white cloak... Jaime''s every word was a screech in Barristan''s ears, but the sword''s ngors and the steel dance were more than an eptable form ofmunication for the swordsman... The Kingyer was also aware of this and seemed to ept his choice with dignity. The battle of the Guest Keep, in which the two Kingsguards fought side by side against dozens of enemies, did not wash the crimes of the honorless knight in the eyes of Barristan The Bold...but at least they granted the Young Lion the right to acquire fencing drills. And the thing that Barristan hated and loved at the same time ... was that he liked it. Both knights gave their best to refine more and more the noble way of the sword. Sparring between the two became almost a habit that Barristan could no longer do without. The Lord Commander thought back to one of the rare verbal interactions he had with his confrere. ["Why such a rush in training? Not even as a squire did you train with such constancy and rigidity." "Because now I know I can improve. ...The sword, the horse and thence are the only knightly ways I have left. Besides ... I don''t want to be left behind." "Behind whom?" "Duncan Tallhart. And if we don''t resume training, Ser, he will soon leave you behind too."] Barristan''s attention catapulted toward an old merchant spectator. The duelists and hundreds of spectators replicated the knight''s action. His Royal Guard disposition shrieked ''Danger!" his hand instinctively slid to the hilt of his sword even though the possible threat was more than a hundred feet away and minimally interested in the figure of the King. "Who is that man?" asked Robert to Eddard Stark. "Duncan Tallhart''s master-at-arms, Your Grace. A famous master highly respected in the North and throughout Essos." Jaime took a step closer to the Protector of the North and asked: "Forgive me, Lord Stark, do you mean Master Zick? The master-at-arms, also known as The Watcher?" "That''s right, Ser Jaime." Eddard Stark. "The Watcher, huh? Well, the look on that man''s face almost made me pee in my pants. Ahaha!" Commented the King,ughing but in a much softer tone than usual. After the Water Dancer''s arrogant and pathetic performance, Robert almost doubled over inughter. Barristan thought back to Balon Swann''s words. Ser Balon Swann kept telling him that this boy was no ordinary human being but a demonic beast born for war... Balon had witnessed firsthand the gruesome spectacle of death in the Sea Tower corridor on Pyke''s surrender. It seemed like unfounded exaggerations... ["I wouldn''t know how to describe him in words, Ser Not a boy, but a beast with steel ws and a demonic gaze that imed ironborn blood insatiably. I realised that I had wet my pants when the battle was over. And I am not even ashamed to admit it. Among the many puddles of piss in that ughterhouse ... there was also mine."] If that was the look of Bloody Snow''s master-at-arms, then perhaps those were not exaggerations... "This is it," Jaime said, appearing at his side. "DIE!!!" the confrontation began. The Bravosian began the assault with ferocity by trying a double lunge followed by a sweeping kick; the boy fluidly discarded all three blows choosing a defensive stance. Gelledo pirouetted by cleaving a storm of broader and faster blows, and the thin des began to cross. They did not look like collisions between rigid sword shes but like a contrast between steel whips. Bloody Snow again opted to defend by parrying more than a dozen shes with a good margin ahead of the attack. But something trilled in the swordsman''s experienced eye... ''It is not simple anticipatory y... It is a set flow of defence! ''A standard manoeuvre rehearsed endlessly and absorbed into muscle memory!'' They were a series of movements so fluid and natural as breathing, no...not breathing, more like synchronicity between arms, legs and deparable to those of lips, tongue and teeth! Gelledo''s relentless assault continued to sh futilely against the Tallhart boy''s fluid steel defence. After forty--maybe fifty shes, lunges, middles, straight doubles and parried rovers, Jaime asked the veteran swordsman: "Did you find an opening in the defence?" "No...but I can say that those are not simple defensive manoeuvres. The boy could attack and defend at the same time if he really wanted to. And I have no idea how he can pull off such manoeuvres... I''ve never seen anything like that." replied Barristan without taking his eyes off the confrontation for a moment. "Duncan wants to tire and destroy his opponent''s self-esteem and force him to surrender." Jaime. "I agree. If that boy wanted the Braavosian dead, Gelledo''s throat would have been sliced long ago... You have already crossed swords with him. Tell me...can he replicate those movements even with the long sword?" Barristan. "Short sword, long sword, bastard sword, two-handed sword and even double sword... I think it can be applied even with halberd and axe, as far as I know. He tried to exin part of one of those manoeuvres to me, warning me not to practice it directly... Unfortunately, I didn''t listen to him and almost dislocated my wrist and shoulder, tearing a couple of muscle bands in my back." Barristan could not imagine the physical strain and stress it might take on the body to replicate such movements with heavy weapons. As far as he knew, the human body was not designed to perform manoeuvres of that level... ''How could the boy impart force into the de from that position?'' thought the knight. "Were you able to force the defence in any way?" asked Barristan, trying to quench at least some of his vast curiosity. "No... I''m physically stronger than him, or at least I was until four moons ago. Yet, even though I tried several times to dig an opening with mere brute force, Duncan dissipated the blow by using its energy to reinforce his own defensive manoeuvre and counterattack... It was as futile as it would be for the strongest man in Westeros to punch a feather mattress lined with Karstark leather." Nevertheless, it was a very effective metaphor to express the idea. "Unless the difference in the quality of the weapons is monumental, the only weakness I could find in the technique was the duration--and its limit was five minutes at the time." Five minutes of fullbat was an interminable amount of time in a 1 vs 1 duel. Now Barristan fully understood what Jaime was feeling... The elderly knight felt the blood boiling inside him, and his sword hand itched incessantly. Her steel yearned to be drawn and tested. She wanted to collide with Bloody Snow''s sword. "I do believe I will follow your example, Ser." Barristan decided after another series of exchanges. "Meaning?" Jaime. "I will also join the great melee. ... Tomorrow morning, we''ll both have a free shift. I''d appreciate having these old joints loosen up with steel." So proposed the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. "With pleasure, Ser," Jaime replied, concealing an arrogant and smug smile. End Part I ------------ Chapter 145: Three Master Swordsmen (II) Chapter 145: Three Master Swordsmen (II) I apologize for my unfortunate dy in posting! It was not only the dy at work.... I also shot the first two episodes of ''The Rings of Power'' in a row! Enjoy your reading, dear readers! ****** POV: Lord Commander of the Seven Keepers. Less than thirty feet away from a pair of kingsguards. A minute after the real fight began... ''How did he parry that surprise imbroglio at the de''s weak point? It should be impossible from that position! ... I''m sure that a moment earlier, the arm was outstretched and the torso unbnced on the opposite side! Then how?!'' All the studies, research, and practice gained by Jon Cupps over more than two decades of dedication to martial art and human physiology continued to be twisted and thrown into the muck. Jon Cupps sought confirmation from his sworn nemesis on the opposite side of the arena... Even the best swordsman in the Confederation of Mages, Ser Tristan, the Lord Commander of the Arcane Shields, seemed as troubled and confused as he was. Among the Twelve Arcane Shields was a Shrykes, a rare humanoid creature native to southern K''Dath. They were nicknamed Lizard Men in the citadel because of their green-scaled skin, long tongue and venomous bite. But another peculiarity of the Shrykes was their abnormal bone and joint sticity... Ser Ghruk Urablo was one of Carcosa''s finest Eldritch Knights, famous to Oldtown ears for his exotic fighting technique that could not be replicated by themon man. Yet from the look in Lord Commander Tristan''s eyes, Jon could sense that not even the lizard-swordsman should be able to perform such acrobatics. ''So that is the ultimate art of Master Zick...'' thought one of the very few privileged people in Westeros to have been taught by the best master of arms in the Known World. The technique The Watcher refused to teach to any disciple he had met so far... The Spider Queen failed in her attempt to hide the connection between The Watcher and the strongest diator ever to exist in Essos. Lord Leyton, President Ultherro and Chai Dug tried every ttering and incentivizing way to acquire Vharro''s ''de of a Hundred Eyes'' technique. Now that the Guardian of Love had chosen to openly disy the supremacy of the {Closing of the Sixteen Gates}, all the forces of the world carefully re-evaluated ''why'' the Fourth World Organization and the Guardian should never be provoked. What known army or magic would be able to counter a hypothetical militiaposed of a thousand Vharro? Dragons? No... Dorne and the Storming of the Dragonpit had taught the Known World that even the deadliest of single weapons of war could be thwarted. Fortifications? Fifty versatile warriors capable of easily infiltrating and conquering any known fortress in Westeros with sheer personal fighting skills were worth more than a Dragon skilled only at reducing it to ashes... Fleets of Ships? One of the Nine Demons was enough to force the greatest pirate of the century, The Old Mother, to seek refuge in the Narrow Sea... Sorcerers? If Master Zick had not already trained renowned Mage-yers like Ramas, it might have been a valid guess... Riches, faiths, names, blood, magic, Valyrian steel weapons and armour all paled in the face of the power of such an army. An army loyal to a single entity... Cupps'' attention refocused on the confrontation; by now, Gelledo had been attacking relentlessly for almost two minutes, and his movements became increasingly clumsy and slow. On the other hand, Bloody Snow continued to remain in a defensive position, not conceding a single foot of ground until his opponent spaced out to catch his breath. "Anf... Anf... can''t you do anything but defend yourself, Hero of the North!'' Since the sword seemed ineffective, the Braavosian tried using his tongue to wound his immovable opponent. "Forgive me, milord, but my de has cooled too quickly-you; stay there and catch your breath while I go and heat the metal some more." Gelledo gritted his teeth but did not respond to the provocation and helplessly allowed his opponent to move sideways toward the brazier... ''It''s a psychological battle. The boy is shattering more and more of the Water Dancer''s hopes, mentally torturing him with anticipation of the counterattack.'' Jon assessed himself. Bloody Snow wanted to make his enemy aware that he had no chance of victory and that only pain and humiliation awaited Gelledo. An effective strategy to force the enemy to surrender... About nine years ago, the Lord Commander had the misfortune of coborating with a member of the Seven Secrets of the Citadel. Oldtown had captured and imprisoned a member of Prince Rhaegar''s personal escort. A guard named Milton. For the first hour, the poor Milton was hung naked with chains on his wrists in the interrogation chamber, continuing to rant about how loyal he was to the prince and the Crown, swearing in the name of the Seven that never, not even under the most excruciating torture, would he ever betray Rhaegar. The citadel constable did noty a finger on Milton for the first four hours... Simply, the torturer continued in silence to scrutinize, fondle and carefully sharpen all the instruments in front of the helpless victim forced to watch... The ''brave'' and ''loyal'' Milton began tearfully singing the longest and most detailed of songs as early as the beginning of the third hour... ''Out of thousands of possible candidates, Master Zick chose him... He gave the North one of humanity''s most valuable and dangerous knowledge.'' The best martial talent of his generation did not know how to face the bitter truth. Ser Jon could not feel anger toward his former master, who had invested nearly two years of loving dedication and care in guiding him and five other eliterades. More than fifteen years had passed since the day of Zick''s departure from Oldtown; Jon knew that The Watcher of Love''s martial leadership was more of a coercion imposed by the High Tower toply with the peace agreements between the three world superpowers, but in any case, respect for The Watcher always remainedparable to that felt toward a father. Neither the two members of the Seven Keepers, the Seven Secrets or the Seven Pdins trained by Zick wished to be forced to wage war against The Watcher. It was not jealousy but more anger and frustration at that boy for forcing his hand in Oldtown by forcing the High Tower to antagonize The Watcher of Love. "Ser Jon."Lord Leyton called in a low voice. "Yes, my lord." Replied the knight promptly. "Are you able to note the technique and all the movements of the Guardian''s student?" Jon frowned in response: "I''m afraid not, my lord... Those are not simple set manoeuvres; they are too changeable and unique to each other. The movements do not follow precise lines or arcs. They are more like a stream flows with hundreds of possible paths that the de can follow as needed. Based on sight alone, it is like trying to read a book in an unfamiliarnguage. The keywords to trante the manual resides in the muscle memory of the practitioner. Without practical guidance, attempting to replicate that technique is simply impossible..." "I see... what else were you able to glean in this brief exchange?" This was one of his liege''s qualities; he had no problem seeking the advice of even the lowliest or most infamous individual should he turn out to be more knowledgeable or educated in subjects in which The Old Man felt deficient. "The manoeuvres shown so far by Bloody Snow number eight, but each could also be used to counterattack and attack his opponent and to parry, deflect or repel assaults. In my humble opinion, Duncan Tallhart could have severely or even fatally injured Gelledo on at least a dozen asions. The boy''s muscle and joint twists are unnatural and give the technique an unpredictability and uniqueness that is very difficult to predict in a fight. It is as if his physique possesses bundles of muscles and joints unknown to themon man... In all sincerity, I have no idea how much time, effort or practice an individual would have to invest in assimting just one of those eight manoeuvres." Exined the master swordsman. "To me, that already sounds like a lot of information acquired in just a few minutes of performance. Mypliments, Ser," Leyton nodded in praise. "Thank you, my lord. I regret that I cannot do more." "Um, should you cross swords with the boy, would you be able to absorb at least some of thatnguage?" Asked the Oldtown Defender. "Hard to answer for sure... I would have to experiment first to find out. Taking up the analogy about sight, direct sparring would give the researcher other senses such as touch and smell. Testing the opponent''s strength, breath, and response choices to different attacks would undoubtedly be more helpful. But whether I will be able to glean other relevant information from these other perspectives, I cannot say." The Lord Commander. Leyton pondered carefully for a few seconds, making sure that The Watcher''s gaze was not directly aimed at the duo, before enacting: "Duncan Tallhart will participate in the grand tournament scrimmage five days from today; I wish you to join it as well." Cupps turned away in great surprise. Before the disaster at Valyria, Oldtown had not allowed the twenty-one honour guards to participate in anypetitive social event or demonstration that would showcase the true capabilities of the secret weapons of the High Tower, the Starry Sept, and the Citadel. The great houses of Westeros and the Crown would not have reacted well if they found out that quiet, peaceful Oldtown could field twenty-one warriors more lethal and capable than the White Bull... "My lord, are you sure that-" "I am willing to roll the dice, Lord Commander. The council will forgive this minor disregard for tradition... Uncertain times call for flexible measures. You have my permission to test the abilities of Zick''s pupil as you see fit." Cupps was one of the seventeen members of the Andalus High Council, and he was well aware that the Seven Grand Archmaesters would not appreciate this decision. Still, the knight agreed with the High Council''s Supreme Protector. Bloody Snow finished preparations for the second act, and Ser Jon Cupps refocused all his attention on the duel. Shocks of adrenaline and shivers of excitement pervaded the knight secretly named by his cronies ''The Indomitable''... End POV. --------------------- POV: Lord Commander of the Twelve Arcane Shields. From the opposite position to the noble spectators in Oldtown. About a minute before the duel resumed... {"Zick! Hey, Guardian, I''m talking to you!"} Noble Chai caught The Watcher''s attention bymunicating in the ancient and unknownnguage of the Dawn Empire. All members of the Arcane Shield knew anguage that Zick also spoke fluently... His former master had the gift of an unparalleled visual memory. It would have been enough for the Guardian of Love to observe the movements of lips, tongue, diaphragm and body gestures once to trante and learn tomunicate in an unknownnguage. Very few were aware of the first meeting between the Guardian and the Chief Sorcerer of Carcosa. The King in The Yellow formed friendships and bonds with The Watcher several years before the Nine Demons Tumult marked the rise of the current Fourth World Organization. Some thirty-five years ago, Zick''s young party fled through the Krazaaj Zasqua mountain ranges to sow a Dothraki Khsar on their trail after an unfortunate but to this day unknown incident in Vaes Dothrak. Unfortunately, the group of twelve ended up from the frying pan into the fire... A tribe of Jogos Nhaimanded by a young and belligerent Jhat (same role as a Khal in his own Khsar) descendant of the legendary female warrior Jhattar (Jhat of the Jhat) Zhea The Cruel, captured the group of The Watcher to offer them as sacrificial tributes to his revered Moonsinger (priestess, judge and healer of the tribe). The people of the Jogos Nhai are not very dissimr to the Dothraki culture; many historians and moonsingers in the confederacy still sing to this day that the Jogos were also a branch descended from the Womb of The Word, the sameke in which the first Dothraki emerged hundreds of thousands of years earlier. They are nomads living in yurts, tents and saddles, a proud and warlike race that values freedom and is never content to stay in one ce for long. The only appreciable differences between the nomadic races, besides the Mount Zorses and peculiar physical features, are that it is forbidden for the Jogos Nhai to shed blood belonging to the same people. But, on the other hand, their culture had an absoluteck of tolerance for foreigners... However... only three years after the disappearance of a small group of young foreigners, desperately sought by dozens of mercenarypanies hired by a concerned and wealthy noblewoman of Pentos, a centuries-old event shook all thends from the Bone Mountains to the Morning Mountains... A new young Jhat named Kutan ''Zorseface'' demonstrated strength, wisdom and valour to all the tribes of the Jogos Nhai by earning the honour of ''Jhattar''. The new Jhattar sent foreign emissaries to the city of Yin to propose a symbolic truce with the Empire of Yi Ti, which had been worn down for more than a decade in a threefold civil war over the session to the throne. The Golden Empire of Yi Ti, like other cities and races bordering the belligerent nomadic raiders, were fighting an endless thousand-year war against the Jogos Nhai. Many emperors in the past managed to find truces and symbolic negotiations with various lesser Jhats but never had anyone managed to negotiate peace with a Jhattar... As soon as word of a possible viable means ofmunication with the highest ranking figure in charge of the worst thorn in the side of the Confederation of Wizards reached the Sorcerer Chief''s ears, Chai Dug unleashed all the elite forces of Carcosa and Asshai to intervene as soon as possible. The Confederation was able to respond in less than half a day, investing enormous amounts of means and resources... The royal pce was besieged and isted for nearly a moon, the candidate Emperor, his court, the guards and all the servants who had had the misfortune to hear the almost impossible-to-believe words of the foreign emissaries were systematically ''sanitized,'' and every trace was erased before it could reach the ears of any Titan or High Tower spy... And the delegation of twelve adventurers, deserving to be remembered in all the history books of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, was subsequently hosted in great secrecy in the Starry City. To this day, The Watcher and the elevenpanions are the only epted and respected spokesmen of the present Jhattar Kutan... Small and medium-sized conflicts, regted by secret honour codes and peace tributes agreed upon between the Confederation and all the tribes of the Jogos Nhai, continue unbeknownst to Carcosa''s sworn enemies. Both Braavos and Oldtown are confident that it is precarious for Carcosa to deprive thends of the Confederacy with more than a third of its war forces. The immovable threat of more than two hundred thousand Zorse cavalry warriors remains in their eyes a guarantee of an impediment to the magicians, unaware that, in reality, the Confederacy could unleash nearly twice as many militias. The Spider Queen''s cautionary symbol for The Watcher''s not-yet-mature disciples is revered, feared and respected throughout thends of the Jogos Nhai and the Confederation''s domains. The King in The Yellow''s value and highest esteem for The Watcher considerably predated the rise of the name that shook the world order... {"Not now, Chai...I have a disciple who is risking his life right now."} Replied the master in the samenguage. {"Pff, ''risking his life.'' The Braavosian is already on the edge of a precipice, and they''re not even fighting right now."} The Honorable Chief Witch Doctor. {"Yes, but the tip of that de is poisoned, and I haven''t figured out what the poison is yet."} The Watcher. {"Easy, it must be an immediate-acting poison: Manticore Poison or Demon Dancer. There would be no point in trying to poison your disciple with other substances that can be neutralized in the long run."} The King in The Yellow. {"Mmm, you''re probably right. What''s so urgent? I''m warning you, Chai, if it''s yet another offering from Carcosa for my father''s technique-"} {"What do you take me for! For an insensitive two-bit merchant, perhaps? No, it has nothing to do with your invaluable [Gate Locks]...I just want to know what the false sorcerer-loving Andals is confabting with your former pupil."} Chai Duq. {"You know very well that I cannot tell you. It''s a clearck of respect and confidentiality of the person."} Zick. {"So you know...Well, my dear ''respectful'' and ''reserved'' Watcher, you should have looked away if you really held to your high and honourable morals."} The Watcher had been taken aback. {"... It''s different, and you know it. I ''involuntarily'' memorize and trante every image within sight. Also, it is my duty as the ''Neutral'' Guardian Guarantor to ensure no vitions to host, and guest factions are perpetrated."} The Guardian justified himself. {"What about the prince of the North and his threepanions pretending to be ''adult spectators'' under the veil of illusory second-circle magic? Did this ''vition'' escape the unerring eyes of The Watcher?"} Master Zick stiffened and chose silence at the usation made. {"Lord Eddard Stark, Warden Nestoris, and Lord Leyton Hightower should at the very least be informed by the ''Watcher Guarantor''... Not to mention the ''unintentional'' failure of the ''Neutral Watcher'' to inform a very lore-sensitive Old Witch Hermit of the political situation in the North... Yes, Zick... don''t pretend you don''t know. I have ruled for more than a century in that den of affabtors, liars and double-crossers of Yin. I know about the little joke you pulled on me in White Harbor, and you know that I know... But I turned a blind eye by showing generosity and understanding, even agreeing to restore and implement Winterfell''s magical defences at my own expense. So cut out these false formalities, and let''s go back to good old ''Favor for a Favor''!"} The Watcher continued to turn his gaze in front of him in silence, and after a slight surrendered sigh, he replied: {"... Lord Leyton is asking Ser Jon about the [Closing of the Sixteen Gates]."} "I knew it!... And?"} Chai Duq. {"Leyton has just ordered Ser Jon to join the great melee of the tournament to face Duncan and attempt to acquire more data on the field."} As soon as Ser Tristan heard the shocking news, a tingle of excitement pervaded his entire body. Opportunities to test the skills of Oldtown''s twenty-one elite warriors were more unique than rare! {"And can he seed? Would your former student be able to acquire even a fraction of the technique?"} Chief Sorcerer asked urgently. {"Jon is a natural in the martial art, 1 in 100,000 are born with such a disposition, but even I, one of the creators of the technique, endowed with unique perceptual mnemonic abilities, could not fully acquire a single manoeuvre by observing or crossing swords in a single sparring session. I gave Duncan permission to use the technique freely partly because it is almost impossible to replicate without at least months of training and careful guidance."} Master Zick was right. Tristan had no idea how to replicate the eight manoeuvres he had just seen. Although Zick''s pupil had repeated the technique several times, observing it was not enough to understand its nature... The Chief Sorcerer seemed relieved at the exnation, but then Zick continued: {"However... Experienced sword artists could still gain benefits and inspirational insights to improve their individual techniques... Many of my boys who tried their hand at tutoring Duncan have benefited greatly, and it seems that even Ser Jaime Lannister could absorb partial changes in his fencing game with a simple, friendly exchange with Duncan... Not bad, to say the least. The Young Lion has enormous potential still dormant..."} Hearing that very rare praise from his former master-at-arms, Tristan''s gaze aimed toward the member of the Royal Guard. Previously, Tristan''s expectations had been bitterly disappointed by members of the White Cloak...Decades ago, even to Carcosa''s ears came the bad of King Aerys'' celebrated Royal Guard members. But in Tristan''s eyes, only that old man named Barristan could stand a chance against the most acerbic member of the Arcane Shields. The remaining members seemed disappointing, to say the least... Just the title of ''Ser'' for that Boros Blunt already seemed like an insult to the memory of all three Great Ancient Orders of Knighthood... Tristan was dying to teach all those fake ''Swords Consecrated by the Seven'' the fundamental requirement for the title of ''Ser''. ''Hmm... Grandmaster Zick judged the arrogant-looking blond worthy... I must have been too carried away by prejudice. I wish I could-'' Tristan''s thoughts were interrupted by a sacred plea he could not possibly miss. {"Ser Tristan!"} He called to his lord an instant after the troubling revtion. {"Yes, my supreme lord."} The Lord Commander of the Twelve Arcane Shields promptly replied. {"Imand you, Ser Braitwur and Ser Ghruk, to participate in the great fray!"} Chai Duq. {"It shall be done, my lord."} Tristan''s eyes glittered with ardour at his lord''s magnanimous gift. {"Have you gone mad, Chai? Do you want to suffocate my poor pupil by surrounding him on all sides?! There are already two dozen knights and a half-giant madman yearning to tear him apart!"} Roared Master Zick indignantly. {"Of course not!... During our brief stay in the North, your pupil will oblige Ser Tristan and his elevenpanions by having some friendly sparring in private. In return, Ser, you and your brethren will prevent Ser Jon and all the irritating flies of Oldtown and Braavos from bothering our friend benefactor during the tournament."} Master Zick failed to answer by being anticipated by a reply in themon tongue: "Now we are even, my old friend." ------------------------------- End Chapter. Chapter 146: Operation D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E! Chapter 146: Operation D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E! POV: A Man Born with a Diamond Spoon. The front row of spectators. A few minutes after a master was forced to ept... The match was decided. Gelledo was just a wounded worm crawling on the ground stubbornly, not dering surrender and begging to be killed... But most spectators seemed to disregard the Braavosian''s already decided fate under torture. Instead, what most caught the audience''s attention was the sword of the referee named Recallio Sodal. King Robert continued to harass poor Lord Eddard Stark with questions, who seemed immovable in his decision. Ned Stark even ignored the drunken King''s false threats to have him imprisoned for a month in the ck cells of King''s Landing. The King''s childhood friend kept giving the same answer: "You will sooner cut off my head. I have sworn to the Old Gods not to reveal anything until and not before the tournament begins. So you will have to wait like everyone else, Robert." None of this mattered at that moment. Now the swordsman''s attention was focused on another, far more troubling matter... The Knight did not understand why Duncan Tallhart kept looking at him with hatred a moment before he tortured his victim with his bare hands. ''What have I done? Why do all the goddamn people I admire and respect keep looking at me like that?! Was it all a charade your doing, Duncan Tallhart?!'' Thought the Knight this time, responding to the boy''s menacing stare. Bloody Snow scrutinized him badly for thest time, and... a moment before the torturer thrust his bloody ws into the victim''s open wounds for the umpteenth time, he heard a: "Nooo!!! Stop!! I give up!!! Sigh... Sigh... I invoke the mercy of the God of Death! Enough! I give up! Leave me alone!... Mercy! Someone help me! ... ugh... sigh... Please! Sigh..Sniff! SAVE ME FROM THIS MONSTER!!!" The gods proimed the winner. ---------------------------- POV: Duncan Circle of Duelists. A few minutes before a knight witnessed a man''s pitiful surrender... I used about three minutes of energy of the nine limits imposed by Master Zick. Using only eight manoeuvres focused solely on defence had reduced the physical and mental setbacks by a good 40-45%. Gelledo attempted about 20 assaults in the short interval of nearly six actual minutes of fighting. He had to be at least partially rehearsed... The Water Dancers were known for agility, reflexes and endurance. Without the burden of armour and heavy weapons, a Braavosi swordsman couldst even three times as long as a Westerosi knight. I could show no signs of letting up. The appetizer had been served-and now it was time for the main course. I moved closer and closer, gripping the searing de tightly. Gelledo instinctively stepped back a step while keeping his guard well up. I inhaled more firmly and released some of the blood lust I chose to hold back... The Braavosian widened his eyes and roared instinctively, "Don''te to any closer, Demon! I warn you, the tip of my de-" *Skiin!*...a thin palm of de fell on the soft grass. "But how-" *Sffiiizzz!*, "Uaaaarghhh!!! Aaaargh!" the blood sizzled on my de''s tip at the brachial plexus level, where the trapezius muscle had the highest concentration of nerve bundles. It had not been difficult to cut cleanly through the metal at the spot already weakened and worn out. And Damascus''s magic steel of scorching Royal Quality prated Acromant''s silk wonderfully well... "Surrender." I intimated in a guttural voice with a hint of sadism in my tone. Gelledo involuntarily dropped the defective sword to the ground using both hands to press on the cauterized wound and retreat to the opposite side of the circle. The pain must have been tremendous; I knew well the brachial plexus''s tribtions could and could not endure... I allowed my opponent to retreat while I approached another brazier to heat the cooled de further. "Sword!!!" a Braavos valet in the guise of Gelledo''s squire promptly answered the call by handing his master a recement thin long sword. It took only about ten seconds for the bright red tip to re up again, and I slowly approached my opponent, who bravely chose to flee to the opposite side. "You may leave if you wish, Gelledo Antaryon... You need only utter the words ''I surrender'', and the agony will end." I suggested, provoking my opponent, still unsure of what to do. "Shut up, monster! I will never surrender!!!" The fearless Braavosian remained firmly in his secure position over forty feet away. "I was hoping you would respond like this... I had only started. You and I are going to have a lot of fun." I doubled my murderous eagerness by frightening the victim and a dozen impressionable noble spectators. "Oh, but the look-the de has cooled again. Fear not, milord, I''ll be with you in a minute. The left femoral nerve will be next. You have my word of honour." **** A minuteter... I sprang forward, smiling with unsheathed jaws. The victim, caught off guard, tried to discard widely to the left, but I anticipated the moment... "Nooo!!!" squealed Gelledo like a sissy attempting a desperate defensive assault. *ng*, *Tiihin*,*Kiiin*,*Sffiiizzz!*, "Kiiiaaaaaarrghh!!!" I used the ninth manoeuvre to give sufficient momentum to the third sh and shear the brand-new hardened steel de. I had hit the second susceptible nerve without affecting the bone. I wanted Gelledo to be able to limp away for a while longer ... Burning the nerve ending served to amplify the instant pain but at the same time disable the pain over the long run that could knock the enemy unconscious. "Surrender!" I roared with more intensity and lust for bloodlust. "Noo!!! Arrghh!!! Get away from me, you monster!!!" Gelledo amazingly managed to leap away. A small trail of urine lezzo was left behind. "Sword! Urgh... Give me another sword!!! Move, you imbecile!!!" The valet took twice as long to provide a second recement sword for his lord. Master Recallio, the referee, publicly intervened, loudly announcing: "The challenger, Gelledo Antaryon, has requested the second andst recement weapon allowed by the rules! Requesting a third will be interpreted in the eyes of the men and the Many-Faced Gods as an official deration of surrender!" The Braavosian did not appear to know the ''Three Weapons'' regtions. The First Men wielded bronze weapons, far less durable than iron and hardened steel. In a Trial By Combat it was typical for the first or second weapon to be unusable after a heated and sustained exchange. However, Gelledo seemed to be lit by a tiny spark of hope after he peered at his damaged robes. "He''s cheating! Duncan Tallhart''s cheating!!! He is using a steel de from Valyria!!! Referee! Check his sword!!!" Voices and murmurs began to spread among the spectators. ''Perfect. Thanks for the publicity, Gelledo Antaryon...'' I thought as Recallio stepped forward, shushing the murmurs. "Challenger Duncan of House Tallhart is wielding no Valyrian de, Gelledo Antaryon." The Braavosi referee''s testimony caused a ruckus of murmurs and more heatedments. "What! Are you blind by any chance?! That vile cheater effortlessly sliced cleanly through two brand new hardened steel des!!! Bloody Snow purposely dipped the sword in the fire to cken the de and disguise the dark features of Valyrian Steel!!!" Shrieked my opponent with indignation. "Do you use an acolyte of the Many-Faced Gods of lying before the deity he worships and serves, milord?" Replied Recallio with equal indignation shushing the murmurs again. "N-no, honourable Recallio, I just wanted to point out-" the referee hushed the coward''s groans by retorting: "It just so happens that that sword has been thoroughly checked and certified before. Therefore, I can affirm it without fear since it belongs to me." Gelledo paled, and Recallio prated the icy de deeper. "The sword I chose to lend to the warrior of the North who had decorously agreed to pay honour to the noble art of the ''Water Dance'' thus renouncing wielding his legitimate steel and wearing his own armour... Resume your duel, ''noble'' Gelledo Antaryon." Recallio. "B-but-no way!" The poor traumatized Braavosian must have had blind faith in his acromant silk...but s, it could not be brought to the test bench without causing a considerate uproar that would force the Iron Bank to pay a hefty price to the organization that monopolized the world''s most sought-after and secret fabric... All three Guardians and representatives of the top treaty guarantors would knock on the Titan''s door with the fine to be paid in hand. Tycho Nestoris would personally step into the ring to force his champion to surrender and eat every word spoken before such a disaster befell the Iron Bank. "It''s the radial nerve''s turn, milord. Fear not, you can safely do without wielding the sword correctly with your right hand..." I did not give Gelledo time to despair. I simply pounced on the enemy. [More pain... He deserves it... Use my power, Duncan! Unleash all our strength, and together we will teach the world that no one can ever stand against us!!!] My inner demon began to rebel by shooting adrenaline discharges into my brain and muscles. Time in that condition,bined with the breathing technique, seemed to slow down by at least ten times... I could observe in detail every change in Gelledo''s expression, from surprise to realization, to despair. I had all the time in the world to where, when and how best to strike...but I should not allow myself to indulge in those privileges. On the contrary, they were intoxicating corruptions to give more and more space to the demon! ''A cage fluid as water, supple, retroactive and stic as rubber, and stronger than steel... Bungee Gum!'' I did not tell Zick that I had changed the metaphor of ''resin'' to ''gum,'' nor of the Nen power of my favourite character from a story that did not exist in this world... Zick was aware of my improvement in technique and, as always, did not investigate more than necessary matters I preferred ''not to reveal.'' ["No!!! You idiot!!! Set me free! I said, Release me!!! Arrrgghh!!! I will kill your master! DO YOU HEAR ME, BOY?!!! ONE DAY I WILL FORCE YOU TO RIP OUT THE HEART OF YOUR BELOVED MASTER!!!"] He managed to hush the voice, and time resumed running three times faster. Gelledo tried a desperate and inurate lunge...a parry and a shingsh were enough to split the de in half again. The crowd roared a roar of astonishment at the third piece of evidence corroborating the Braavosian theory. These were the best ways to advertise a product: songs, exaggerations and word of mouth... All Westeros and Essos had to do were set off a diatribe of logic, theories, and false usations. It was not the merchant who had to extol the peerlessness of his wares, but the buyer... I sank the tip of the still-hot de firmly within millimetres of the radial bone, unleashing screams and agonies agonizing to the human ear. Gelledo rolled to the ground clutching his injured forearm. As always, I allowed my valiant opponent to give vent to tears and all thoughts such as hatred, fear and despair that might incentivize the idiot to take the most reasonable path. "Surrender!" Gelledo did not arrogantly retort to the advice this time. Instead, he crawled away, casting murderous nces and clinging to thest fragile thread of hope left to him. "Did you all see that!? No one could shear a forged steel de with mere skill! It is humanly impossible!!! Duncan Tallhart and the referee are in cahoots to deceive you all! Admit it, Recallio Sodal! How much did Bloody Snow promise you?!" The rumours spread, but no one seemed so swaggering nor interested in supporting the theory of a coward... It was the second referee witness of the Old Gods who stepped forward to answer. "Even if your false and pathetic usations had a kernel of truth, no rule in the eyes of the Gods would still be broken. Any challenger has the right to wield weapons made of obsidian, bronze, iron, dragon steel, or different unknown material you wish... Even the ''poison'' you chose to ''not dere'' is permitted. Duncan Tallhart has promised you before the Gods not to benefit ''Red Rain,'' Gelledo Antaryon, and not any other Dragon Steel weapon. Therefore, stop dishonouring yourself, your city or the Gods and keep fighting." Oak Green Welk cut thest thread. From the corner of my eye, I saw Director Nestoris asking Master Zick for rification. At the same time, Chai Duq eavesdropped shamelessly, purposely provoking the poor curious High Tower lord who was too far away to be able to glean essential information. It was time... "Gelledo Antaryon is partly correct, my lords anddies...This is no ordinary weapon of a forge. However...it is not of Valyrian Steel, but instead of ''Damascus Steel''." Amidst the burst of surprise and confusion, I saw King Robert pounce on poor Ned, tugging him ungracefully to wrest the truth from his lips. "Speak, wretch! It is your king whomands you! Is your sword made of that Damascus Steel, Ned?!" So he managed to hear, while from the master''s direction: "Move aside, Usurer! Go screw your bet!" Chai Duq nudged Nestoris and roared in what I assumed was the ancientnguage of the Empire of Dawn: "Zick, anemhouru gbi Khawerdi Damascus?! Porikurtha rorubhi Khawerdi Valyrian?! Urabothi, Zick!!!" Thundered the sorcerer in an usatory tone, pointing his index finger at me--personally, I found their secret dialect rather useless in this situation. About twenty years ago, Zick was forced to ept the position of Guardian of Love. Madame Zishua, the No Dau brothers and the Nine Demons had done everything to try to conceal as long as possible the epicentre of the revolutionary earthquake that was destabilizing the bnce of the World. But finally, the voice of a mad and fragile man, endowed with unique abilities of infinite potential, reached the ears of the Titan and the High Tower; aware that the Confederation of Mages had been benefiting from the privileges of that entity for years and that a new organization was climbing (at speed never imagined) the ranks of world forces... The factor that most terrified House Hightower and the Iron Bank was the possible applications of Zick''s powers over magic... Who could tell what was, or was not, possible to discover in the sight of The Watcher? What magical objects could he replicate? What forgotten magical runes could he decipher? Would he have been able to unlock the secret behind the Steel of Valyria? Would he have been able to recreate or even improve the Mana Stones? These and other endless questions haunted the sleep of the Citadel''s best minds... Braavos and Oldtown sent an ultimatum to the Three Guardians and all the forces that gave sanctuary and protection to The Watcher. {Either the Abomination nicknamed The Watcher is erased with immediate effect from World history, or it will be a total war without quarter}. The new Fourth World Organization, the Confederacy of Wizards, and other powers were coalesced and ready to unleash hell against all opposing forces in Westeros and Essos. The Fourth World War was upon us... It was only thanks to the sacrifice of the Former Guardian of Love, who volunteered the abdication of his role to offer it to the new candidate, that the loss of hundreds of thousands, if not millions of lives, was foiled... The neutrality of Zick''s new post was to remain strictly within and not beyond the limits of the only subject of his interest... {the Martial Art}. This was the covenant sealed with blood and magic twenty-two years ago. But all bonds had loopholes. Braavos and Oldtown managed to find legitimate loopholes to weaken enemies who could not be attacked... ["There is no such thing as the perfect egg, my boy. However small or invisible, all shells possess at least one crack... The trick to being able to find it is not to ask ''If it exists'' but rather ''Where is it hiding''."] The finger for ''the magical appearance'' of a new portentous metal had been pointed at first instinct in one direction. ''Only a few days, master, I promise. Soon we can give all the credit to master Mott.'' After that, Zick would be haunted obsessively by questions to which he swore to me that he conferred no answers. Tobho had managed to enchant the de to withstand the wear and tear of high temperatures. However, only the forge masters of Qohor, Carcosa and Asshai possessed the magic form to recast Valyrian steel into a malleable state. Braavos held a monopoly on the processing and supply of Dragon Steel from Oldtown to Qarth. The Citadel required permission and agreed on tribute from the Titan, even for a small master''s ring. Thobo Mott was still bound by a blood oath with Qohor''s upper echelons (agents loyal to Braavos); he could not work the steel of Valyria with Qohor''s forms without explicit authorization from the Council of forge masters, but nothing and no one could stop him from using personally revised spells to work Damascus Steel... The Grand Master cksmith of Gauntlgrym was indeed a genius. However, resistance was the main reason gold, bronze, silver or steel could not act as a magical conduit. Even bare Damascus steel was not strong enough for such a burden. However...Thobo had made small but significant changes in the form to recreate a metallic conductor second only to Dragon Steel. I had provided...or Seraphinus had provided ''only'' the ingredients to synthesize an honest c. Still, the credit for the winning ''Coke'' formy with the genius forgemaster loyal to Torrhen''s Square. Soon the North would have to enlist the help of the Chief Sorcerer of Carcosa and the blessing of the Guardian of Magic to transform the Tower of Babylon into the Third Arcane Tower of the Known World... Now that Zick and Chai Duq exined the nature of the power behind my cousin, I had a terrible usible idea, not yet 100 % certain, of what kind the silvery-white light copsed like a waterfall on the head of my uncle''s eldest son belonged to, and the nature of the goddamned Knight born with a diamond spoon in his mouth... The legendary semi-divine The-God-On-Earth, the greatest and most powerful Sorcerer, ever remembered from the history of the world, was worshipped as a deity in Asshai and Carcosa... To be exact: {The God of Magic}. And the only temple where The-God-On-Earth could be worshipped was a Magic Tower... I turned my gaze toward Tywin Lannister''s eldest son, and I couldn''t help but cast him an unfairly envious re filled with childish hatred. Jaime fucking Lannister, he was not a Pdin of the God Estranged... My mind wandered in a little shback to the distant past. {"Hey Matthew, what ss and race have you chosen for tomorrow''s new campaign?" My friend James. "Half-Elf Pdin of Vengeance. Can''t wait to get started." My 19-year-old nerdy me. "Pdin again! Come on, Dude, you promised me you''d pick the wizard or the sorcerer this time! We already have two Healers and a Ranger. You know I chose the Fighter Subss: Knight... So what do we need a useless Pdin for?" James. "Are you kidding, Dude!? First, I would like to remind you that it was really thanks to the Critical Hit of my ''Useless Pdin'' that we defeated Archimage Necromancer in thest campaign, and it is only thanks to my +5 on all bonus saving throws that you made it out of Va''s Rain of Meteors alive! I challenge any spellcaster to fight a Pdin in a 1 vs 1 match. Ahah!" Me. "But at least he ys a new subss-Jessica will choose Druid! How about the Pdin of the Ancient Gods?" James. "Nah! That''s junk. Pdin and Cleric of the Ancient Gods are one of the biggest flops of the game creators. You know me, James, I love arcane magic, but I''m also too much in love with meleebat." Me. "Pick a freaking Eldritch Knight, then!!! I beg you, no more Pdin, but most of all...please...No-More-Pdin-of-Vengeance, Man!" James. "But then I would lose Divine Smite, the most ''OP'' skill in the game! Tell you what, Dude... The Wizard of The Koast should create a ''Pdin of Magic''! Yes, Man! Pdin of Magic would be The-Coolest-ss-Ever. Ahahah! A melee attacker who is a user of Arcane and Divine Magic! That would be D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E! Top of the Top! My word, that''s all I''d y!" Me. "Yes... Maybe that wouldn''t be bad." James. "It wouldn''t be bad?! You know what, James? I still have twelve hours before the new campaign starts. So I won''t sleep a wink tonight! I''m going to crawl through the Inte and manuals and create this subss myself! Tomorrow I will submit to the Master the card of... mmm... Duncan ''Silver de,'' the Pdin of the Goddess of Magic Mystra! Yes, Man! I am more energetic than Jim Carry high on Red Bull! Ahah! I already have all the background in mind! I''ll be the secret bastard son of Elminster Aumar!" "Duncan ''Silver de''?... But your former character''s name was Duncan ''The Tall''... Don''t those names sound a little ''Assonant'' to you?... Seriously, Matt, you need to work more on originality." James. "Man, it''s just a tribute to Big George! Everyone only remembers the A Game of Thrones book series, but no one talks about the finest fantasy masterpiece ever written: ''The Hedge Knight.'' And then look who''s talking... Your former Character barbarian was named Sandor The Hound, and now ''Jaime'' The Knight pops up." Me. "Touch, ''Mr. Yes Man''...but see that you don''t show up half asleep tomorrow." James. "Ahahah! Don''t worry, James! I''m too pumped up for this project! ''Operation D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E'' begins!!!"} I sharpened my gaze toward the ''Bastard-Fortunate'' again. ''Fuck you!!! Here''s to me, the ss of Worthless Tree Worshipper, and here''s to that Whiny-Ass-Fortunate-Bastard-FuckSisters the Pdin of Magic!!! ARRGGH!!! I practically created that ss!!!'' It took months to swallow that bitter and hard truth... My cousin was not to me... It was definitely a little joke of Metatron''s that of the Word-Key-of-Power. I had branded Elminster with the weight of a probable Cleric/Wizard ss... But Jaime Lannister... No, I still could not ept that bitter pill of shit to swallow! It was as if my old friend James had been reincarnated as the Young Lion to take revenge and spit in my face! What was worse was that it had to be House Tallhart, aka ''I'', who had to shell out a fortune in magical Damascus Steel to give that vile and dishonourable Kingyer a chance to Level the Coolest ss Ever Conceived!!! ''Fuck you, Jaime Lannister!!! Do you hear me, Ser?! Yes! Fuck you! Fuck the town you saved! And fuck your Ancestor-Hero of the Magicians-Founder!!! Yeah, that''s right! Fuck you too, Podrick Lann!!!'' I admit I am not proud of such thoughts... but as my wise teacher used to say: [Nobody is Perfect]. I still thank Seraphinus for granting me the will necessary to prevent my mouth from exploding and giving birth to an unseemly No-Sense scene... However... even a [24] in Will had limits. All that pent-up negative emotion had to be vented somehow... And fortunately for me, I had a suitable victim right in front of me. "Do you give up?" I asked Gelledo for thest time... "Kuarg...Spuuth! Fuck you, you dirty barbarian! That''s the only answer you''ll get from me, Northern Bastard!!!" I let the spit hit my foot... "Fear not, Gelledo Antaryon... From now on, we shall fight on equal terms." I tossed the sword to its rightful owner, who nimbly grabbed it from the handle. A buckskin cloth and a little clove oil would restore the de to its full glory. Now that I was unarmed, I could afford to make the Bungee Gum a little more supple and allow the ''Beast'' a few minutes of air. "Now you will experience what ''True Pain'' is, and I will not stop until you say the magic words..." So much...''SO MUCH'' anger and frustration had to be vented before he could give birth to the damned: {Operation D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E}. ---------------------- End Chapter. Chapter 147: A Debt to Repay (I) Chapter 147: A Debt to Repay (I) ****** Hello, Dear Readers. I know about the Webnovel update, many of you have asked me if I have published my FF on other sites. At the moment no... And unfortunately I don''t have the material time at the moment to do so. I do not intend to publish the FF on other sites until I have corrected (at least partially) some story changes, grammatical and trantion errors. I am currently still correcting, but with work and othermitments I can barely manage to post 2 chapters a week. I would like to remind everyone that this FF on this page is still a Work in Progress Draft. I will do what I can to make it easy for you all to read, but for now I will only continue to post on Web Novel. Thank you all for your support. And happy reading! ****** POV: The Old Man of Oldtown Front row of spectators. A few seconds after the surrender... Warden Tycho''s eyes were filled with disappointment and fury. The fate of Sealord''s second son-inw was carved into the white marble walls of the Iron Bank... If the Braavosian psychopath was as clever as his spies imed, he would have taken his own life painlessly by the first sunrise. From what Leyton could tell, The Watcher and Nestoris had bet heavily on the oue of the confrontation. ''What an idiot... And you dare to keep calling yourselves ''the best investors in the world''? Only a fool would bet against The Watcher.'' It wouldn''t have taken long to find out ''what'' was up for grabs... Oldtown and Braavos had maintained an excellent exchange of information regarding The Guardian of Love and the Fourth Organisation for decades. Keeping The Watcher and the Pentos Witch in line was a priority for the past twenty years. The bond between Chai Dug and Zick was both necessary and dangerous. The delicate bnce between the forces of the world had already cracked with the tilting of House Tallhart, and now, in the eyes of Oldtown, that fragile ss had been irreparably broken from the moment the Chief Sorcerer stepped into the North... All the work of hundreds of years of maesters regarding the secrecy of magic had been thrown into the mes instantly. At this point, yet another Great Purge was inevitable... Leyton hade here primarily to figure out ''how'' House Tallhart... or rather... ''Bloody Snow'' thought he could avoid the storm that would inexorably hit Torrhen''s Square and all the foolish First Men who would decide to share the same fate by siding with them. The most reasonable first response was The Watcher and the Chief Sorcerer. But if this was indeed the shield on which Duncan Tallhart relied, the boy would have to contend with a hard truth called ''Compromise''. It was a fragile alliance full of pitfalls... but Leyton and President Ultherro would manage toe together. The Braavos-Oldtown coalition would be formed... It would be a hard-fought and costly victory, to be sure, but a victory nheless. The bloody and destructive New World War would not end until Torrhen''s Square and all its supporters were wiped from the face of this world. Braavos would keep the Confederacy at bay in the East, and Oldtown would eradicate all impurities in the North. But now... herees an extremely dangerous variable named [Damascus Steel]. What was it? Was it really a magical metal with properties simr to Valyrian Steel? Was this the secret of the so-called ''Silk Road''? Had Torrhen''s Square and Barrowton teamed up to secretly create a safe ce to synthesise a new type of steel? How? What? Who and for whom?... these and dozens of other questions clouded the rationality of the Lord Protector of the Andal High Council... and, undoubtedly, the Titan representative was gued by simr uncertainties. Much to Oldtown''s chagrin, there seemed to be no leaks in the stability of the North... The New yer called ''The Frosty Spice Queen'' seemed a possible good foothold to weaken the Stark-Tallhart alliance, but that foothold was now increasingly bing a vain hope... The Tallharts were following the same path as the Hightowers. They were not interested in the Northern throne, nor did they want the First Men to lose the Ancient Power concealed in the Dynasty of the Kings of Winter. Torrhen''s Square cared not for trunk, branches or leaves but for expanding and fortifying the roots beneath them. They skilfully exploited the proper rules of the Great Game. And those damnable roots to be uprooted were increasingly uniting and fortifying thend of the First Men, at speed more rming than the historic limelight of ''The Watcher and the Nine Demons''. The threat of the Red Kings was buried along with Roose Bolton, and now, House Mormont had a grip on Barrowton and, consequently, a solid connection to the Rills and Dreadfort. The unions of Domeric Bolton & Sansa Stark and Duncan Tallhart & Dacey Mormont would decree an inextricably united North. The Steel of Valyria was as invaluable and influential a resource as the Mana Stones... If it was confirmed that the North was capable of recreating such a form, the tables would be turned. An alliance of First Men, Magicians and followers of The Watcher with unlimited resources of magical steel could have been a catastrophe... The greedy and cautious Iron Bank would have washed its hands of the matter and opted for profitable and peaceful neutrality. The High Tower could not stand up to such a coalition... certainly not without selling off thest remaining crumb of the soul to the darkest and most terrifying creatures in the World... No... asking the mother of Malora for further help would have to be thest grain of sand to be scraped from the depths of the abyss. Having touched that point, it would be impossible to turn back, and at that point, the entire Known World would stand united in a united front to eradicate all traces of the Ancient Hightower House. Few Ex-Prescesses to Lord Protector of the Andal High Council had had the good fortune/luck to actually know the ''Great Mother''. The most dangerous Song for the legacy of House Hightower was not the ''Legend of Podrick Lann''... and Leyton would have used any means andmitted the most heinous and unconscionable crimes to do whatever was necessary to ensure that ''That Song'' was never sung to the ears of the World. With the benefit of hindsight and a chance to change the past, the wise Old Man of Oldtown would indeed have opened the throat of his mad ancestor and sealed the gates of the city with every ounce of Valyrian Steel at his disposal, choosing to oppose the Andals in a mortal battle to thest man, instead of weing them with open arms by secretly selling out the soul of his Dynasty to the seductive Devil behind... But there was no use crying over spilt milk, let alone indulging in illusory fantasies. The head leader of House Hightower could only choose the best paths left for his legacy and continue along them, taking care with every step and not looking back... Malora could only reveal three pieces of information from her visit to the ind: -The disturbing amount of tribute and mana stones demanded by the Devil. -The identity of the new, very young Heir of the Guardian of Love. And the most shocking of the three: -The shift from 23rd to 1st in the rankings of ''Bloody Snow'' on the ck agenda of the Andal High Council... Leyton was torn in indecision as to whether or not he really wanted to find out ''why'' that 12-year-old Norse was considered by the High Priestess to be a more significant threat than the Guardian of Magic. The sorcerer who had always been considered, after Valgudryel''s disappearance, as: {The most fearsome individual in the Known World}. The second-brightest mind in Oldtown squeezed his brain to the max toe up with the best possible choices with the bit of specific information avable. [Forging an alliance with House Tallhart and squeezing all the benefits of the North as much as possible until the ''natural'' demise of The Watcher] was the most viable, profitable and least risky path he could devise in those few minutes after the shocking revtions. Attendants in the service of House Mormont dragged the traumatised and injured Gelledo away to the healer''s pavilion in Barrowton. King Robert Baratheon approached the Trial By Combat winner and loudly promulgated in front of the entire nobility: "Duncan Tallhart." "Your Majesty." the boy knelt a moment after the call. "Arise, Hero of the North... You have shown honour and valour by risking your life in this test entrusted to you by the Crown. You have managed to prevail in this dispute by settling possible grudges and conflicts between Braavos and the North! I would not deserve to sit upon the Iron Throne and bear the onerous burden of the Crown if, here and now, I, Robert, First of my name, of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms did not reward your courage." Silence descended over the entire arena. All the witnesses seemed eager to hear the King''s following words, including the Lord of Oldtown. Leyton sensed in his bones that something tremendously ominous was about to happen... Until now, that boy had managed to squeeze everyst drop of benefit out of every adversity against him... Duncan Tallhart left nothing to chance. Even this event, clearly provoked by the Iron Bank, seemed to Leyton foretold and well prepared for the necessary countermeasures. Not as if it was intended... no, the Guardian of Love''s response to the Braavosi''s harassing action undeniablymunicated irritation and annoyance. It was as if an attack was not intended, but all the castle''s defences were alert and well prepared for it... "Priest Welk Green Oak!" Robert. "Yes, Your Grace," replied the Green Man, bowing. "I need the wisdom and advice of your Old Gods." Robert apanied the request with a hand gesture to speak privately. "I am at your service, King Robert." The Beauty Keeper''s servant approached the King, and they began to argue... ''What on earth is he up to?'' While adept at rapid chanting and concealing minor magics, the Grand Sorcerer of Oldtown could not use spy spells in the presence of Chai Dug and The Watcher... Perhaps Leyton could hope to glean some information by peering into Old Zick''s gaze. And the man paled when he noticed an expression of surprise and wonder on The Watcher''s face. ''Nothing good for the Believers of the Seven Gods is about toe...'' Thought the Defender of the Starry Sept a moment before the King promulgated: ''Protector of the North! The Old Gods need your testimony and your ancestral sword! As for you, Duncan of House Tallhart, Imand you to follow us." "At yourmand, your majesty." Bloody Snow prepared to follow the duo with Lord Stark and dozens of curious and not expressly requested nobles behind them as a retinue... They were heading in the opposite direction of Barrowton, where a few hundred feet away was a Heart-Tree for the people of the Barronds... ''No... It can''t be!'' A catastrophic hypothesis struck Leyton''s mind. "Lynesse!" The father stopped his daughter before she followed her brothers to the procession. "Yes, father?" His sweet, beautiful daughter replied in her usual guileless tone. Leyton whispered in her ear: "Do whatever it takes to seduce and bewitch Duncan Tallhart." "But, father... He has just publicly fought for-" Leyton stopped her before she named the Mormont heir. "Never mind. Be ''bolder'' and use all your arts to do the best you can. Try to talk to him, admire him as he trains, hand him tokens of love impregnated with your scent, or ''casually'' stumble into his private tent at night if you must... Should you even manage to wring a teenage crush out of him, I will increase tenfold your allowance perpetually, and you will have all the ships, carriages, horses,dies-in-waiting and personal escorts you need for whatever voyage or delightful adventure your heart desires for the next five years." Lynesse visibly widened her eyes with obvious shock on her face. Leyton Hightower guaranteed a minimum daily allowance to all his heirs of age to a gold dragon. Lynesse was undoubtedly the most ''fastidious'' in leisure and pageantry and the least thrifty of all his sons and daughters... Leyton was forced to increase Lynesse''s minimum allowance to five dragoons, giving her full autonomy over her personal needs. This was the most economical manoeuvre for the sake of House Hightower''s finances... From the age of twelve until she came of age, Lynesse''s endless demands, which, with elegant gentleness and subtle cunning, she almost always seeded in obtaining, drained the Hightower''s coffers of nearly 40,000 gold dragoons... a fortune mostly spent on clothes, balls, jewellery and minstrelsy. Currently, his daughter still owed her half-brothers and half-sisters more than 3,000 gold dragons in loans... And the year before, during a visit to Highgarden, with only a fewughs and a genuine smile at that idiot Mace Tyrell''s jokes, Lynesse managed to legitimately snatch 5,000 gold coins from her rich and foolish brother-inw''s pockets, squandering them in less than four moons... Certainly, her daughter was an excellent weapon to undermine the financial foundations of any minor noble in Westeros. Whoever had the misfortune of falling in love and marrying the most beautiful maiden in the Highest Tower... But that was not the main reason why Leyton wanted his daughter to marry Bloody Snow. Torrhen''s Square could easily afford dozens of Lynesses in its current state. "I... I promise to try everything I can for the sake of my household and family, Father." Lynesse replied suavely with slight embarrassment. "Well done, my dear. I am proud of you." A ''however'' was about toe. "However... Father, what if I don''t make it? What if Duncan Tallhart''s heart has already been taken? How could I seed? I... I do not wish to disappoint you, Lord Father." Lynesse. "... Should the feat prove impossible, and you have fulfilled your duty with ''sincerity'' and mitment'', you will still be granted a triple indemnity in perpetuity. And you will have a second chance on the same terms with Ser Helman''s second son, Benfred Tallhart." So proposed Leyton, obtaining a sincere "Thank you, beloved father. I will not disappoint you; you will see." Lynesse kissed Leyton''s cheek and fled towards the goal coveted by all curious onlookers. No... If that madman Robert was really going to perform ''that ceremony'', erased with difficulty from the memory of the First Men and Westeros since before the advent of the Rhoynar, then Oldtown would have to intervene by any ''indirect'' means to exploit, and at the same time, sabotage the North. It also had to be understood whether or not the rtionship between Torrhen''s Square and Casterly Rock was as solid as his spies said it was... There was no doubt about the excellent friendly andmercial rtions between Leobald Tallhart and Gerion Lannister... Knowing the Old Lion''s temperament and cunning, Leyton assumed it was more usible that the West would benefit from consolidating a solid link with the North. Still, the Queen was a considerable unknown to such a union... ording to Pycelle, Cersei Lannister''s nature and personality were promising to be used as a viable medium for Chaos. And Lord Tywin''s daughter''s hatred for Bloody Snow was a certainty as solid as sunrise and sunset. Bloody Snow knew the potential behind the four remaining royal families. Torrhen''s Square wanted to put one foot in all the stirrups, so he could avoid potential unnecessary conflicts over session to the throne... A wise move. Sooner orter, Martell and Lannister will take the field for the iron seat. Neutrality and much-needed trade with both warring factions would be the keys to undisturbed growth of the North in theing summer and autumn... The Citadel''s best astrologers and weathermen predicted a summer at least three years longer, if not four... No army of Westeros, not even the elite militia of Oldtown, would ever attempt an invasion into the arid and fierynds of Dorne in the middle of Summer, and never in the history of Westeros had the northern army descended so far south for war. Aegon had at least three years of peace of mind... If the era of the Green Knights was indeed about to return, Oldtown had to spur the Creed and the West to sour rtions with the North. They were the best tools to tar the First Men in petty conflicts and disagreements and thus allow House Hightower to absorb the fruits of the North undisturbed. With a bit of luck, the fragile Guardian of Love would fade away in his sleep within the next four years. However... the most annoying thorn in his side still remained Carcosa. Bloody Snow would certainly squeeze the precious friendship between his master and the Chief Sorcerer to the best of his ability. Torrhen''s Square absolutely had to get its hands on the arts of the East and thus rekindle the Seven Points of Magic. The High Tower still needed the Titan''s help... ''Braavos would not take sides in open war without first stocking up on all possible new magical weapons on the market... But perhaps Ultherro would ept momentary mutual cooperation to slow the North''s growth.'' Ponder Leyton carefully. ''If the Iron Bank hindered trade andmerce between First Men and Magicians, the High Tower could focus its attention on the other half of the continent of Westeros...'' reasoned the Oldman one step at a time, giving free rein to all the logic and creativity he possessed. In those years, with a pinch of patience, small opportunities cultivated, and the correct suggestions, it would have been possible to set the Lion against the Wolf. When Robert Baratheon died, the Starks would probably have dered independence or, if cornered, chosen to side with the Targaryens. ''Yes... this is the best move. Make all the envious Houses like West, East, Trident, of the Crown, and The Reach constantly harass the North during the summer. At the same time, Oldtown establishes good and profitable rtions with Torrhen''s Square, Barrowton, and Winterfell. The weapon to be harnessed is the Creed of the Seven, but it cannot be the Starry Sept who moves acts of violence against the Old Gods'' devotees.'' The Old Man of Oldtown now knew what had to be done for the good of his dynasty. The Andal High Council was to pull several strings in the Great Temple of Baelor and to treat the so-called High Sparrow with more sincerity and flexible open-mindedness. The next new revolutionary High Septon was to start a ''Holy Cold War'' before the ''True Great War''... End Part I ----------------------------------- Chapter 148: A Debt to Repay (II) Chapter 148: A Debt to Repay (II) (Soundtrack Chapter: Tom Day - Who We Want To Be) ***** POV: The Father of the First Man Heart-Tree. After war ns were drawn up ... Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark turned their backs to the face carved into the trunk of the Weirwood-Tree. The tree stood atop a small hill called ''Forgotten Ancestors''. Hundreds arranged themselves in the small Godswood located less than half a mile from the city walls. All the present members of House Tallhart in Barrowton were lined up there, waiting anxiously and proudly for the long-awaited moment. Helman held his left hand on Benfred''s chest, while with his right, he gripped tightly the arm of his wife Myra, who was as intent as he was on lovingly holding one of the twins in her hands. Leobald would never have forgiven him for not having the remaining family members participate... His brother had agreed, despite himself, to take on the role of casten and defender of Torrhen''s Square entrusted to him on the condition that he, Berena and Elminster could attend the tournament. Where his nephew, for the first time in a thousand years, would be honoured in the eyes of the World with the title of Green Knight. Helman and Barbrey had curated a splendid Godswood in the Silk Road in anticipation of this historical event, which was to take ce after the grand melee, but it didn''t matter now... Helman had already sent a dispatch to the ships waiting at the river to prepare to set sail at any time. The next long-awaited event was to take ce at Torrhen''s Square... As his son often sang: [A good n is only if it can effectively mould itself to the contingencies and obstacles that will separate the arduous path from the goal.] Before long, that minute, uncluttered and simple Godswood tended by themon folk of the Barronds would be famous throughout Westeros... Helman noted the absence of a few key elements. "Pss... Master Zick, what are you doing back there? Move over here next to us, quickly. You three too! What are you doing there in the second row? Peter, Ronan, Brywen stand here next to your Lady... that''s an order!" Ser Helman whispered, spurring the four figures to do as requested. Lady Barbrey and Lord Jorah also joined in the event... The soon-to-be, most powerful and wealthiest Lady in Westeros did not seem to mind interrupting ''the bedding ceremony'' with her husband for a duel with a particr oue. Still, she did not seem to want to miss the happy event nned for years. Ser Helman nodded to the brother and sister of the Green Council. All the secret Green Knights and their King, whom they had sworn in blood and eternal magic loyalty six moons before, were present. "You scoundrels with no manners! And you dare to call yourselves Knights too! Make way for a poor, low, old nobledy!" The Queen of Thorns seemed to dislike her ce in the third row, but there was no time for distractions. The King kicked off the ceremony as soon as most Northern Nobles took their positions. "For many months, my faithful councillors and I were gued by debates, leaving essential questions without valid answers! The most difficult among them was ''How?'' How could the Crown reward its loyal and faithful subjects in the North? How could the Kings and Gods reward the Heroes of Winterfell?!" Robert began pointing and calling loudly to many nobles present. "Barrowton!... Last Hearth!... Deepwood Motte!... Dreadfort!... Karhold! Greywater Tower!... Finger of Silica! Square of Torrhen and all the deserving and Noble Houses of the North who fought with ''Honour'', ''Courage'' and ''Valour'' in the Rebellion!!! ... A Rebellion that, fortunately,sted a handful of moonspared to years of horrific suffering foreseen through the actions of thousands of frost-hardened Heroes and Loyalty to theirnd, their Lord, their King and their Gods!" "Ayeee!!!" The noble lords anddies of the North roared with satisfaction, washing away some of the resentment and hatred towards the Crown umted because of the Queen siding with the foreign Braavosians. Myra and her children also joined the chorus. ''Robert Baratheon knows his stuff...'' Thought the Master of Torrhen''s Square with modest surprise. Various faults could be pinned on King Stags, but Leadership Charisma and oratorical skill were not among them. "By virtue of this... On the first night of the new decade, the Crown will attempt to repay part of this enormous debt of gratitude by bestowing upon said heroes: Glory, Honour, and Immortality!" Robert focused his attention on the still eleven-year-old boy in front of him. "Duncan Tallhart... from the age of only five, you began decorating yourself with deeds worthy of knighthood, acts too numerous to list them all... In one of them, you sessfully led an impossible suicide mission..." Myra dug her nails into his flesh, whispering with a snarl: "What ''Suicide Mission'' is he talking about?" "Ssh!... Not now, my beloved. The King is still on his word..." That little justification certainly wouldn''t save him for long. The pain in his arm was proof of that. "... I ungracefully offered you the chance to renounce the Gods you believed in, hoping to fold your deeds with merit you did not ask for, refusing my gift. But tonight... you will have no valid excuse to reject me again, young Hero of the North. Nor will you be given a chance to do so Kneel before your Lord, your King and your Old Gods, Duncan of House Tallhart." Helman''s pride, in all its glory, did asmanded. Eddard Stark lent the King the huge ceremonial Valyrian Steel broadsword named {Ice}; Robert slowly unsheathed the sword from its scabbard with both hands, then lifted the point upwards with the t of the palm-thick de covering almost his entire face. Before the Andal''s invasion, when iron was still regarded by many Sons of the Forest and First Men as the ''Poison of Magicians'', only Green Knights blessed in their appointment by Dragon Steel could wield weapons other than Bronze without being cursed by Kings and Old Gods. The King lowered the steel onto Duncan''s right shoulder, uttering words that would be remembered in the history books... "In the name of Bronze, Imand you to stand against Iron. In the name of Fire, Imand you to extinguish Frost. In the name of Light, Imand you to dispel Darkness. In the name of Life, Imand you to resist Death. It is your oath, Knight..." Robert lightly furrowed a portion of the white trunk with the edge of his de until some red sap gushed out to impregnate the sword with Old Gods'' blood. "So that you may always remember it." Duncan offered the palm of his open hand and allowed the Steel of Valyria to scratch at the skin to mingle blood and sap. "Do you swear by your blood and the blood of the Old Gods that, from now on, for the rest of your days, you will defend the Beauty of this world from Iron, Cold, Darkness and Death?" The King asked, turning the tip of his de to the ground after touching Duncan''s shoulders with steel four times... "I swear it by the Old Gods. I swear it by my blood and by the blood of my ancestors. I swear it by Bronze and Iron, Fire and Ice, Light and Darkness, Life and Death. I swear by Love, and I swear by Magic. I will defend the Beauty of this world. Now and Always." *... Now and Always... You have sworn it... * Herman heard it again... He heard a whispering from the tree. It was not a trick of his son... No. It was a faint tone of mixed voices mixed with a gust of wind and leaves crunching. It was not the first time he seemed to hear them... The King of the North turned back for a moment, and many other Green Knights heard the same voices. Welk Green Oak approached his son, dipped three fingers into the life-red dye gushing from Duncan''s fist, and then anointed his forehead with a spiral symbol. On the ind of a thousand faces, the boy had already been recognised as a Knight in the eyes of the gods, but not yet by men... So now the ritual wasplete. Helman felt his beloved''s hand loosen and looked at Myra with shining eyes full of love, beauty and magic just before he heard... "Arise, Ser Duncan Tallhart. Protector of the First Men, Servant of the Old Gods, and Defender of Beauty. ...First Green Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!" End POV. --------------------------------------- POV: Abel the Bard Tallhart galley along the vein of Lake Torrhen, less than a day''s course from Torrhen''s Square. Year 290, the third day of the first moon. About two days after the return of the Age of the Green Knights was proimed by royal edict... The crescent moon was enchanting and adorned with a beautiful starry sky. Before departure, Barrowton received the citadel''s white raven... Summer had officially arrived. The cool night air of the Tallhartnds was indeed pleasant. Too cold to be without fur but warm enough to breathe it in at the top of one''s lungs. Abel prepared to tune his lute and exchange information with the percussionist. The bard did not honestly know what tomunicate to the witch of Asshai and her two fellow sorcerers. The three enchanters were to provide a show of light, magic and stage effects for the one dancing couple. Abel only gave a small silent signal of uncertainty to the masked woman, and she replied with: "Fear not, ''Abel the Bard''. Singing and music are the specialities of the East... We will know how to follow your notes." That Witch was creepy! Every time the masked woman uttered ''his name'', the poor Bard from the North felt a shiver down his spine. ''Can she read my thoughts?'' Thought the cautious Bard, pondering that, in extreme cases, ''fresh water'' from the Torrhen''s River was not so lethal. ''Mr Abel! Ah! Fortunately, there you are." The northern portent did not wait for the musician servant to join him. "Honourable Ser Duncan, how can this bard be useful to you?" Abel made a slight bow to the figure who had insisted and equally paid for the celebrated and promising Barrowton musician, the author of ''The Icy Bronze Bear on Fire'', to y andpose for him on this short journey. Abel did not know exactly ''why'' the entire Tallhart family and their escort were so urgent to return to Torrhen''s Square with the tournament so close. Perhaps some threat within the borders of theirnds required the urgent presence of all the generals of the Tallharts'' armed forces... Could it be the attacks of the Wildlings thirsting for blood and human flesh? Possible but not so likely... If those bands of cannibals had chosen to avoid a face-off with less than a hundred Rangers, the choice to attack the most powerful and fearsome new Household in the North did not seem such a coherent fallback choice. "Changing the agreed repertoire at thest minute! I know, I know it''s shocking and hard news, but it''s absolutely necessary." Promulgated the young Green Knight dressed in studded leather and silk armour rather than traditional noble velvet dance robes. "Nothing will be too arduous or disruptive in matters musical for Abel the Bard, milord. What desires do you need to be fulfilled?" Abel. "After an unexpected exchange of admissions of guilt on the part of both of us, mydy and I have determined that the typical dance of southern nobility is not for us... Let''s cancel the whole repertoire and change it to tribal ceremonial music bases without pre-battle words... Or else! Something romantic and mncholic but at the same time hopeful... Or! Something to remind a warrior in whose name he is about to go to war... Or... emm, well, I can''t think of any other examples now." Exined the boy with indecision and embarrassment, scratching his head. The man really didn''t know what judgment to make to express the archaic mystery named Duncan Tallhart. On the one hand, Bloody Snow disyed icy cunning, monstrous fortitude, charisma and fame enough to be named as the next Ruler of the North... as well as unparalleled fighting prowess; on the other hand... the boy exhibited shes of lucid dementia, stupidity and ridiculous teenage clumsiness. Less than two days ago, Abel had witnessed a headstrong Bloody Snow publicly bring the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to her knees by sheer force of words and wit and subsequently crush a skilled swordsman of Braavos in a deadly duel. And now, said individual trembled and gasped over a simple dance with ady maiden of the North... "So, milord... You and Lady Dacey will not dance?" the question was more than justified. "Yes and no, Mr Abel. It will be more of a slow training fight to a musical foundation. A fighting dance! There, that sounds like a goodpromise to me... So? Can something be done?" His employer asked pleadingly. "But of course, Ser. I know three Free Folk bads suitable for the asion. We will slow down the metrics, and I will lengthen the notes to fit the musical base to the movements." Replied Abel with a smile and a bow, gaining confirmation from the percussionist and utist. "Perfect! One hundred additional Silver Moons to each of you for the inconvenience! And two hundred others to you, Master Bard, for the brilliant rescue! Lady Quaithe! I need all the arts and knowledge of Carcosa!" The boy ran towards the spellcasters, not even allowing time for the trio of musicians to process the happy news. Two... three... Abel counted ''four'' armed soldiers standing guard on the ship''s winch. The crew members knew their way around an armed confrontation, but they were focused on their job as sailors and far enough away from the small dance floor set up at the front of the Galea. ''No... I went down south to gather intelligence, not to spill blood. Assuming and not conceding that I have even a chance of seeding in this folly, what would happen after the fall by the assassination of the Hero of the North, the First Green Knight of the Seven Kingdoms?'' The Bard did not even try to feel the thin de concealed in his sleeve. ''I would unleash the eternal fury of half a continent, bringing nothing but death, suffering and resentment towards my people... Tonight, and for the following nights toe, I will be Abel the Bard,'' thought the adventurous but cautious member of the Free Folk as he made his firm decision. **** A few minutester... The Bear Maiden entered in both hands in leather and chain mail, mace and shield. The lutenist had to admit it. This girl had been blessed with an enviable wild charm that few Spear Wives possessed. Hundreds of boys north of The Wall would have dly risked having their throats ripped out in an attempt to steal her. ''Shield and Mace won''t be needed, Dacey. We will have other types of weapons..." The sorcerers seized the signal and worked their magic. The shadows came to life and slid between the wooden nks like streams of water until they reached the boy''s hand and gave shape to a long sword... The sword of ck smoke began to absorb sparks of light from the sky until it gave a ster sword. It was a simply incredible sight. ''Beautiful...'' mumbled the enchanted girl. Lady Dacey dropped her mace and shield to the ground. This time, the masked witch performed the enchantment herself. The moonlight was reflected back at the young Northerndy, giving the probable bride-to-be of the Green Knight a weapon and shield made of pure silver light. "Do not think of their non-existent weight and follow my movements." Duncan cast an assenting nce towards the Bard. The lutenist and conductor were happy to live up to hismitment. All members of the musical trio strongly desired to give the two lovers a performance worthy of their love. Mance Raider... The Former Brother of the Night''s Watch, one of the current five Kings-Beyond-The-Wall, firmly positioned his faithful lute-mate and started the dancing... ***** {Note Author: For those who had only seen the GOT TV series and not read the books, Mance Raider in ASOIAF is (in the books he still lives) a much... much more badass character than in the series. Just mentioning a few exploits: -Mance has climbed The Wall alone dozens of times. -He defeated three rival Kings Beyond The Wall in battle. - He beat the shit out of Jon Snow in a sparring match. -He sneaked into Winterfell alone twice as a Bard named Abel (Short for Bael, a famous Bard-Beyond-the-Wall of legends). Once during King Robert''s visit to the North to recruit Ned as Hand of The King to gather information about the North to assess a possible invasion. And the second while attempting to rescue Arya Stark ( Jeyne Poole) from the clutches of the Boltons... With all due respect to the actor chosen by the Directors for the role of that character, in the books, Mance was something else entirely...} ***** End Part II ------------------------- Chapter 149: A Debt to Repay (III) Chapter 149: A Debt to Repay (III) POV: A Vice-General Torrhen''s Square. The morning after a king rang for two northern youths Peter finished analysing the scouts'' report delivered immediately after their arrival at Torrhen''s Square. Now that the final preparations that required his attention wereplete, he prepared to leave the tower to join his unit. The Vice-General urged the three Division Commanders of the Third Legion to assemble and have their squadrons ready to mobilise at any time. The state of alertness was at an all-time high. Even the entire elite unit of Winter Guardians gathered at Torrhen''s Square. In less than four years, House Tallhart tripled the defences of the family manor: Restoring and augmenting the towers Relentlessly training the garrison Equipping the fortress with scorpions and catapults Reinforcing the gates Expanding granaries and iceboxes for provisions Building a defensive trading port Digging two huge moats (connected to a water recirction system at Torrhen''s Lake) The imposing seat of House Tallhart now looked more like a floating fortress than a castle. The original city walls were raised from thirty to sixty feet high and reinforced with fifteen feet of additional thickness. A second city wall (almost a mile long) that incorporated most of the new structures (houseplexes, small markets, workshops, new stables, training camps and research facilities) was nearingpletion. What was once just a pile of emergency housing for the former refugees of the Snow Mill vige was increasingly turning into a small town... Over five thousand people chose to live in the six hundred-foot radius that divided the two new walls of Torrhen''s Square, and that number continued to increase moon after moon. A fixed garrison of five hundred men was always defending the castle, who, together with the remaining one thousand guarding the small citadel that had been formed, constituted an entire legion on constant watch to safeguard the main seat of House Tallhart. Torrhen''s Square could easily withstand a two-year siege or repel, if not quietly annihte, armies ten times asrge. But, of course, always provided that those 15,000 enemies wereposed mainly of the ordinary poorly trained and poorly armedmoners that the lords of Westeros aremon to enlist in times of war... With only 1,500 defenders, Torrhen''s Square could still have sumbed to an enemy with preparation and resources equal to or greater than the Golden Company. But in any case, Three Legions, 4,500 hardened soldiers armed to the teeth, were ready to take the field at any time necessity demanded, and a Fourth Legion was already in the process of being formed... Among the more than four hundred thousandmoners and citizens under the protection of the Tallharts, about 1 in 20 (man or woman between the ages of 16-40) were obliged to undergo introductory military training sessions,sting ten days each, six times a year, and to answer their lord''s call at any time... This, plus the three thousand police officers, men and women trained but armed only by truncheon, dagger and one-handed crossbow (not considered under Crownws as armed forces), and the two hundred secret Frost des scattered throughout the Tallhart family''s domains, constituted at least ten times more war power than ten years ago. Peter had no idea what diabolical threat could force the Tallhart family back into Torrhen''s Square... The entire 1st Legion and the 3rd, the most powerful unit of the three, led by General Duncan, had been assembled. As soon as the man stepped outside the keep, he heard: "Vice-General Peter." A more than recognisable voice, mixed with iron strength and sweet feminine sensuality, drew the man''s attention, causing him to stiffen like a log. "Commander Syggha." The Goddess of War stood before him with amber skin and toned muscture perfectly sculpted and adorned in armour sets. Peter inwardly thanked the Old Gods for giving him the foresight to wash and put on his best set of clothes and armour before this fortuitous encounter. Syggha, the new Division Commander and her second inmand, Vice-Commander Josua, were in charge of the elite ''Shield Maidens'' unit, which would make up a third of the forces of the future new Fourth Legion. From the very first moment his eyesid on his young lord''s dangerous, ferocious and ruthless master-at-arms, Peter was totally infatuated with her... It was his father Tom who first sang of Syggha''s unrivalled qualities. Peter remembered it as if it had been yesterday... ["That Girl-in-Armour, as you call her, is capable of throwing me and every other man-at-arms in Torrhen''s Square out on her ass, boy. Take care to pay due respect to Lady Syggha at all times, and unless you want to join your mother in the worst way, never dare disrespect her master. Do we understand each other, Peter?" "Gulp... Y-yes, Sir."] But, s... several years ago, before Peter began training with Master Cohollo and Gadon Sand, any possible pitiful attempts at flirtation approaches were nipped in the bud by the dark and tragic stories of all the Lady-Warrior''s crazy ex-wannabe suitors and a remarkably, ["What the fuck do you keep staring at me for?!"] roared in front of half of Torrhen''s Square by Syggha herself... Not even the encouraging words of Master Zick, the only existing individual aware of Peter''s hidden feelings, were able to spur the perhaps most awkward and inept 25-year-old in the North regarding women. By now, almost every officer in the Tallhart army had won the love of a worthy femalepanion. "All Generals require your immediate presence in the Godswood. Follow us." Ordered the most beautiful and skilled Warrior in the North in a clear and concise tone. "Yes, Sir!" The only way not to stutter and sputter like an idiot and act like a man in her presence was to picture her in his mind as a ''male''rade-in-arms. **** Two minutester... Peter didn''t understand what the heck was going on. At least a thousand Torrhen''s Square souls were neatly arranged in every avable corner or space of the Godswood. Hundreds of soldiers from his brigade were massed in two lines from the ramparts of the walls,posed but with their faces turned towards him... All the high-ranking officers of the legions, his brothers Ronan and Brywen, Cohollo, Gadon and the entire Tallhart family, were there in front of the statue of his father, Tom. The marble simcrum showed no stain like his father''s sword... and the figure still roared, in all its glory, the fearless and adamantine loyalty that the faithful and Heroic Captain of the North constantly felt towards his family, his House and the Old Gods... Dozens of former subordinate soldiers in Captain Tom''s service continued to pay their respects with symbolic offerings at every moon. Peter continued to step forward until he stood in front of the three waiting Generals. Syggha and Josua bowed and took up their positions on the left nk. Ser Helman, Lord Leobald, and Ser Duncan Tallhart were adorned in full armour, ceremonial robes bearing the new House banner, and the three distinctive crimson-white capes representing their rank. "My Lords General." Peter maintained hisposure and paid homage to the hierarchy. This was certainly not the time to show uncertainty or damage the Household''s image to which his family owed everything. The trio did not respond but simply changed disposition. Ser Helman and Lord Leobald gave way to the heir of Torrhen''s Square, who stepped forward, addressing the entire Godswood audience in a loud voice. "Eight years ago, my father, Ser Helman Tallhart,missioned his most faithful servant on a long and arduous mission... The man pictured here, the former heroic Captain of the Torrhen''s Square Guard, Tom, was to leave his home and children and travel throughout Essos with the arduous task of seeking the services of the finest master-at-arms the world could offer... In less than a year, Tom carried out his duty and not only seeded... but fulfilled it in an epic feat deemed by hundreds of wealthy figures unknown to you as ''Unrealizable''. Few in Westeros know that without that man''s sacrifices, House Tallhart... no... ''The Entire North'' would not be the glorified, safe and respectednd it is today! But that is not the reason for this gathering of ours... No, that is why we celebrate this event right here, next to his statue, so that the memory of a father can bear witness to what is toe." Peter was petrified with his heart in his throat. Thousands of gazes were turned towards him... A few still-functioning neurons kept shrieking inside him: ["Fuck!!! Can you hear me, you imbecile?! This is all for you!!! They''re all here for you, Peter! Your father''s watching you! ''She'' is watching you! You want a chance one day to touch her hand without losing yours?!?! Then shut the fuck up and pull yourself together!!! Arrrghh!! We''re still virgins here!!! We only want to leave this filthy world after smelling the scent of a woman!!! Belly in, chest out, back straight! Fuck! Wake up, Soldier!"] Peter tried his best to appear more dignified and chivalrous than ever. The voices in his head fell silent as soon as Ser Duncan retook the floor: "The Son of that man! His ''First Heir''... followed his father in the rebellion that broke the heart of the North, fighting valiantly in two bloody battles! And not only that... not even two yearster, that young man threw away his ''Honour'' and ''Personal Glory'' in the tournament that took ce here five years ago... Yes... I have no more reason to hide it. For the good of the North, it was ''I'' who asked a valiant knight to purposely lose the final to Lord Jorah Mormont... thus sacrificing his excellent chance of winning the deserved title of Champion of the Joust. Without that sacrifice, the much-celebrated event less than a hundred miles away would not have urred today..." ''Oh fuck...'' Peter thought as he looked around. Had his Lord gone mad! Why? Why admit their deception in front of thousands of witnesses? But the boy in front of him continued undaunted in his ovation. "A few moonster... a young Captain followed yours truly into another deadly confrontation, leading his men and leading them to victory in the battle against murderous mercenaries three faces more numerous hired to kill me, saving my life..." ''This is a tant exaggeration and distortion of the truth!'' thought Tom''s son instinctively. Peter simply led the cavalry into a small battle that had already been won before it was fought. [''Shut up, you ungrateful idiot! Your Lord is not finished.''] The voice of reason admonished him. The General walked in a circle around him and, pointing his finger at him, praised with more ardour as he continued: "Not even three yearster, step by step, said man climbed the ranks of the military hierarchies by the force of merit and demonstrated valour, thus bringing his title of Captain to the highest grade a man of humble origins could achieve in the army of House Tallhart! And that was not all... Tom''s son was not content with his achievements. So he chose to umte other merits and honours, even agreeing to settle personal revange and fight alongside a legend who was once his enemy and killed his beloved father in a duel... The Vice-General put aside his pride, cast aside his personal grudges and joined the mad suicidal group not long christened by Westeros as the ''Heroic Hundred Proud Volunteers'', fighting valiantly in yet another deadly battle alongside his Lord and his men!" Ser Duncan roared to the Godswood spectators: "This is why we are all here today!!! This is why Torrhen''s Square cannot dy any longer!!! The North and House Tallhart do not forget their debts!!!" The herald turned sharply towards him, scrutinising him with a fierce gaze. ***( Author''s rmended scene Soundtrack= Ex Makina: Breath)*** "You... tell everyone your name." "Peter, son of Tom of Torrhen''s Square." Replied the man, forgetting even his title. "Not just ''Peter'' anymore, son of Tom of Torrhen''s Square..." His brother Ronan stepped forward, looking at him with red, shining eyes, but still maintaining the bearing worthy of their father, and then opened in front of everyone a document bearing three seals. "By order of King Robert of House Baratheon, with the blessing of the Protector of the North Eddard of House Stark and his vassal and your sworn lord, Ser Helman of House Tallhart, henceforth for the rest of time, you, your family and all your descendants shall apany your name with the word: {Atreides}." The Green Knight instantly unsheathed Red Rain and then enacted: "And now... kneel, Vice-General Peter ''Atreides'', son of Tom of Torrhen''s Square." His left knee touched the ground before the man could decide what to do... A familiar priest, holding a carved bowl of white wood in his hands, emerged slowly but steadily approaching the duo. ''Are you watching me, father? I hope you are proud of your son...'' Peter thought before bowing his head. A First Man, with his gaze bent towards the moss and red foliage, felt the light weight of the t de touch his shoulders to the sound of: "In the name of Bronze, Imand you to stand against Iron. In the name of Fire, Imand you to extinguish Frost. In the name of Light, Imand you to dispel Darkness. In the name of Life, Imand you to resist Death. It is your oath, Knight..." the Knight anointed the de with red sap offered to him by Oak Green Welk. "So that you may always remember it." The second Northman automatically offered the open palm of his dominant hand, immediately feeling a minor burn on it. "Do you swear by your blood and the blood of the Old Gods that from now on, for the rest of your days, you will defend the Beauty of this world from Iron, Cold, Darkness and Death?" Peter had repeated those words for an entire night, imagining in his fantasy that he was in that boy''s ce. "I swear by the Old Gods. I swear it on my blood and on the blood of my ancestors. I swear by Bronze and Iron, Fire and Ice, Light and Darkness, Life and Death. I swear by Love, and I swear by Magic. I will defend the Beauty of this World. Now and forever." Not a word was missing from the roll call to his deep relief and pride... The second Knight of Beauty could not open his eyes nor move a muscle as the Priest of the Old Gods anointed his forehead. But all the umted energy exploded in his legs as soon as his ears heard: "Arise, Ser Peter Atreides. Protector of the First Men, Servant of the Old Gods, and Defender of Beauty! A Green Knight of the Seven Kingdoms! Master of Heroes'' Summit, Shield of Lake Torrhen ''And''..." The Supreme General, Ser Helman Tallhart, had managed to move in behind him without Peter noticing. But what caught Peter''s attention the most was his second younger brother... This time it was Brywen who stepped forward, her eyes reddened and moist, and traces of snot on her nose. Brywen carried a longsword still unsheathed and knelt at his feet, diagonally holding the fine leather scabbard to make it easier to draw. Peter didn''t even have time to process all the privileges and honours he had just acquired... A Second Noble name, the birth of his own Household for him and his family, his name etched in the history books as the second Green Knight of the Seven Kingdoms and now the sword... As Vice-General inmand, Peter and the other five Vice Generals wielded Damascus Steel swords custom forged by Torrhen''s Square''s master cksmith, Will. But that sword... That was Grandmaster Mott''s masterpiece. Didn''t even need to look at the mark on the pommel to know it... Peter''s fingers slid slowly over the hilt, instinctively drawn to the sword itself, as if she were calling him... The Vice General scrutinised General Duncan''s gaze for a moment, to confirm what had be his and what was to be done. The First Green Knight nodded with a reassuring look full of confidence... Peter slowly unsheathed the de, savouring every tactile, auditory and visual sensation. The de was a masterpiece of forging. An instrument not only born to take Life but a symbol of art designed to be admired and coveted by all aspiring swordsmen. Carried away by the intense moment, the new Knight did not notice what was happening around him... Peter only perceived gentle hands on his busy shoulders, pulling off the decorative pins of the shoulder straps. The Vice-General''s body was stripped of its cape and invested with another almost identical to that of the officers in Chief-Tallharts... The mind returned to the here and now, and time began to turn normally again... At that moment, Peter realised that Duncan Tallhart had not yet finished the oration... It was only when Lord Leobald had finished staring correctly at the tinum pin that the boy pointed Red Rain at him and roared: "General of the Fourth Legion!" All the officers and nonmissioned officers of the Third Legion roared in chorus, "LORD GENERAL! LORD GENERAL ATREIDES!!! "General Atreides!!!" Thundered Leobald Tallhart, positioning himself at his corner of the triangle, pointing his own sword of Damascus at Peter in turn. And the Second Legion responded to their General''s call with: "LORD GENERAL! LORD GENERAL ATREIDES!!!" Then it was the turn of Supreme General Helman, who pointed his own sword towards Peter, who roared louder than anyone else: "Honour to Ser Peter! Honour to the New General!!! Honour to House Atreides!!!... ATREIDES!!!" And thousands of voices and swords in the Godswood and throughout Torrhen''s Square responded in ovation: "ATREIDES!", "ATREIDES!!", "ATREIDES!!!" ***** End Chapter. ------------------------ Chapter 150: The Andal Queen Chapter 150: The Andal Queen POV: Cersei Lannister Silk Road. Year 290, the fourth day of the first moon. A few hours before a new House arose in Torrhen''s Square... "I have heard more than one rumour that your loyal Ser Meryn is recovering prodigiously well from his horrible wounds inflicted by the vengeful Furious Bear." Tyrion broke the minute''s silence first. "The maester of Barrow Hall gave Meryn up for dead the first night. But it seems that his wounds healed at a portentous rate during his second and third mornings of convalescence. The Maester even consented to allow Meryn to join us on the gurney in a few days. Septon Mullin ims it is a miracle of the Seven and that the Warrior and Father have professed themselves in favour of the heroic Kingsguard...'' Cersei replied in the same tone. "Ah, yes, I have heard that. But I doubt the Father and the Warrior are aware of the ''Peculiar Tastes'' that ''Anointed Knight of the Seven'' requires in the brothels of King''s Landing. It could be divine intervention, or it could be another promising new addition to the North. It seems the old maester used new soothing ointments and leeches bred in the Neck..." Tyrion downed another generous gulp of Dorne Red. "Why are you here?" asked Cersei to her irritatingly deformed brother. Tyrion had climbed aboard the monstrous six-wheeled royal carriage, insisting that he and Cersei speak privately. "I am not here on our father''s orders, if that is what troubles your thoughts, sweet sister. But... The mighty Tywin Lannister appreciated ''His Greatest Delusion'' attempting to reason with thetter, close to reaching the extraordinary summit and ousting my throne." Tyrion replied sarcastically. "Tsz... It has not even been three moons since you were appointed ''Governor'' and ''Shield'' of Lannisport, and already you think you have be our father''s right-hand man?" Cersei retorted defensively. The first attempt to crush the threat nicknamed Bloody Snow turned out to be a tremendous failure that magnified the me rather than extinguishing it... Cersei had underestimated the brat, but it was not her fault. If that idiot Eunuch Spider had done his duty, for which he was richly paid, the lioness would have had more essential information for building a proper and effective strategy. If only Cersei had known sooner that her pig of a husband sought the first valid opportunity to appoint Duncan Tallhart ''First Green Knight of the Seven Kingdoms'', the Queen would have been the first to prevent the bloody duel from taking ce... "I doubt I''ll ever be able to rece our father''s mighty long arm called Kevan with one as short as my own... So let''s cut out the ''venomous barbs'' and get down to business. Sooner we deal with this matter, sooner you will remove the revolting burden of my presence." Tyrion carelessly tossed the empty golden cup onto the silk cushions. "So, say what you havee to report, brother." Cersei. "Stop antagonizing House Lannister and the Crown against Ser Duncan Tallhart and Lady Barbrey Mormont. Ah... and the warning is extended against any other individual, creature or possession in the North." Promulgated Tyrion in a severe tone. "And when did I ever do that? House Mormont and House Tallhart insulted and threw mud at the Crown and House Lannister!" Roared the lioness. "Please, Cersei... Spare this tirade towards thedies or lesser nobles of the court who drool in the wake of Tywin Lannister''s rich and powerful daughter. Half of Casterly Rock knows you''d rather dere war on the entire North than see my niece, your daughter, sold out to the lusts of the Northern Barbarians..." and then Tyrion continued with, "Do you know what name those aforementioned ''Barbarians'' have bestowed upon you after your pitiful attempt to sentence ''The Hero of the First Men'' to death?... [The Andal Queen]." Cersei hardened her gaze for a few seconds and, taking a deep breath and softening her face, she replied: "I don''t see where the problem is. Six kingdoms on the continent are firm believers of the Seven, and many historical sources im that our founding ancestor was an Andal who drove the First Men from Casterly Rock. House Lannister has nothing inmon with the Barbarians of the North worshipping Dead Trees." As more seconds passed, and more the Queen began to see excellent possibilities and future alliances that might enhance her position. That nickname was not so bad... "The problem, my sweet sister ''Andal'', is that you did not pay enough attention to Maester Vrik''s history lessons... Over the millennia, the Andal''s armies have never managed to conquer an ounce ofnd from the North. And in recent years, the North has repeatedly proven to the world that it needs no one''s protection. Should your loyal ''First Men'' subjects dere independence and stop bowing, scraping, and putting up with the insults to their cultures and traditions, who will march north to bring them back on the straight and narrow? Your Ser Boros and Ser Meryn Trant, perhaps?" Tyrion asked sarcastically. "Pff... The Quite Wolf a King? If Eddard Stark had wanted a throne, he could have quietly imed the roost of Robert six years ago... We have our allies in the North, my beloved brother. The Warden of the North is loyal to our king. Should the Tallharts or Mormonts raise their heads too high, he, Robert, and our father will wipe out Torrhen''s Square, Barrowton, Bear Ind, and any other fools who choose to side with the traitors to the Crown." Cersei replied, causing a look of dismay and disbelief on the dwarf''s face. But the Queen continued undaunted in her convictions. "Have you by any chance forgotten the fate of House Reyne, Tarbeck and Greyjoy, my witty brother? We have more men, more ships and more gold than House Tallhart and Mormont-" Cersei was interrupted by the roar of the little lion. "We-Not-Have-None of the Three, Cersei!!" ''What does he means by ''none of the three''?'' Wondered the lioness inwardly with puzzlement. "Who do you think won thest war? Your husband, by any chance?! It was House fucking Tallhart that wiped out the Kraken! Not the Stags, the Wolf, the Lion, but Bloody Snow!!" Cersei was shocked for a moment by Tyrion''s reaction. Despite her doubt, Cersei could not allow the filthy dwarf to speak to her like that, and the lioness tried to roar more fiercely to teach the little lion who was in charge in the pit. "House Lannister is the richest and most powerful house in the Seven Kingdoms!" Tyrion did not reply immediately; he stared at his sister for a few moments and after that rubbed the base in his nose, closing his eyes in pondering, until... "Phew...May the Seven save us...Listen to me carefully, Cersei. House Lannister is, in fact, currently wealthier than any other house in Westeros, more than House Tallhart and Mormont." Cersei sneered with a victorious grimace. " ''But'' on the whole, The North is richer and more powerful than the West. It''s not just the Houses Tallhart, Stark, Dustin and Mormont that have grown richer and more powerful in recent years, but ''The Whole North''! Every goddamn Household from the Reeds of Grey Tower to the ns of the Mountains! All of them are exponentially increasing their financial, political and military influence!!! And don''t believe for a moment that Lord Eddard Stark or the bond of friendship with Robert holds sway over Torrhen''s Square and Barrowton. House Tallhart and House Mormont... or rather, ''Ser Duncan Tallhart'' and ''Lady Barbrey Mormont'' hold the Entire North in their hands! Yes, that''s right. The 12-year-old boy you tried to have killed and the woman you are so openly trying to antagonise, together, have more power than Tywin fucking Lannister!" Asserted Tyrion. "Pff, don''t talk nonsense... If our father would-" Cersei was interrupted by a question. "You know the Eyrie and the Bloody Gate?" "I thought you wanted to talk to me seriously... Why then do you resume your stupid games?" Asked the sister in turn. "Answer me, please. I am not ying games but only trying to elucidate points not yet known to you. I will be more precise. Do you know the qualities that have characterised these two Valley fortresses for millennia?" Did Tyrion think she was so ignorant? "They are the two fortresses belonging to House Arryn. They are said to be impregnable, and no army would ever attempt a suicidal frontal assault on the pass of the Bloody Gate, nor has any army ever seeded inying siege to the Eyrie." The Queen repliedprehensively. After the mockery suffered by Bloody Snow, Cersei vowed in future to scrutinise and learn by heart every glimmer of legal or technicality that would have that albino brat imprisoned in the darkest, filthiest, godforsaken cells. Should her second attempt ever fail... Duncan Tallhart did not deserve the mercy of a quick death. No stump or executioner for Bloody Snow... no. The Heir of Torrhen''s Square was to starve to death in a long agony and be fed on ck flea-bottom soup ''seasoned'' with rotting shreds of his amputated limbs. Ser Gregor had been warmly ''updated'' on the changes in his services... Although, perhaps, there was no need for such elucidations either. The Queen and the Mountain longed to hear the Tallharts'' brat''s cries of distress. "Correct answer, my dear sister. Now, I must inform you that Lady Barbrey''s heralded new ce of employment is two miles from here. Exactly in the centre of the ''Silk Road'' and that, less than an hour ago, your beautiful carriage passed through a Gate-Fortress with a defensive structure equal, if not superior, to the impregnable ''Bloody Gate''." Cersei slightly widened her eyes. Was it an exaggeration to intimidate her? The Queen had remained in the royal carriage behind closed doors with her children all morning. Cersei had not yet observed any details of this infamous ''Silk Road''... "Three hundred men are guarding the ''Barrowgate'', and we have learned that another identical structure stands six miles further north in this narrow mountain passage defended on both sides by a natural barrier higher than The Wall... A garrison at South-Mormont and one at North-Tallhart could easily repel armies forty times their number. So, my sweet sister, assuming Lady Barbrey chooses to rebel against Winterfell or the Iron Throne, in your opinion, which House of Westeros would send their men to lead them to such a ughterhouse? Do you think our father could muster over twelve thousand men, lead them across the Neck, and order them to march against Barrowgate to certain death? ...The Queen Cercei has 15,000/20,000 swordsmen who would dly sacrifice their lives to appease the discontent and personal grudges of the ''Andal Queen'' andy the head of the ''Frosty Spice Queen'' at her feet?" Cersei did not know how to retort. Bluffing in front of the dwarf would have been futile. Her father had granted her a ''paltry'' private allowance of thirty thousand gold dragons a year and barely a hundred Lannisters swords to spare. In six years, Cersei had gained the ''supposed allegiance'' of House Bywater, Stokeworth, six or seven other lesser houses of the Cronds, and had only Pycelle in the small council. Without the steadfast support of her husband and her father, the Queen was effectively powerless... "Ah. And let us remember that we were only discussing ''how to ovee Lady Barbrey''s first garrison of three hundred soldiers. The Dustin-Mormont-Ryswell-Bolton armies, the alliance with Torrhen''s Square, the friendshipsmercial friendships with numerous unknown towns and forces in Essos, and Barrowton''s oversized coffers are a different kettle of fish." Tyrion poured more buckets of salt on the open wound, irritating Cersei. ''No... I must not be drawn into the tricks of the Imp.'' Her brother''s voice was beginning to be more remarkable than her towards their father... It was worth trying to suck it up a little with Tyrion and seek a family partnership. Personal grudges aside, Tyrion was loyal to his family and loved Jaime, his nephew, and niece... In this fight, the Lions had to stick together. "What do you suggest we do then? You are implicitly admitting that the heir Tallhart and the Lady of Barrowton have too much power in their hands. If the North''s influence and wealth grow further, we will not have the means to prevent them from separating from the protectorate of the Iron Throne. What if Bloody Snow and the Widow choose one day to support Aegon''s return? For us, it would be the prelude to catastrophe." She wittily remarked the lioness calmly, getting a nod of agreement from her younger brother. "That is why we must win the favour of the North and forge as many trade and military alliances with them as possible before House Targaryen returns. Our father is not standing idly by while other Houses raise armies and riches beyond measure. Casterly Rock, Lannisport and the entire West must stand by and benefit from rtions with the North, increasing prosperity, influence and military power. It will be years before Rhaegar''s rightful son raises his head from the sandpit where he hides. We must use every day of peace to outss the power of Dorne. If we do not do this, the Tyrells will use this tremendous opportunity with the North to oust us from our throne as the wealthiest and most influential House on the continent. As you well know, the Tyrells were always the most loyal supporters of House Targaryen. Even if the North chose independence, disregarding power struggles for the Southern throne, Lord Tyrell would not hesitate for a moment to give his daughter in marriage to Aegon VI if he saw a favourable opportunity for victory." The exnation seemed persuasive and rational. Since this bloody Greyjoy rebellion began, Cersei had totally neglected the Martell-Targaryen problem... Within six to nine years at most, Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen would announce their return to the whole world. And that whore, Elia Martell, would be irrefutable proof of the veracity of the rightful sessors to the Iron Throne... The North was a threat, but fighting major wars on multiple fronts would weaken the Lannister/Baratheon Kingdom too much. Tyrion went on to say: "House Lannister still has a good rtionship with the Tallharts, and we are also trying to strengthen that bond with the Mormonts. It is unlikely that Myrce will marry Ser Duncan, but we may have a chance with her younger brother, Benfred. Barring any more ''unfortunate incidents'', and with any luck, our cousin Lancel will marry Eddara Tallhart. Our father has wisely chosen to offer Ser Helman''s second son his patronage." Cersei tried to absorb the tragic news of recing the Tallhart candidate for her Myrce with another fucking Tallhart with restraint... "Is Benfred Tallhart going to Casterly Rock?" Asked the Queen in modest astonishment. "Correct. Ser Helman has just epted Lancel as page and guest of Torrhen''s Square, and tomorrow evening, young Benfred will begin the same role with our father." Tyrion replied. Cersei pondered for a moment. ''Tsz... It may already be toote to stop Clegane... Unfortunately, the dwarf is right. House Lannister and my Joffrey need Torrhen''s Square and Barrowton for a while longer... If Casterly Rock has a valuable hostage on its hands, then the Tallharts will not be a threat in short to medium term. However... ''that brat must go.'''' Cersei made her best decision. The wisest choice was to show signs of peace and reconciliation with the old witch and the Bloody Bastard and let her father''s Dog pursue this revenge... The alliance with Barrowton''s arrogant bitch could take it, but Bloody Snow... No. After the events of that diabolical evening, that being had proved to be a more significant threat than the Targaryen''s heir... Duncan Tallhart had to die, and the legend of Bloody Snow had to wither and be forgotten as soon as possible. With each abominable breath of that being, her position and Joffrey weakened... But how to get the Bastard of the North out of the way without all eyes on her? Now, that was the problem... Cersei had already overexposed herself. The crucial element for the sess of this venture was that the Queen''s hands remain unquestionably clean in the eyes of the North. To do this, there remained only one solution... Cersei had to sacrifice Ser Gregor and Ser Armory, condemning their actions and reducing them to eternal silence immediately after the misdeed. ''I could ask Gregor to ''identally'' crush Ser Armory''s skull during the melee... But then who will put down the mad Dog?... ''Mad''... Yes, right!'' Before leaving King''s Landing, Cersei had asked for a well-stocked supply of ''medicines'' from Pycelle. Among them was a small vial of Basilisk Blood... A few drops of that vial induced violent madness in every warm-blooded creature, both man and beast. ording to reports from the Grand Maester, a rat would attack a lion after tasting basilisk blood. Ser Gregor''s migraines were an average known fact... If, immediately after the melee, his squire served him his usual dose of hydrating wineced with Basilisk blood, the mad Dog would be shot down by the Mormont guards themselves as he was sumbing to the murderous madness... Bloody Snow was capable but arrogant. Nevertheless, the honour and glory of the Hero of the North would force him to ept the challenge against the Riding Mountain. Lorch would offer an opening to Clegane, who needed one clean blow to crush the name of Ser Duncan Tallhart forever. Even with his blunt broadsword, Gregor was capable of breaking the back of a grown man in te armour with a single sh... And after Ser Armory''s ''improper'' meddling in the Knights'' duel, Ser Gregor would ''identally'' get rid of hisrade caught off guard. ''Yes, perfect.'' Cersei imagined the whole scene ending with her on the front line ordering the Kingsguard to stop the monster-murdering madman who was guilty of the crime of taking the lives of so many innocents as well as that of a poor young ''Green Knight''... "You are right, brother. It is now clear to me, and I will atone for my sins. Casterly Rock and the Crown need to forge a solid and profitable rtionship with Torrhen''s Square, Barrowton and all other influential Northern Houses. Let our father know that there will be no more ''failures'' or ''mistakes'' on my part... I will do all I must for the good of House Lannister and the good of my family." End Chapter. ----------------------------------------- Chapter 151: Damascus Steel (I) Chapter 151: Damascus Steel (I) POV: Tycho Nestoris In a majestic new building at the centre of the Silk Road. Year 290, the fifth day of the first moon. On the same day that a boy from the North celebrated his twelfth name day... ''Four hundred pounds of Valyrian Steel and ckfire... Market value 40.450 gold coins per pound, an exponential 3% for every hundred pounds, plus an additional 5% loss on forging feemissions... and ckfire. Approximate minimum loss 23,065,000 gold coins...'' Tycho recalcted for the umpteenth time the gargantuan loss suffered by the Iron Bank haunted the poor Warden-Condemned''s dreams for four nights in a row. That cowardly scoundrel Gelledo had put a broken ss to the healer''s throat by ckmailing him into handing over a vial of Sweet Sleep... The Braavosian escaped the punishment promised by Tycho bymitting suicide with a painless and swift death. Although the wager was statistically in the Titan''s favour, the Council of Thirteen would never have forgiven the Warden such a loss. And how could the Thirteen be med... the Bank had just lost nearly a twentieth of Valyrian Steel''s remaining stockpile and three times the total profits earned from all Northern trade deals over the past five years. Invoking The Guardian of Love''s mercy would have been a futile and image-damaging action for the Bank. Moreover, The Watcher had not liked the poison concealed in that madman Gelledo''s de. Not even the hard-won settlement with his former pupil couldpensate for such a financial disaster... The information on the causes and the actual location of the forty-one million in lost managed funds paled inparison to the twenty-three million in assets directly owned by the Council... Tycho spent a night with paper, ink and numbers to calcte all the possible rosy and profitable improvements to the ss-Mormont. Reducing the risk factors of the Braavosi merchant and military fleet, increasing the cargo value for each individual hold, ck market sales of telescopes and future Mormont products... Nothing. Tycho had only found himself in the middle of this mess because of Berbo. The Vice-President suggested using Gelledo Antaryon as a possible hitman-sacrificer to legitimately and ''cheaply'' wipe out Bloody Snow... Of course, if the Director had pointed the finger at the first offender, vengeance would have been served up on a silver tter, but simply shifting the me for the disaster onto the Vice-President would only have served to add one more name to the list of Many-Faced Gods, without wiping his own. Tycho''s only chance was to bring back new essential information, deals, benefits or opportunities that wouldpensate for the monstrous loss. Themercial potential of the Silk Road seemed promising, but it would still take time... time he did not have. However, the dangerous and promising ''Damascus Steel'' could be a real possibility. If House Tallhart could produce magical metal with qualities akin to Dragon Steel, perhaps, and only ''Perhaps'' a glimmer of light still existed. "Director... Director Tycho, can you hear me? Are you all right, sir?" A voice amongst the general chatter of the gigantic hall caught Nestoris'' attention. "Oh, Ronan. Forgive me, my boy. I have not heard you. I got carried away by the numbers... Yes, I''m fine, thank you... Just a few too many hours of night work. Nothing a good night''s sleep can''t alleviate." Tycho shed the warmest smile he could muster at this nefarious dark time in his life. "Ah, d to hear it... Might I rmend a refreshing non-alcoholic drink for the nerves?" Offered Ronan, summoning an attendant in charge. "dly," Tycho appreciated Torrhen Square''s patented energy mixture of water, honey and lemon. "If the reason for such difort is your private rooms or the vi assigned to you for your stay, please inform me. I will ensure a morefortable amodation to your taste." Said the boy, holding out a cup. "No. Absolutely not, dear Ronan. I speak for the entire Braavos delegation. Our amodations are impable. The Iron Bank extends itspliments and thanks to Lady Barbrey Mormont for her sincere hospitality." Gantry and recognition of due merit were two hallmarks of Nestoris. Even at the point of death, the Braavosian would uphold his code. Ronan bowed like the worthy institutional representative he was. "d to see you and the Tallhart family rejoined the celebrations so quickly. Your journey to and from Torrhen''s Square was lightning fast." So far, Tycho had discovered that the North Gate of the Silk Road faced less than half a mile from the Torrhen River, where a harbour and two high defensive towers had been erected to protect the river. With the Tallhart ships, it was possible to sail those sixty miles between Torrhen''s Square and the harbour in less than seven hours. "We could not miss Lady Barbrey''s grand debut into the institutional world..." Tycho carefully analysed every word he had just spoken. "What do you mean, Ronan?" the boy smiled for a moment and then replied: "Come, Director, there is a front-row seat for you. Soon Barrowton will honour the agreements made, and everyone can finally solve the mystery of Damascus Steel. I suggest you take another sip from the cup and loosen your vocal cords. Soon a remarkable ruckus will break out in this Hall." Ronan, the ''Iron Trainee'', never uttered idle words, let alone made futile suggestions... Nestoris did as suggested and followed the boy. ''Could it be an auction with a demonstration to sell lots of the new metal?'' The hypothesis was more than usible. Moreover, the facility seemed more than suitable to organise such an event. Now that the flea entered his ear, the veil of anxieties and worries, which had been clouding Tycho''s ever-vignt gaze at the details over thest few days, fell away... The structure currently houses more than two thousand people and had a familiar feel. Unlike so many other buildings, this one was carved inside a mountain. It was a fortress but far too elegant and opulent to be considered such... The domed ceiling reached a hundred and fifty feet; all twenty mighty columns seemed to be made of marble, and those ck decorations... ''Dragon ss? Is that rural decorative mosaic made of Dragon ss?... And that snowke?'' Small, rming electric shocks began to tentacle Tycho''s head. "Ronan!" the boy stopped, turning towards him. "Yes, Director?" the Braavosian would not have been able to wring sensitive information out of Ronan ''the Lydian''''s mouth, but slight, unimportant hints, maybe. "At several points in the room, I couldn''t help but notice those white coin-shaped snowkes on a ck background. Just out of curiosity, is that, by any chance, a new coat of arms? And are those decorative veins tinum on an obsidian base?" Tycho asked in a quieter, more theatrical tone. "... You guessed both points, Director. Please... Any other doubts or perplexities you may have will soon be resolved." This structure was not used for simple auctions... Tycho spotted other staircases leading to several levels. Each of them used to house rooms. But not simple living rooms... No, they were offices. A cascade of mosaic tiles ran through Nestoris''s mind, with each individual piece gradually arranging itself in its exact ce to create a recognisably shaped image... ["Four Huge Structures? And what do Lady Barbrey and Ser Helman want to build in the middle of winter?" "We don''t know, Chief Executive. I''m afraid our contact has just been exposed... Thetest information brought back to us by the messenger is the named titles of the projects: ''Tower of Babylon'', ''Tower of the Philosopher''s Stone'', ''Gauntlgrym'' and ''Never Winter''..." **** "Director, many of our valued customers are makingrge mass withdrawals." "Did the Myr, Qarth, or Norvos lenders increase the interest premiums on the trust funds?" "No, Director General. We... I regret to inform you that our agents still have no clear idea where all that gold is going." **** "Director. The Lieutenant of The Rose Company in our pay has informed us that eight days ago, the officers signed an exclusive services contract with Barrowton!" "What?! And how on earth did Lady Barbrey manage that?! All ten thousand swords engaged in one exclusive contract?" "Y-yes, Director..." "But it doesn''t make any sense... At the moment, Lady Dustin doesn''t have any ships or enough allies besides being in debt up to her neck. So... why now? And for what purpose? House Dustin does not have the means or opportunity to rebel against the Starks... Barrowton would have to pay The Rose Company no less than half a million gold dragons a year for such an arrangement!"] Tycho stopped almost at the centre of the massive Hall, at least five hundred feet in diameter, looking around at all 360 of view... Those overly elegant men and women in Lady Barbrey''s service, the only individuals wearing a ck and white snowke brooch with notebooks in hand, and arranged waiting at the sides, were not mere attendants... They were ounting officers! In contemtive shock, the Braavosian murmured the solution to the final mosaic in a low voice. "This is no mere Auction Centre... This is a Bank." End POV. ---------------------------------- POV: The Managing Director Never Winter Bank. A few minutes after an rming electrocution... After two years and four moons of preparation, study and research, three years and seventy-six days of non-stop excavation and building work, nearly two million gold coins invested in a single massive structure, and the sacrifice of two hundred and thirty-three brave workmen who died on the job, the Northern Bank Headquarters that Duncan and Barbrey dreamed of together six years ago came to fruition. And now that the curiosity and attention of the World had been well and truly captured, the fateful moment of the ''Grand Debut'' had arrived. Hundreds of nobles from Essos and Westeros were already gathering towards the chosen ground, drawn like flies by the sweet fragrance of honey. A dozen attendants at her service were in the process of finalising the final preparations for the demonstration. The King in the North, the Lord of Dreadfort, and all the principal actors of the second act were ready, and so was the author of the Great y... Barbrey eyed the aggressive, using gaze of Tycho Nestoris. ''The Director seems to have sensed... Good. So, let''s raise the curtain.'' *Ting Tin Tiin*... Barbrey drew the general attention with the crystal ss that waster picked up by a servant. "My Lords! My Ladies!... A moment''s attention, please. I have an announcement to all of you, my most honoured guests!" General silence reigned in a few seconds... "I know many of you long for someone topletely dispel your doubts and finally give credence to the truth... Some of you are still wondering ''What'', ''How'' and ''Where did this Damascus Steele from?'' but most of all, ''Does those above infamous new metal really exist?''" Many nodded; others tried as hard as they could to get closer, even nudging their fellow nobles. "I thank you all for being so patient, but most of all, I thank Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Domeric Bolton for maintaining secrecy until now." The two nominees stepped forward, drawing all the public attention to them. Well... Yes, my lords, said Steel exists and is produced here in the Silk Road less than a mile away from here." Background murmurs came to life, breaking the silence. "The Silk Road and this imposing new structure that wees you all, and of which I shall shortly tell you, are not the only marvels erected with the sweat and blood of the continent''s finest master builders and architects... The greatest forge Westeros has ever known stands in themercial street of Barrowton and Torrhen''s Square! But... ''Words are wind'', let the demonstrations of genius in the employ of ''House Stark'' and ''House Bolton'' do the talking... Let us wee with warm apuse Grandmaster cksmith Tobho Mott, the Chief Forgemaster of Gauntlgrym!" The bald man in his early forties entered in in sight behind him with his small, trusty ck-haired apprentice, Gendry Waters, the illegitimate son of Robert Baratheon. *p! p! p!* Apparently, the King recognised the Master-Apprentice duo well. The Stag did not seem to appreciate Lady Barbrey''s devious and highly concealed threat... Five years ago, the King himself secretly entrusted his own bastard, barely two years old, to the care of the promising craftsman. "Thank you, Lady Barbrey... My King, my Lords and Ladies, it is an honour and privilege for me to stand before you all. I fear I am far more practised in the art of hammer and crucible than in the noble art of speech of which, all of you, are certainly more experienced than I..." Faintughter and haughty assent responded to the introduction of the master cksmith, who went on to say: "My greatest supporters and my ''exclusive clients'', Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Domeric Bolton, have generously funded this demonstration in full... Demonstration that in the first ce will need ''two'' good volunteers." It was the patron Bolton who took charge of the first appeal. "Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jaime Lannister... We will need your help, honourable members of the Kingsguard." After only a few moments of uncertainty and surprise, the knights answered the roll call. Tobho''s apprentice assistants approached two cases and discovered two thick trunks of woven, tightly bound pairs. The cksmith resumed the word. "d to note that you still have your trusty sword with you, Ser... This is still my old work, if my eye does not deceive me." Barristan nodded, smiling slightly, and sensed the man''s underlying request, carefully drawing his longsword and then handing it to his maker "Your eye does not deceive you, Master Tobho. Your work was, and still is, one of the finest tempered des my hand has ever had the honour to wield." Barristan replied with jovial sincerity. "And you are taking excellent care of it, Ser... d to know that the exorbitant price of thirty gold dragoons, which I charged you at the time for this ''piece of junk'', was not entirely a swindle." The hrity intensified to the amusement of the audience. Tobho returned the sword to its owner and then turned to the second volunteer. "Ser Jaime, may I have the honour of studying your sword as well?" the knight nodded silently, deftly drawing his forged steel from the forges of Lannisport. After not even a minute of scrutiny, the craftsman enacted: "Yes, truly excellent work. Lannisport indeed boasts of an excellent master armourer ... mmm... A work of Master Vembilin, I suppose?" "Your supposition is correct, Master Mott." So replied the eldest son of the Old Lion in a quieter but proud tone. "Your des are egregiously sharp, knights... Now, to demonstrate to the noble audience, would you please safely brandish said trusty weapons and cleave your best shot on the two straw logs ced here?" Tobho asked, pointing to the targets arranged and spaced out in a line parallel to the crowd. The knights nodded and positioned themselves twenty feet apart, firmly gripping their swords with two hands and respectively swinging two perfect, powerful side shes capable of slicing cleanly through a grown man''s bare torso. The thick log-shaped straw, with a diameter of almost two feet, discreetly absorbed the two deadly blows. Ser Jaime''s sword reached almost a foot deep, Barristan''s to an almost identical but slightly shorter result. "Excellent, Knights! Truly an excellent disy of skill. Amon veteran soldier of distinguished strength could not get more than a palm deep with the same des." Barbrey gazed at the seven-foot-tall abomination some two hundred feet away and shuddered for a moment at the thought that Ser Gregor Clegane possessed the ability to cleanly sever the entire shaft with his giant broadsword... ...And her 12-year-old partner was going to draw that giant''s fury towards him? Barbrey thought back to the conversation between her and Bloody Snow about the ''Third Act''. ["Will that armour be able to protect you from the Mountain''s blows?" Barbrey. "Mmm, Master Mott assured me that no blunt sword could ever crack his new masterpiece. So I should have no trouble in the fray. Or rather, ourrade Ser Greatjon should have none. Ahaha!" Duncan. "Stop with the stupid jokes. I''m serious. I''m not talking about the scrum..." Barbrey. "...With a well-sharpened de wielded with all the boundless strength of Ser Gregor... maybe not," Duncan admitted, abandoning his usual joking tone. "What about The Watcher''s technique? Would you be able to parry and deflect all mortal blows with that?" Barbrey. "I might be able to... but it would be unwise to use Gate Locks against that mountain of muscle and steel. The technique is not yet at its peak. I would currently be able to deflect the attacks of men three times stronger than me. Victarion Greyjoy possessed simr strength, and at the time, I could not wholly parry his blows. ording to Zick, Ser Gregor possesses slightly more physical strength than Maelys the Monstrous in his golden years, and at present, in a fight, I''m still unable topensate for the gap of such arge force. Clegane would be able to break my defence in less than a minute... Topensate for that gap, I would have to break boundaries that, in the most absolute manner, I cannot and will not cross." Duncan. "You cannot rely on the agility, armour of Tobho, or technique of The Watcher... Please, tell me that you and Zick have devised a viable strategy to get out of that fight intact and that you will not leave me besieged alone in a vice between the Tower and the Titan..." Barbrey. "Well, there-] the memory snapped as soon as Master Tobho resumed speaking. "Now, Knights... Please try to execute the same sh but with different weapons." ******* End Part I. --------------------------------- Chapter 152: Damascus Steel (II) Chapter 152: Damascus Steel (II) * Apologies to those who read the chapter uploaded about twenty minutes ago (there was a page missing). Happy reading! --------------- POV: Jaime Lannister Never Winter Bank A few seconds after the master craftsman demanded a second demonstration... "Here you go, milord." One of Tobho''s assistants offered him a longsword with features very simr to Jaime''s sword. The handle and scabbard did not look particrly ornate but more like standard equipment for the regr army... Jaime pulled out the de, noticing immediately that the weight, width and length of the de were almost identical to Golden w. Moreover, the ripples on the de looked rough and unharmonious on each other, and the colour of the steel seemed much lighter than Valyria''s steel. The weight on the pommel... ''Wait... Yes, there''s no doubt about it. It was made especially for me!'' Jaime noted with considerable astonishment, searching his eyes for the possible culprit of this fineness. A few moons ago in Pyke, Duncan Tallhart carefully scrutinised Golden w, asking about all its properties in detail... "These two des, my Lords and Ladies, are the fruit of thebour of Gauntlgrym''s apprentices... One hundred and ny young workers who invest body and soul to learn all the secrets of the fine art of steel to the best of their ability. But... s, stillcking in experience. When you are ready, Knights..." That was the signal. Both Jaime and Barristan approached their straw target. The Kingyer aimed his eye at the trajectory of the sh, on the opposite side and slightly higher than the previous one. The knight positioned his feet firmly, cing them in the right ces for proper bnce, gripped the soft leather grip firmly, raised his arms and struck a full power blow using all the rotation of his torso. A blow that could have mortally wounded even a knight d in double chain mail, leather and padding... *Stock**Stock* the targets were hit almost simultaneously. Jaime observed with great astonishment the subtle but present difference between the two cuts... The second was at least an inch deeper. ''Force, speed and uracy were almost identical to the first shot... I''m sure of it!'' The Young Lion quickly drew the de from the straw and looked more closely at the edge... Nothing. No signs of rippling or notch of wear on the metal... ''This de forged by mere apprentices is of superior quality to Golden w?'' Roared Jaime inwardly. Thinking of the bag of three hundred golden dragons left at the forge of Master Vembilin, Lannisport''s most in-demand and demanding smith... "We call this type of product: {Gauntlgrym Standard Quality}. A metal worked and folded on itself more than eighty times. Of course... our novice armourers can recreate work of the same quality on all the specific models of weapons required." The murmurs of the crowd turned into more prominent and confusing voices. "And now, on to the {Gauntlgrym Fine Quality} range, the weapons produced by our certified ''Smiths''..." *** About a minuteter... Jaime cleaved the third sh with full force and uracy. *Stoock* This time, the de prated to a foot and four inches deep. Three more than the previous one... Even Ser Barristan looked as shocked as he did. Both steel lovers peered in detail at the precious treasure clutched in their hands. The ripples were thicker and more pronounced than the Standard Quality, and the metal thinner but of the same weight and shape as the first Damascus Steel sword wielded. Jaime''s heart yearned for that sword, sharper, hardened and finer than the previous one he had already coveted considerably... He would have shelled out ten, twenty or even a hundred bags of gold; he didn''t care... the eldest son of the richest man in Westeros yearned for that de. ''I wonder if Master Mott would ept an offer for the demonstration prototype.'' Jaime wondered immediately before realising with great shock that two more des were waiting to be tested. "This, my Lords and Ladies, is the fruit of the work of the metal artists who deserve the appetion ''cksmith'' in Gauntlgrym... For reasons of professional secrecy, I cannot reveal the exact number of folds of the metal, but I can tell you that it is worked with moreplex techniques and for much longer and holds at least twice as many folds as the Standard Gamma. And now, let''s move on to something a little more... ''magical'' if we can call it that. Our honourable contributors will try out the rare {Gauntlgrym Elite Quality} range, work that, at present, can only be forged by our ''Twelve'' best Master cksmiths!" Even the not-so-witty son of Tywin Lannister picked up on the meaning implied in that ''Twelve''... In all likelihood, few noblemen of arms or collectors in Westeros would have had the luck or the coinage to acquire such a coveted item. The damaged straw target was reced with an intact, thicker one. *** About a minuteter... Jaime felt the light, finely bnced sword go along with the momentum and direction ordered to it... like a limb responding to the body''smands. *Stoock* the de prated easily past the first foot of resistance made of melted butter and continued to make its way and then stopped at the two-foot threshold. If the dummy had not been reced, the previous thinner shaft would have been sliced in half. The steel tes ofmon forge would not have withstood such a sh... It was not Valyrian Steel; this Jaime knew. Duncan Tallhart allowed him to test and study his sword at length, and the difference between the two was still perceptible. Red Rain''s magic wasn''t just sharpness, lightness and perfect bnce, no... Jaime couldn''t tell if all of Valyria''s swords had those same qualities or if others were even superior. Still, he was sure that the former sword of House Drumm possessed a kind of attunement with the swordsman as if the de was sentient and wanted to help its owner by indulging and anticipating the hand''s movements. The aforementioned ''Gauntlgrym Elite Quality'' was not at that level, but damn if those master smiths hade close! "Prating and cutting power... Resistance to rust damage and wear, and... Lightness and bnce superior to any other steel sword forged in Westeros! This, my lords anddies... It''s Gauntlgrym Elite Quality! The wonders forged by our ''Twelve'' Master Craftsmen, those who have richly earned the title of Forgemaster!" Sang the no-longer-shy Tobho Mott, unleashing a wave of euphoria among the eager audience. "Andstly... my personal job. I leave the honour to you, my lord Domeric..." *** End POV -------------- POV: Lord of Dreadfort Never Winter Bank. At that exact moment... Domeric felt the tension on him grow exponentially; the current monopoly holder of the Damascus Steel des had been preparing for months with his aunt for this fateful moment. ''So much for battles or mortalbat...'' Domeric thought, discovering at that exact moment that, in all likelihood, speaking in front of thousands of judging eyes and ears was far more frightening than death itself. ''Fuck! I can''t breathe!... ''Phew... Calm down... Calm down, Domeric!'' the boy sought and found the encouraging gaze of his friend... the one who might hold the true Monopoly on all the rich revolutionary metal that would change the World. The one who hadplete confidence in him... The expression of Roose Bolton''s eldest son became colder, detached and calcting. The second youngest member of the Green Council could not and should not disappoint hisrades, his friends and his family. Huffing as much air as possible from his nostrils, the current lord of Dreadfort and sole heir to the Boltons'' name loudly promulgated: "Always remember our family motto, Domeric... {Our des Are Sharp}. Thest teaching my father, Roose Bolton, bequeathed to me by pronouncing it on his deathbed four years ago. These four years... with the support and cooperation of my Lord Protector, Eddard Stark, of my trusted advisors and masters, of the loyal subjects under my protection, my loving mother, of my most trusted friends in the North, of Master Mott and all the staff and craftsmen present at Gauntlgrym... and above all... of My Aunt, ''Lady Barbrey Mormont'', I am happy to announce to you all with confidence and pride that thest teaching, thest will of my father, will be honoured!" A small burst of apuse gave Domeric time to catch his breath. "House Bolton will never forget all those who made this dream possible, let alone the North!" Then, Domeric turned his attention back to the two Knights of the Royal Guard and went on to say: "Thend of my ancestors... Thend that has weed and protected the First Man for millennia... My Mothend will not forget the friends and allies who have fought by its side and by the side of its Hero!" The Lord of Dreadfort signalled the two porters who held two more new masterpieces of the Grandmaster Forgemaster. "Dreadfort and the entire North have not forgotten the heroic deeds of the Hundred Volunteers! I call upon all of you Heroes of Pyke toe forward and receive the honours due before all of Westeros!" A few seconds passed, and more than sixty figures stepped into the crowd. There was Thoros of Myr, Beric Dondarrion, Jory Cassel, Lord Fury, Ser Lyle Crakehall, Ser Balon and many other men from the North, the Stornds and the West to answer the call... Domeric knew that all ny-one of the surviving members were in the audience. His aunt and Duncan had made sure of that. "House Bolton, with the support and contribution of House Stark, Mormont, Tallhart and all the other great Houses of the North, willmission from the finest craftsmen of Gauntlgrym any weapon of your choice! A gift from the North for you and the families of those fallen in battle, Heroes of Pyke!" All ny-one lucky fighters bowed deeply in the direction of Lord Domeric and Eddard Stark. A roar of apuse, female hymns of jubtion and envious nces from lords and knights (absent such privilege) apanied the group of one hundred. It was, in fact, no small gift... Each of the twelve Forgemasters capable of producing a weapon of Damascus with minor enchantments required resources, effort and at least eight to nine days per job. Although House Bolton had just earned the main credit for the gesture, it was House Tallhart who had contributed the most. Twenty-seven Elite Quality weapons and one Supreme Quality were paid for entirely by Torrhen''s Square. In addition, for the remainder, House Tallhart waived its share of themission on Damascus Steel, thus allowing the consortium of Noble Houses of the North to pay a rtively paltry sumpared to their actual value in gold. Three Royal Quality and ny-five Elite Quality weapons would have quickly sold on the world market for no less than four hundred thousand gold dragons... The porters arrived with Weirdwood cases towards the two chosen knights. "Ser Barristan Selmy... Ser Jaime Lannister." Domeric drew the attention of the hall and the appointed knights. "The masterpieces of the greatest Master Weaponsmith in the service of the North belong to you, Knights. You who valiantly and courageously led yourrades, saving the life of our Hero." The cases were opened, and the two members of the Royal Guard were both dazzled for several seconds before grasping their new magic swords. "Please, Knights, honour the efforts and artistry of Master Mott by showing the whole world ''what'' the finest Steel of Gauntlgrym can do!" Lord Domeric added, pointing at the targets. End POV. --------------------------- POV: Eddard Stark Never Winter Bank. A few minutes after two straw targets (three feet thick) were sliced cleanly through by two single shes... Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan had just taken their leave along with the ny-one heroes of Pyke after several bows and words of gratitude to the chief benefactors of the North. Ned carefully scrutinised the false smiles adorned with covetous eyes, willing to do anything to get his hands on the treasures of Gauntlgrym... Nobles of the Vale, of the Reach, of the Rivends, of the Stornds, of the West, of the Crown, of Lys, Qarth, Norvos, Pentos... all the strangers who were not fortunate enough to have been born and raised in the North felt visible sparks of envy... Sparks eager to be fanned into mes at the first opportunity. Ned was not afraid of political pressure. Not after the experienced warlord, raised on milk, grain and gruelling notions of war since the tender age of six, had personally studied all the defensive lines and measures erected by House Dustin and Tallhart. Even if some mad foreignmander had somehow managed to reach the gates of the Silk Road, it would have taken at least twenty thousand veteran soldiers ready for anything to get a foot inside Gauntlgrym or the Never Winter Bank''s headquarters. Of course, this insane and bloodthirsty utopia would only be feasible in the unlikely event that Torrhen''s Square, Barrowton, Dreadfort, Winterfell and all the tremendous allied-vassal houses in the North did not respond to calls for help... No... Only the first Four World Organisations had the war power to get their hands on Damascus Steel and Lady Barbrey''s deep coffers. And two of them were currently friends and soon ''allies'' of the North. Ned could not help but turn his gaze towards Ser Barbrey and Ser Duncan... His two trusted Green Knights would have the most arduous task in the next three years. The King in the North cursed his impotence, recalling in his mind thest secret confrontation with Duncan Tallhart in Winterfell less than a moon ago... ["At least Three Years? But... what shall we do if the summer does notst that long?" Ned. "I''d better keep some details to myself, Ned... but I can tell you that next season will be ''very'' long. The length of the summer will not be a problematic unknown. The moves of the Titan and the High Tower will be the hardest burdens to bear..." Duncan. "... Do you and Barbrey really want to endure theing cold storm alone?" Ned. "Yes So it must be. Our true enemies will always have to believe that the only reason the North cannot be crushed like a bug by them is for the protection of The Watcher and The King in The Yellow. A symbolic coboration between Braavos and Oldtown will be inevitable; the important thing is that the first two World Forces do not forge stronger ties ande down in full force against the North. It is imperative that such a catastrophic event does not ur for three years, or it will be the end of us all..." Bloody Snow emphasised for the umpteenth time in a severe tone. "But even if that happens, we will have the support of Chai Dug and Zick-" Ned was interrupted. "No, Ned... The true decision-making rulers in the Third and Fourth Organisations are the Guardian of Magic and The Spider Queen. Both are strong supporters of their protgs'' choices, that''s true, but the final word will always rest with Archwizard Lo Tho and Madame Zishua Zhao Urat. The Spider Queen did not create the Fourth Organisation for the welfare and protection of the World but solely to protect Zick and all those she loves most... Lady Zishua would never force those she considers sons and daughters of her only reason for living to fight and die for the sake and prosperity of the First Men... And personally speaking, I understand and share her reasons. As for The King in The Yellow, the Guardian of Magic has appointed him his heir and sessor for over three centuries. Lo Tho has left Chai Duq with great decision-making powers and responsibilities, thus giving the Overlord of Carcosa even the choice of whether or not to enter into conflict with the Titan or The High Tower. Still, he would stop his precious disciple''s hand should Chai Duq or Carcosa be put at risk in a Total War of uncertain victory. Furthermore, Zick is bound by the oaths of his role as Guardian. Therefore, The Watcher could not openly side with one faction without the unanimous approval of the other two Guardians of the Known World." Ned frowned as he nodded and asked: "So... at least for the first three years, we should rely on our strength, am I right?" "Essentially, yes. The North will have to bear the pressure of the Titan and Oldtown until the First Men, Valyrians and Rhoynar have the strength to raise their heads and openly dere themselves to the World. The Never Winter Bank will keep the Iron Bank at bay, while Torrhen''s Square will face Oldtown in the shadows. However... we won''t exactly be ''alone'' in this fight. ''Deception'', Ned... Deception will be a mighty illusionary weapon, our secret weapon for victory. Madame Zishua may not support us at the critical moment, but nothing and no one will be able to stop The King in The Yellow and The Watcher from feigning their full support towards the North." Duncan grabbed the white Rook and Titan piece from the cyvasse board and continued: "Doubt and calcting the pros and cons will force the two ponderous superpowers to weigh up all possibilities." The boy ced the two main pieces on a safe spot well protected by the Dragon, the Lion, the Sun, the Priest, the Queen, the Harpy and the Horse of the same colour. Nine pieces lined up against five: a Dragon-Tree, a Wolf, a Sorcerer, a Man-Sorcerer and a ck Snowke. "If we can lure them to this reasonably safe and profitable spot, then our chance of victory will be realised." Bloody Snow pointed to the only two silver squares in the centre of the chessboard. "Ultherro and Leyton will have to think that they have an advantageous position, one that will see a variety of possibilities for manoeuvre and give them time to prepare and augment their forces for possible countermeasures towards the inevitable war... Before the Watcher naturally passes away, we absolutely must make him believe that the First Men have chosen to deploy in a hyper-defensive posture, desperate to augment the forces of the North as much as possible and that we enjoy the full support of Carcosa and Pentos," the boy exined, pointing to the Wolf, the Tree and the ck Snowke, and dropping the Smiling Man. "In the meantime, the Council of Braavos and the Andalus Council will opt for their usual and immortal modus operandi... That is, to constantly wear down the enemy by supporting other pawns adverse to us in the shadows." Duncan moved the White Lion, Queen and Priest forward towards the ck faction. "If Damascus Steel seeds in acting as ''sufficiently ptable'' bait, we will prevent the very dangerous Tower and Titan from throwing themselves into the front line and tearing us apart." Finally, the boy showed two hypothetical scenes: -The Titan and the Tower not taking the bait and deciding to charge the cks head-on, thus causing an ineluctable retreat of the Smiling Man and the Sorcerer and the total annihtion of the Tree, the Wolf and the Snowke. -The Titan and the Tower fell into the sweet trap, forcing the previously chosen white pawns to charge forward to limit the movements of the strongest puppets on the board. "In this way, our enemies will be locked up in arge,fortable fortress-prison... A prison that willst throughout, or at least, a good part of the summer, and which will force the Titan and the Tower to send their expendable puppets against us to weaken us during our unstoppable growth." The three weak white pawns bumped into the cks several times without concrete results, thwarting a direct attack on the Tower and Titan. "And when Braavos and Oldtown finally realise that theing summer will be one of the longest in thest millennium, and that apparent allies were white only in the fictitious light of day... "Duncan reced the Dragon, Lion and White Sun with identical ck miniatures, dropping Queen, Priest and Harpy immediately after a surprise attack, surrounding the only three remaining white pieces on all sides... "It will be Checkmate."] **** End Part II. Chapter 153: Damascus Steel (III) Chapter 153: Damascus Steel (III) POV: Duncan Never Winter Bank Soon after the Warden of the North finished reworking the critical points of a n... The straw log test had not been set up haphazardly. On the contrary, that was the standard test approved by the few Forgemasters loyal to the Iron Bank (the organisation that held a monopoly on Valyrian Steel) for the qualitative measurement of des forged from Dragon Steel. The techniques and enchantments required to forge a de or armour from Valyrian Steel were ssified into five known grades. Five levels of Forgemaster technique to which I added a minor personal modification on the (still rough) ssification. -Basic: Weapon [+1] (Cutting 3 feet thick of straw). -Medium: Weapon [+2] (4 feet). -Advanced: Weapon [+2] + 1 additional minor magical perpetual property. -Master: Weapon [+3] (5 feet); or [+2] + 1 additional major or up to 3 minor magical properties. -Great Master: Weapon [+3] + 1 additional superior magical property or up to 3 major ones. The ssification for crafting magic items was more or less simr. A true Forgemaster was not simply a cksmith capable of working on magic swords and armour but an authentic spellcaster capable of crafting and enchanting multiple items. Oldtown had ess to less than three or four low and mid-level Forgemasters. Braavos of the triple, but (asionally and at exorbitant prices) obtained the services of the House of ck and White. The Gentle Man, a Master Forgemaster, was currently in charge of four Advanced Forgemasters, all servants of the Many-Faced Gods. Carcosa was the only city to have more than ten Advanced Grade Forgemasters. Among the multitude of titles and merits achieved over eight centuries, Chai Dug also possessed the honour of Master Forgemaster. And if that were not enough, the Confederation of Mages asionally enjoyed the services of the Guardian of Magic, the only known living Grand Forgemaster. Even before the Disaster of Valirya, the former pupil, friend andpanion of the legend who bore the name of Valgudryel Targaryen retained primacy over that art. Whether or not it was considered ''Failure'' or ''Sess'' by the Guardian of Magic, each of his works was still more unique than a rare treasure in the world market. On the day of Zick''s appointment as the new Guardian of Love, my master was invested with a priceless gift... A Crafting Grade Artifact [Grand Master]. A magical object forged through the coboration of the three Guardians: the Green King, the Gentle Man and Lo Tho. There was a ''sixth'' level not properly certified but nevertheless recognised and immted in legend... Grade: [Legendary Forgemaster] Currently, only five artefacts in the world are ssified as [Legendary] grade. Of these, three were forged by the first Guardian of Love, Valgudryel Targaryen: -{Keeper of Knowledge}, the most powerful Steel Armour of Valyria ever created, bound to the Hightower dynasty. -{Valunday G''ho Ras}, the arcane staff bound to the God-On-Earth dynasty and only usable by Archwizard rank spellcasters. And the most powerful of the three... -{Brightroar}, the lost ancestral sword of the progenitor of the Lannister dynasty. It was eerie to think that, so long ago, House Lannister possessed ''two'' of the five legendary artefacts in existence, because: {The Crimson Cloak of the Triad}, the piece of cloth used as an ornamental adornment in the master''s hall at Casterly Rock, is, in fact, one among them... The reserves of Valyrian ingots were the most significant treasure kept in the ancient mines of Braavos. No one knew exactly how much metal remained. The information was jealously guarded by the highest offices of the Titan Council... Ronan of House Atreides, soon to be ''Ser'' Ronan*, worked for months on the information shortages and tampered with documents that the Spider Queen managed to provide. In the opinion of the most brilliant mathematical mind in the North, the Iron Bank, before the disaster of Valyria, must have managed to get its hands on between one hundred and sixty thousand pounds of Dragon Steel and, again, ording to his modest statistical-ounting study, after four hundred years of small injections of the magical metal onto the World market, the Titan should currently be cramming in no more than a quarter of the initial total sum. This information is invaluable and crucial to our n. That genius Mott had improved and increased the magical strength in the originalplete form I provided him with... The Damascus Steelwork of the Grand Master cksmith reached the Base quality standard. An outstanding achievement, for although still in limited quantities, Gauntlgrym was able to forge swords, spears, arrows, shields and armour of [+1] quality. An achievement that only the metal of Valyria could surpass. In addition, the North could supply the Wizard Confederation with ingots of conductive magical steel, suitable for supporting the conductive stress of magics up to the second circle. Tobho would supply House Tallhart with a rtively small amount of Arcane Damascus Ingots. Approximately one hundred pounds per month until other apprentices, smiths or masters reached the required quality standard. An event that would require at least two or three years of training... Barbrey and Ronan estimated a minimum profit of 25,000 gold dragons per bar (bar=10 pounds). House Tallhart''s second* most profitable business to date. I nced at Master Zick, and, to my relief, he nodded twice... Warden Tycho, Leyton Hightower and Chai Duq had been taken aback by the first demonstration. So I arranged with the master for The Watcher to scan every slightest expressive signal from the faces I was most interested in keeping an eye on. -One approving nod meant they were sufficiently taken aback, and the interest in Damascus Steel was considerable, to the point of reworking all the moves and countermoves pondered so far. -Two nods signified a contemtive earthquake of the Tower, the cornered Titan and intense lust for the new metal on Carcosa''s part. ''The sword was a sess; now it''s the shield''s turn...'' I thought, throwing a double signal to Barbrey and Eddard. The Managing Director of the Never Winter Bank took the floor: "The surprises are not over, my lords anddies! We have had the honour of witnessing the great new des of House Bolton, but the presentation is not over... The magnificent masterpieces of the noblest and ancient House of the North are missing. I would like another generous round of apuse for Lord Eddard Stark! The man who made it all possible!" *p! p! p!* "Hurray, Lord Eddard!", "Honour to House Stark!" The Lord of Winterfell bowed to the avnche of cringing apuse and undeserved ovations, concealing a slight embarrassment at the tant exaggeration infused by Barbrey. ''Poor, Ned. Not even a year ago, that man lived a much more carefree life, with less responsibility and devoid of disturbing truths.'' The poor man did not even know what or where the Silk Road was being built before he left for war. Since that fateful evening when I revealed to Ned the true face of this World, the man had been using Essence of Dreams and Desires like it was coffee sweetener... ''Blessed Ignorance, Ned,'' I thought before the true Hero of the North made his debut... "Many good and loyal Northmen have died in this tragic and futile war. Sons of Winterfell, fathers of Barrowton, friends of Bear Ind, loyalrades of Last Hearth... This is the second time I have asked the people of the North, whom my House promised to protect, to follow me into war." The fake jovialughter on the faces of the audience died down, indulging the more respectful bearing that noble social etiquette dictated. "In the course of my life, I have had the misfortune to witness the deaths of hundreds of young men from the North. Young men forced by me to go to war. People who longed for peace in their warm, loving family hearths... Poorly trained soldiers, unprepared for each battle''s countless pitfalls, but above all... ''Ill-equipped''. Peasants, potters, ranchers, innkeepers or fishermen with nothing but rusty pikes in their hands, shields made of rotten wood, worn helmets, and a creased jacket of boiled leather that we called ''Life-Saving Armour''... I pray to the Old Gods every morning that the day will nevere when I will be forced to ask my people again for this dreadful sacrifice... But should that ominous daye, I swear on my own name that no other... ''No Other'' young, adult or old whom I ask to follow me will face that hell without equipment worthy of facing any war''s dangers!" I was among the first to apud amidst cheering for the newly dered promise. ''Not bad... Not bad indeed, my King,'' I thought as I exchanged a look of shared surprise with Barbrey. "Thank you all for witnessing my promise. I will now leave the demonstration of these ims to the person best ced to illustrate it. The floor is yours, Master Mott." Ned retreated a step. "Thank you, my Lord Stark... Shields and Armour! The works upon which I, and my valued associates, have shed countless bitter tears, rivers of sweat and depressing sleepless nights due to our thousands of failures over the past year. But today... my lords anddies, thanks to the merit of all the lessons that each failure holds, Gauntlgrym is proud to present to all of you the future innovative armour of House Stark that every knight in Westeros will yearn for! We wee our third noble volunteer for this demonstration: Lord Jon Umber of Last Hearth!" *** Four minutes of apuse and preparationster... Tobho exined the properties of the first type of te Armor worn by the volunteer, exining its attributes, while two squires helped Greatjon put it on. "Damascus Steel is excellent in attack with its unrivalled flexibilitypacted into thin des, but unfortunately weak when moulded into defensive tes. It was not at all easy to modify the form and find a suitable method to capture the properties of a ferrous mixture ideal for tes, rings and scales... For this reason, unlike Damascus weapons, te armour, half-te armour, split armour, ke armour, chain mail and studded armour can currently only be forged in three qualitative types that can be worked by no more than ''fifty'' craftsmen in total..." Another subtle premise is thrown at the prosperous witnesses with sharp, hardened gazes at the almost certain future arms race. An arms race not so much decreed by time, but by the avability, generosity and demonstration of trust shown towards the Never Winter Bank... Currently, there are only three qualitative types of shields and armour in Damascus: Fine, Elite and Royal. At least in the first year, House Stark could not put more than ten thousand Fine Quality sets on the market. Tobho continued: "Unfortunately, we cannot require any willing person to participate in the first test; at least, not without causing considerable injury to the poor volunteer ... Proceed." A small wooden ram, ted with round iron reinforcing studs and attached to a supporting swing with four chains, was elerated over the sliding metal te for some thirty feet by two strong-armed assistants. Violently impacted on the chest of the wooden mannequin of human features d in a perfect reproduction of the te armour provided by the Kingsguard. The wooden pole supporting the dummy was snapped, and the sap thrashed disastrously backwards, along with a burst of splinters and severed wooden limbs. The test was to reproduce the impact force of a war hammer wielded in a horseback charge. An impact more devastating than the hammer in the chest that killed the Last Dragon on the Trident... "As you can see, the chest te was folded back by the devastating impact, causing fractures and cracks in several ces. We see the effects of a second demonstration with {Fine Damascus Quality} armour, the most ''affordable'' quality grade that the forges and smiths of Gauntlgrym can produce..." *** About a minuteter... *Sdooong! Crash!* Apparently, the second dummy suffered simr fates to the first, moving away from the point of impact with three or four more feet of margin... "As you can see, the dummy was thrown backwards with greater impetuosity... This is exined by the fact that the set worn weighs fifteen and a half pounds less than the first." Several experienced jousters babbled amongst themselves. I heard two knights rambling something like: "Fifteen pounds less? Absurd... It must be a farce. If it were true, those metal tes should be as thin as sheets of a parch-" The Knight of the Valley fell silent when a single minute attendant disyed the bruised remains of the breastte to the front row of the audience. "Yes, my lords anddies... What you see is not an illusion. Although the te is bruised by the force of the blow, no cracks have been reported. The bs of Fine Damascus Quality are about a fifth thinner and lighter than the armour of the same make, ''And''... 30% more resilient and flexible than the best-hardened steel in Westeros." Many lords and knights passed between them the piece of metal offered as demonstrative evidence to be closely examined, tearing dozens of shocked faces and sealed jaws. I perceived no more nder or denial of any kinding from behind... "Now... the fearless Lord Jon will sustain the same blow on the same spot, protected with simple padding and the {Damascus Elite te Armor!}." Hundreds of voices and groans of astonishment pervaded the hall. It was understandable... Only a madman or an Umber would attempt such folly. The mammoth Greatjon, d from head to toe in dark steel tes, stood in the exact spot of the previous inanimate victim and thundered: "Come on, girls! Move your asses! And don''t you dare linger on the shot!!!" The assistants promptly snapped onmand. *Sdoongh!!* "Uaaargghh!!!" A mighty three hundred and fifty pound humanoid of flesh, muscle, bone and steel, seven feet tall, was thrown backwards five feet. The half-giant of House Umber managed to absorb the impact with an impressive disy of tenacity and endurance. Greatjon, though visibly shaken by the blow, had managed to remain to stand... After a few moans, grunts and audible symptoms of shortness of breath, the masochist turned towards the audience, coaxing a fist to his chest. "Urg... grrurarar! Urahahaha!!! Ahahahaha! IT TAKES MORE THAN THAT TO KNOCK DOWN AN UMBER!!! AHAHAH!!!" Only the nobles of the North who were already prepared for the exciting and cheerful spectacle joined in Greatjon''s big fat, thunderousughter. The other spectators remained silent, gazing at the visibly damaged ''non'' breastte of the mad and masochistic Umber. Amidst the general confusion and the spectacle set up by Greatjon, Mott looked at me, seeking my approval, which he obtained. I slowly shed my crimson cloak, shifting the cloth behind my shoulder straps to disy the only ''Damascus Royal Quality'' grade armour currently in existence but remaining still and genuinely concealed from the spectators'' attention. *** After about twenty minutes of dozens of demonstrations on shields, chainmail and studded armourter... "Thank you for your patience, my lords anddies. It has been my honour to enjoy the privilege of your attention. Here I take my leave, I will leave your entertainment to-" Mott was interrupted by an authoritative, marked voice. "One moment, Master Mott!" A tall male figure d in full red and gold fabrics stepped from the King''s side and the front line two steps forward. "Y-yes, Lord Tywin? What can I do for you, my lord?" Tobho asked in a slightly intimidated tone. "At the beginning of the presentation, you mentioned a ''Third'' category of armour. ''The Royal Damascus Quality'', if I am not mistaken. Yet... no demonstration of such work was shown to the ''King'' and all his loyal subjects. Could you clear such a stain from the excellent and immacte disys of ''Gauntlgrym''?" Asked the intransigent protector of the West in a polite but fierce tone. Tobho stiffened as he visibly began to sweat in the Old Lion''s intimidating presence. A remarkable detail had just been pointed out by noticeably widening the small gash in the stage curtain. "Well... there, milord... I-in fact y-you..." The artisan stammered, scrambling out the words. "So? What is the Grand Master cksmith''s answer?" Inflected the lion, showing his well-audible disappointment in the tone of his voice. "I can answer that, Lord Tywin." Lady Barbrey Mormont descended to the defence of the poor Chief Craftsman, interposing herself between the two men. "... Lady Mormont." Tywin bowed his head condescendingly, respecting etiquette but showing no sign of intimidation or yielding ground. "Master Tobho could not provide the answer you seek. He wavers on the duties and obligations that protect every customer of Gauntlgrym." Barbrey dered aloud. "Duties and obligations?... Please, mydy, could you rify for us poor uncultured people what is evidently well known to you?" Tywin cast a piercing look of challenge. "Well, ''my lord'', it so happens that such armour, forged exclusively by the hand of the Grand Master cksmith himself, exists only one example at present, and it is bound by the rights of ownership of said client..." Barbrey retorted, responding in turn to the challenge issued. "We shall all be eager to know the name of this mysterious and ''privileged'' beneficiary of Master Thobo''s exclusive services, mydy." Tywin. "That is not yet possible, my lord. Lord Eddard and I have already attempted to request a demonstration from House Stark''s protected client. Still, he prefers to avail himself of the right of anonymity and the privilege of Gauntlgrym''s secrets for which he has already amply paid the price." The Protector of the North arrived in support of thedy. "Lady Mormont speaks the truth, Lord Tywin. Master Mott requires considerable resources, manpower and time to recreate a Royal Quality Armour. Unfortunately, I could not persuade the purchaser of the only specimen for today''s demonstration. However... He has promised to take part in tomorrow''s Great Melee. The wait for said demonstration will end shortly. House Stark apologises to his majesty and all his loyal vassals present here today and takes full responsibility for the displeasure caused." Promulgated the Protector of the North, disarming with the words Tywin Lannister, now unable to insist on the subject. The Old Lion withdrew dignifiedly with a sufficient respectful nod of dismissal. I already sensed the presence of numerous using nces directed at me, but I did not give it any weight. The y I had just witnessed captured my full attention at that moment. ''The Steel Show is over. It''s time for the artist to collect the coinage from the spectators... Now, Barbrey!'' ***** End Chapter. ---------------------------- *1) [Author''s note: Lord Eddard Stark had explicitly requested House Tallhart to award Ronan the knighthood in person]. *2) [Author''s Note: The first is undoubtedly the mine of Dragon''s ss wrested for pennies from the hands of Stannis Baratheon.] Chapter 154: The Platinum Bank Chapter 154: The tinum Bank POV: Tycho Nestoris Never Winter Bank. Immediately after dozens of gazes began to scan with suspicion and envy a twelve-year-old d in dazzling new armour fresh from the forge... ''Damn...! This situation has turned all the tables.'' The Director was undecided about the new political/economic condition of the North. He did not know whether to assess the shocking new revtions as possible opportunities to stay alive and reassert his hierarchical position, snatching an excellent deal with House Bolton and House Stark, or see them as a disproportionate threat to the institution to which he had sworn eternal loyalty... In Tycho''s eyes, Barbrey Mormont had just hoisted herself into the top twenty most powerful and influential individuals in the Known World. The icy Spice Queen had moved with cunning, invisibility and celerity... ''Barrowton fooled us like a sock! All the financial, military manoeuvres, information and Lady Barbrey''s past of thest four years were just to throw us off!'' The thought that the Iron Bank had, in fact, granted a sizable loan of nearly a million gold dragons to help finance one of their possiblepetitors was an affront that could have stirred more than two-thirds of the council to dere war on Barrowton. But after thetest certified truths, dering war on Lady Barbrey meant dering war on the whole of the North and a good part of the Kingdoms who would have wanted to gain Gauntlgrym''s favours and benefits. Probably no one in that room, apart from the Great yers, could yet figure out who or what really controlled Gauntlgrym. This metal-producing seat would revolutionise the Known World and locate in the middle of thends belonging to House Mormont and House Tallhart... How many among those thousands of spectators wondered: [House Stark and House Bolton hold a monopoly in the rights to sell weapons and armour, but who has the monopoly on Damascus steel? Who does Gauntlgrym belong to?] There were so many market slices and applications on which Damascus could be directed that one was spoilt for choice... Armoured doors, architectural beams, horseshoes, furniture, safes, coffers, jewellery, hammers, picks, ploughs, chains, precision instruments, prisons and many... many other possible products. The thought that most troubled Tycho was: ''Could the Damascus steel of Mott and the twelve apparent Forgemasters recreate basic arcane conductors for magical objects?'' There were very few known ingredients with such properties. And the rarest and most sought after were: Dragon bone and scales, Phoenix feathers, Tree of Life wood, Acromant silk, and of course... Valyrian steel. There were hundreds of other ingredients of excellent quality, such as Giant''s bones, hair of the Sons of Life, Basilisk skin, Viperna''s or Leviathan''s bones, and many more. Still, none of them could rank up to the quality of the three divine Legendary creatures, except for Valyrian Steel, the only known artificially synthesised magical ingredient. A conductor capable of supporting indefinite amounts of magic, the most powerful form of energy in the World. Legend has it that a Valyrian cksmith follower of R''hllor of humble origins named Azor Ahai invented the form for Dragon Steel. The legendary hero recreated the one ingredient that could support all the divine power needed to bring down the hordes of the God Estranged. No one knew the location or confirmation of the Lightbringer''s existence. ording to Magician culture, the enchanted sword possessed power on par with the Three Great Gifts of Genesis: the Phoenix Song, the Starry Gem, and the Chalice of Life... One of the reasons why the Iron Bank preferred to keep as many of Valyria''s steel weapons as possible in their crypts and limit the production of new swords was because of the Valgudryel lineage. House Targaryen was an ancient magical dynasty of the Sons of Fire. One of the few bloodlines to possess the rare gift of Divine Divination... One Targaryen in a thousand was born with this peculiar gift. Daeny the Dreamer saved the dynasty of the Three-Headed Dragon from the Doom of Valyria by dreaming up the cataclysm a hundred years before it wiped out the lineage of the Sons of Fire... But only a handful of individuals knew the Prophecy of Rheyna Targaryen, ''The Forger of Heroes'', the only direct descendant of the first Guardian of Love. Even the Director General did not know much about it; information about Rheyna Targaryen was segregated at the highest levels and was currently possessed by only two individuals in all of Braavos: the President of the Bank, Ultherro Zorays, and the Sect Leader of the House of ck and White, the Kind Man. What Tycho and the remaining members of the Council knew was that there was a real possibility that the Lightbringer was an Artifact with ethereal-sophic properties, that is, that Azor Ahai''s legacy was possibly sealed in Dragon Steel, and that one day the power of the Lightbringer could be resurrected in any of the existing swords of Valyria. That is to say, the organisation in possession of the most Valyrian Steel weapons had the best chance of getting their hands on one of the most powerful Artifacts in the World... Tycho turned his head slightly to look for the face of The King in The Yellow and The Old Man of Oldtown... It was as he feared. The look of the two of the greatest Arcanists was enough to tell him. The Tallharts had found a worthy substitute for an artificial magical conductor. Now the First Men, the Mage Confederation and the Spider Queen''s Organisation would have unlimited supplies to reproduce dangerous weapons, armour and magical resources! The Titan could not face the armies of the magicians armed with equipment superiority. Nor did the lord of Oldtown seem so eager to face the armies of the First Men and the Nine Demons, fully armoured and armed with Damascus steel in the field... The Age of Obsidian, Bronze, Iron, and Steel had passed. The Age of Andal supremacy wasing to an end... and if the Titan wanted to maintain its supremacy, it would inevitably have to go with the flow of change. ''The Iron Bank ''Must'' at all costs replenish itself with Damascus Steel!'' The solutions to this enormous problem always turned to that one bitter choice. Ronan had lured him into his web. As a result, all House Mormont and Bolton members could not be dealt with by the Faceless Men, and now Lady Barbrey was virtually immune to any political or economic pressure from the continent... War was an option, of course, but it took time... It would take months to gather all the hundred and fifty thousand swords, the dozens of wandering sorcerers in their pay, and their fleet of three thousand ships scattered across the globe. In that time, the two hundred cksmiths in Gauntlgrym would have churned out hundreds of tons of swords, arrows and armour fresh from the forge... The defences in the Silk Road were far too solid. The Titan or the High Tower could not have conquered Gauntlgrym without revealing their true strength to the world. Nor could they intervene so radically without just cause. House Baratheon, Arryn and Tully could have sided with their allies... It would have taken at least five, if not ten, generations to erase an event of such proportions from history. Anonymity and the illusion of power were the keys to controlling the masses... Peeling back the veil of conventional false beliefs that kept Lords, Princes and Kings silent, predictable and manipble were detrimental to business. Tycho looked for the greatest threat to the Iron Bank within the hall and found it. ''This whole show is your doing, Bloody Snow?! How long have you been nning this...? Wait...'' Tycho wondered inwardly, scrutinising the twelve-year-old with a cold mind. Lightning struck and illuminated Nestoris'' hard-working brain at the exact instant he witnessed the scene of a boy from the North and an elderlydy from the Reach arguing with each other, bringing the bank official''s mind back to an episode that urred almost seven years ago... ''Damn you!... The loan payment use between Highgarden and Torrhen''s Square!!!'' In that damned agreement signed and sealed by Bloody Snow and The Queen of Thorns in the presence of Tycho, hidden among the dozens of contract pages, there was a small note, which escaped the Braavosian''s attention at the time, that drained House Tallhart''s gold reserves held and managed by the Iron Bank for the past five years. Six hundred eighty thousand four hundred gold loan dragons repaid entirely through bank payments... No... this could not have been a coincidence. It would all have made sense if House Tallhart had nned to create a private banking institution from the outset. The procuring gaze of gold and numbers called upon all the wealthiest and most prosperous lords of the North of thest decade, associating them with their most profitable trades and the profit of each household. [Lord Rickard Karstark]: -Monopoly on the Karstark Pelts and Leather trade. -Minimum annual profit: 420,000 gold dragons. [Lord Wyman Manderly]: -Monopoly on the trade in Toilet Paper and Water-Sewer Construction Manderly. -Minimum annual profit: 550,000 gold dragoons. [Lord Galbart Glover]: -Monopoly on the writing paper trade and Semi-monopoly on the publishing and printing books. Minimum annual profit: 360,000 gold dragoons. [Lord Jon Umber]: -Monopoly on the Vodka and Whisky trade. Minimum annual profit: 800,000 gold dragoons. Tycho scrutinised every Northern nobleman within range with business or sums simr to the first mentioned. It was difficult to assess and recalcte the new Lord of Barrowton''s profit forecast considering all of Lady Barbrey''s ongoing business and the inurate estimate of the ss trade, but... roughly that amount could not be less than 2,000,000. However, Tycho''s brain nearly overheated when he shifted his gaze to the Master and Protector of Torrhen''s Square... [Ser Helman Tallhart]: -Direct monopoly on the trade of Soap, Fertilisers, Agricultural implements, Ships, Gin, Taylish... etc. -Rights and corporate interests in Northern Network, Karstark Pelt and Leather, Umber Alcohol, Glover Paper and Books, Ryswell Horses and Transport, Mormont Salt and ss, Manderly Toilet Paper, Tyrell Perfumes, Cerwyn Grain and Livestock, Flint Wool and Clothing, Hornwood Stoves and Heaters... etc. The endless list reported only the dered and legitimate business of Torrhen''s Square... Possible and probable gains from the ck market were still unknown to the Iron Bank. A conservative minimum estimate could not be less than ''5,000,000'' gold dragons a year profit. Although the Titan was in business with almost all the Great Houses of the North, little more than 0.2 % of all that gold was kept in the coffers of the Iron Bank; a symbolic, deceptive and derisory sum... The Norse demanded that most of the payments due from Braavos be sent safely to White Arbor or Karhold Mouth. One of the most coveted production goals, which would have guaranteed any Bank official a great reward and bonus prize, was to convince one or more of the wealthy Northern Houses to bring at least a fifth of their gold into the hands of the Bank... But that goal was now simply unattainable under the circumstances. And now, the Director also exined ''why'' the Queen of Thorns had forced her son Mace to withdraw more than half of the 6,000,000 gold coins stored in the private vault of House Tyrell. It was likely that Lady Olenna had long been aware, or at least had sensed before anyone else, the possible suspicious financial manoeuvres of House Tallhart... The seed had been sown and watered since before the day of those two fateful signatures, and what was most disconcerting... was that a devilish mind of barely five years had been nning from the beginning on ''where'', ''when'' and ''how'' to germinate the nt!!! ''That little Demon Bastard is a more unpredictable menace than The Watcher!!!'' decreed the bravoosian with an inner roar. Damascus Steel or not, it was imperative that Duncan Tallhart had to die... The real mastermind behind all these constant, gargantuan issues had to be eradicated as soon as possible; otherwise, sooner orter, more ''Colossal Catastrophes'' would befall the World Order. Tycho noticed the duo turn in one direction, and a familiar voice came again, catching the audience''s attention. This time, Lady Barbrey elevated herself ten feet above the vast, gold-veined marble staircase so that all could see her. "Your Majesties, my Lords, my Ladies, Barrowton''s guests and friends from the North... I know I have entertained you far too much with speeches and introductions, but I again invoke your patience and leniency, my Lords... I have but onest great announcement to make to you all." Promulgated the icy Spice Queen. ''It is time... Our Competing Enemy is about to announce himself to the World.'' It was simple logic. The Master Puppeteers had amply captured the audience''s attention with breathtaking spectacles and performances. Now all that remained was to show the final act of the Great Spectacle... "Leaving the seat of Barrowton in the hands of my husband Jorah and House Mormont was one of the hardest choices I have ever made... Don''t get me wrong, milords. I love my Jorah, and I am confident he will be the best recement the Barronds and the North could hope for. It is not easy for a woman to make her way in a patriarchal society in which, until a few centuries before, men of noble birth even had the right of First Night... I know well that in the thoughts of some of the women here among you today, hidden under false smiles and manners that our society imposes on us, lurks a disappointment at my choice... Some of you even found the courage to voice those thoughts by asking me, ''Why''? ''Why, Lady Barbrey, do you want to leave all the power and influence you have won in the hands of a man that rightfully belongs to you? You were an idol to me... To all of us..." Barbrey lowered her gaze slightly to the ground for a few moments before breaking the brief pause with: "I address that woman, and all women of noble birth or not, rich or poor! I have chosen this path because I have not yet conquered anything! And nothing in Barrowton really belongs to me!'' ...After the death of my first husband, Lord William, I inherited the seat of House Dustin not by thew of men, but by a Woman... ''The Good Queen'' Alysanne Targaryen! The Queen who fought the patriarchal injustices of the Seven Kingdoms for decades... She who drafted and persuaded King Jaehaerys I to sign the ''Widow''s Law'' decree, thew that granted me and thousands of widoweddies rights, justice and inheritance!" Tycho noticed that manydies, handmaids or servants were increasingly trying to approach the front rows. He also sensed a few quiet whispers of agreement from many young women, too shy or frightened by the outraged men who were visibly displeased with Barbrey''s words. "This is why I chose to leave the seat built by men and made ''for men'' and invest my talents, experiences, skills acquired over the years, andmitment to something different... Something of my own. Something that could inspire women who do not want to be just remembered as mere instruments of reproduction or property of their husbands to get involved and take the first step towards a different path... A path considered by our society to be essible only to men. All of you, my lords and dies'', currently reside within my path... of my dream." Hundreds of male and female individuals looked around, admiring the massive hall with more criticality and attention to detail... "Gauntlgrym is the iron arm of the Silk Road, but the beating heart of thismercial street is this structure," Barbrey gave her audience a few seconds to peer around and better admire the building, and then she continued: "Today, before you all, I dere the birth of the First Great Northern Banking Institution!" Dozens of valets untied ropes or pulled strings, dropping masked curtains in curtains and decorative tapestries, showing whaty beneath... Various inscriptions carved in marble and stone with dark steel letters appeared on all sides of the hall. Hundreds of mechanical torch braziers lit up in unison in one great wave of fire so that all the shadowy areas of the vast man-made cave were visible... Peculiar natural veins in the rock carved into the mountain shone and reflected a red and orange glow. Tycho widened his eyes, crinkling them with his fingers to ensure his vision didn''t deceive him. ''But... those... Are those silver veins! No... the metal is too light. That''s not silver... it''s tinum! May the Many-Faced Gods show mercy and protect Braavos... A bank built in the heart of a tinum mine. One of the most precious metals on the world market!'' Thought Tycho with rm, not wanting to believe what he was witnessing. Currently, the Crown Mint could exchange one ounce of pure tinum in Westeros for fifteen gold dragons*. It was no secret that the northernnds were vast and full of new resources. The biggest problem that prevented the lords of thosends and the resource hunters from exploring and mining the vast northern moors was the frost... House Bolton was a prime example. There were dozens of iron, tin and copper mines in the Hills of Solitude. However, House Bolton, over the millennia, never managed to extract any appreciable profit from those treasures; simply because of the cost in lives,bour and resources that mining required. The small mountain in which the headquarters resided seemed to have been artificially carved deep. And all the construction work must have been carried out in the middle of Winter... Nestoris had no idea how much Blood, Gold and Tribtion House Tallhart and Dustin might have invested in this project. ''A million? Two? Maybe even three...'' the Braavosian now had a clear idea of what Lady Barbrey had invested the four million gold coins in loans required by all the lending institutions in Essos. The Iron Bank had literally financed one of its most dangerous futurepetitors! Barbrey Mormont cruelly waited for all her enemies and future allies to stew in their nefarious and evaluative thoughts. And finally, the wicked witch proimed: "Here in the mountain... erected in the heart of a tinum mine, I wee you all to the most imposing, inessible and secure fortress in the North! ... {The Never Winter Bank!}" *** End Chapter. -------------------------- *[Author''s note: The value between respective precious metals of Westeros. 1 gr Pt= 5 gr Au 1 gr Au= 90 gr Ag 1 gr Ag= 7 gr Cu 1 gr Cu= about 3 gr Fe Common Forge Steel is worth at least four times the value of Iron (depending on quality). One ounce= 28.35 gr. A Gold Dragon weighs 1/3 ounce in Au (1 Gold Dragon= 30 Silver Moon). A Silver Moon weighs 1 ounce of Ag (1 Silver Moon= 7 Silver Stag). A Silver Stag weighs 1/7 ounce of Ag (1 Silver Stag = 7 Copper Stars). A Copper Star weighs 1/7 of an ounce of Cu (1 Copper Star = 8 Pennies). A Pennies weighs 1/14 of an ounce (low alloy mixture of tin and Iron). I remind everyone that ''indicatively'' the purchasing power of a Penny is around $0.75. **** Little tidbit for economy-fantasy nerd readers like me... (I may be the only one on earth, but who knows!). Based on these estimates, I can calcte roughly how much House Frey paid in dowry to Roose Bolton for his marriage to "Fat" Walda Frey. Assuming Walda to be a ss III obese person, I estimate the weight to be around 130 kg (270 lbs) The dowry was the bride''s weight in Silver, so. 1 gr Ag= about 10.4 $ Walda= 130,000 g x 10.4= $1,352,000. Honestly, Roose, I''m a little disappointed.... If it''s just a matter of mere bargain, considering that Walda eats for three people, and that in the North in the middle of winter wheat is worth almost as much as gold, it doesn''t sound like the ''Bargain of the Century'' to me. ] Chapter 155: Mind and Body Chapter 155: Mind and Body Forgive the dy in publication, dear readers... As a modest gesture of apology, a double publication! Happy Reading! ***** POV: Barbrey Never Winter Bank. About a minute after the name of a new institution was announced to the world... Pyrotechnics erupted the instant after the announcement. A few drops of Wildfire and coloured firework powders created a magnificent spectacle throughout the hall. One hundred stone cauldrons lit up simultaneously, creating green and silver light shows. The monumental candbra in the centre dominated the firework of lights with a small red and white sun. It was a small birthday present from Barbrey for her partner. The candbra began to sprinkle kes of soft silvery faux ash, like bright white snow... Barbrey sought out the birthday boy''s gaze, and he fixed it, bowing his head with a slight smile of thanks. A smile that thedy returned. Then... both gazes became more serious. ''The moment of truth... at least 100,000,000.'' Barbrey thought with slight anxiety mixed with shivers of excitement. {Hundred Million Gold Coins} was the minimum sum the Never Winter Bank had to be able to raise to stand a chance ofpeting against the furious, rich and ruthless Titan... At the time, the tinum veins shown were nothing more than a stage trick. Apelling visual means belting the Bank of Braavos founded inside an Iron Mine. In fact, the precious metal, yes, was present in the mountain, but the mine was not yet profitable enough to be called such. The mountain was certainly not Casterly Rock. The chief miner and many other experts in the field estimated, in the rosiest prospect, a thousandth the amount of tinumpared to the overflowing golden rock found by the ancestors of House Casterly and Lannister. On top of that, the rock was tremendously hard to work, and mineral veins were scarce. So even digging at total capacity, the Never Winter Bank was unlikely to make more than 8,000 gold dragons a month... A rtively paltry sumpared to the Bank''s exorbitant needs. The North needed urgent liquidity to meet all the hyper-expansionist challenges the First Men would face in the next three years. And Braavos was not going to sit idly by - no. The Iron Bank would certainly have aggressively attacked the Never Winter Bank on all fronts. Oldtown held the first ce of war superiority in the Known World, but not even thebined resources of the Second, Third and Fourth World Organisations could rival the mammoth stockpile of gold and riches crammed into the Titan''s coffers. The Trade sector was Braavos'' favourite battlefield, and no one had so far managed to wrest any notable victories against the World''s Greatest Economic Super-Power... Ronan estimated at least 1,500,000,000 gold coins in funds-deposits, and at least 700,000,000 shares. And that was the estimate for the mere liquid coinage avable to the Council of Braavos... Between: magical artefacts, Valyrian steel, mana stones, jewellery, precious stones, unknown treasures, real estate, ships, and holdings in a variety of business sectors, crammed and well guarded in only the Old Gods knew which remote corners of the world, the Iron Bank boasted total assets worth between 4 and 5,000,000,000 gold coins (approximately $ 40,000,000,000,000). The Fourth World Organisation did not even hold a tenth of the assets. Yet, the Spider Queen had chosen to invest 30,000,000 gold coins in the Never Winter Bank, risking almost a third of the organisation''s liquidity in the Bloody Snow & The Frosty Spice Queen project. The investment agreed upon the year before saw ''only'' 10,000,000 golden coins. Still, both The Watcher and the Spider Queen had not taken particrly kindly to the Titan''s rudeness in moving against Zick''s young heir immediately after the end of the protection period. In response, Madame Zishua had not only tripled her investment but had also pulled several strings and called in several favours to get many of The Watcher''s ''friends'' to change their trusted financial institution and move their gold to a more promising Bank... Almost half of those famous 41 million, taken from the Iron Bank in thest few months, belonged to the hundreds of wealthy merchants, warlords, nobles and heirs of Essos who owed one or more favours to the Fourth Organisation. This was one of the peculiarities that elevated the body loyal to the Guardian of Love''s preservation and devoted to the Spider Queen''smands to the pinnacle of world powers... All that wealth, those resources, but most of all, that War Power hidden in great secrecy in every corner of the Known World had not beenbined to create empires or legacies to be passed on. The faithful followers of The Watcher had nothing of their own to lose, only a perpetual enormous debt to repay... The most feared among them, the Nine Demons, would not weigh the pros and cons of a possible war against their benefactor''s enemies. Whoever they were: Men, Kings or Gods... The Nine Demons would have simply answered the call, gathered their weapons, invested whatever resources they possessed for the purpose, and marched to the end into the darkest confines of the Abyss with their predatory eyes turned towards their target and a smile on their lips... This is why the Titan and the High Tower were reluctant to move to eradicate one of the greatest anomalies in human history. {Why march against a mighty enemy with nothing to lose when the simple passage of time would dissolve the anomaly in a few decades for them?} The natural death of the Guardian of Love was one of the most anticipated and, for others, most feared events in the World. The Fourth World Organisation would be extinguished along with The Watcher''s me, and the looters would inevitably pounce on the enormous power vacuum left behind... Unless someone picked up Zick''s true legacy and managed to provide those thousands of men and women united by a single glue with another purpose to look forward to... An almost impossible feat... The Spider Queen Organisation was, perhaps, the mostplex and intricate organism ever devised by man. Each organ was different from the others, and almost all wereposed of hundreds of widely separated and ipatible organisational tissues or cells... The members belonging were not mere subjects of a kingdom, followers of creed or tradition... No. There even existed adherents with eternal and unresolvable grudges between them that not even the Spider Queen could control with her web and prevent them from mortally ughtering each other, but which only The Watcher could make coexist sometimes even coborate. Barbrey looked at her friend-dreamer and hopeful benefactor... The new World Menace who, in all likelihood, was bing more and more adverse to Braavos, Oldtown and all the remaining malevolent minor forces at the Guardian of Love. The individual who both Barbrey and Zick believed could seed in that impossible feat... The one who would bring, not only to the North but to all the domains of man, a more remarkable and more revolutionary anomaly than The Watcher himself, and who would soon be the ''Number One'' target of the most dangerous individuals and entities in this World... ''I must watch that suicidal mad boy''s back. I must at least defend him from the Titan... I cannot fail.'' She thought instinctively, throwing avnches of coal and rivers of oil over her feeble and insecure inner me, thus generating a fiery glow that dispelled any doubts or insecurities. "The Never Winter Bank will wee with open arms any honourable and industrious individual, lineage, institution, society, city or kingdom in Westeros or Essos seeking financial or mary aid! Any noble or peasant seeking credit, security, assistance, bureaucratic facilitation, business advice or guarantee support will always be wee and weed by me or one of the six hundred and twelve bright, helpful and knowledgeable business officers of this great and new institution!" The army of mathematicians began to make its debut. Hundreds of ountants of both genders, wearing the same uniform and an identical notebook, arranged themselves in neat rows at the base of the staircase in hierarchical order. Only the master ountants and senior managers took their ces on the lowestdder rungs below the Managing Director inmand. The spectators seemed rather impressed by the parade. Especially Nestoris... With over six hundred educated trade officials, he was an official body that no Master of Coin in Westeros had ever managed to set up for the Crown. Less than one per cent of the continent''s poption could barely read and write. Basic arithmetic was one of the few skills the popce was forced to learn to not be swindled by the richer, more educated merchants. This was the invisible poison of the Citadel... Only noble blood and the rich could afford the services of the Maesters, the Keepers of Knowledge. If the popce had wished to learn, they would have been forced to seek the permission and help of their feudal lord, with the benefit of a maester in their manor, or turn to Oldtown... Not even the King of the Seven Kingdoms would have gathered several such individuals educated in the science of numbers and trade with trivialities. "Allow me to introduce the Right Arm of the Never Winter Bank. One of the brightest and most promising minds the North has ever known! A young man who has had the honour of learning in the field with the best trading masters in Braavos, spending more than three years in the service of the renowned and respected Iron Bank... The former Chief Treasury Delegate, Head of Trade of Torrhen''s Square, and current General Manager of the Never Winter Bank... Ronan of House Atreides!" A young man in his early twenties, d in full ck ceremonial silk robes adorned with tinum trimmings, descended the steps, positioning himself one step down to Barbrey''s right. Ronan Atreides respectfully bow to the audience, uttering no words but expressing all his confidence with his gaze and bearing. Barbrey could not help but enjoy the brief moment of astonishment, rancour and jealousy that the eyes of the boy''s former Master Trainee expressed in that instant. "But even the best Mind in the world needs a vigorous Body to protect it. Therefore, let us give a second wee to the steadfast left arm of this new institution... From the distantnds of IB Nor, the current Commander-in-Chief of the Company of the Rose! One of thest descendants of Beris Stark, cousin of thest King in the North, Torrhen Stark, and current New Executive Chief of Security and Trade for Foreign Affairs of the Never Winter Bank...Commander Cregan yx Winter!" A second man made his entrance, but unlike the first, he was twice as old, a much stockier and taller build, and was lined in steel, fur and leather of the highest quality the Bank of the North could offer as a gift. It only took one nce to realise that this individual had been hardened by countless battles and that the rank of Commander-in-Chief had not been inherited by mere descent but earned by sweat, blood and steel... Cregan bore a fair resemnce to Brandon Stark, with the same hair, a simr square jaw and a wild yet martial bearing that only an actual Alpha Wolf could disy. However... ''the look''... That look was much sharper and more ruthless. Those were the eyes of a man in perpetual contact with death and suffering. The various scars on his face decorated the pale, hard skin almost artistically, marking the seriousness of the northern man. It had not been easy to gain favour and cooperation with the Company of the Rose. It took more than a year, dozens of messenger delegates, various gifts and gestures of friendship to achieve just one face-to-face meeting with Cregan yx Winter. A meeting that Barbrey was forced to take part in great secrecy in Sisterton... The exiled descendants of Torrhen Stark vowed never to set foot on their homnd again until the North was once again the independent kingdom it once was, and the Old Crown of Iron and Bronze was once more worn by the Kings of Winter... The members belonging to that Sellswords were no ordinary mercenaries. Over the centuries, the Titan had signed hundreds of Iron contracts with almost every sellswords from Tyrosh down to Qarth, always keeping some captain, lieutenant or officer in each Company in reserve in case the currentmanders-in-chief chose not to honour the agreement... Should the need arise, Braavos could even force even the Golden Company, apany famous for its loyalty, to never break a contractual agreement, to dissolve minor contracts and benefit exclusively from their services. History recalls Aegon Rivers, known as Bittersteel as the founder of the centuries-old Company, but few know where and at what price the bastard of Aegon IV had found the funds and resources to set it up from nothing. Golden Company, Second Sons, Company of the Cat, the Stormcrows, Gant Men, Long Lances, Jolly Fellows, Iron Shields, Windblown, Bright Banners, and so many others, too many to name... Almost all the major and minor sellswords in Central Essos were secretly in the grasp of the Iron Bank. Only one majorpany, outside the control of the High Tower, Carcosa or the Spider Queen, continued to resist the insistent enticements, offers and manoeuvres of control of the First Four World Organisations... The Company of the Rose. Five thousand swords and pikes, one thousand heavy knights, two thousand light knights, and two thousand archers and crossbowmen tempered mainly by perpetual skirmishes against Khsar Dothraki, marauders and pirates. Loyal mercenaries in the service of one grand ind that, three centuries earlier, weed and provided shelter to the exiled First Men in their time of need... To wrest from the hands of IB and New Ibbis, their strongest and most trusted militia had not been an easy achievement, nor had it been achieved on the cheap... Barrowton and Torrhen''s Square had bestowed various facilities and trade agreements with the Ibbenese. Moreover, the Never Winter Bank had promised the IB Council the funds and resources to double the numbers of the Company of the Rose so as not to deprive them of their trusted militia... As for convincing the Commanders and officers-in-chief of thepany itself... well, it had been a different kettle of fish. Mountains of gold, inexhaustible stockpiles of Karstark leather, thousands of Ryswell stallions and war mares, shares in the Never Winter Bank, and even Damascus Steel... nothing seemed enough to move the ''Honourable-Testardness'' of the officers of the Rose Company one inch. The not-yet-official ''Green Council'' was even forced to reveal a few hands earlier than expected. Lady Barbrey''stest offer disarmed the immovable distant descendants of the Starks... The Administrator of the Never Winter Bank nced at her trusty new shield, recalling the climax of that arduous and exhausting negotiation. ---- End Chapter. ***** Chapter 156: Blood of Kings Chapter 156: Blood of Kings POV Lady Barbrey In the Bite, Sisterton Town, a disused manor belonging to House Borell. Two months before the Never Winter Bank was opened... "No means ''No'', Lady Barbrey... Understand us, mydy, the Company of the Rose appreciates and wees demonstrations of friendship from House Dustin, Tallhart, and every other household in the North. We desire no friction with our kinsmen and brother First Men. Nevertheless, we will no longer fight for the North... We can, at best, guarantee a ''partial'' coboration with the Never Winter Bank. We will ept any protection assignments and punitive expeditions to safeguard and secure trade between the North and IB." Promulgated Commander Cregan with nods of approval from his Vice-Commander and the two Captains. "... Could I at least know the ''Why'' of this refusal, my lords? The North has already reached a consolidated agreement with the Ibbenese Council. IB and New IB will not be without protection, and House Stark is ready to wee back every drop of its blood and its people at any time. All officers up to the rank of Vice-Captain will have fertilends and manors of their own. In addition, every family of every Company member will be guaranteed a home and a subsidiary allowance, in addition to dozens of other benefits already listed many times over... So, Commander... Why not?" Barbrey asked with polite disappointment. Vice-Commander Dikard replied after a series of surrendered nces with the Commander. "It''s not just a matter of benefits and sincerity of reconciliation, mydy... Both myself and Commander Cregan, and hundreds... perhaps thousands of our fellow soldiers share a few drops of Willem and Beris Stark blood." "A well-known fact, Vice-Commander..." Barbrey spurred him on. "Well known, of course... But only the highest ranking figures in the Company are aware of the ''Pledge of Willem and Beris''. A promise tied to a Blood Oath... A sort of ''Curse'', if we can call it that." Dikard. "A curse? ...Do you by any chance allude to the matter of the Northern Crown?" Barbrey. "Precisely, mydy... It is not just a past rumour, or a burden of honour and pride passed down. Beris and Willem Stark swore an oath to the King-Who-Bent-the-Knee, and in the presence of the Old Gods, that never again would the branch of their lineage set foot in the North nor fight for a First Man without a Crown. An oath sealed not just by vain words but by magic... Ancient Magic. The first to experience the consequences of this broken oath was Beris'' second son, Elmud Stark... Decadester, many others attempted to return to their homnd. I will not go into details and harbour sailor tales, Lady Barbrey. Suffice it to say that none of those poor devils survived long enough to leave White Arbor intact and that the entire direct descendant branch of the transgressors withered away in disease and grisly doom at the same time..." Barbrey did not fail to notice the sceptical and confused looks of the two captains on either side of the Commander and his Vice. As if the Vice-Commander had told a cheap fib. But then Cregan Winter also spoke just as firmly in support of Dikard. "The members of the Rose Company already risk a great deal in fulfilling the agreements offered to them, mydy. We do not know precisely what might happen if we shed blood for a House or Northern institution loyal to House Stark... Therefore, for the sake of my brethren and their families, this is and will remain our final offer." "... What you are telling me is true? Is this the only obstacle between the Never Winter Bank and the Company of the Rose?" Barbrey asked with a slight tone of scepticism. Neither she, Bloody Snow, nor The Spider Queen knew anything about this curse... The scepticism was more than legitimate to her ears. Cregan Winter disapproved at the subtle usation she had just made. "Forgive me. It was not my intention to offend your honour..." "But?" Cregan. "But... I have ess to an extensivework of spies and ''powerful friends'' who are adept at gathering information. I have spent much money, time and favours to prepare for this meeting adequately... for example: Vice-Commander Dikard, I know you have two beautiful, healthy children aged eight and five, but your eldest son, Eggard, is not really your son." Dikard paled, freezing on the spot. Cregan maintained an unreadable stone face, but the captains did not. The two trustedrades did not seem aware of such a secret... "You took the fatherless babe in swaddling clothes under your care, passing him off as your own immediately after the tragic death of your friendpanion Willem. A most thoughtful gesture, my lord... Captain Shag, I''m afraid Lieutenant Hammot''s post-battle trauma has not yet been ovee. Your younger brother''s drinking and gambling problems are still out of control, and his debts have grown out of all proportion in thest three years... Might I suggest you pay particr attention to the little gang called the Six Rings? Those despicable slum loan sharks have a bad reputation in the southeastern district of New Ibbis. One word, my lord, I could pay off that debt in no time or perpetually weed out some weeds from IB Nor, if you prefer..." Captain Shag was unable to blink or close his mouth... "Commander, Cregan... A genuinely exemry past, my lord. Hardly any vices, no weaknesses and no particr attachments... If not one. You owe much to that old Ibbenese armourer from the mountain of Balish, do you not? I am pleased to inform you that his grandaughter Berina''s bronchitis is almostpletely cured. Merit to the dedication and hard work of thosepetent and exacting eight healers and herbalists you hired from every corner of IB and IB Sar..." Cregan''s immovable face cracked for the first time after four hours of heated negotiation. The Commander seemed to want to react somehow, but Barbrey did not give him time, moving on to hertest favourite victim. "Captain Bale... Ibbenese or Braavosi coins?" All the table''s attention was turned overwhelmingly to thest man, who was no longer smiling and helpful. "... I do not know what you refer to, Lady Barbrey." The stocky, muscr 30-year-old Captain tried to keep his gaze confused and indignant. "No need for futile defensive rants, my lord. Your contact in Lorath and the ''fisherman'' waiting for your light signal two miles from the coast have already sung the most exhaustive songs. What I missed was, ''What payment method did you choose?'' One''s weight in gold in Braavosi or Ibbenese coins? Gold is tough to hide and transport. In the future... well, I don''t think there will be a future for you, but in a hypothetical future, my lord, remember... For under-the-table transactions, the first rule is ''Precious Stones, Always''." Barbrey gave vent to her most sanguine and disturbing smile. "... What is she talking about, Bane?" Asked the Vice-Commander in an aggressive tone. The Captain sprang to his feet, shoving hisrade to his feet and drawing his sword after he had managed to retreat a few steps. Six armed shadows immediately responded to theirdy''s call by positioning themselves as her shield. Captain Bane stepped back to the door, trying in vain to open it... ''Someone'' had previously chosen to seal all entrances and exits. "You have no way out, ''Captain''. I would suggest you drop your weapon to the ground and surrender. I would strongly advise against attempting to escape the tower on foot. And even if you did manage to open that door, you''d still have to face a dozen armed guards ready to greet you before you could throw yourself overboard from the keep." "Tsz..." After a single moment of uncertainty, the man snapped towards her. Bane seemed to consider taking the noblewoman as a hostage as a more viable choice. A decidedly stupid choice, but nevertheless built on a tenuous foundation of logic and courage... In all likelihood, the desperate Captain would have opted for a different choice had he been aware of the capabilities of Lady Barbrey''s personal escort. The twelve best men and women-at-arms of the Barronds, selected and strenuously tempered by de One and de Three, belonged to a death squad recently named ''Queen Corpse''. However, none of the Queen Corpse members had the opportunity to prove their worth in the field. Cregan sprang to his feet, grabbing the chair with his left hand and hurling half a quintal of wood and oak towards the traitor. Bane tried to flinch to the side, partially suffering the impact, however, enough to destabilise and stun him for a few moments. The Commander, unarmed and d only in leather and two decorative steel shoulder straps, symbolising his rank, anticipated his opponent''s deflection by parrying a few feet from him. The Captain attempted an initial unsteady sh towards the threat; Cregan simply flinched to the side with a fluidityparable to that of a nobleman intent on not bumping into a passing noblewoman, and grabbed Bane''s wrist of arms with his right hand, breaking it with a simple twist... *Crack!*, "Uaaaargggh!!!" The unfortunate prisoner of the steel grip did not seem to give up, drawing his dagger with his only remaining hand and attempting a lunge at the belly of the massive Northern warrior. Cregan must have had razor-sharp reflexes. In a simultaneous move, the man released his grip on his arm with his right and grabbed his left armoured hand with his own, catching the base of the dagger an inch before it reached its target. Bane gasped and grunted in a strenuous effort to plunge the de into his belly. Vice-Commander Dikard and Captain Shag approached in turn to reinforce theirmander, but Cregan raised his free hand, signalling to them that help was not required. Barbrey was impressed by the warrior''s disy of valour. The man''s visible muscture did not do justice to the immense strength Cregan must have possessed to maintain that upright, immovable stance while countering his equally massive opponent... "Uaaaargghh!" *Crick, Crack* sickening noises of broken bones pervaded the room along with Bane''s agonised shrieks. Cregan''s pincer hand was crushing the victim''s clenched fist... Barbrey nced at Berefa, the second inmand of the Queen Corpse, to ask her for an exnation. Berafa leaned close to her ear and whispered: "The Commander must possess a tremendous grip in his fingers, mydy, but it is not mere brute force. Cregan is pressing into the joint points of his opponent''s hand to deprive him of his strength. An impressive demonstration..." Bane tried to free himself from agony by kicking his attacker, but the statue called Cregan seemed immune to the vain blows. Then the iron warrior, hardened by blood and frost, between Bane''s various grunts of pain, said: "We will exhaustively rify our affairster, ''Captain'' Bane..." Then, a devastating left hook struck the traitor''s temple, causing him to slump lifelessly to the ground. Cregan adjusted his creased uniform as he approached the table again and, after a polite bow to her and before returning to his seat, said: "On behalf of myself, my Deputies, and the Rose Companies, we humbly offer our apologies, Lady Barbrey... Bane will get what he deserves, and I will personally see to it that any other ratpliance in our ranks is found. I swear it on my honour and the memory of my ancestors." His two deputies still standing, Dickard and Shag, replicated the same gesture in apology. "No offence and no harm done, my lords. Please be seated and let us resume our discourse where interrupted," Barbrey replied, gantly epting the gesture of apology. He then went on to ask: "I have picked up many rumours regarding the Rose Company''s reluctance to return to thend of the First Men kneeling to a Foreign King, ''But'' not even a whisper concerning curses and magical pacts... And trust me, my lords, many of my friends have deep knowledge on the subject. So... I cannot help but ask: If this ''Curse of Ancient Magic'' exists, why have neither I nor my allies been able to find a harbour whisper about it?" Barbrey noted with interest that Captain Shag also seemed interested in the answer. "... A fair question, mydy. Unfortunately, the underlying problem to your doubts is the answer itself." Cregan replied enigmatically. "Meaning?" Barbrey asked, raising his frown slightly in frustration. Then, finally, Dikard spilt the beans. "Even if we answered your questions exhaustively, any other individual except myself and Commander Cregan would forget the whole thing in a very short time... Trust me, mydy. Captain Shag here will have heard the answers you seek at least a dozen times." Shag scrutinised Dikard more as if teasing, but the man noticed his superior was serious. "What are you talking about, Dikard? Oh,e on... Commander Cregan... Wait. Are you serious?!" Shag asked after an exchange of nces with hisrades. "... See?" Dikard sighed in surrender, turning to Barbrey again. The demonstration was no stage fiction. Barbrey could recognise men who would not stoop to uttering vain words, and Cregan Winter was the kind of man who would prefer the gallows to the shame of mere lies... "How long could I remember?" Barbrey. "Until you are three paces away from us, mydy... You would lose your memories even should you fall asleep on the spot or fall unconscious. Then, when you wake up, you will remember nothing." Cregan patiently exined. The woman did not give up and tried to borate. "Why do you only want two? Why would Beris and Willem make such a magical pact? To which enchanter did they turn? And how can the curse be lifted?" Dikard answered the first question. "Beris and Willem Stark were the founders of the Company of the Rose, and for nearly three centuries, the secret has been passed down by the two highestmanding officers of the Fellowship... As for why, we have no certain answer, only spection and hypothesis." It was Cregan''s turn to continue. "Many of our ancestors believed that Beris and Willem chose to seal their oath with magic to suppress their desire to return home sooner than they should have... A choice simr to the one Nymeria made seven centuries earlier when she ordered ships to be burned after finding newnd for her people. Winterfell is not just a pile of stone and wood, Lady Barbrey. Many ancient manors of the First Men were forged from mortar, stone and magic. And Winterfell has a profound connection to the dynasty of the Kings of Winter. The very name of the Household has an Ancient Power dormant within...A power different but equally as fearsome as magic." Cregan was anticipated. "During the Age of Dawn, the world was inhabited by the Sons of the Gods, magical beings capable of sprouting forests, raising mountains from the earth, guing sunlight and stars, and dominating seas. The earth was bathed in the sap of the Divine Blood. A true Golden Age of Magic... Then came the Long Night, and the magic began to abandon thends of the Gods... Many magical peoples fell generation after generation. Of the many peoples who tried to resist the world''s greatest cmity, those who fought with the most valour and heroism were the descendants of the First Man... Individuals not blessed with the gifts of the Gods. Multitudes of weak, semi-magical beings settled their differences and united under deserving leaders, fighting side by side as one against themon enemy. The actions of those individuals ignited the spark of the period that is now remembered as the Age of Heroes... Legend has it that the Three Chosen Guardians of the inheritance of the Great Gods Progenitors rewarded the deserving Heroic races, Not-Blessed-By-Divine Blood, blessing them with a different power...Something that could be passed down generation after generation for eternity through blood and guarded by a Name...{The Dynasty of Kings.}" Barbrey exined, eliciting an almost imperceptible semnce of awe and respect from Cregan Winter''s stone gaze. "I see you are well-informed, mydy... Yes, the North is sprinkled with the Blood of the Kings of our forefathers, and, like a perpetual, unquenchable beacon on the horizon, the homnd will always attempt to call forth its own blood. Sooner orter, a Stark of Winterfell will feel the pressing need to return to his home... That is one of the reasons my Great-Grand-Father chose to rece his name with Winter." Cregan. "I understand, my lord. But who aided your ancestors in this blood ritual? And why allow only two descendants to know the truth behind it?" Barbrey. "... We do not know precisely why. My predecessor believed that there were truths that could not be divulged... Personally, I believe that Beris and Willem did not want the enemies of their Household to think that the First Men had been weakened by such a split... At the time, thousands of families from all over the North chose to follow the rebellious Starks to Essos. Had supposedly adverse forces to the First Men known that those swords could never return to aid House Stark, perhaps the North would have suffered... As for the Sorcerer who sealed the ritual, we do not know his name. All we know is that he was an Ancient and Mighty Priest of the Old Gods and that the pact was sealed at the time on the Isle of a Thousand Faces." Cregan concluded. Barbrey''s eyes widened with visible irritation... Once again, she felt deeply mocked. The woman, who had been tricked repeatedly by the same diabolical individual in recent years, pinched her nose, asking her eyes and sighing. ''No... Think clearly, Barbrey. This is simply a mere coincidence... He couldn''t have known... No one could!'' after trying unsessfully to calm her thoughts, Barbrey blurted outughing: "Tsz... Pff... Mh, Mh, Mh... Damn you, boy." "My Lady... ? Who are you talking about? What boy?" Dikard asked, confused. "Oh, no one, Vice Commander... I was just reminded of a scene passed a few moons ago... So, If I understand correctly, everything I have previously offered you would be futile until, in the eyes of the Old Gods, a Stark sits once more upon the Northern Throne. Am I right?" The twomanders-in-chief scrutinised each other briefly as they tried to interpret the strange tone and look given by the Widow of Barrowton. "Correct, mydy." Vice-Commander Dikard replied. "Mh! Mh! Mh!... Ahah... Ahahaha!" The three men, for a moment, did not know how to react to that bizarre and unexpected outburst of hrity. After a few seconds, Cregan was on the verge of getting up and truncating once and for all that inappropriate guffawing farce. "Oh, forgive my manners, my lords... It''s just that we could have saved time, misunderstandings and energy if only we had started the negotiations from this ''important detail''. I also have onest offer to make to you..." Barbrey resumed his usual severe and respectful look, and the officers of the Rose Company chose to take the bait onest time. "... You have our attention, mydy," said the Commander in a still wary and cold tone. The man probably still wasn''t sure if Barbrey was teasing them... ''Oh, the proposal wille very soon, Commander. You have my word. Nevertheless, I must ask you, gant gendarmes, to postpone this meeting." Barbrey rose, and Dikard sprang to his feet, warning, "Wait, mydy! If you turn away from us now-" the man anticipated. "Fear not, my lords... I doubt I shall forget this pleasant conversation." "You will, mydy. The fact that you do not heed our warnings alone proves yourck of seriousness towards our words!" Roared Cregan, rising in turn. Barbrey scrutinised the two men for a moment and, bowing her head in apology, said: "It was not my intention to make you allude to that, Commander... I have only faith in my convictions." Barbrey turned back to the one man still too incredulous to speak. "Captain Shag." The man awoke from his thoughts. "Y-yes, mydy?" "I need your cooperation for a small demonstration test, my lord... Could you please move more than three paces away from your superiors? By at least five paces to be on the safer side." Barbrey asked. After a few moments of uncertainty and an approving nod from Cregan, the man nodded as he stood up. One step... two... three... four... and then came the fifth. "Do you remember anything about magical pacts and curses, Captain?" Barbrey asked with a friendly smile. "I... I remember, mydy... The curse of Beris and Willem Stark, the power of the Dynasty of Kings... I remember everything." Cregan Stark''s impassive face crumbled after a visible shock. "...This is not possible!" thundered Dikard, equally shocked. "And yet it is, Vice Commander... My lords, it has been a long night. With your permission, I here take my leave for the night. If it is not a problem for you to wait, I would postpone this profitable interview until the day after tomorrow. Just enough time to send and receive a few ravens..." Barbrey''s footsteps echoed in the room, and immediately past the boundary distance from the twomanders, the woman turned, concluding with: "I require the approval of a Council and a King." ****** End Chapter. ---------------------- Chapter 157: The Auction (I) Chapter 157: The Auction (I) **** Sorry, guys. But for over a week now I have been sumbing to mono. I can barely write five sentences a day. I don''t know if I will be able to maintain the pace of two chapters a week until I get over it.**** ------ POV: Olenna Tyrell Silk Road, in a mansion assigned to the Tyrell family. Half a day before the Great Show of Steel began... For years the Queen of Thorns'' restful sleep had been growing shorter and shorter. Even if she wanted to, the woman would never be able to sleep for more than four hours a night. Not that she minded. In her youth, Olenna rarely wasted her noble beauty with closed eyes. And now more than ever, each new dawn could be herst... And Olenna did not want to waste a minute savouring the few remaining wonders the world could still offer. "Good morning, Lady Olenna... Do you wish to have breakfast in the Hall, or would you prefer to settle in the balcony again?" Gabe, her personal assistant, asked politely. The boy, who had be a man, had been in her direct employ for almost a decade. He who hadsted longer than the many... "It''s still too early to p you verbally, Gabe... Balcony. I''ll always choose a panoramic view over a cramped room surrounded by bricks. And for the sake of one''s self-esteem, make sure that at least today the hard-boiled eggs aren''t boiled to the point of overcooking them into throwing weapons." Olenna replied as she passed the boy waiting in front of her room. "Certainly, mydy! I assure you that such an unfortunate incident will not happen again! Everything has already been arranged ording to your specifications!" The boy leapt, holding himself at the exact distance of five feet back to hisdy''s right, tensing his pace. Olenna loved this little personal morning routine. So rare were the moments of the day when the Queen of Thorns could be alone in her thoughts. But it was not only moments of profitable solitude that Olenna sought. The Grandmother of House Tyrell always made sure she was the first person to say good morning to her own grandsons and her granddaughter. The most precious treasures in the old woman''s memories were Willem and Gan''s genuine, sleepy early morning smiles as they ran into her arms. By now, the first two heirs were too old to gratify Olenna''s affectionate whims, but there still remained little Loras and tender, sweet Margaery... The manor assigned to House Tyrell for the tournament festivities on the Silk Road was an architectural masterpiece. Granted, the gardens were not up to the standards of Highgarden, but the estate was still worthy of rivalling the finest noble vis of Pentos. Olenna crossed the gateway''s end that led to the coveted area for her moment of refreshment. And there, the re of the first light of dawn blinded Olenna''s vision for a few moments. Time to adjust to the rays, and she saw him, the shadow of a hooded individual little more than five feet tall. "Good morning, Lady Olenna... The time since ourst meeting seems to have flown by." The twelve-year-old lowered the hood of his dark cloak, thus showing white hats and piercing green eyes with silvery streaks. "Oh, heavenly glory!.... But what an unexpected honour and pleasure, Ser. The First Green Knight of the Seven Kingdoms granting a withered thorn like me his "good morning" on this beautiful day." Olenna said, noticing that Gabe was no longer behind her. Not even the twin knights, members of her personal escort, were present at their usual guard stations... "Yes, yes, it is... This is a beautiful morning, and the sun should be shining all day long." So replied the boy, inhaling cold air into his lungs as he took a second nce at the blue sky still speckled with faint stars. "Aye, splendid, but not to the point of choosing this one as the st one''... Has my old kidnapping attempt of six years ago finally climbed to the top of the agenda towards your conquest of the Known World? ...You haven''te to take the trouble to assassinate me yourself, have you?" Olenna asked more if the idea was idiotic than the fear that someone might snatch her fragile short life. "Ahahaha! I would never hurt an old and sincere friend!" the boy analysed his own garment and continued, "Oops, how careless of me...! Forgive my manners, Lady Olenna. Dressed like this, I must look like a flea bottom cutthroat hitman." The boy unfastened his soiled dark cloak, showing underneath much more eptable clothes befitting his noble rank. Then Duncan Tallhart gantly moved a chair, offering her a seat. Olenna cast a second nce around her, signalling to the boy that something else, or rather "someone else", was missing to make the scene more credible. "Fear not, mydy None of your men has betrayed you, nor has any harm been done to them. Of course, it would be gracious of you to give those three poor souls a well-deserved day of rest and a piece of gold or two to leisure themselves and forget the morning''s trauma. Let''s just say that the twin''s Ser Dex and Ser Crex, and young Gabe will be confused for a while ..." Olenna fearlessly stepped forward, indulging the boy''s game, who took it upon himself to serve and revere her with food and drink. "Why did you have to stress my fragile heart by taking me so by surprise, Ser? Couldn''t you have sent a raven or a herald to request an audience like any other normal noble in Westeros?" Olenna. "I apologise for the rudeness. In the eyes of many, I should still be on my way back twenty miles from port... Besides, I require our conversation to remain private. I don''t think it is necessary to specify that this meeting never took ce." Exined the boy, filling her cup. "You know how to tease the attention of a hard-to-surprise woman. I''ll give you that one, Ser." Bloody Snow greeted thepliment with a modest grin. "Freshly squeezed strained blueberry juice and hard-boiled eggs boiled for two minutes, seasoned with two pinches of rose-voured fine salt and a pinch of nutmeg..." With a few feats of servile elegance, Bloody Snow showed her that he could get anywhere and know everything... Olenna quietly took a sip of the sweet and sour juice that had been rinsing her pte every morning for over thirty years. After the boy sat down in front of her, Olenna said "Mff! Your spies in Highgarden are mostly mediocre, boy. I''ve been enjoying blueberry juice with two ice cubes for almost two moons now." "Well, mediocre spies are better than none." So replied the boy carelessly, filling a cup with milk and bringing a bowl of strawberries closer. "Pff, mh, mh, mh... I notice you also keep tempering that poisonous tongue of yours in addition to your sword arm. You should show more gantry and humility towards the olddies... but especially towards the ''Queens''." Bloody Snow did not seem interested in discussing his disagreements with Cersei Lannister. The boy dismissed Olenna''s jibe with a simple: "Shall we skip the pleasantries? We have an hour before young Loras and little Margaery arrive to bid their loving grandmother good morning." "You show up uninvited to my abode-"the boy corrected her " technically, mydy, this manor belongs to House Tallhart. I would say more like entering the guest room uninvited." Olenna snorted irritably. "Nevertheless, a rather unchivalrous gesture... To make up for such offence, you could at least stay long enough to get to know my grandchildren better. Loras really admires you, you know. He would swoon at the idea of squiring you. And Margaery..." "I''m sure Loras will make a fine knight. Margaery is a wonderfully sweet, witty and virtuous child. Every lord or ''prince'' on the continent will fight to woo her in the future." The little devil did not even want to give her a try... But Olenna did not demur. "If you havee all this way to strike another lucrative deal with my Household, it is a good idea for both parties to seal such a possible agreement with a marriage or exchange of protgs... A privilegergely granted at Casterly Rock but not yet granted at Highgarden. If your sister Eddara is to marry Lancel Lannister, then, at the very least, Benfred should marry my Margaery." "Not even a week has passed since my open disy of interest in Dacey, and already everyone is pointing to my brother with Westeros'' new golden bachelor... Nothing is certain yet, Lady Olenna. Lancel and Eddara are still only unofficially betrothed, and the courtship period has not even begun. My father has not yet decided what proposals to consider for Benfred. My brother is still too young, and in all likelihood, it will one day be up to him to hold the reins of House Tallhart." This was a juicy and shocking piece of information! One that Olenna would absolutely have to delve into for the sake of her poor head! "Is it not your intention to take over the leadership of House Tallhart yourself, Ser?" Olenna asked ndly, calmly sipping her blueberry juice. "It would be my intention to spend my future winters on the crystal-clear beaches of the Summer Isles and to spend my Summers among thesekes, forests and mountainousndscapes, hunting, drinking and joking all the while with my near and dear friends, mydy... No matter how much everyone thinks I aspire to the throne of the North, the South, or all the other thrones that exist in this cruel and corrupt world, I assure you that none of that appeals to me. In my eyes, the responsibility for other lives outside one''s family is only prison." The boy replied, smiling. "Pff! mh, mh, mh, nice project, my lord. But these are only fantasies. Even idle princes with the wealthiest and most powerful empires behind them will always be partly ves to dreams and responsibilities. A sheep may dream of escaping from its enclosure and its shepherd. Still, even if the sheep seeds, outside the enclosure, it will find nothing but Wolves, Lions, Dragons and many other predators eager to feast on its flesh. A shepherd might dream of abandoning his flock to the wolves to be free of them, but he will always be a ve to the wool and the silver he will gain by selling it. A wolf might dream of abandoning the hill where the flock and the shepherd reside in the hope of finding more abundant prey that is less difficult to hunt, but hunger will always bind him to the natural prey in front of him... What moral of the fable? Whether you are born a Sheep, Shepherd or Wolf, everyone has duties and parts to y. No creature in this world will ever be free, boy." Bloody Snow nodded, raising his goblet in assent. So Olenna tried to ask, "What is it you really aim for, boy?" "... Since we are all sheep, shepherds or wolves eternally enved to our prisons, we might as well fight for a safer, morefortable prison for future generations. Don''t you agree, Lady Olenna?" Olenna renounced her intent. Perhaps not even the gods could know the urate future ns of that diabolical mind. She might as well move on to more concrete matters... The Queen of Thorns conspicuously poured two ice cubes into her cup. "Once you get used to cold drinks, there''s no going back..." Olenna cast a re at her counterpart. "So the ice from Dorne has reached the pantries of Highgarden. I am pleased to note that House Tyrell has again chosen to reopen trade with House Martell." The time hade to touch on the Highgarden-Sunspear subject. "You have left us no choice... Not even four moons have passed since your visit to Sunspears, and here is House Martell entering the market of the Soutnds with ice... ''Ice'' not carried from snowy mountains, but artificially produced who knows where in the fierynds of Dorne..." Olenna emphasised her marked disappointment in her tone of voice. "I thought you and I had established a solid bridge of trust. The Tyrells have respected every contractualma stipted in our agreement for almost six years. So why choose House Martell over us? Now that summer is looming-" Bloody Snow anticipated her. "Ice will sell more than wheat and yield far more than Tyrell perfumes... Yes, mydy, I am well aware of the future economic prospects of that industry. House Tallhart has made excellent trade agreements with many other southern houses. It is not my intention or my family''s to cause any direct offence towards House Tyrell." "Yet, House Tallhart bestows prosperity and friendship towards the enemies of House Tyrell and the Crown..." Olenna pulled out the first real thorn to test the defences and patience of the overgrown ferocious beast. The boy''s smile wilted faintly, and the round eyes zing with enthusiasm sharpened as they became colder. "If I am not mistaken, House Tyrell has regained every ounce of gold from the loan granted to us. A loan repaid with all due agreed interest, and six years ahead of due... The [Enflorage Process] quadrupled your oil essence extraction yield by lowering your processing costs by 70%." Bloody Snowunched into the attack. "And during thest harsh winter, House Tyrell supplied the North with 2,000,000 bushels of wheat, 800,000 bushels of cereals, 100,000 pounds of the finest honey, 30,000 head of cattle and 40,000 of sheep. Foodstuffs in which my household has taken it upon itself to transport punctually by sea, assuming every risk on the cargo, and which have saved half the people of the North from starvation..." replied the Queen of Thorns defensively. "And House Tallhart paid for every ounce of goods in perfumes and batches of soap of unique quality, mydy..." Bloody Snow. "Between the ships and men lost in pirate raids and storms, we could have saved a fortune by reselling the provisions to other, more needy and far less distant Houses," the Queen of Thorns. "Of course, it would have been cheaper if you hadn''t resold those perfumes to the thousands of noble maidens looking for husbands all over Westeros and Essos. And at what price?... an average of seven to eight times their purchase value? I have excellent ountants in my employ, Lady Olenna. In the past four years, House Tyrell, only from the perfume and soap trade, has averaged a monthly profit of over 40,000 gold dragons. Gold coins that you have reinvested by buying and reselling products from many other Houses of the North throughout the Reach; enough to make a fortune. At this rate, in less than ten years, you will undermine House Lannister as the richest House in Westeros. So do note to me with talk of ack of show of trust, Lady Olenna." Bloody Snow. "What''s the point of amassing gold and riches if we''re just going to squander it on a costly and bleeding civil war? Dorne and The Reach have been at each other''s throats in skirmishes and raids for centuries. And when Aegon VI returns with 50,000 well-equipped and fed Dornish spears, rest assured that the first fortress he will besiege on his march to the Throne will be Highgarden." Said Olenna, then continued with: "I admit I could not find good spies in yournds, boy, but in a city like Sunspear? Nevertheless, rumours have reached my ears, rumours of a certain northern boy who has forged excellent bonds of friendship with Prince Oberyn Martell... Do you deny that you have forged such a rtionship with the man who crippled my grandson?" For a moment, Olenna thought she had managed to touch a nerve, but the predator''s gaze became more irritated than pained. "... If you want y, let us y, mydy. I have been discussing the events of that tragic tournament with Prince Oberyn, and ording to him, the event, which your son Mace goes on to parade as a war memorial to all the Seven Kingdoms, was nothing more than a regrettable ident... Lord Mace Tyrell forced his son, a novice squire of only thirteen, to put on a show of brilliance in his first joust in a tournament of gold-hungry Wolves and Hounds. Wis himself bore no resentment towards his opponent, who regrly unseated him from his horse. Prince Oberyn even attempted to get expert cerusicians from Vntis to Highgarden as a gesture of peace and goodwill. That gives me reflect..." Olenna inwardly reproached herself. Perhaps the woman had overexposed herself... The Queen of Thorns raised all her defences, trying to maintain the most credible indignant look she could muster. "Reflect on what?! My grandson will be forced to walk with the help of a cane for the rest of his days!" Roared the woman with conviction. "Reflect on a possible political move by House Tyrell," the boy blurted out without the slightest modesty, shushing Olenna on the spot. "If I had such a brilliant and dedicated grandson as Wis, I wouldn''t want the boy wasting his talents on weapons and battlefields. Where peasants go to die and not nobles with ample skills of government... Every mother would never want to see her son go off to that hell. A fall from a horse, a stray arrow, a simple sword strike and "Pff"... Game Over. House Tyrell would lose the most promising heir to the green Throne in thest three generations. If only there was a way to unleash the fiery impulses that every glory-seeking youth makes in dangerous and unpredictable situations." Olenna felt the vein shoot out of her forehead in anger. "What are you alluding to?! Do you really think I would ever purposely harm my family?!" Roared the Queen of Thorns. "I am not alluding to that, mydy. I am merely saying that what has happened to Wis is a blessing in disguise in more ways than one." Said the demon, making the woman''s eyes widen. "Since the dawn of Aegon the Conqueror''s reign, House Tyrell has always been a significant supporter of House Targaryen. Unfortunately, you were thest to bend the knee to Robert Baratheon after his victory at the Trident, and that did not put Highgarden in a good light in the eyes of the new King... It would take years of steadfast disy of loyalty, a royal wedding to reverse the unfavourable situation or... an opportunity. And what better demonstration of loyalty than an open enemy inmon? Therefore, it would be wise for House Tyrell to magnify any friction with the Baratheon/Lannister Kingdom enemy. But... in my personal opinion, I believe the true mastermind behind Highgarden has chosen this path for much more than that... Need I continue?" Olenna felt a long shiver run down her entire spine... The Crimson Demon had sensed her every move. In fact, Her Grandson''s ident, though unintended, was a golden opportunity for the House of Tyrell. Her Wis could have focused on learning the art of ruling, leaving it to the other pawns on the chessboard to lead the armies in other possible future wars. Should she be recalled by the Stranger, Wis would be the future pir regent of House Tyrell. The Rose would wither away in less than a season if the House was in the hands of heirs such as her son Mace... It was an undeniable truth for all the lords of the Reach who hade to know better the foolish and naive Lord Paramount of the South. As for the Martell matter... House Tyrell needed to get into the good graces of the current Kingdom. Even if her son had pushed to support the return of Aegon VI, offering the hand of her daughter as a possible future queen, Highgarden could not risk openly siding with a faction in such immature and uncertain times... Too many yers were at stake, and many revolutionary events were twisting the Known World too quickly. Bloody Snow & and the new era of the Green Knights, the long-awaited return of Aegon VI, Khal Drogo & the unification of the great Khsar, whispers of a revolutionary Septon nicknamed High Sparrow, and now even the fearsome Titan of Braavos would take the field against a likely new contender... "No, I do not wish you to borate, my lord," Olenna replied dryly and more condescendingly. "Good... So. I havee to you, mydy, because I need your cooperation." Announced Duncan Tallhart. "Of my cooperation? And how might I be of assistance to you, Ser? But, more importantly, what would my House get in return?" Olenna asked with considerable interest. "My gratitude, for starters. A miraculous healer who, over time and gradually, will allow your grandson to regain much of the functionality of his leg, enough to ride, but not enough to spur him on to the merry-go-round again..." Olenna was about to stand up and shout ["Can you really help my Wis?!"]. Over thest few months, dozens of the best healers in Westeros and Essos came to Highgarden only to break her boy''sst hopes. Not even Archmaester Embrose, the citadel''s best healer, sent to help Wis by his grandfather, Lord Leyton Hightower, was able to do anything meaningful... Olenna even considered asking for help from that Septon who, ording to the Trident and the Vale rumours, was spewing divine miracles to the people of all the viges and towns where he had stopped during his pilgrimage. The retinue of worshippers, called ''sparrows'', ready to follow and defend their guide to thest breath, was bing more numerous every day... But the woman held back. Bloody Snow was not yet finished... "Prosperity and wealth for House Tyrell, excellent marriage proposals for Wis and Margaery, who will seal equally excellent political alliances, and... Damascus Steel." The Old Rose''s spines quivered with excitement, but Olenna maintained control by asking in response, "How much Steel? And what parties would be considered excellent for the heir of Highgarden and the most dazzling Rose in the south?" "How much Steel will depend on how willing you are to y your part, mydy. As for marriage proposals, for the sake of your family, these will remain unknown at the moment. You will have to be content with my word..." Olenna felt the urge to get up and p the devilish brat''s face to purple mush. Now the poor woman would spend sleepless nights and several headaches trying to figure out which parties Bloody Snow was referring to! "Tsz!... Damn the demons that weaned you, boy!" Olenna blurted out, clucking her tongue. "So you ept?" Bloody Snow. "Depends on what you ask in return..." The Queen of Thorns. "Oh, nothing you cannot afford, mydy. You have my word. Now that summer is here, the fertile fields of the Reach will produce vast quantities of grain. House Tallhart will reveal to Highgarden some of the secrets shared with House Cerwyn, increasing, at the very least, your production by 80%. I wish all that surplus wheat, barley, and rye to be sold, at a fair and unchanged price, for the duration of the summer, exclusively to Lady Barbrey Mormont..." Olenna was interjected by the first request. "I do not doubt that you have the means to increase the yield from our fields, my lord, but all the surplus? From the Tyrell fields alone, we produce-" "Almost 10,000,000 bushels* of wheat per year. Yes, I am aware of that." The boy knew his way around numbers and estimates... ''Buying such an amount of wheat and grain at the dawn of summer?!... For what purpose? That they have a method of storing supplies for longer? But even if they did, the price of the umted grain would lose value with each summer semester... Unless...'' The woman thought with a clear head, epting the first request with a nod, then asking: "Any other requests?" "Only one... Tonight, a demonstration and grand opening will be set up, and after that, an Auction will follow. I ask that, during the Auction, House Tyrell highlight some of Highgarden''s prosperity, rivalling that of Casterly Rock." ***** End Part I. ***** [Author''s Note: 1 bushel = 60 pounds (approx. 27 kg)] Chapter 158: The Auction (II) Chapter 158: The Auction (II) ***** Still sick in bed, unfortunately. But, still strong enough to move my fingers on the keyboard (as long as my mind can hold). Brief announcement... Guys, the season finale of House Of Dragons came out today. Having read Big George''s Dragons Dance books, and concluded this first season, I can finally pass judgement. I''ll just say "Kudos to the Directors and the entire cast of the series!!!". Truly a masterpiece!" Personal rating from 1 to 10 = 9.25! I''ll close here. Happy reading to all! ***** ----- POV: Leyton Hightower Never Winter Bank. Not a minute after a new bank was opened... ''How on earth did we get to this point?! How could this have happened? Right under our noses! '' Roared the Lord Protector of Oldtown inwardly as he joined in the thunderous apuse that flooded the owner of a new bank... The Known World had been turned upside down in less than a week. First the Return of the Green Knights, then the advent of the Age of Damascus, and now the opening of a bloody Bank in the North... A Bank in the Kingdom that, until a decade ago, was known as the driest and harshest on the Continent. What would happen tomorrow? Would the fourteen fires subside, and the people of Ancient Valyria rise from the ashes? Leyton''s eye could not help but turn towards his most bitter rival. Chai Dug shed him a wicked, sneering grin with amusement. Leyton gritted his teeth and kept his cool. His master, the former Lord Protector of the Andal Council, taught him that patience and calm were the first weapons and armour that every great man and schr of the arcane had to master. ''Calm yourself, Leyton. Breathe and think with a clear mind... Lady Barbrey and Ser Duncan must have long since formed an alliance in preparation for this event. And if they chose to inaugurate the Bank immediately after Mott''s demonstration, it means that-'' Barbrey Mormont did him the courtesy of confirming his assumptions in a few moments. "Thank you, thank you, my lords anddies!... As previously anticipated, the Never Winter Bank will be the guarantor institution for all production and trade centres within the Silk Road! Therefore, the approval and functionality of this new trading city, Gauntlgrym and this Bank will depend on each other... Gauntlgrym is the beating heart, Silk Road is the veins and arteries, and The Never Winter Bank is the blood. All three apparatuses need each other to live! Indeed, I, Ser Helman Tallhart, Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Domeric Bolton have sealed a trade alliance bymon consent! ... Before we kick off thest significant event of this evening, Ser Helman and Lord Eddard wish to make one final announcement!" The Master of Torrhen''s Square stepped forward, ascending the steps to the same step as her associate. "Thank you, Lady Barbrey... As previously announced, Lady Barbrey and I imagined, discussed, nned and finally worked on this dream for a long time... We dreamed of a trading city free of the cultural divergences for which every kingdom, town or empire is characterised! A city of honest workers, respectful of thew of man and the gods, who would be able to share every day of the year, peace, security, art, knowledge, music,ughter, good food, fun and prosperity!" As soon as the first verse of the bad ended, an artificial mechanism was triggered. The smooth stone walls behind the foursome opened to reveal a massive map of the Known World, rectangr in shape with longer sides measuring at least fifty feet, carved in stone and decorated with bright blue, green, red and brown markings... A true artistic, engineering and topographical masterpiece. A silver demarcated line, indicating the new Silk Road, connected Barrowton and Torrhen''s Square. Ser Helman continued, pointing to the map. "That being said, I, Ser Helman of House Tallhart, here and today, proim that every inhabitant of the Known World, ''Every Person'', whether from the northernmost corner beyond The Wall, from the southernmost known ind, or even from the easternmost city or vige beyond the Jade Sea, with a willing heart and seeking an honest fortune... will always be wee here in the Silk Road!" A final roar of apuse invested the charismatic and well-received Ser Helman, who, after waiting for themotion to subside, went on to say: "The only condition that the gates of the Silk Road will require to wee you will be one... your trade and the coinage you make from it will be guarded and managed by the Never Winter Bank." Buzzes and soft chatter of surprise and dissent zed through the room. Helman hammered the still-hot iron before it cooled. "Those who show the most remarkable demonstrations of trust and invest their lifeblood in the veins of this city will be those who will benefit most from all that the Silk Road can offer you! Security, transport and guarantee in trade! Privileged trading posts, vis and secure dwellings! Education for your children! And medical care for you and all your family members!" Announced the Leader-in-Chief of the House of Tallhart, winning the approval of many knights and middle and junior merchants who were guests at the event. As soon as the man finished his announcement, Eddard Stark and Domeric Bolton took their ces alongside Barbrey Mormont and Helman Tallhart, who stepped aside to give the floor to the Lord Paramount of the North. ''There she is... Lady Barbrey wants to use the prerogative over Damascus Steel''s sale rights to acquire cash!... Thest event will surely be an auction for acquisition rights. Tzs! Dammit! Carcosa will have no problem strutting all its wealth, and the Titan should just swallow a bitter pill of pride, but Oldtown...?! Fuck! We can''t fall behind in the arms race nor stand so fast as the wealthiest House in Westeros!'' Leyton reasoned impatiently, nearly bursting a vein from his temple. Bloody Snow and the Frosty Queen are forcing House Hightower to uncover the cards. Leyton could easily have pulled even twenty, if not thirty, million gold coins from the Hightower''s coffers without weakening the Andal Council''s reserves too much. But how would the Hightowers have justified such avability of gold to the Crown and all the nobility of Westeros? To maintain its faade, at best, House Hightower could still stand as the third richest House on the continent... What most angered Leyton was that Chai Duq was well aware of the current tribtions of the Protector of the Council Andalus. And the Sorcerer of Carcosa kept throwing him gloating, defiant sneers! Eddard Stark took the floor... "I know many of you wish to request the services of House Stark and House Bolton as soon as possible to acquire the new weapons and armour we will beunching. However... on behalf of myself and Lord Domeric, we must sadly inform you that, as Master Mott has already anticipated, Gauntlgrym is unable to produce sufficient quantities of steel to fully meet market demand. Therefore, at least for the first three years, House Stark and House Bolton cannot sell armament and armour to all the nobles of Westeros and friends of Essos..." Loud voices of dissent and mour erupted in the hall. "But how?!", "House Stark and House Bolton only want to sell steel to the North?!", "This is an injustice!", "We are all part of one kingdom! We, too, have the right to buy Damascus Steel!!!" it almost took Leyton joining the chorus ofnded knights and minor lords from the South and screaming at the top of his lungs, {"Shame on you!!!"} After another minute of insults and threats... "My lords, please... Let me finish," tried the calm, Quiet Wolf to express. And then came a rumble... "SILENCEEE!!! IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!!!" thundered Robert Baratheon, stepping forward. The hall suddenly fell silent. "All of us here, royal family included, are guests of the North! I will tolerate no further insults and threats towards House Stark, Bolton or any other standard bearer of the Crown!!!" No one wanted to test the Fury of the Deer King... "Finish your speech, Lord Stark." Robert stepped aside. "Thank you, Your Grace... As I was saying, market demand is high, my lords, and the number of certified smiths in Gauntlgrym is still limited. To find a fair solution to this problem, Lord Domeric and I have decided to delegate the matter to the Head of the Never Winter Bank, who financed and managed the construction and development of all this. Without whom none of this would have been possible." The Frosty Spice Queen brazenly took the floor with a friendly smile and a ravenous Wolf look on her face. "My lords, in order that Winterfell and Dreadfort may meet, with fair and profitable arrangements, the demands of you all fairly and efficiently, the Never Winter Bank shall take charge as trade delegate for the first three years on sales of weapons and armour in Damascus Steel!... Nevertheless, the prerogative on selling the first series of lots shall be awarded to the Noble House, City, Merchant or Institutional Representative that most show trust and solidarity in the North and the Bank therein." Some Lords of poor and unimportant Houses lowered their heads in resignation... Only Great Houses such as Lannister, Tyrell, Martell, Arryn, and Tully, or prosperous Cities such as Braavos, Oldtown, Vntis, Tyrosh, Norvos, Lys, and Qarth couldpete in theing uphill fray. Then Barbrey added: "What the Bank asks of you will not be met without benefits for those who choose to invest some of your money in our coffers... All Never Winter Bank customers will always have a minimum annual four per cent interest on any amount or asset they entrust to us. In addition, they will always have the option of applying for low-interest loans. As well as guarantee and security services, all our customers can withdraw up to 50% of their assets at any time and all their remaining capital at a minimum of three months'' notice. If, on the other hand, you chose a higher level of trust, such as that shown by my noble brethren and allies in the North, by tying your money to us for the next three years, the benefits would increase... The return profit would be only the first among them. And, of course, a ''much'' more remarkable service priority towards all that Gauntlgrym can offer!" It was mere underhand ckmail! Only those who would tie up their finances in the Bank''s vaults could obtain free ess to Damascus Steel! In this way, not only would Barbrey obtain a disproportionate amount of cash, but she would obtain a means of pressure to hold all the most important families of Westeros in check! Leyton eyed the pained face of Tycho Nestoris and the shocked, fuming faces of other Essos banker representatives... 4% base was already a disproportionate interest. Enough leverage spurs many wealthy merchants to move their gold to northern coffers. Suffice it to say that the Iron Bank, the institution with the highest guarantee and security levels of any bank in the world, granted a maximum of 0.5% per annum to customers who desired the same privilege of coin avability. Moreover, if Leyton''s memory did not deceive him, to empty one''s ount in the Iron Bank entirely deliberately, a customer had to give at least a year''s notice... Finally, Barbrey hurled thest wave of poison darts... "However... The Never Winter Bank is well aware that many honest, ancient, and loyal lords and knights of lesser lineages do not have sufficient ''dispositions'' to rise to the top andpete in the race for the products of House Stark and Bolton... Therefore, the Bank of the North suggests that all lesser and greater bannermen of the remaining Six Kingdoms join forces and resources under your Lord Protector Representative. The princes, magisters, and merchants of Essos may also choose to unite under a representative of your choice if they wish. In this way, albeit in parts proportionate to your contribution, you will all have the opportunity to acquire a few lots of Damascus Steel. Within an hour from now, an auction will be organised and run by the Never Winter Bank. Therefore, I advise all interested participants to make the necessary preparations! Good luck, my lords anddies!" A few sentences adorned with advice and an ultimatum were enough, and the hall erupted in general confusion... As if dozens of fiery wasp nests had fallen from the sky. Ser Jon and his son Garth had difficulty holding back the inverted wave of people who flocked to reach their goals as quickly as possible. "My Lords! Please! There is no need for such urgency!" Shouted an attendant intent on calming the masses. "Keep calm, my lords! There is enough time for everything!" Shouted a guard assigned to hall security. "Move aside! I must get to Lord Royce!" roared a lesser lord of the Vale, rudely scalping a young attendant. "All Lords and Knight Bishops loyal to House Tully, this way!!! Gather in the East!!!" Loudly announced a young man a few feet away, bearing House Darry''s banners. From a pleasant and orderly evening of g and celebration, the hall turned into a battlefield, where banners were raised on the field to summon the troops... Leyton even noticed the group of Bracken and ckwood obstructing each other with pushes and shoves in the race to reach the Lord of Riverrunn first. A short distance to his right, Leyton heard roaring, "Prince Doran! House Yronwood is ready to support Dorne by contributing 100,000 gold dragons!", "House Uller will invest 80,000 gold dragons, My Prince!", "And House Wyl will not be outdone, My Prince! We will contribute 150,000 gold dragons!", "Huh? You old chatan, when has House Wyl ever managed to put together more than 2 pieces of silver in the castle made of dung and sand in which it resides?!" Roared Lord Anders Yronwood indignantly at the counterpart who had dared to outbid him first. "How dare you?! House Wyl is one of the oldest and most powerful Houses in Dorne! I dare you to repeat that!" Thundered Lord Wyl in reply. Leyton turned around to witness simr phenomena throughout the hall... Gold numbers and promises were being fired from hundreds of different points, creating confusionparable to that of the ve markets of Vntis... It was literally a race to the depository. With only a few hours spent, a few drinks and refreshments, a brief demonstration and devious wordy, the Never Winter Bank was amassing a gold capital so significant that not even the Iron Bank could have acquired it in less than decades of hard work... Leyton''s bewilderment and wavering thoughts were broken by his son Baelor. "Father! Father, can you hear me? We must reach Lord Mace Tyrell as soon as possible! For the sake of our house, we cannot fall behind in this arms race!" Baelor even tugged at his groggy father''s shoulders. Who instantly recovered from his moment of confusion. "Yes, my son, well said..." Baelor''s worried face faded, recing it with a hopeful, confident one. "Baelor, Garth, Humfrey! Gather to me, my sons! You too, Ser Jon." The inner circle of male members of House Hightower formed instantly. And after a few seconds of careful pondering, the Lord Protector of Oldtown ordered, "House Beesbury, Bulwer, Costayne, Cuy, Mullendore, seek out our senior bannermen lords and spur them to cough up every ounce of gold they have. It will be up to them to collect their fair share from theirnded bannermen. Do not return without first collecting the promise of at least one million gold dragoons! If any of them should falter forck of avability, tell them that House Hightower will lend the necessary shortfall gold without interest or obligation of repayment under five years. Garth... I want you to go and deal personally with Lord Beesbury. Don''t let that stingy fox pity you. House Beesburyst winter made a fortune selling rivers of honey in the North." Garth nodded with his stone face, replying: "Fear not, father, Lord Beesbury will contribute his due." Greysteel gave his word, and no one in Oldtown would ever doubt it... Leyton nodded proudly, finishing: "We will meet back here ten minutes before the hour strikes. Now go, my sons, and do not fail me!" "Yes, father!" replied Baelor. "I will not fail you, father!" said young Humfrey. "It shall be done, my lord!" Announced his most loyal knight before the quintet parted. Almost all the Reach nobles were heading towards Lord Mace Tyrell''s gathering. Sure enough, the fat jester rose was enjoying it... Mace Tyrell loved the attention and ttery towards himself, and the idiot was probably itching to show off on such an important stage. It would be the Lord Protector of the South who would represent the Reach during the auction... The future stability of the Second Most Powerful and Wealthy World Organisation depended mainly on the actions toe from his idiot daughter''s husband... These were miseries thatmented on themselves. ''Tsz! Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! FUCK!!! Fucking bloody bastard from the North!!! Fucking Poison Widow!!! I swear to the gods, you two shall pay for such an affront!!!'' It had been decades since Leytonst inwardly cursed in such a manner. Oldtown had literally been surrounded and clubbed on all fronts by the filthy Northern barbarians... And what made Leyton more nervous and worried was that Bloody Snow offered the cornered Andals an apparent way out... Oldtown had prospered in trade for thousands of years. Officially, the Hightower family was a rich and powerful house. The richest of the secondary houses in Westeros... but no richer than House Tyrell or House Lannister. Over thest millennium, House Hightower had secretly amassed in the bottomless coffers of the Highest Tower hundreds of millions of gold coins and magical treasures that could rival those of Carcosa. No one could know of Oldtown''s actual financial holdings... Without thatst use cunningly granted by Lady Barbrey, House Hightower could scarcely have offered two, at most, three million gold dragoons. A sum that would have already attracted unwanted attention... But now that the whole of the Reach could unite under a single banner of prosperity, Lord Leyton would have had room to manoeuvre to inject more funds under the table. It would not have been difficult to disguise their massive contribution among the various bannermen of the Reach. ''If I can juggle it right, maybe we can even get to five million... By now, it doesn''t matter if Braavos and Carcosa undermine us from the top two ces, but Oldtown can''t afford to wait any longer. Our troops stationed in Sothoryos will need that steel as soon as possible, or we will lose ground and resources. The Reach "Must" win this auction at all costs, gaining sale rights to Damascus Steel before any other Westeros realm in the race. But I must also make sure that House Tyrell leaves a good chunk of the sale rights to Oldtown.'' Leyton knew where, or instead with "Whom", he had to go to make this happen... The lords of the Reach might as well have huddled and fought amongst themselves to lick the boots of The Fat Flower of Highgarden... Now, the individual with whom the Protector of the High Council Andal needed to deal was the true High Marshal of The Reach and Warden of the South. The True Bearing Thorn of the Golden Rose on a Greenfield... Lady Olenna Tyrell. **** End Chapter. **** Chapter 159: Moves and Countermoves (I) Chapter 159: Moves and Countermoves (I) ****This humble and poorly written Fan Finction has officially reached 500,000 words published! Thank you all for your support, dear readers! Some of you have been following me since the dawn of time, when on a bad day I made the decision to put down the first draft of a fortuitous meeting between A Nerd Boy and An Angel Lawyer! Thanks again! And happy reading! P.S. I survived the damned Mono! Hooray! I should be able to speed up publication. The next chapter will be released on Friday.**** ------- POV: The Master of Coin Never Winter Bank. Half an hour before the start of the Auction... "H-Hu...Coff! Coff!... Hurry Up, Boy! I don- Coff! Coff!... I don''t have time to waste!" Gyles ordered as best he could, draining what little air remained in his weak and battered lungs. Lord Gyles Rosby, head of House Rosby and current Lord Treasurer and Master of Coin of the Crown, was requesting his second goblet of hot wine spiced with medicinal herbs. The man of precarious health, afflicted for years with a relentless cough, needed one of the attendants in the room to arrange for his care and needs. "At once, Lord Gyles! Here it is!" the young attendant filled the second cup, handing it with celerity and care to the man, who, immediately having gulped down the life-saving elixir, threw the empty cup back, heading at a rapid pace towards his next target. Lord Adrian Celtigar of w Isle was not to be outdone. The Crown''sst hope of not losing face in front of all the nobility of Westeros was House Celtigar! The eunuch himself had been whispering in the ears of the members of the small council for years that Celtigar''s Castle hid secret treasures and mountains of gold. So perhaps Gyles might still be able to fulfil the little wishes of his King... **** About twenty minutes earlier... "B-But ...Coff...Your Grace...Coff! This is not possible, t-the... Coff! The Crown can''t afford it. The royal family does not have enough gold-" King Robert interrupted him, showing part of His Fury. "I don''t care, Lord Gyles!!! I don''t want to hear any more ''Impossible'', ''Empty Treasury'', or ''Too Much Expense!'' Get to work and make it possible! You are the Master of Coin of the Crown! By order of your King, see to it that House Martell does noty his filthy hands on a single ounce of Damascus Steel before every Knight of the Stornds is equipped with the new weapons and armour of the North. Do I make myself clear?!" Thundered the Raging Stag at the poor man. "Your Grace... Why...Coff! Coff!...Why not ask Lord Stark for help? Lord Eddard is your good friend and a loyal supporter of the Crown. I''m sure if you ask Winterfell-" The Master of Coin was interrupted in his efforts to convince the King to call in a favour from the direct owner of the Monopoly of Sale on Armour in Damascus rather than participate in that Auction. However tempting and advantageous the new Bank of the North proposal was, the Crown could not afford to move capital tied up in the Never Winter Bank. "No, Lord Rosby! We cannot call in any more favours from Lord Stark! And you know very well why. The Crown will participate in the Auction! End of story!!!" Ordered the Stag King. "Y-yes, coff, Your Grace..." Lord Gyles replied surrenderingly, bowing his head. Then the man tried to grasp thest remaining spark of concrete hope. "Your Grace, Coff... Could I... Phew... Do I even have permission to request the help of your father-inw, Lord Tywin Lannister?" Robert gave him a dirty look that expressed doubt and disgust. "You may, Lord Gyles... But do not get your hopes up too high. My "father-inw" would not waste a single copper penny on House Baratheon when a challenge for the honour and prestige of the "mighty" and "wealthy" House of Lannister is jeopardised by a worthy opponent... See for yourself, my lord." Robert pointed to the figure of the Lord Protector of the West distant from them and tried to the brim to squeeze every coin from his bishop lords. Then the King pointed to the opposite side of the room, where Mace Tyrell was gathering supporters just as doggedly. The Master of Coin sharpened his eye, at which point the man noticed more clearly the gathering at the imminent Political-Economic struggle soon to take ce. It was not only the nobles of Westeros who were at each other''s throats in the hope of gaining a higher rung in the hierarchicaldder. The Magisters, Triarchs and Princes and many other influential nobles of Essos were also moving with equal urgency. Even the representatives of Lys and Tyrosh, the two cities that had been feuding for at least a century, seemed intent on forming an alliance. At that moment, Lord Gyles understood the King''s point... This was not just about the rights to Northern Steel. The eyes of the World were on the names and deeds that would take part in the uing Auction! "Now, do you see my point, Lord Gyles? The Baratheons cannot afford to lose to the Martells! This is the first battle for the fight for the Iron Throne! In the eyes of the Seven Kingdoms, a Dorne victory would symbolise a victory for House Targaryen!" Roared Robert, spewing hatred and fury from his eyes. "Yes, Your Grace...Coff...Now I understand." Lord Gyles. "Good! Now go, my lord. Jon Arryn has delegated Lord Royce as the representative voice of the Vale. I am confident that Bronze Yohn will choose to join forces with the Crown. You have all the lords of the Stornds, the Vale and the Cronds at your disposal, almost three times as many as the nobles of Dorne... Failure will not be tolerated." **** As the King predicted, House Lannister politely declined the Master of Coin''s plea for help. Lord Tywin shat gold, to be sure, but to financially represent not "One" but well and indeed "Two" factions, when Casterly Rock was already struggling to hold its own against Highgarden, the Old Lion would have to spend his entire existence on the privy to bring out the mountain of gold needed for such a feat... ''Damn! I barely managed to put together 4,200,000 gold dragons! Even if we draw two-thirds of the gold lent by Winterfell, the Crown will have five million at most... Will that be enough to secure victory against Dorne?! There''s no time left now!'' From time to time, Lord Gyles would approach the group of Dornians to get an idea of how much gold House Martell was managing to collect. Poor Gyles faintly heard the rming upwardpetition between House Yronwood, Wyl and Uller. Just hearing thatst ["Then House Wyl will contribute 380,000 gold dragons!!!"] The poor man''s coughing, almost spitting out a lung on the ground. ''I swear by the Seven, as soon as I return to King''s Landing, I will resign this mortal office!'' The man promised himself, thinking how stressful and deleterious thisst task assigned to him was. Every second spent struggling in that tragic hour seemed tost for eons. Despite the coalition of the Lords of the Storms, the Vale and the Crown Lands, victory against Dorne was by no means a guarantee... Winter had been harsh in the easternnds, and the mines of the Vale were drying up. Many lineages loyal to House Arryn had squandered vast amounts of gold in search of new workable ore veins. Now that the North had risen from misery, the Vale had be the poorest Kingdom in Westeros... As for the Stornds and Crownds, many of the nobles who had followed Robert in the Greyjoy Rebellion had barely made back their war investments from the meagre sharing of the spoils. Some more unfortunate ones had even gone at a loss, abandoning theirnds in the vital early spring harvests... Moreover, leaving the Stornds without armed men to defend them allowed bandits to thrive in raiding viges and caravans. On the other hand, Dorne did not contribute a finger or a penny in thest campaign and was even back from the most fertile and profitable season for the Ever-Sun-Kissed-Lands... Winter was a gue for any other House north of Horn Hill, but for Dorne, winter was tantamount to early autumn in the Cronds. As a result, it was not only crops that were plentiful but also tourism and trade. Many wealthy merchants, contemptuous of the cold, preferred to be greeted by hot kisses in the brothels of Sunspear instead of receiving icy bites to the balls in cities like Braavos, Gulltown or Kings Landing. Prince Doran Martell had married the daughter of the Triarch of Norvos. In all likelihood, Dorne would have formed a coalition with the Free City. And to make matters worse, for thest three moons, House Martell''s new and prosperous Ice trade was producing new golden streams in the pockets of the Dornians... Gyles had no idea how many secret gold cards the ancient and powerful House Nymeros Martell had hidden up its sleeve. It was only minutes before the auction began. Heralds and attendants in the service of the Never Winter Bank were already beginning to draw the attention of the guests near the stage. ''I am left with no other choice... May the cksmith and the Maiden have mercy on me. I will draw on the emergency fund and cut unnecessary expenses for Castle Rosby''s budget...Fuck!'' "Coff, Coff!" Rosby wiped his mouth with his silk handkerchief. By now, even thoughts aggravated his coughing. ''Fuck it, I give up! I''ll contribute an additional 200,000 gold dragons from my own pocket. It''s do or die!'' So concluded the Master of Coin resignedly, weeping bitter tears at the idea of what luxuries and expensive little pleasures the head of House Rosby would have to give up to contribute in this way. Then a boon fell from heaven and gently touched Gyles'' left wrist. "I beg your pardon for intruding on your duties, Lord Gyles. Might I request the honour and privilege of the Master of Royal Coinage''s attention for a moment, my lord? My father has reconsidered the Crown''s request for help more carefully," was Tyrion Lannister! End POV **** POV: Tycho Nestoris Never Winter Bank About half an hour before a rich dwarf approached a sickly Master of Coin... Hundreds of wealthy individuals and hundreds of thousands of gold coins moved incessantly with each passing minute, but the Director General of the Iron Bank, Tycho Nestoris, remained motionless. Behind his back, he could feel the gaze of The Watcher. Every move or expression Tycho made was under close observation... The man chose to spend that crucial time continuing his gaze challenge against the icy Spice Queen, pondering carefully over the best counter-move that could be implemented in such a catastrophic moment... The opposing party continued undaunted to greet the challenge with his annoying devilish grin. ''Assuming both Barbrey and Ronan have learned all they can legitimately know about the true face of this World, the game has be much moreplex... So calm down and think, Tycho. Remember that to every problem, there is always at least one solution... To every problem, there is always at least one solution...'' Tycho inwardly repeated thest sentence several times; it was his personal habitual mantra to clear his mind at critical moments. After another minute had psed, Tycho Nestoris'' mind, the instrument through which the son of a humble siniscal had built, step by step, a glittering career towards the highest echelons of the World''s Most Powerful Organisation, reached the maximum point of cold stillness and optimum concentration. The time hade to study the pieces on the chessboard, working out all past and present moves to find the best future ones... ''The First Men just served a golden opportunity to Carcosa on a silver tter, granting a great advantage to the Confederation of Mages... They hit the Titan and the High Tower hard, pitting us against the wall... The Iron Bank cannot allow the Mage Confederation to gain supremacy over Damascus Steel. Even if the Confederation were to keep the waters calm within the borders of Essos, the armies of Chai Dug, bolstered by their new military advantage, would not hesitate a second to strike us hard in the legitimatepetition for magical resources in thends of Sothoryus... The losses would be incalcble. The Iron Bank cannot give up such lifeblood as magical blood... We are therefore forced to win the Auction, but in doing so, not only will the Council of Thirteen fund our future archrival with a disproportionate sum, but the Iron Bank would openly advertise the Never Winter Bank before the whole World, thus suffering a second devastating bacsh through our thousands of influential backers... On the other hand, Oldtown is even worse than ours. Lord Leyton cannotpete freely in the Auction. The Andals'' anonymity from strength has be a weakness. To cut their losses, House Hightower is left with no choice but to support the Tyrells to the best of their ability to hope to grab the highest percentage share of Damascus Steel through them... Bloody Snow seems to have nned everything perfectly but ns rarely run into unforeseen obstacles... Big or small, there are always unforeseen factors. Therefore, the right question is: "What unforeseen factor did Barbrey Mormont and Duncan Tallhart run into?"'' An unwanted interference interrupted Tycho''s reasoning. "Director Tycho! What shall we do, Sir? The officials of the Bank of Lys, Norvos and Qarth are already moving to support rival cities and factions in the shadows! We cannot-" "Shut up, Jorakhet... I''m thinking." Tycho abruptly broke off the groans of his trembling personal assistant. "Y-yes, Director... I''m sorry, Sir... B-But..." Tycho turned back to the insubordinate boy who had dared to ignore the first warning. This time the Bravoosian disyed a cold and murderous gaze, fierce and ruthless enough to make even the most idiotic idiot realise that one more unsolicited word would be tantamount to certain death. Jorakhet lowered his trembling head, not daring to reply. At that point, Tycho noticed that it was not only the trainee-assistant who felt anxiety and fear. Almost the entire squadron of Iron Bank delegates was holding their breath, waiting for their leader to give them instructions to follow... All hands were shaking. They were all afraid of the repercussions and punishments that would undoubtedly befall them should the High Officials of the Iron Bank be disappointed in their actions in this ruinous situation... It was at that moment that Nestoris had an epiphany. The Director looked at his hand... No trembling, no shivering. The hand was firm. ''Ah ah! Of course! What an idiot I am! All this time, I had the solution at my fingertips, ''literally''!'' Tycho Nestoris himself was the uncalcted anomaly! The duel between Duncan Tallhart and Gelledo Antaryon, the huge wager between The Watcher and Tycho, the catastrophic loss of the Council of Thirteen, Bloody Snow and The Frosty Queen could in no way have foreseen such an event! The rival institutional representative that Tallhart''s Demon and Dustin''s Witch foresaw had to be someone caught off guard and undecided on the correct course of action. A cautious and calcting man who had chosen the most sensible and least risky course of action to minimise losses so that the Iron Bank would emerge from this ughterhouse with as many limbs as possible. A man who had had everything and anything from life to protect, and not someone with nothing to lose... ''Right... What''s the point of having limits and rules now? I no longer need to consider whether the Council of Thirteen would favour the course of action! I just wasted time thinking of all the possible options to stop a river in flood... Pff, stop Lady Barbrey from acquiring funds? With all the traps, lures and armies deployed? The battle is lost before it has even begun. Whichever way it goes, the game would still end with Braavos and Carcosa in an uphill battle for the first position.'' Tycho crushed in his mind the image of two-thirds of those stupid, arrogant, spoiled, old-fashioned members of the Council of Thirteen ordering him to do everything he could to prevent the nobles of Westeros and Essos from investing money in a fake Bank run by redneck women from the North... Now, in the midst of that stormy sea, with no Fleet Admiral in sight to signal orders, Tycho Nestoris was the Ship''s Captain and new provisional Fleet Admiral. In these lostnds, eight hundred miles from Braavos, he was the undisputed master of the Iron Bank at that fateful hour. ''No... In this battlefield, the Never Winter Bank is in too high a position of advantage. Therefore, I must not seek a Win to Lose strategy but Win to Win!'' Tycho already had a draft n but needed to find the rightpetitors to implement it. "Listen to me! I want you all to procure any relevant information within earshot of the room. The goal is to find out how many and which factions are supporting whom! You will return here in exactly fifteen minutes!" So promulgated the master of the Iron Bank authoritatively to his loyal and obedient employees. "Yes, Director!!!", "Yes, Sir!" "Aye, Director Nestoris!" The officers and soldiers promptly responded to the General-in-Chief''s call, sprinting towards their mission. **** About twenty minutester... "I see... The situation is even better than I had hoped. The Iron Bank has more than one good deal at hand." So whispered Nestoris to his young assistant with confident mes in his eyes and a predatory grin stered on his face. "Will the Iron Bank support Braavos or other Free Cities, Sir?" Asked the not-yet mature but promising future Braavosian businessman. "Oh, no... Or rather, yes. I will participate in the Auction myself as the representative voice of the Sealord, but Braavos and the Iron Bank cannot afford to publicly support the Never Winter Bank... Our reputation would be at stake." Jorakhet looked at him with a bashful look. Perhaps the boy thought their Captain had gone mad and that as soon as they all returned to Braavos, dismissal from the Bank for ipetence and elision from their hometown for high treason was the rosiest prospect in the near future... "Good work, my boy. You and all the other assistants will receive a rich bonus this month. You are dismissed for the time being... I''ll take it from here." Tycho did not ask permission or further exnation from anyone. He walked briskly towards his goal. The Watcher could peer into his soul for all he cared. Even if the master had warned the disciple of his intentions, Bloody Snow and The Widow could not have reacted in time. ''You have won this battle, no doubt about it. But the War has just begun, and the Titan has many cards to y in Gold, Trade and Finance.'' So sang Tycho Nestoris inwardly as he moved closer and closer towards his small but, at the same time, Gargantuan golden opportunity. **** Not a minuteter... "Lord Tyrion, we have yet to have a chance to introduce ourselves. I am Tycho Nestoris, the Director General and Representative of the Iron Bank. It is my immense pleasure and honour to meet the Heir of Casterly Rock, New Promising Ruler and Shield of Lannisport." **** End Part I **** Chapter 160: Moves and Countermoves (II) Chapter 160: Moves and Countermoves (II) POV: Duncan Never Winter Bank, first level balcony of the building. A few minutes before the start of the auction... I spent the decisive hour for themercial fate of the North and the Known World in thepany of Zick. The master and I watched the whole unfolding of events from above, leaningfortably on the marble and granite parapet of the first level overlooking the hall. Ramas and William, the master and his disciple, had our backs, ensuring no one disturbed or tried to eavesdrop on our conversation. "Are you sure about this, master? Forgive me for insisting, but even a glimmer of suspicion more concrete than an alleged hallucination could be catastrophic in these decisive times," Zick confirmed his previous answer. "Yes, I confirm that, my boy. Your new friend has exactly the expression of someone aware that he has raised his ss too high." I sighed, relieved, putting the subject to rest. The girl had clearly disobeyed Barbrey''s orders, risking far more than she should have... but fortunately, no harm had been done. I focused my attention on the handshake between Trout and the Silver Scythe. "Rather surprisingly, Lord Hoster Tully has epted the alliance between The Trident and The Iron Inds proposed by Lord Rodrick Haw. It seems that House Frey''s meagre contribution has forced the Lord of Riverrun''s hand... What was Ser Steffon''stest offer, master?" I asked to Hawkeye. "Mmm... The representative of House Frey was on his back at the time, but I can tell you that the secondst offer was 22,000 gold dragons." Zick replied in a slightly bored tone but with an ever-kind and watchful gaze. "You were right, my boy. The Freys have deviously sided with House Lannister. Lady Genna has just whispered to her brother, Ser Kevan, that the Twin Towers will pour 350,000 gold dragons into the West." Signalled my watchtower. "Not a very honourable move, but still wise... The heir to the Twin Towers is not stupid. Ser Stefford knows well that the Trident has no chance in this race. It would already be a good result for Lord Hoster Tully to reach the penultimate position." Me. "Pff, always the same old thing. In my opinion, the Westerosi are not so different from the Greedy and Dishonourable inhabitants of Essos. The Seven Kingdoms sing bads every day in which honour, faith, oath and courage are the cornerstones of Westeros culture, but at the end of the day, it is always the shiny metal that makes the World go round..." The Maester had never had any interest in financial ormercial matters. In Zick''s eyes, gold, silver and precious stones were just cold pieces of metal and worthless rock. After the fruit cart incident on the Demon Road more than thirty years ago, Zoldhak No Dua, one of Zick''s first historicalpanions and current vice president of the Fourth Organization, in order to alleviate the financial problems of Zick''s poor foster mother, assigned his younger brother, Baragh No Dua, to follow the Watcher to every corner of the Known World until the day of his death, entrusting him with the task of sworn shield and advisor/manager of the master''s personal finances. Exchanging a blue diamond, the most precious jewel on the world market, purest and the size of a walnut, worth enough to buy, equip and feed an entire army of Unsullied for years, willingly squandered as half a silver coin for a few crates of oranges, pears and cherries, to be distributed to his pupils as a refreshing snack, forced Madame Zishua to sensitively sew her son''s holey hands... Later, The Watcher''s justification ["Again with that blue pebble thing?! I had no coin on me, mother! What was I supposed to do, steal it from him?"] definitively extinguished Zishua''sst hopes for her protg''s management skills... But, after all, the Fourth Organisation had been founded on the very knowledge that all of Zick''s followers knew full well that this fragile, selfless young man, filled with pure trust in his fellow man and naivety at heart, would not survive a day in this infamous and cruel World without good help. "Gold is a powerful medium, master. The power that in a few eras has eclipsed Magic and corrupted the purest of magical dynasties." I replied with an affectionate grin. "A powerful medium without any doubt. But gold is not a power. It is more of a simplistic and illusionistic materialisation of desire. This ephemeral and wonderful life is a journey to be travelled. Money is just a glittering trap created to influence and divert an individual''s true path... Ghiscarians and many former colonial peoples of the Valyrian empire firmly believe that everything or everyone in this World has a price... but it does not. I have seen children with goodness in their hearts grow up to be men of power willing to do anything to grab one more ounce of that illusion, and mature, sensible men, weaned from infancy on golden spoons and the poison of greed, embrace material misery to pursue their own path to happiness." Replied Zick, returning the sneer. "I do not fully agree with you, master. Gold is an illusion, not of desire, but of happiness itself. Unfortunately, many believe that money is the best means to pursue happiness. The very belief in the value of this means gives power to that illusion. But that would mean that power is, by definition, the ability to achieve and protect an individual''s desired happiness. Even faith, honour, nobility, and so many other human beliefs are nothing more than guiding tools that can be transformed into weapons or idealistic defensive means, if need be, for the sole purpose of achieving personal happiness... Conflict is generated by hidden or unseen contrasts of different paths to happiness that intertwine and hinder each other. A man could exterminate a city without losing a wink of sleep in regret at that act if it meant protecting his own happiness or those he loves... How many kings would put entire foreign cities to the sword for the happiness and well-being of their own people? How many mothers would choose the death of other mothers'' children over a life of suffering for their own children? How many men of faith would execute innocents who sinned in the crime of unbelief at the stake if it meant believing in making the gods they love and worship happy?" Zick looked at me with a spark of understanding and careful thoughtfulness in his eyes. "... So, you believe that happiness is the cause at the apex of all the conflicts of this world?" Zick. "I do not believe that. I know it." I replied with firm conviction. The Watcher maintained his neutral but open demeanour and attempted to question my belief. "The definition of good and evil would lose its meaning if that were the case. How would you judge two individuals, ssified as one "Good" and the other "Evil", if in principle they both struggle for a path of the same nature?" Zick. "Personally, I believe that we still live in a barbaric and savage world in which the terms Good or Evil cannot yet be given meaning. In this age, there are only Winners and Losers. Those who win will be remembered as "The Good People" and the losers as "The Evil Guys"." Me. "A sad and bitter truth, I grant you... But that does not detract from the fact that the two terms do, in fact, exist and that every sentient creature who understands them has his or her own personal opinion on the meanings of the aforementioned adjectives. You, for example, Duncan of House Tallhart, to what individual or creature, divine or mortal, would you entrust the adjective ''Good''?" The philosopher asked with more interest. I lowered my gaze for a moment, pondering the answer I felt most mine. And then I answered. "... I know a man with the power and means to conquer or destroy half of this World and who, if necessary, would have no qualms about following thisst remaining nefarious path for the sake of the happiness of those he loves. But who, though able to tread it, would sacrifice all his personal ambitions for happiness by walking any other path left to him, however perilous, painful, or unhappy, to maintain that of his loved ones without hindering or corrupting the happiness of others... That is an individual I would call a Good Man." The elderly, emotional man seemed at pains to keep his gaze neutral, but before his eyes moistened and his affectionate smile budded, The Watcher''s Eyes picked up an anomaly in the room, focusing the Guardian''s full attention on one figure. I neither questioned nor made a sound. When Zick''s eyes transmuted from a faintly yellowish to blood orange, it meant The Watcher was concentrating, activating his innate abilities to their full potential. Almost a minute passed, and I turned my attention to the chosen contestants who had been summoned for the start of the auction. In less than an hour, many cities of Essos and Kingdoms of Westeros had formedrge and medium-sized temporary trade coalitions. Twelve factions, headed by twelve individual spokesmen/representatives: -The representative of the Coalition between the Trident Lands and the Iron Inds, the Lord of Riverrun, Hoster Tully. -The representative and a new member of the Council of Thirteen of Qarth and spokesperson for the merchant cities of the Red Desert, the Merchant Prince, Xaro Xhoan Daxos. -The representative of IB, IB Sar, and New Ibbish and spokesman of the Ibbenese Council, The Archon Bobhay Bebax. -The representative of the confederation of the ve cities of Vntis, Meeren, Astapor, Yunkai and New Ghis, the Triarch of Vntis, Nyessos Vhassar. -The representative of the Trade Triarchy between the Free Cities of Tyrosh, Myr and Lys, the Archon of Tyrosh, Tophelius Porpat. -The representative of the Trade Triarchy between the Free Cities of Pentos, Lorath and Qohor, Magister Manolo (a puppet of Illyrio Mopatis). -The representative of the Cronds, Stornds, and the Vale, King Robert Baratheon. -The representative of the recently formed Coalition between Dorne, Norvos, and the central Summer Inds, Prince Doran Nymeros Martell. -The representative and Warden of the Wesnds, the Lord of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister. -The representative of the Reach and -without his knowledge- of the Second World Power, the Andal''s Council, the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of The South, Mace Tyrell. -The representative of the Free City of Braavos, and spokesman for the World''s Most Powerful and Wealthiest Organisation, the Director General, Tycho Nestoris. Andst but not least... -The representative of the Yi Ti Empire, spokesperson for all thends from the Bone Mountains to the Grey Desert, all the waters from the Jade Sea to the Thousand Ind Straits, as well as undisputed spokesperson and Leader of the Confederation of Wizards, the Archwizard and Lord Supreme of Carcosa, Chai Duq. Each spokesman had at least three assistants/allies in support. King Robert had the Master of Coin at his side, Lord Gyles Rosby, the spokesman of House Arryn and the Vale, Lord Yohn Royce, the young Lord of Storm''s End, Prince Renly Baratheon, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy. Lord Mace Tyrell had chosen his mother, Lady Olenna, his brother-inw, Lord Paxter Redwine, and his father-inw, Lord Leyton Hightower. Lord Tywin Lannister chose all three of his heirs, Tyrion, Jaime and Cersei. And Chai Duq opted for his personal and trusted assistant and pupil, Quaithe, and his sworn sword, Ser Tristan... but one ce was still vacant. The Watcher was supposed to join him to fulfil his duties as Guardian Guarantor. But Zick was still standing there staring at Tycho Nestoris... A few seconds before thest call from the heralds, the master, still looking slightly surprised and suspicious, gave his verdict. "I fear that my past impulsive actions may have gotten in the way of your ns, my boy... I deeply regret it." signalled Master Zick with regret, pointing at the Director and representative of the Iron Bank. "What makes you think that, Master?" I asked in astonishment. "I cannot tell you how... Then, the Braavosian was one step away from decline, but now, taking advantage of his disadvantage, he has somehow turned the tables. Tycho was skilful and cunning in sneaking around in thest few minutes. I can confirm that his move has something to do with House Lannister, House Hightower and the Crown." I left out the unforeseen Lannister/Crown factor for a moment, asking: "And why do you think this is your fault, Master?" "Because my vengeful wager with Tycho Nestoris transformed him from a cautious, calcting individual with everything to protect, to a fearless man with no limiting responsibilities, ready for anything and with nothing to lose," Zick replied. "... I understand. Fortunately, I had a master whose guiding teaching philosophy was based on the concept that [Nothing and Nobody is Perfect]. Even if Tycho should have found the w in the n, I still have valuable allies in reserve, ready to react ordingly." I said, trying to express as much confidence and trust as possible... In truth, I hadn''t really calcted such an eventuality, but I still had good faith in myrades. "Ahahah!... Ah, Duncan, my boy, you and my mother will get along just fine. She always tries to belittle my mistakes too. Many years ago, I told that woman that the most powerful organisations in the world wanted my head and that they would burn cities or continents to get it, and she, in response, used a tone and expression very simr to yours just now..." It was futile to try to hide or bluff at the sight of The Watcher. Then Zick, bidding me farewell with an apologetic bow to take leave of his pressing duties, issued the final warning. "Prepare for the bacsh, my boy. The Titan has a valid and viable countermove in hand. I am certain of it." He nodded, grasping the warning earnestly, bowing in turn. Ramas followed the shadow of the master taking his leave with a single nod. ''House Lannister and the Crown... Why? How would it benefit the Iron Bank to support them? And how would this move positively affect Oldtown...? What have we missed?'' I ponder urgently, turning my gaze back to the representatives. Ronan, the representative, delegated to oversee the auction, had already begun to exin the details and rules to the entire audience. But his words failed to reach my ears; I was too focused on trying to solve the riddle. And in a sh, I saw what was already before my myopic eyes. ''Tsz! Shit! The Titan tricked us...! Well yed, Mr Nestoris... An excellent move indeed.'' Events would definitely not unfold towards the coveted path... I would soon have to find a way to make up for the broken word with the prickly Queen of Thorns. Torrhen''s Square and the Never Winter Bank could not lose Highgarden''s trust. My mind travelled to all the possible future scenarios caused by that unforeseen slip, to the most likely time when the ''Great Bubble'' would burst and World War Four officially begin... It was a very long shot. Had Braavos attempted to seduce Lannisport and Casterly Rock in any way possible, whichever way I put it, the fate of our time would have been determined by the future choices of the Lion. **** End POV. **** POV: Tywin Lannister Podium of Representative Participants. About a minute before a master excused himself... The crowd witnessing the impending trade battle was just under sixty feet back from the arched array ofpeting representatives. Each group was given enough space to allow each faction to consult and discuss without rival ears eavesdropping. The Lannister quartet was positioned to the left of the central faction, the Crown. On the other hand, to the left of the Golden Lions, about twenty feet away, was the coalition of the Trouts and the Silver Sickles led by Lord Hoster Tully. At opposite ends of the arch was the delegation of Braavos and Carcosa. Tywin could not help but continue to cast rmed nces towards Tycho Nestoris. The constant gnashing of teeth of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms at his side disturbed his pondering and began to irritate him in earnest... "This is High Treason. The North is allowing the Dornish, the enemies of the Crown and House Lannister, the chance to arm themselves for a rebellion..." So whispered her daughter, blurting out yet another groan. "Dornians or not, if everyone had better steel than we do, sooner orter, even butchers and barbers would have the ambition to be enemies of the Lannisters. The "High Treason" charge pales in the face of a "But I have a lighter, stronger and sharper knife than yours!" Don''t you agree, my brother? After all, you are the de expert in the family." Tyrion replied, grinning as he turned to Jaime. "There is a reason that all the masters of arms on the continent, as their first lesson, have been teaching young aspirants of knighthood for millennia how to take scrupulous care of their equipment and how a Knight should always make sure their sword is oiled and well sharpened before going into battle." Said Jaime, returning his brother''s sarcasm. "Well said, Ser... Yes, there is little to be done. I''m afraid House Lannister and the Crown must swallow the bitter pill, open their purses and keep smiling, my Queen." Cersei cast a furious nce at the dwarf and then turned to him. "Father, we can convince the King to issue a Royal Decree and force the North to return to the path of reason. For the good of the realm, the Iron Throne should have control over Damascus Steel and not this stupid farce they call a Bank." Luckily for her, the tone of that impudent and foolish daughter''s voice sounded more like a plea than an order. "One way or another, the Crown and House Lannister will ensure they are well supplied with Damascus. End of story." Cut Tywin short, refocusing on more pressing matters. "But at what price? Entrusting our gold into the hands of the North? Into the hands of Barbrey Mormont? Casterly Rock cannot surrender its gold to that woman!" Roared Cersei too loudly. "Silence, Cersei. I only allowed you to stand beside me to partially heal the tarnished image of the House. I did not ask your opinion. Do not ever again dare allow yourself to tell me what Casterly Rock can or cannot do. You have already damaged the family name enough..." The Lioness pup paled and remained dry-mouthed in the face of the Alpha Lion''s deep roar, no longer daring to utter a breath or to allow herself to use that look of defiance. None of the remaining sons attempted to further test the Great Lion''s patience. Instead, Jaime grabbed the twin''s arm and tried to quietly calm her down. Tyrion took advantage of the twins'' distraction to give them yet another rming look. His son was also worried, but for different reasons than his own... Tyrion was uneasy about sealing plenty of such proportions with the Iron Bank. And Tywin could understand that... Although not directly responsible for the gold loaned by the Braavosians into the hands of Robert Baratheon, the Lannisters would still be the guarantors of the Crown in this deal. The risks and close ties with the Iron Bank would have been ''Dangerous'' to say the least. But Tyrion still needed to learn the pawns and rules of this new game. On the other hand, Tywin, the Head in Chief of the Royal Lannister Dynasty, did. ''Tycho Nestoris is a dangerous and resourceful yer... To be able to pull a move like that out of his sleeve, in such a chaotic and disorienting situation, and in such a short time, to boot is nothing short of amazing.'' Tywin thought as he responded to his choice. The time limit given to the factions to organise themselves and choose the best course of action was a double-edged sword. Bloody Snow, The Frosty Queen and The Great Lion had no chance to confront each other in secret and work out a counter to such an unexpected twist... Now, it was Tywin''s duty to take the reins and act as best he could for the good of the n. House Lannister had no choice but to agree to Titan''s proposal. To refuse was only to make their enemies more suspicious than they needed to be. Time was the first natural resource to be conquered. Not Steel, Allies, Gold or Territory, but Time... Every second that Oldtown and Braavos believed that North, West and Dorne were constantly one step away from moving war against was worth more than a mere gold coin. Both Tywin, Duncan and Barbrey had mistakenly thought that the official representing the Iron Bank was in check... For the Titan, the most logical, viable and least risky choice had to be topete openly on behalf of the Iron Bank for supremacy over the rights of Steel. The most significant vital source of ie for the World''s Big Four Super Powers was the Magic ck Market. The most significantmercial struggle, perpetually fought in great secrecy by the first three factions, Braavos, Oldtown and Carcosa, and constantly supervised and regted by Pentos with the support of the Fourth Organisation and the contribution of the Three Guardians, was the race for magical resources in thends of Sothoryos... What Tywin had first learned in thest months of this bizarre, supernatural and dangerous world was that magic was an essential and vital part of the organisations at the top. In central Westeros and Essos, such arts were forgotten, if not outright forbidden, but in East Qarth, magic was part of everyday life. Wizards and Sorcerers were revered as Maesters of noble birth. Every self-respecting good lord, mayor or chieftain always kept a valid connoisseur of the mystic arts at his side; even jugglers and jesters were magic users. The Confederation of Magicians boasted of the wealthiestnds of minerals and precious stones in all the Known World. Gems that could have bought entire cities in Westeros were almost currency in the barren Asshai of Shadows, the town where a sack of flour was worth more than a single insignificant piece of gold. If Carcosa did not spend hundreds of thousands of gold and precious coins daily on research, consumable magical resources and continuous food sources, the Third World Organisation would undoubtedly be the wealthiest institution ever... Sothoryos was a significant and vital source of livelihood for Carcosa. Blood and magical materials for spells, cattle farms and trade routes for provisions, and fields of rare cultivated herbs and nts essential to the alchemical branch were the spoils to be shared and conquered. The private Militia Companies, the Sons of Night, the Sons of Light and the Iron Company, three mysterious elite military forces of 20,000 fierce and well-hardened soldiers, spilt rivers of blood every moon cycle to conquer and maintain an extra palm of richnd for the organisations they represented. And all three had held a stagnant but profitable bnce of territories for decades, unable to prevail over the other two. The Damascus Steel could have broken that delicate bnce, and the Iron Bank and the High Tower could not allow Carcosa to prevail in that eternal struggle. Each faction made dozens of millions in profit every year. Losing even a small portion of dominance meant huge losses. But... on the other hand, if the Titan Council wanted to stand up to Chai Dug in this contest, the Iron Bank would have to finance the Never Winter Bank with tens of millions minimum. And at that point, the World would have witnessed the most powerful institution in the World recognise and support a worthy contender to the throne ofmerce with a gesture of resounding golden trust... How many would have chosen to move and diversify their assets from the Bank of Braavos to the Bank of the North? How many millions would have floated from the vaults of the old Iron Mine to the New and Innovative tinum Mine? The financial bacsh would have been devastating. The Iron Bank could have lost tens if not hundreds of gold coins of deposit funds. Lose Face or Lose Sothoryus? Which of the two choices would have been the less damaging for the Titan? How to avoid taking the obligatory fork in the road? Fund another Free City in their grasp in secrecy, perhaps? And how would the aforementioned city have justified a vast heritage that could hold its own against entire continents? No, attempting to hide the Titan''s hand was almost impossible. Rumours would have spread, and the image damage would have been even more significant in the long run. And it was here that Tycho Nestoris worked his magic. What entity could have operated in secret for the Titan and at the same time covered his tracks in the eyes of the World? Who is better than House Lannister? The house, whose enormous wealth was well hidden and secret from the eyes of the World, was stored in a natural gold mine... The leaders of the World would have suspected and perhaps discovered the deception, certainly, but in the eyes of public opinion? The Bards had been singing about a particr Old Lion shitting gold for decades. Yes, with the proper precautions and a few more tavern songs, the Iron Bank could have hidden its tracks... Tycho Nestoris had chosen to support the Crown and House Lannister with full financial backing without onerous interest or short-term repayment obligations... The only conditions imposed were three: -The Crown (and not House Lannister) would have to ovee any offer from the representative of Carcosa. -The Crown would have to grant 2/3 of any quantity of Damascus obtained from the North to Casterly Rock, who would have the burden of selling it back to the Iron Bank at an agreed and unalterable premium of 5%. -House Lannister was to take credit for such financial support towards the Iron Throne and, at the same time, prevail in the auction against The Reach. A bold and brilliant strategy... In this way, the Iron Bank had not only avoided a possible financial copse and got its hands on Damascus first. Still, it would gain future political benefits and profits on several fronts. This event was protected and guaranteed by the Guardian of Love, which meant that any political ormercial agreement signed under the banner of one of the Guardian''s guarantors of world stability and bnce wasw. The penalty for nonpliance or breach of the arrangements made was the direct intervention of the Three Centres of the Known World''s oldest and most fearsome neutral powers... Even not knowing if the Never Winter Bank had released batches of Damascus Steel into the marketce on quantity or time modes, Tycho Nestoris would still have hit the bull''s eye, messing up all of Ser Duncan and Lady Barbrey''s predictions. Originally, Casterly Rock was supposed to fight Highgarden and, after a heated, unexpected and convincing sh against the Reach, lose... but Bloody Snow, The Frosty Spice Queen and The Great Lion had not factored in the eventuality of the Titan ready to sacrifice and promptly bet an arm on House Lannister. ''Director Nestoris has forced my hand. Casterly Rock ispelled to ept the alliance with the Iron Bank... The tide has turned. It is up to me to straighten the rudder and go with the current flow.'' Pondered the Warden of the West for the umpteenth time, calming his mind. Tywin peered with deaf approval at the promising concealed de of Casterly Rock. Tyrion had been adept at dealing with Nestoris; he had to hand it to him. The wily little deformed Lion had sniffed the stench of need and desperation from the Titan, wringing out excellent deals in Braavos that were advantageous to Lannisport and Casterly Rock in the nick of time. ''All problemse with inherent opportunities, and House Lannister will squeeze them to thest drop!'' So decided the Great Lion with renewed confidence. If the Lion was obliged to walk another hunting path, he might as well walk it head-on with jaws and ws unsheathed and a ravenous roar... **** End Chapter. **** Chapter 161: The Lion & The Rose Chapter 161: The Lion & The Rose POV: The Most Powerful Woman in Westeros. Never Winter Bank. As the Great Lion prepared to Roar... Thest grain of sand in the hourss ran out. Time was up. The Frosty Spice Queen maintained her impassive friendly smile at the arrayed audience, showing no sign of her worries... Barbrey sensed Duncan''s rmed look from the stands, but thest-secondmunication between the two would nevere in time. Something had gone wrong, and that had to do with Tycho Nestoris. Now, it was the Titan Representative who was showing a polite wolfish grin toward her... The New Director General of the Never Winter Bank approached his employer, whispering: "Mydy, we cannot wait any longer." Ronan was right. Even if she wanted to, the Never Winter Bank had to show that its word was as irond and strict as the Iron Bank. It had to be an hour from the start, not a minute more and not a minute less... Barbrey peered at him for a few moments with a spark of irritation, then she nodded in reply, "Go ahead, Director Ronan... Let the show begin." The young man did not repeat himself twice. Finally, Ronan positioned himself in the centre of the archway where a dozen assistants with all the necessary equipment were ready and waiting for him, and, capturing the attention of the room, the auction director said: "My Lords, My Ladies, I, Ronan of House Atreides, will be the Auction Director who will have the burden and privilege of assisting you! Before the auction begins, let me outline the manner and details of the proceedings, as well as the coveted prizes up for grabs!" The whole room fell silent, paying absolute attention to the presenter. "Starting from the right, let us introduce our noble contestants, beginning with the honourable representative of Braavos, the Director General of the Iron Bank, Tycho Nestoris!" The Braavosian acted his part with dignity with a polite bow. "The representative of the Trident and Iron Inds, Lord Hoster Tully! From the respectednds of the West, the Head in Chief of House Lannister, Lord Tywin Lannister!..." About two minutester... "Andst but not least... The representative of the Yi Ti Empire, spokesman of allnds from the Bone Mountains to the Grey Desert, of all waters from the Jade Sea to the Narrows of the Thousand Inds, as well as the undisputed spokesman and Leader of the Confederation of Wizards, the Archwizard and Lord Supreme of Carcosa, the noble Duq of the Chai Dynasty!" The wizard honoured the representative of the Bank of the North by responding to thebel with magnanimity and a bow typical of Yi Ti culture. "As you can see, Your Graces and my Lords, we have set up demonstration vertical iron rods, each for each representative..." The attendants uncovered the veil on the tform, showing alongside the twelve ck iron rods, ten feet high respectively, and a small golden hill divided intorge thin gold discs weighing twenty pounds each with a hole in the centre. Each disk was exactly inch thick. Each ten-foot-high ck iron rod could hold in its entirety: 240 golden discs (a maximum of 72,000,000 gold dragons). "Each gold disk that will be ced in the iron rod will take into ount the contribution made by each faction in real time! Since each noble city or kingdom holds a characteristic gold coin of different value, thepetition will be held on the unit of ounces for the simplicity and proper understanding of us all. One hundred thousand ounces* is the base auction price! One disc corresponds to one hundred thousand ounces, the minimum unit with which to participate or raise one''s contribution bid." Barbrey held back a slight grin of amusement when she noticed both Robert Baratheon and Mace Tyrell covertly asking for rification from their ounting assistants. "I remind all of you, my lords, that those who have chosen to participate in this auction have chosen to be Elite clients of the Never Winter Bank... Your gold will be entrusted to our management, obtaining a high corporate interest of 8% per annum (cumtive), which will guarantee you the primacy in sales services of House Stark and House Bolton products, as well as guaranteeing a variety of other benefits here in the Silk Road and throughout the North, ''But'' which cannot be withdrawn or returned for a minimum period of ''Three Years''...!" The Director allowed the audience a few seconds for clear assimtion. Then he resumed... "So weigh carefully on every bid and avability, noblepetitors... From the official opening until the closing of the Auction, every pledged bid will be a contractual bond with the Never Winter Bank! The institution that will have as its executive guarantor the illustrious Company of The Rose, House Stark and every noble vassal Household ... and "The North Remembers," my Lords." The warning/threat seemed to be heeded. The cold sweat of poor Hoster Tully, the pale face and agitation of so many other lesser nobles in the rows in the stands, many among whom had promised far more gold to their representative than their Household could afford, was proof of this. Barbrey knew well that among the many big words uttered by those ''Noble'' and ''Honorable'' lords anddies of Westeros and Essos, there lurked snakes anxious to test the reliability of the Never Winter Bank... ''Words are wind, blood is the only ink that ever fades ... mh, mh. Who knows, who knows... Who among these pigs will grunt first?'' Sang Barbrey inwardly assessed to herself which Greedy Pig among those present, Cregan Ix Winter himself, would have to open his belly to pull out the promised golden innards... Ronan elucidated the final details "The Auction will be held in a single session, in which the order of priority on the rights to sell Damascus Steel Armor and Weapons will be determined! The prizes up for grabs will be divided as follows..." The assistants discovered the freshly-inked canvas boards on which the twelve prizes had just been inscribed. 1st) - Sales Rights on Standard Damascus (Weapon only) up to 10,000 Max products per moon; 20% off the base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Fine Quality (Weapon and Armor) up to 1,000 products Max per moon; 15% off the base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Elite (Weapon and Armor): up to 100 total Max works per moon; 10% discount off the base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Royal Quality (Weapon "or" Armor): 1 Max job per moon. "No" resale rights will be allowed on any work by Grand Master Mott. To the Household or the First Individual who will be granted a warranty certificate binding the weapon or armour to its rightful 1st owner and all heirs designated by him. *Sales rights on Stark-Bolton products will be exclusive to the winning faction for the first 6 moons. After the exclusivity period has expired, the price will no longer be discounted. All production lots will still be guaranteed, but any surplus not purchased will be ced on the market. 2)- Resale Rights on Standard Damascus (Weapon only): Up to 8,000 total Max jobs per moon; 15% discount on base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Fine Quality (Weapon and Armor) up to 800 products Max per moon; 10% discount on base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Elite (Weapon and Armor): up to 80 total Max works per moon; 7.5% discount on base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Royal Quality (Weapon "or" Armor): 1 Max job every 40 days. "No" resale rights will be allowed on any work of Grand Master Mott. To the Household or the First Individual to whom will be granted a warranty certificate binding the weapon or armour to its rightful 1st owner and all heirs designated by him. *The sale will begin after the expiration of the first exclusive right (after 6 moons from now). The second winning faction will keep the Discount Bonus and exclusivity on the guaranteed product shares for 5 moons. After the exclusivity period has expired, the price will no longer be discounted. All production batches will still be guaranteed, but any surplus not purchased will be ced on the market. 3)- Sales Rights on Standard Damascus (Weapon only): Up to 6,000 total Max products per moon; 8% discount on base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Fine Quality (Weapon and Armor) up to 600 products Max per moon; 6% discount on base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Elite (Weapon and Armor): up to 60 total Max works per moon; 4% discount off the base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Royal Quality (Weapon "or" Armor): 1 Max work per 2 moons. "No" resale rights will be allowed on any work of Grand Master Mott. To the Household or First Individual to whom a certificate of warranty will be granted binding the weapon or armour to its rightful 1st owner and all heirs designated by him. *The sale will begin after the expiration of the first two exclusive rights (after 11 moons from now). The second winning faction will retain the Discount Bonus and exclusivity on guaranteed product shares for 4 moons. After the exclusivity period has expired, the price will no longer be discounted. All production batches will still be guaranteed, but any surplus not purchased will be ced on the market. 4)- Resale Rights on Standard Damascus (Weapon only): Up to 4,000 total Max products per moon; 5% discount on base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Fine Quality (Weapon and Armor) up to 400 products Max per moon; 3.5% discount on base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Elite (Weapon and Armor): up to 40 total Max products per moon; 2% discount on base price and resale rights included. - Damascus Royal Quality (Weapon "or" Armor): 1 Max work every 75 days. "No" resale rights will be allowed on any work by Grand Master Mott. To the Household or the First Individual to whom a warranty certificate will be granted binding the weapon or armour to its rightful 1st owner and all heirs designated by him. *The sale will begin after the expiration of the first three exclusive rights (after 15 moons from today). The second winning faction will retain the Discount Bonus and exclusivity on guaranteed product shares for 3 moons. After the exclusivity term expires, the price will no longer be discounted. All production batches will still be guaranteed, but any surplus not purchased will be ced on the market. **** From fifth ce onward, no one benefited from discounts. The quotas would stabilize at 3,000 pieces of Damascus Standard, 300 Fine Quality, 30 Elite Quality per moon, and 1 Mott work for every 3 moons, respectively. The only (crucial) difference was the wait of 3 moons between market openings for the respective positions from the sixth to the twelfth... Overall, after 36 moons from the start of the Auction (about three years), the entire world market, or at least the good part "friendly" to the North, would have free ess to Damascus. Should Oldtown, Braavos, or other factions that retroactively benefited from the Guardian of Love Guarantee openly dere war on the First Men or the Royal Household Stark, the North could terminate the contracts that bound them to said obligations... **** About five minutes after Ronan finishedmunicating and exining the benefits of the Auction prizes... "My Lords, my Ladies, Your Graces, I dere the Auction officially open! Starting Base Price 100,000 ounces of gold...!" Thundered the Auction Director. "100,000 ounces!" The Trident was awarded the first gold disc. "One hundred for Lord Hoster Tully, who will bid two hundred?" Many hands and voices began to rise while others stood waiting... "And so it begins," whispered Lady Barbrey as she satfortably next to her husband, Jorah, in the grandstand. Everything that could be done for the Never Winter Bank''s debut had been done. So, at least for that night, all that remained for the Most Powerful Woman in Westeros was to make herselffortable and enjoy the show... End POV. ------ POV: The Most Powerful Man in Westeros. Never Winter Bank. About two minutester from the start of the Great Golden Spectacle... The Auction had just entered the thick of thepetition--Puglia had just been separated from the wheat. Seven factions had already given up on thepetition, raising the white "Last Bid" marker and settling for the positions they had already won. In order, from sixth to twelfth and final position: -6th The Triarch of Vntis, Nyessos Vhassar, the representative of the confederation of the ve cities of Vntis, Meeren, Astapor, Yunkai and New Ghis: 2,000,000 Gold Ounces. -7th The Magister of Pentos Manolo, Representative of the Pentos, Qohor and Lorath Coalition: 1,700,000 Golden Once. -8th The Archon Bobhay Bebax of the Hibenese Council: 1,500,000 Golden Once. -9th The Archon Tofelio Porpat, representative of the Tyrosh, Myr and Lys Triarchy: 1,400,000 Golden Once. -10th The Mercant Prince Xaro Xhoan Daxos, representative of Qarth and the merchant cities of the Red Desert: 1,200,000 Golden Once. -11th Lord Hoster Tully, Trident and the Iron Inds representative: 900,000 Golden Once. And to the dismay of the room, inst and twelfth ce... The Director General of the Iron Bank and Representative of Braavos, Tycho Nestoris: 300,000 Golden Ounces. Only five representatives were leftpeting-Robert Baratheon, Doran Martell, Tywin Lannister, Mace Tyrell, and Chai Duq... Almost all the remaining factions were in equal positions, standing firm at the 2,200,000-ounce mark. On the other hand, Carcosa was in no hurry to win. Undoubtedly the Sorcerer was rxed andcent in enjoying the walk to the summit calmly... By now, no one could stop Chai Duq, not even if the Old Lion had put every single piece of gold left in Casterly Rock on the te. Lord Leyton Hightower could not help but cast rming nces at his potential future ally, trying tomunicate to him with his gaze {In the name of All the Thousand Gods you worship, what the heck are you doing, Nestoris?! You know damn well that the Reach and Oldtown don''t stand a chance against Carcosa!!! So what the fuck are you retreating for?!!! Are you going to let that fool conquer all of Sothoryos?!} Somehow, the Braavosian seemed to sense part of the gestural message. Still, the Director only responded with neutral, friendly smiles... *SssDOONGH!!!* Yet another metallic thud jolted Leyton''s heart, breaking his concentration. Another disk was inserted in favour of the Dornians, raising the golden column of the Dorne/Norvos/Summer Ind coalition to 11 1/2 inches. The Never Winter Bank had just acquired another 300,000 gold dragons of deposit funds... "Prince Doran offers 2,300,000 Once! 2,300,000! Does anyone bid 2,400,000?" Asked the Auction Director with rapidity and a thundering voice. "The Noble Household ''Tyrell'' bids 2,400,000 Golden Ounces!" Trilled Mace Tyrell shamelessly in a tone that was nothing short of embarrassing. All the representatives spared themselves only in numbers, or at most general nods to the faction such as "The West," "The Crown",... His Son-inw was the only one who, with each offer, specified high-sounding buzzwords such as "Noble," "The Great," and "The Ancient," always making sure that the name "Tyrell" shone above every other... Even the haughty and hypocritical Sorcerer of 300 lofty titles seemed to begin to be annoyed by this... A few discs earlier, Leyton heard the Sorcerer ask aloud and to his assistant in themonnguage of Yin {"But who are these infamous Tyrells, Quaithe? !"} and the Red Witch replied {"A House of attendants in the direct employ of the Gardener Kings, master... For some three centuries now, it is the Tyrells who have ruled the Green Lands."} {"What?! And since when were Garth''s descendants ousted...?! Nha, I''ve reconsidered. I don''t even want to know... Focus on the Auction, Qhaithe! I want the agitation and gastric juices to wear down the False Sorcerer''s stomach until he spits blood! Ahahahah!"} Perhaps Chai Duq did not know that Leyton was fluent in eightnguages and that High Yi Tin (Most Spoken Language in the Yi Ti Empire) was one among them... Or perhaps, the bastard did know and was openly insulting him on purpose, hiding under a devious veil of false ignorance... "2,500,000!" Roared the Lion, anticipating the ountant''s demand. "Lord Tywin offers-" The young man was anticipated again. "The Illustrious Household "Tyrell" offers 2,600,000 Golden Ounces!" *SssDOONGH!!* *SssDOONGH!!* *SssDOONGH!!* Three disks dropped in robbery session. Deafening noises to Leyton''s ears, but almost certainly as dulcet as jingling coins to Barbrey Mormont and Duncan Tallhart. Every freaking record added meant more power for the North and more trouble for Oldtown--The Reach had already funded the First Men with 7,800,000 gold dragons. And the struggle between the Lion and the Rose had just begun. Ronan Atreides sensed the likelypetition and let the two factions run wild without interruption. "2,800,000!" Tywin Lannister fired without hesitation, creating murmurs of surprise among the crowd and the participants. It was the first time he had heard himself offered a double raise of the base bet... His son-inw''s confident smile faltered for a moment. Mace Tyrell instinctively sought his mother''s gaze for advice and reassurance on what to do. "Follow his example and raise 200,000--but don''t you dare utter House Tyrell''s name in public again, or I will tear your tongue out. Are we clear?" The idiot seemed not to understand...Leyton could not help but support Olenna. "Lady Olenna is right, my lord... You should not use only the Tyrell name in bidding. The Never Winter Bank and the North might understand your statement as a legal intent that the sum offered be borne entirely by Highgarden and not by the noble coalition of The Reach..." Whispered Leyton, following with a respectful bow to His Lord Paramount. "G-gulp... I understand! T-thank you for your valuable advice, my dear father-inw." At least this time, the fool seemed to take the hint. "The Prosperous and Illustrious "THE R-E-A-C-H" offers 3,000,000 Golden Ounces!!!" So shrieked the clown, urately sounding out the word that would save His Household from possible financial copse... "3,300,000!" Roared the Lion without hesitation or any alteration in tone or look. "Woow...!" a roar of surprise erupted in the hall. ''That''s almost ten million dragoons... The Western Lands should have alreadye very close to their threshold limit. So why hasn''t the Old Lion wavered even a little? Could it just be a bluff to scare the Rose?'' Reasoned the Old Man of Oldtown. Mace Tyrell seemed to hold his breath. The round pink face acquired more and more colour with each second of waiting. However, Olenna''s pondering and calcting gaze remained steadfast, studying her wealthy opponent calmly. Then Olenna held up three fingers, nodding covertly at her son''s worried look. "T-The Reach offers 3,600,000 Golden Ounces!!!" Mace blurted out, eating the first word. "4,000,000!!" The final roar sensitively prated even the armour of the richest and most powerful man in Westeros... ''Could it be that the cold, hardened Tywin Lannister was carried away by pride and emotion? Casterly Rock has no more than twenty, max twenty-five million gold coins left in reserve, and House Lannister''s share in the coalition of the Lords of the West should be at least four-fifths... Does the Lion want to risk almost half his gold in the Bank of the North just to prove he is richer than the Rose?!'' The numbers didn''t add up... Something about House Hightower''s secret sworn enemy eluded the well-informed Lord of Oldtown. "What shall we do?" So asked the shocked useless Rose in search of advice. "I advise caution, my lord, the total fund we have been able to raise from all your noble bannermen is about 3,550,000 ounces of gold... Exceeding that threshold, Highgarden would have to cover the shortfall from its own holdings alone." Warned Lord Paxter Redwine. "House Lannister should be at the limit as well, Lord Paxter... To give in now, at a stone''s throw from the finish line, would mean giving up huge and profitable gains while putting The Reach under serious threat." Lord Hightower interjected, eliciting a symbolic retreat from Lord Redwine. Leyton had been moving heaven and earth in thest hour, using all his charm and dialectic to recycle more than 3,000,000 gold coins into more than seven lineages, vassal and "non" of The Reach in "Excellent Rtions" with Oldtown... Now that the Titan had sumbed, The Hightower and The Reach absolutely had to seed in getting second ce. The Andals militia could not wait for the new weapons and armour for 11 moons. "I agree with Lord Leyton...Let us make onest decisive attack and see if the Old Lion will falter." Promulgated the Queen of Thorns, raising five fingers. The mama''s boy nodded. "AND THEN!!! THE REACH WILL OFFER 4,500,000 OUNCES OF GOLD!!!" So screamed the Fat Rose at the top of his lungs. "Wooohh!", "Unbelievable...", "Did you hear that?"... "House Tyrell is so rich,"... "Do you think House Lannister will give it up?"... the murmurs of the spectators began to mutate intoplexes of clearly audible voices. This time the Lion did not retort a counteroffer in the immediate... "... Lord Mace Tyrell reaches the first position, offering as much as "4,500,000" Once! 4,500,000! No one bids more?" The auction director used seconds of silence to resume the arbitration and encourage any other bids. But the silence did notst long... The Old Lion raised his right palm, open at chest level, and then uttered in the same confident and relentless roar, "5,000,000!!" A roar followed by a roar of apuse and invocations flooded the hall. Even the Administrator-in-Chief of the Bank of the North joined in the apuse from her throne... Amid the apuse and the metallic rumblings marking the colossal golden tributes, a mighty man was angry to the point of revealing his true dark and powerful nature. Yet, one step away frommitting mass genocide, which would have marked his end and that of world peace, but with amendable effort of will, he restrained those impulses... ''It is as I feared... Someone is supporting House Lannister in the shadows!!! That the Tallharts are behind it! It would mean that the Old Eagle spilt the Lann Taboo to the bratty Heir!...! Even if that were the case, Torrhen''s Square should not have such funds at the moment. House Tallhart must have invested millions in the Gauntlgrym and Silk Road projects... Then who...? The Spider Witch of Pentos, perhaps? And who else? Neutrality and impartiality my mockery, Guardian!!! This is a deration of war!!!'' Leyton tried to remain calm and rational, pondering more carefully. After a few seconds of deep inspiration, the rational and usually "sober" Lord Protector of the Andal Council also discarded Old Zishua and Chai Duq as possible culprits. The Spider Queen had given him her word of absolute impartial neutrality for the entire period of Carcosa''s diplomatic visit, sealing the pact in the name of Love, Beauty and Magic... The Fourth Organization could not have financed the Lannister Royal Family directly or indirectly, and the Wizarding Confederation would not have dared to vite the Treaty of Archwizard Lo Tho. But if it was not the followers of The Watcher, nor the Magicians nor the First Men, then who?'' Discarding the impossible, what remained, improbable as it was, had to be the solution... Lord Hightower turned his gaze with dismay toward the smiling, calm official of the Iron Bank. "M-Mother...? W-what do we have to do?" Asked the whimpering, trembling mama''s boy. "We retire with the dignity and finances of our Household still intact, my dear...This is a battle we cannot win." So sentenced the Queen of Thorns, forcing the foursome to give a deep and respectful bow to the winning faction by raising the surrender marker. *** End Chapter *** *Author''s Note [I am announcing that an ounce (28.35 g) will be the main unit of measure that all mints or institutions use in reference for minting. This was my narrative choice for the sake of everyone''s understanding: writer, reader and characters included... I give an example, the cities of Braavos, Vntis and Lys have your different gold coins, characteristic of their city. The gold coin of Braavos will weigh ounce. That of Lys of an ounce and so on for each other... As mentioned in Cap 154 (The tinum Bank) notes, a gold dragoon, the coinage used on the continent of Westeros, weighs exactly 1/3 ounce. Ergo 100,000 ounces of gold = 300,000 gold dragons] Chapter 162: The Iron Titan & The Golden Imp Chapter 162: The Iron Titan & The Golden Imp POV: The Iron Titan Never Winter Bank A minute before the Rose left the game... Lord Leyton seemed to have begun to smell Nestoris''s paw... The Titan''s strategy was articte andplex to guess, but soon the Protector of the Andal Council would understand. As described by President Ultherro, Leyton Hightower was a brilliant, patient and astute man. A character who was not to be trifled with... Director Tycho, Vice President Berbo, and the ten keepers of the keys did not know why Oldtown had ancient and irreconcble grudges against the Royal Lannister Dynasty; no one but Ultherro and the Former Guardian of Love knew about it... But what Tycho did know was that, ording to the treaty, made almost a thousand years earlier to seal peace after the devastating Third World War, should the parties keep the peace agreements, none of the Guardians, or the factions subject to them, could directly intercede on behalf of House Lannister or the remaining five Great Royal Families. Stark, Lannister, Gardener, Haw, Nymeros Martell, and Durrandon, six of the Oldest and Most Powerful Royal Families who survived the Long Night, who prevailed in dozens if not hundreds of wars against Rival Dynasties by defeating them and annexing them to their realm, gained their power, and who, most importantly, managed to survive the Great Andal invasion... None of the previous eight Great World Forces that sealed the peace treaty (in times were: the Council of the Archons of Valyria, the Andals of Oldtown, the Magicians, the Rhoynars, the First Men, the Titan, the Great Stallion, and the Harpy) could wage war or even touch a member belonging to the Ancient Dynasty of Winning Kings... The Confederation of Mages had been founded by the current Guardian of Magic. In fact, as an extended organ of the same, it could not directly intercede on behalf of any Royal family. But nothing and no one prevented the Titan from allying with and supporting any of the aforementioned families. Although they all had Pro and Con factors, Tycho could have implemented his strategy on three factions: The Confederacy of vers, Qarth or House Lannister & The Crown... Why opt for the Lannisters when he knew Oldtown and the Council of Thirteen would frown upon thetter? There were three answers: Credibility, Means of Pressure and Chaos... Only the infamous endless mines of the Golden Lion could credibly disguise the Titan''s hand. No one but the chief miners and senior figures of the Lannister Family knew precisely how much gold was crammed into the depths of Casterly Rock. Neither did the Titan nor the High Tower know precisely. Braavos and Oldtown managed to estimate mostly an inurate number, currently hovering between thirty and twenty million, and that the golden veins would be depleted at most by the end of the century. But for the storytellers, lords, merchants, and the smallfolk who were ready to listen to bads about the disproportionate wealth of the ''Lord Who Shat Gold''? It was easy to raise Ten Million to a Hundred, if not a Thousand. In this way, The Iron Bank couldpete against the Confederation of Mages by supporting the Crown without the former being staked on the Titan and avoiding a devastating second run on its lenders. After the Rogare Bank of Lys disaster a century and a half earlier, during the reign of Aegon III, thousands of cautious merchants were always with their ears to the ground on all potential threats to their own precious gold. The Never Winter Bank''s interests would have already caused a shift in deposit flow between ten and twenty million. Still, if Tycho had not stemmed the breach by subsidizing his ownpetitor in the shadows, the damage would have been exponentially more devastating... Tyrion Lannister was not just an abject,scivious, and deformed creature sent by the gods to punish Father''s pride... No, he was a mind. Now, Nestoris understood why the Old Lion had entrusted Lannisport into the hands of the Imp. The dwarf of Casterly Rock had cunningly exploited every second and every one of his weaknesses, obtaining a deal impossible for House Lannister to refuse. {-House Lannister would finance the Crown on behalf of the Iron Bank, maintaining absolute secrecy about where the gold woulde from. -House Lannister would be the guarantor of 2/3 of the Damascus Steel of the total share of the Royal Coalition (Cronds, Stornds, and The Vale), to be resold to the Iron Bank for a 5% surcharge. Still, transportation and loading costs would be the Bank''s burden. -Transport and security of gold lent to the Crown, up to Casterly Rock, would be the Bank''s burden; in return, the interest umted in the Never Winter Bank would belong entirely to the Iron Bank. -House Lannister assumes no responsibility for the Iron Bank''s gold deposited in the care of the Never Winter Bank. It will be the responsibility of the Institution of Braavos to reim what is due should say Northern Institution vite the agreed upon contractual obligations. -The Iron Bank shall finance the entire portion of the Auction pledged by the Representative of the Western Lands to the Never Winter Bank without requiring interest or repayment charges for the first six years from the day the loan was granted. All interest and benefits acquired through said financing will belong entirely to House Lannister. - The Iron Bank guarantees, until the dawn of the new century (10 years), a naval trade route to and from Braavos for all Lannisport merchant ships, ensuring ships bearing the Lannister banner up to 50% of cargo and goods carried. - The Iron Bank will be the guarantor liaison between Lannisport and the Free City of Braavos for extraordinary coborative services with the distinguished Braavos Courtesans'' Cooperative}. There was certainly no denying that the Dwarf had properly squeezed the Titan... ording to reports reaching the Iron Bank through spies stationed throughout the West, Casterly Rock was investing an inordinate amount of gold in the restoration and development of Lannisport. The Old Lion was even moving to replicate a new roadwork throughout the West that would rival the North... The more days passed, the morepetition for splendour sprouted between Dorne, the North and the West. The Old Lion was shrewd and far-sighted...Tywin Lannister was not about to allow the First Men to dictate the conditions for a possible Northern Independence, nor could he leave the Rhoynars with the prospect of a more affluent and prosperous continent under the figure of the Sand Dragon. "5,000,000!" Roared the Lion. ''A good counter-offer... Lady Olenna should yield at this point.'' Evaluated Nestoris enjoying the show. The Iron Bank had just granted a loan to Casterly Rock of 15,000,000 gold dragons. If the Never Winter Bank had, in fact, promised the "Elite Investors" 8% annual pound) interest on the restricted funds, the Lion would have earned about 1,298,600 gold coins of average passive interest per year (over the first three years), without risking a single piece of gold from Casterly Rock or the Lords of the West... But those coins certainly would not have gone unused. Tyrion and Tywin Lannister would have had ample liquid funds to invest in the many exorbitant projects of Lannisport and The West ... and would have financed them with the coinage collected from the Vassals of House Lannister. It was as if the Lion had wrested from the hands of the Lords of the West a colossal tax paid for by his own vassals, with smiles on their faces and confidence in their hearts... A simply brilliant financial manoeuvre in the eyes of the seasoned banker. If the Dwarf ever chose to open and operate a branch of the Iron Bank, Nestoris would bet his gold on "The Golden Imp". ''The Crimson Gold of the West will have topete against the Green Silver of the North ... and the Lion will have the full support of the Titan to sharpen and polish fangs and ws.'' So Nestoris thought as the Rose had just dered surrender against the Lion. House Lannister had just kept the first part of the deal, ousting The Reach from the first three positions... The first piece dropped by Tycho would trigger an irrepressible domino effect that, in turn, would drive the flow of Westeros Political events under the will of the Tide called "The Iron Titan." The close Alliance between The Imp and the Titan would be the critical glue to forge even more favourable ties for the Iron Bank with the High Tower... It was now clear why Torrhen''s Square was forging agreements with Casterly Rock and Sunspears... The Tallharts and Mormonts were diabolically cunning. Bloody Snow and the Frosty Spice Queen wanted to use Dorne and the West as a means of pressure against the Andal Council. In all likelihood, in a few years, the North would take advantage of Aegon VI''s return to dere independence. If the First Men had forced the Lion to depend on trade with the Wolf, forcing Tywin''s hand not to intervene against the North''s betrayal and, at the same time, supporting the Sand Dragon in the shadows, Oldtown would have been surrounded by the Chaos of War, crushed exactly in a pincer grip between Lannisport and Sunspear... Swelling the ranks of the Lions and Sunspear, gaining thetter''s favour, was an excellent move to get rid of a chunk of hostile pressure from the South. In this way, the North, with the support of the Confederation of Mages, could focus on fending off the East''s threat and, in turn, on crushing Braavos. Getting rid of Duncan Tallhart and the new pressing threat called Barbrey Mormont was a priority, sure. But should the Andal and Braavosian Council fail in future assassination attempts? At the end of the day, should the hearts of Bloody Snow and the Frosty Queen continue to beat, the Titan and the Tower would be slowly worn down by Chaos, and the First Men would climb undisturbed to the summit with barely a few scratches... The two First World Forces could not allow this to happen. So the Titan had to wrest from the clutches of the North the favour of the Lion, using it in turn as a means of pressure for the First Men. Braavos would get its hands on weapons and Armor in Damascus before Carcosa and Oldtown. The Titan would have made a massive profit by reselling that vital metal to the High Tower. The Reach would not have seen an ounce of Damascus before 15 moons. By supporting Lannisport, the Iron Bank would force the Council Andals into a firm partnership where the Titan would have the upper hand and the most significant slice of the pie. Business was Business... it was nothing personal. Since numbers were not an opinion, the Ship christened "Oldtown" would follow the flow of the Titan''s tide... And in doing so, House Hightower would have to point the rudder toward a course already taken during the Dance of the Dragons... toward the Iron Throne. **** End POV. **** POV: The Golden Imp A few feet away from a Braavosian. While a Titan pondered the probable fate of Westeros... Tyrion did not like the Director of the Iron Bank one bit. He had nothing personal against the polite and always respectful figure of Nestoris... No, it was the Colossal institution he represented that disturbed his thoughts. Even that night, the Dwarf of Casterly Rock would not find sleep... Or at least, not without the help of his valuable and trustedpanion-adventure called "Wine". ''No! No... No more wine. Until I get out of this goddamn ghost-hauntednd, I will stay clear-headed and focused.'' Thought the 17-year-old afflicted with a more than decent addiction to alcohol... A part of him was thrilled and fully realized the milestone achieved in the Negotiation. As much as the Old Jerk wanted to hide it, Tyrion had flickered a spark of pride and respect toward him. ''I disgust myself to be proud of it... Tysha... You, piece of fool...! Never, ever forget Tysha!'' Tyrion would never forgive the being who dared to call himself "Father" for what he had done to him, for what he was forced to witness and subsequently do... A few minutes before Nestoris''s visit, for a moment, just for insignificant blinks, he could have sworn he caught a glimpse of his wife in the crowd... Slightly taller than he remembered, with too much nobility and too different hair colour and hairstyle, but the face looked just like Tysha''s. "Do you think we will win the auction?" Jaime asked, awakening Tyrion from his imaginary tribtions. "No... But we will still get a good and respectable Third ce." Replied Tyrion drawing his sister''s unsolicited attention. "Third ce? Are you sure you didn''t overdo the wine, my beloved brother? And what factions left would be able to shell out more than 15,000,000 gold dragons? Pff, the alleged Sorcerer King of the East, perhaps? The Rose just surrendered, and Dorne could never top ourst bid. Victory is the Lion''s." Promulgated Cersei in a mixture of pride and frustration. Probably, even his arrogant sister must have realized-with extreme effort and immense inner conflict-that, the power and influence of the "Queen of the South" paled in the face of the new colossal power gained by the "Queen of the North... "Astonishing, to say the least, my beloved sister. And you managed to rte the amount between ounces and gold dragons all by yourself? Without even the help of Lord Gyles...? Your Grace may be deficient in subjects like history and thews of Westeros, but I am d to know that our Andal Queen excels in Algebra and Finance of all the Known World." Tyrion retorted sarcastically. "You...!!! How dare you insult the Queen! You will be punished for it-" "Enough!... Both of you." Thundered their father with a snarl mixed with anger and disappointment. The fire was quelled instantly. The spark of pride in the Old Lion''s eyes toward him withered. But it had still been worth it. Tyrion had to admit it. This auction was indeed an exciting and delightful pastime, to say the least. The best wedding celebrations ever, without a doubt. Witnessing in person as her obnoxious sister bit her lips off or tore off a small lock of hair in frustration with each gold disc inserted was priceless. In retrospect, Tyrion would have saved many an exorbitant visit to the brothels of Lannisport or withheld hundreds of expensive barrels of Dorne and Arbor wine from his lips just to personally put a single extra gold disc on those iron rods. His father''s final roar of "Five Million" nearly halved the Lioness Queen''s shining golden hair. However, the height of enjoyment had yet to be reached. ''No, it wouldn''t be so bad to continue this path... Climbing step after step to the summit and then getting my revenge on the Old Lion and the Golden Witch... Bringing House Lannister to the pinnacle of splendour and then snatching it from his hands, leaving nothing but ashes between his fingers... Not bad.'' Thought the vengeful dwarf, remembering all the abuse and nastiness he had suffered during his sad childhood. But after a few seconds of inner conflict, Tyrion turned his gaze to Jaime... ''I forgot Jaime... Uncle Gerion... Uncle Tygget... Aunt Genna...'' The mind and heart brought back many other names, some shining and some "eptable"... there were not only bad apples in the Lannister family, but more importantly, he still had a family. He was a dwarf, yes ... but at least he was the richest of the dwarves. Something still worth fighting for and continuing head-on toward the path...and not looking back. And no matter how the way above chosen by fate had been barren, unpleasant to the eye, painful or perilous, it was his task and his duty to attempt to shower it with gold and beauty... To walk the path and leave behind a brighter path for future generations. So generations would not have to suffer the tribtions and nefariousness of his time. Yes ... it was not such an unattainable goal for a dwarf. ''Not for a dwarf as rich, handsome and brilliant as me, at least...'' Tyrion chuckled. The Golden Imp refocused his attention toward the path... The alliance between the Iron Bank and Casterly Rock could not be avoided. But Tyrion did not want to throw straw on the burning principle between the West and the North--his sister was already a fair fuel toward war. The new ruler of the Golden City did not want House Lannister, House Mormont, and House Tallhart to antagonize each other... The conflict of interest between the Never Winter Bank and the Iron Bank was inevitable. Lannisport desired neither Barrowton''s nor Braavos''s grudge. Tyrion had to find a way to forge bonds of prosperous friendship with both factions, heading as far as possible toward neutrality. There was also Carcosa and the infamous Confederacy of Mages to consider. That Chai Duq gave him the creeps-the figure itself seemed amorphous. It was as if under that man''s skin, looking like a pale Westerosi nobleman in his 40s, there was a being much wiser and more experienced than Grand Maester Pycelle... His sister might have belittled and underestimated him, but he would never and ever do that. Even at the exact moment when Tyrion passes by the representative of the Far East during the wedding banquet, every survival instinct of the Little Lion keeps shouting at him ["Don''t ever, ever fuck with the Sorcerer King!!!"]. Barbrey Mormont was always at attention in the presence of Chai Duq, and she almost always treated that individual as a menacing and powerful Aegon I riding Balerion... The final confirmation of his suppositions came from the very Titan of Braavos. The Warden provided valid proof, not made up of words, but instead of numbers and sound currency on the possible threat level of this unknown personage, turning the first instinctive warning into a firm and well-rehearsed "Pir of Faith." ''A Sorcerer King from a City more mysterious and remote than Asshai, a Khal in the Dothraki Sea with superhuman powers, a Septon in Quiet Isle miraculously blessed by the Seven, and a 12-year-old prodigy blessed by the Old Gods ... What other supernatural voices will tomorrow hold? Giants, Children of Forest, and mole monsters north of the Wall?'' At least one thing was sure in Tyrion''s head ... The session of all these paranormal phenomena, political upheavals, and economic revolutions originated with a single individual. "2,600,000 Once!" As expected, Prince Doran began the final skirmish to wrest at least third ce from the hands of the Baratheons. The King of the Seven Kingdoms epted the challenge, and the Auction resumed. But Tyrion''s thoughts and gaze did not leave the Green Knight''s side... ''Not a Lord, not a King or a God... So, who or what are you, Duncan Tallhart?'' Perhaps even the boy did not have the answer, but Tyrion of House Lannister wished to unravel this great mystery. And to seed in this monumental discovery, ''The Most Beloved Unlucky Dwarf'' had to keep observing. **** End Chapter. **** Chapter 163: Yellow Robe... Chapter 163: Yellow Robe... ****** Dear Readers, I will publish "only" this chapter in this week''s... It''s a very long and very long-suffering chapter. The original n was to split it into two parts, but I did not have the heart to do so. To cut it in half was an abomination.... So, here you are served a "Two for the price of one!" chapter. Have a great week, everyone, and happy reading! *** Ps: May the Yellow dynasty always reign long!!!!! ****** POV: Author Once upon a time, there was a boy. A boy bright and shining in all his wits and worldview. A rare fruit spawned from the seed of a prince of the Yi Ti Empire of the ancient and royal Chai Dynasty and from the womb of the third-born Daughter of an influential Lord Sorcerer of Asshai. The seventh son of a prince, seventh in session to the Golden Throne of the Yi Ti Empire. An empire in decline for generations, consumed by countless civil wars over the line to the throne. Various Factions descended from the Ancient Lineage of the Hundred Sons of The God-On-Earth were in an eternal, bloody struggle. The boy witnessed the decimation of his own family, remaining as thest representative of the Yellows faction... The "Sea Green" faction of the Jar dynasty prevailed against the Chai dynasty, or at least until the boy matured and became a man... Not even a decadeter, from the fall of the Yellow Faction, the 68th Emperor of the Jar was defeated in the field by thest heir of the Chai Dynasty, losing his throne. The 69th Emperor of the Golden Empire was feared, loved and respected throughout the East-his name was known from the meanders of the Sunset Sea to the Sea of Shivers, from Oldtown to Carcosa. Duq of the Chai Dynasty had not inherited a title or an Empire by birthright; he had earned it in Blood and Gold. Nevertheless, he chose to take the reins of an Ancient and once Glorious Empire on the brink of ruin and restore it to the pinnacle of its former glory. Political struggles, civil wars, foreign invasions, famines, epidemics, betrayals... The God-Golden Emperor prevailed over all threats that undermined the foundations of his vision, raising The Golden Empire to the heights of Ancient Valyria in just a few decades. Reaching the summit of the highest mountain, man evolved into Phoenix and began to fly, dancing among the skies with the most resplendent Daughter of Fire in creation. Chai Duq met and married his great Love...Aenyra Dhorais, heir to the most influential family among the Dragonlords Archons of Valyria...Aenyra, "the Jewel of Fire," as they called her. Many cultures despised incest and close unions among Valyrians. But few knew the reason behind it... The purer the Blood of the Sons of the Gods was, the more difficult it was to interweave between the different progenitor elements, especially for the Sons of Fire... Varied were the attempts and crossings, but Fire burned them all away, prevailing over all other elements. Only the Andalus blood could bear the entanglement, but at the cost of diluting the power of the Divine Blood... And it was there, after several attempts and tragic miscarriages, that the Golden Phoenix experienced "the Brightest Hour" that life could offer him. The Magical World was blessed by an event that had not urred since the time of the First Emperors of Dawn... The birth of his most precious treasure, the miraculous fruit between Fire and Light, the jewel that for Duq and Aenyra embodied the purest essence of Love, Beauty and Magic... their child and heir, Amys. She who was baptized by the High Priestess of R''hllor herself as the "Spark of Dawn" and blessed by the three guardians of the World in the name of the three great powers. All the prominent figures of the Known World came to the City of Yin to pay homage to the birth, Kings, Lords, High Priests of all creeds, and representatives of institutions... The Golden Emperormemorated the birth of his daughter by proiming an entire year of festivities throughout the Empire. Sharing nectar and golden celebrations with all the people, sealing covenants of peace, opening the gates of the capital and extending the invitation to all the nobility of the known World: Magicians, Valyrians, Rhoynars, First Men, Ghiscarians, Andals, Braavosians, even the Jhats of the Jogos Nhai and the Khals Dothraki.... all would share in some of the happiness of the Golden Empire. But the warmest and brightest light also attracted the coldest and darkest darkness... Not even three years after the festive event, day after day, the Sparkle of Dawn glow grew dimmer and dimmer... No one knew what disease, poison or dark spell afflicted the child. It was nomon disease or poison... No earthly evil could afflict the Children of Fire. The blood of the Dragon God burned everything. It was not ordinary magic. The Guardian of Magic blessed the maiden by awakening the dormant power in the Dynasty of Light... The Emperor''s most precious treasure was cursed. Chai Duq sought every possible help, appealing to every known healer, priest, sorcerer, shaman or maesters. Bowing his head to his friends, bending the knee to his enemies, promising riches,nds, ancient treasures, even his own throne--the man would sacrifice every earthly good for his daughter''s sake. The God Emperor sought the help of his ancestor, The Archwizard Lo Tho, but all Magic was useless... The Father invoked help from the Lord of Harmony, but Love could not stop the unknown evil... The desperate man came in person with the creature in his arms to the far end of the World, to the abode of the Green King, but the Guardian of Beauty failed where the guardians of Magic and Love failed... Amys went out, and "The Darkest Hour" descended on The Golden Empire... The Red Jewel went mad in grief. Aenyra attempted a suicidal feat to embrace her missing child again, flying in the saddle of her Red Dragon, Creglhak, into the dawning sun... No one ever saw either Dragon or Rider again. Attempts at recovery or sighting of the Empress'' body were utterly futile. The Phoenix lost its light... The fury and grief of the Emperor consumed in a few years all that he had built over decades of sacrifice and hard work. Chai Duq knew that "someone" or "something" was responsible for a such misdeed, and he vowed in the name of The God-On-Earth to find him and unleash the full wrath of his Dynasty against it. But "When you push the World, the World, in turn, responds by pushing..." The continents were reeling from the pain and devastation of World War III, and no one wished for a Fourth... The 69th God-Emperor was ousted from the throne and forced into exile. Duq of the Chai Dynasty lost everything... But the Phoenix of Light rose from its ashes. Light and Shadow were two sides of the same coin, and Chai Duq chose to walk a darker path... The apprentice mage climbed step by step the way of the Arcane, learning, struggling and assimting all that Magic had to offer. The man had no interest in reaching the pinnacle of the Confederation Hierarchy...Chai Duq''s obsession was the quest. The sorcerer would keep his word, exploring every inch of the Abyss to unravel the mystery of Amys and find the one responsible. Time, effort and sacrifice were not an issue. The Phoenix searched and waited... Four centuriester, an unprecedented event shocked the Confederacy and the Guardian of Magic himself. Somehow the ancient runic circles of the Fourteen Fires copsed, and the Great Disaster decreed the end of one of the Greatest Magical Empires in history. "Someone" or "Something" had seeded in breaking an ancient and powerful magic of the 10th Circle--magic created and used by God-On-Earth himself, The God of Magic. At that point, Chai Duq confirmed his suspicions... An entity, unknown and of boundless power, the same one that had managed to stop thebined power of Three Guardians, lurked in the Shadow of the World. Andals, Dothraki, Braavosians, Sons of the Harpy, whoever it was, was corrted with the forces at the Head of the World, using them at its will as puppets. And so, the Phoenix understood what had to be done to unveil the great predator... Set the Great Forest aze and force all the creatures of creation out into the open--"A World War." But to achieve this, the man had to climb back to the top of the hierarchy and stand as King among Mages. From the City of Bones to Asshai, rumours began to swirl of a portentous and brilliant Hermit Sorcerer always dressed in peculiar yellow robes... Of an old fallen Emperor of the past who had sacrificed everything in the name of Magic... He passed through the gates of the Starry City with the title of mere "Apprentice of the Arcanum" and came out the following day with the honorific of "Great Wizard."... He passed through the gates of the City of Shadow by epting innumerable dangerous Spellbreaker (Rogue Wizard Hunter) assignments and, in less than a year, revived the gates of Asshai with a hundred heads... He revolutionized the Wizarding World, creating new spells, contributing to alchemical research, restoring the stagnant art of Forgemasters, discovering new magical resources, bringing lost Ancient Runes back to life, training and leading new toons of War Mages, and achieving countless military sesses in the disputednds of Sothoryos. He faced and stood up to even the Lord of Oldtown armed with the dreaded "Keeper of Knowledge" artefact, snatching numerous victories in the various skirmishes between Magicians and Andals. An achievement that not even the previous Lord of Carcosa was able to achieve... But the most memorable event of all was the promation officiated by the God-Guide of Magic himself, Lo Tho himself, who, in the presence of the whole of Carcosa, bestowed upon his new disciple the title of "Heir," proiming him as the next Guardian of Magic and bestowing upon him the most coveted symbol of magical power among magicians... the stirrup of power "Valunday G''ho Ras". All the wizards of the Confederation began to love, fear and respect the Arcanist Rising Star, always dressed in extravagant Yellow Robes...appealing to him as a point of reference, a guide, the bringer of a new Age of Magic... a King among Sorcerers. And so, not even a centuryter, after a myriad of achievements and aplishments, through merit, ingenuity and magic, a new Overlord of Carcosa rose to power... "The King in the Yellow." **** End POV. **** POV: The King in The Yellow A few dozen steps away from a pensive dwarf. Seconds before the final act of the y began... World War IV was imminent. It was a matter of a few years, if not mere moon cycles...the Sorcerer felt it deep inside. This time, no Guardian would stop the great forest from burning... The Phoenix Hunter was ready. Duq of the Chai dynasty had waited for this moment for nearly half a millennium... The Giant was still awake, not quite lucid or yet ready to throw himself back into the great fray called "Politics." A battlefield in which Chai Duq no longer had any interest and which, whenever and wherever possible, he delegated to leading minds in the Council of Carcosa more interested in personal ambition than in magical research. But now, after a long and forced hibernation, the brightest and sharpest mind in the East was awakening from its long slumber... "2,700,000!" Thundered furiously in reply to the Stag King. "2,800,000!" Replied Prince Dornian a momentter. "3,000,000!!" The False Storm King. At that point, his assistant Quaithe turned to him, whispering (In the High Yi Tin): "Master... The Cronds Faction, Stornds and The Vale should have less liquidity. I suspect that King Robert disposes of the favour of Casterly Rock." "Don''t look at the figure of the Lion, Quaithe -- focus on the shadow behind it." Replied the Sorcerer King in a firm tone. "... Do you mean the Titan, Noble Master? But that means-" Chai Duq anticipated him: "We cannot prevail for the first position... The Braavosian was shrewd and bold." Then the Sorcerer turned to his Guardian friend. "But in any case, that fiend of your protg had already staked out 2nd ce for Carcosa... Am I right, dear Zick?" "... I am not ustomed to theplex political games, dear Chai. I haven''t the faintest idea what possesses for that boy''s mind. Not even old Zishua is clear about Bloody Snow''s future moves." Responded Zick defensively with his usual fake [I''m only a Master of Arms] look. "Pff... We''ll find out the truth together at Isle of a Thousand Faces, Old Fox. I can''t wait to hear what a ''True-Guardian-Neutral'' will say about your actions and those of your protg...Have you ever met him in person? Of course, I''m talking about the Druid King." Chai asked as the auction continued... "3,100,000!" Prince Doran decreed after a good minute of exchanging advice in his faction. There was still time before his move. "Never had the pleasure of meeting the Green King. The Guardian of Beauty has always used animals and beasts as a conduit tomunicate directly with me." The Sorcerer sneered in reply, "You are not the only one in this Vast World skilled in reading people... It will be an interesting meeting." Zich scrutinized him carefully...The Watcher seemed to have noticed his awakening, abandoning his jovial gaze to rece it with a more serious one. The Sorcerer King stopped teasing the Old Man of Old Tower, intent on eavesdropping on the part of their talk and beganmunicating in a "real" secretnguage. The Ancient Lost Language of the Empire of Dawn... Anguage that only the high officials of Carcosa and a foreign Watcher knew... {"Mh mh mh! The Green Knight is forcing my hand... Quaithe, at the moment, how much grain does the North have and produce?"} Asked the Sorcerer, searching the balconies for the gaze of Zick''s pupil. {"Here...House Cerwyn, Tallhart, and Manderly are thergest producers and importers of grain in the North, master... Unfortunately, given the brevity of the spring and the simultaneous Greyjoy Rebellion, we do not have an urate estimate. But we know that during thest quarter of production in the previous summer, the total harvest and import from the Reach was around 3,000,000 Bushels of grain, master."} Responded to the assistant, slightly aback by the requested information. {"Would you also like to share some of your unquestioned and unerring foresight with us, Chai?"} He asked the only person in the World who was allowed to use his middle name as his first name. Every time Zick pronounced "Duq", he burst outughing... In the Common tongue, the pronunciation and form of the word were simr to the term "Duck..." Before condemning the unfortunate outsider, the Witch King, who had dared to mock him, proudly exined that "Duq" in Ancient Yi Tin meant "Shining..." ["Pff... spuzz...! Gh... I beg your pardon! Sprzzz... Ahah... ahahahahahah!" "You still dare to mock me, you demented lunatic?!!! What do you find so funny about my name??!" "... Nothing... Nothing, Honorable Overlord of Carcosa. It''s just that--no, never mind." "Speak, Coward!!! Or I''ll have your tongue ripped out and stuffed to use as a pendant monkey for all future visitors!" "That''s... emm... It''s just that, now that I know the meaning of it, every time I repeat the word "Duq" inside me, I think of "A Shining Duck"... That''s all." "... Let jhattar Kutan go to hell, and screw diplomacy too! I would have had anyone else whipped, skinned and boiled...but for you, young outsider, I want to give myself time. Time to carefully ponder the "just punishment" you deserve... ...{BY ORDER OF YOUR LORD, THROW THAT CRAZY AND ALL HIS COMPANIONS INTO THE MOST ANGST, DARKEST AND SUDICIOUS CELL IN THE TOWER!!! GET THEM OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!"} ] But The King in The Yellow also recalled how, with just a few words, The Watcher managed to foil the condemnation and forge a unique bond with the Head in Chief of the Confederation of Mages... But a voice awakened him from his memories. {"Chai...? Has your spark of lucidity gone out yet, by any chance?} the Sorcerer shot him a murderous sh. {"I''m as clear-headed as ever, vin! I was just...thinking!"} Zick raised his hands yfully in surrender, and then Chai Duq elucidated: {"You have raised the most diabolical of Demons, Zick... Your pupil wants to buy time, shifting the gaze and fury of the giants to Sothoryos. Bloody Snow wanted the Titan to get his hands on the Damascus before us to give him an advantage and a quick rich prize... Oldtown will depend on the benevolence of Braavos. When the Coincounters tear up the most profitable and advantageous agreement between the two factions, they will join forces with the Andals to beat the crap out of us on the Magic Continent. We will lose ground, that''s for sure... But if the Confederacy focused its defences on the critical points of our domains, sacrificing herds and crops to safeguard our Magical Blood supplies, the damage would be "sustainable." All to replicate the same arrangement, forcing the Magicians to depend on the First Men... Bloody Snow does not want to use the need for armaments as a means of pressure to force us into an alliance beneficial to the First Men, but hunger... The North willpensate for theck of food in ournds in exchange for our riches."} The brilliant Former Emperor took his time to consider and promulgated: "{Pff...I bet the first future "Great Financial Maneuver" of the Never Winter Bank will be to grab every single ounce of grain avable on the market and attempt to sell the surplus to the Confederacy."} His assistant stiffened at the shocking revtion. Quaithe grew gloomy at the idea of all the political and economic repercussions that "she" would have to manage in the immediate future. The Northern manoeuvre was hazardous... the Confederacy would fall back as far as the Wyvern Promontory. The food supplies produced in the outposts south of it would feed nearly of the inhabitants from Ulthos to the Grey Desert. Had Torrhen''s Square and the Never Winter Bank failed topensate for the severeck of food sources for the hungry mouths of the inhabitants of Asshai, Carcosa, City of Winged Men, City of Bones and K''Dath, the consequences would have been disastrous for both Magicians and First Men... But his longtime friend did not seem to care. {"Well... What can I say? Duncan has always been a very bold and adventurous boy. Just like his master! Ahahahah!"} Chai Duq ignored Zick''s antics and remonstrated with his thoughts and memories. ''I wonder how you will transport your grain from the North to the other end of the World, boy... The Titan will never allow you to cross his waters. So what are you going to do, Duncan of the Tallhart dynasty?'' Two things were certain in Chai Duq''s mind. The first was that the former Emperor was looking forward to sitting at the negotiating table with the Demon of the North. The days and nights of waiting, ahead of the meeting arbitrated by the Guardian of Beauty and the Guardian of Love in the Green King''s abode, seemed to pass so slowly... The Second was that if Bloody Snow found this arduous solution to the problem, the wait for the Great Hunt would be over in a few years... Duq of the Chai Dynasty turned his eyes toward the possible spark for the longed-for fire... A potential spark even more captivating and revolutionary than "The Watcher"... The beginning of a me that could have illuminated the depths of the vast Ocean to awaken the Dark Leviathan hidden for so long... The Immundant creature patiently awaited and sought by the "Vengeful Phoenix Dressed in Yellow." **** End POV. **** POV: Author In the Throne Room of a Magical Tower of an Ancient and Shining City. Year 257 BC, 11th day of the second moon. Some thirty-three years earlier from the discovery of a possible second spark... "...{BY ORDER OF YOUR LORD, THROW THAT MADMAN AND ALL HIS COMPANIONS INTO THE MOST CRAMPED, DARK AND FILTHY CELL IN THE TOWER!!! GET THEM OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!}" Ferociously promulgated the ruler in the Ancient and Unknown "Language of Dawn." The Twelve Shields and Arcane Guard responded promptly to the Lord of Carcosa''s call, surrounding the twelve hapless youths on all sides, unsheathing their des. The madman''s eleven doomed and unarmedpanions seemed ready to sell their skins dearly and defend the group''s leader at the cost of their lives. But the frail man in his early twenties simply raised a hand in surrender, stopping the suicidal intentions of hisrades... Before two Magic Knights could lift a finger to the young man, he said in the samenguage: "{Supreme Lord of Carcosa, Duq of the Noble Chai dynasty, I request the honour of onest wish before the end}. "{STOP...! You. How do you know the Language of Dawn?! Speak! Who taught it to you?!}" The Sorcerer King asked in dismay, snapping to his feet from his throne. "{I learned it right here in thest hour, thanks to you and your heralds, Noble Lord...As for my wish?}" The man asked, smiling. The Former Emperor of Yi Ti had heard all kinds of lies in the past nine centuries. However, Chai Duq could tell that the man was not lying... "{What do you want?}" The Sorcerer King asked in a calmer, more thoughtful tone. "{Just an answer to a personal curiosity of mine, Sorcerer King. Nothing else}" Replied the young man. After a moment''s consideration, the Lord of Carcosa agreed to the request with minimal gestures of assent. "{During our stay in the domains of the Jogos Nhai, I have had the opportunity to hear many stories about the Legendary and Dreaded Sorcerer Lord of Carcosa...Many Jhats refer to you by nicknames such as "The Sorcerer King",... "Scourge of the Zorses",... "Ruler of Light and Shadow"...or "A One-Army-Man"...But there is neither one more widespread from Merchant City to Yin... "The King in The Yellow... May I know the story behind thetter, Noble Duq of the Chai dynasty?}" The Sorcerer concealed raised his guard and, after gathering his most convincing mocking grin, enacted loudly: "{Ahahaha! Fool of a foreigner! You have wasted yourst wish... The answer you seek could have been found in any corner of Yi Ti!}" The small court joined in theughter and mockery of the Lord Supreme, but the young man waited patiently with the same irritatingly curious smile... "{Ahahah! The answer is obvious, young stranger! Because I love to wear my yellow robe! My symbol of pride that always reminds everyone of my Ancient and Noble lineage!}" Theughter and jeers died after a single, outrageous reply... "No, it doesn''t." Sentenced the young man in themon tongue. With hardened defensive instinct, the Sorcerer stiffened and cast a spell from the school of the Abjuration*... All twelve Valyria''s Steel des pointed in response to the possible threat. But the Chief Sorcerer found nothing--no Legilimency''s spell* had been used, and only the Guardian of Magic could break through Archwizard Chai Duq''s mental barriers. Yet, some kind of Sorcery unknown to him was going on... Those peculiar, piercing, blood-tinged eyes were peering deep into him. For the first time in centuries, Chai Duq felt stripped of all his magical and impassable protections... The stranger had not forced his defences... no. It was as if someone had simply knocked on the gate of the impregnable fortress and convinced the casten to enter. And then the young man continued... "I believe that the moniker of which you are so proud, ''The King in the Yellow,'' is yes rted to your robe, but for reasons much deeper than just noble lineage or a throne--a reason rted to an ''Unbreakable Love,'' am I right?" Silence descended in the hall, and then, a captain of the guard was carried away by the moment. "You! I will tear out your tongue for such an outrage! You dare not insult the Lord Sorcerer Supreme any further in my presence!" Before the captain could even manage to unsheathe his dagger, the man found himself below, smashing into the high ceiling and dying on impact... The peculiarity, which aroused the surprise of the outsiders, was that the body and the pool of blood formed by the poor unfortunate man continued to flow on the ceiling as if the attraction of the earth had reversed... No one from Nefer to Asshai was to test the will of the Chief Sorcerer Supreme, let alone challenge an Archwizard in his Arcane Tower... And no member of the Confederation dared move a finger or even utter an unsolicited sigh in the presence of the guarded and thoughtful Lord Supreme. Secondster, the Sorcerer King grabbed his own stirrup made of Valyrian Steel and descended one by one the steps of the Great Golden Throne adorned with runic veins of the same steel, opening up the array of guards and forcing every member loyal to Carcosa to kneel as he passed until he came within a few paces of the smiling man still standing... The experienced Legiliment intensified eye contact, sensing a raw but powerful resistance in the man''s mind. A patina of concentrated sheer will, fluid and stic, that pushed back any attempt to unblock... But the Sorcerer King, firm in his wits and experience, tempered and pinned his battering ram, overheating the tip and spinning it on itself to exponentially intensify its prative capacity until he seeded in the feat... However, the young man did not seem to mind--in fact, he seemed to be amused by it. As soon as Chai''s mind stepped inside the man''s memorial chest, an endless Tsunami of images overwhelmed him... There were too many! Simply too much information to assimte, even for the most capable mind in the East! This was no ordinary eidetic ability... No, it was something much more unique. It was as if the mind had acquired millions of images and assimted them into its own paintings and tapestries with personal details and adjustments... The man was deliberately crushing the intruder with avnches of useless and meaningless information. The Sorcerer King was forced to instantly break the mental link... After a few moments to recover from the cerebral damage, scrutinizing the most mysterious man he had ever encountered to the best of his ability, the Old and Mighty Sorcerer asked a simple question: "...Who are you?" The man rxed his face, abandoning the gaze challenge with his opponent and, in a calm and friendly tone, answered simply: "Some people know me as "The Watcher", but if you like, you can simply call me by my name... Zick." ****** 824 years before a peculiar group of outsiders passed through the gates of Carcosa... In the City of Yin, in a corridor of an imposing, thousand-year-old Golden Pce... "Chai! Chai,e quickly!" The Golden Emperor turned to greet his wife, Aenyra, and the almost three-year-old girl in his arms with a loving smile. Their most precious jewel, Amys. "Amys darling, tell Dad what you told me earlier." Incited the mother by tickling the hesitant child''s belly. "Ghihihi...funny Dad...! Ghihi! No! Funny Yellow Robe!" spat the child inughter. "Aenyra, please... You shouldn''t encourage her." Whispered the Emperor with a hint of concealed annoyance. "Shh, hush... She is not finished." Dismissed Aenyra with condescension, forcing the most powerful man in the empire to back away. Almost every lunar cycle, his wife pestered him with some borate prank... And now, the Empress was training a valuable ally day after day. The Emperor took the child in his arms, kissing her on the cheek and lifting her into the air. "... Amys, what else do you want to say to your Dad?" The Emperor indulged in the game. "Dad Yellow Robe! Dad Yellow King! Ghihihi!" replied her daughter, slightly disarming her father with a yfully offended face. "No, my love, that would be "Emperor in the Yellow"...Dad is an "Emperor", not amonce "King"...can you say that word? "E-M-P-E-R-O-R"...?" "No, Yellow Empepot! King! Yellow Robe, Yellow King! King...emm...in the Yellow! King in the Yellow!" Fired the bright little brat. "Pff! mh, mh...ahahah!" The Red Jewel alsoughed, almost making the haughty Emperor''s nerve pop... But Duq of the Chai dynasty did not know the word "Defeat." "No, honey, it''s "EMPEROR in the Yellow"... On repeat with Dad, E-M-P-E-R-O-R..." Replicated the father a second time. The confused and indecisive child sought help in the face of her mother, who promptly shook her head to the rescue. "No Empetot! King! Ghihih! KING in the Yellow!"" .... End Chapter. **** *Note Author: [The abjuration school of magic epasses protective spells. They create a physical or magical barrier, negate magical or physical abilities, harm trespassers, or even banish the spell''s subject to another ne of existence. (Material drawn from the world of Forgotten Realms) - The Legilimency is a particr magical art that makes it possible for a mage to read into another''s mind his intentions or the course of his thoughts. (Material belonging to the fantasy world of J. K. Rowling)] Chapter 164: Never lose control Chapter 164: Never lose control POV: Quaithe Never Winter Bank During a heated golden struggle... "... 3,300,000 ounces of gold!" The Dornish Prince''sst words sounded pained. The Coalition between Dorne, Norvos and the Inds of Summer had definitely reached the threshold limit... The King Stag did not hesitate to deliver the final hammer blow. "3,500,000!!!" King Robert thundered, overpowering the Prince of Rhoynar''s calm voice by two tones. The Representative of Dorne struggled to stand, helping himself to a support stick, but the man, "apparently" afflicted with gout, raised the waiver marker with his head held high and his gaze proud. "3,500,000 for King Robert! Prince Doran has called his final bid! Only three representatives remain inpetitions, my lords anddies...! Currently, in the first position, we have the fierce faction of the West, with 5,000,000 ounces. Next in second is the illustrious faction of The Reach, with 4,500,000 ounces. In third ce is the respected and regal faction of The Crown, with 3,500,000 ounces. Fourth ce follows the resplendent Sun and Summer faction, with 3,300,000 ounces. And in fifth ... the honourable faction of the ancient and magical Far East with-" before the Auction Director sounded out thest amount, her Master thundered: "The Confederation of Magicians bids 6,000,000 ounces!" An explosion of bewilderment and disbelief zed throughout the hall. Even the Director was caught off guard. Then Quaithe heard a very familiar voice in her head: "[How much gold do we have on this continent, Quaithe?" asked her Master. Perhaps it would have been wiser to ask her that question "before" blindly firing 18,000,000 gold dragons... "[We have transported almost all of the fleet''s reserves to the crypts of Winterfell, Master. We currently have 7,723,420 ounces of gold in the North...]" Replied the assistant, holding back a good deal of concern. "[What! So little? But didn''t we have the gship''s holds overflowing with gold before we set sail from the Port of Nefer! What about all the blood and mana stones sold to the Braavosians? How much line of credit do we have in the Iron Bank?]" Each time it was the same old story...Chai Duq delegated all matters "Unbing of an influential Archwizard" to her or the few trusted members of the arcane High Council. But when the fickle Archwizard demanded disproportionate funds for his research, it was always up to her to elucidate Carcosa''s "current financial avability." Quaithe armed herself with patience and calmly exined: "[Honorable Master, we left Nefer with more than 10,000,000 ounces of gold and numerous stocks of blood and mana stones, it is true, but we spent a good chunk of the reserves and revenues buying multiple batches of food and whale oil stocks from New Ibbish, not to mention the 500 pounds of Valyria Steel purchased at your explicit request from Braavos... Between the reserve lines of credit left in the Iron Bank and the various other financial institutions of the Free Cities, we could raise, in a rapid time, about another 1,400,000 ounces...]" "[Tsz...! Right, right, the bloody Steel of Valyria -- thanks for reminding me, Quaithe. Well, I still want to fillet a good chunk of meat out of the Titan. We''ll have to find a way to make that possible, my trusty assistant]." Quaithe sighed inwardly, still undecided on what to do... The Lord Sorcerer knew full well that Carcosa had no chance to rival the Wealthy Titan, but Chai Duq still wanted to squeeze the finances of the two wealthy factions to deal a major blow to the Council of Thirteen, forcing them to fund the rival institution with more than their due... Carcosa always needed a gargantuan liquidity line. Hardly anything grew from the Shadow Lands to the Grey Desert, and the Confederation still had the responsibility of feeding millions of inhabitants... This could only have meant that the Head in Chief of the Confederacy had decided to gamble on Bloody Snow''s unknown n. But if only Quaithe could have confessed her concerns to her Master. After listening to the suppositions of the brightest mind in the East, the Red Witch of Shadows knew the n of Zick''s protg... And to say it was "Daring" was an understatement. From Braavos to IB Sar, from Lys to Port Yhos, the seas were dominated by the immense and stable Titan Fleet--the world''srgest sea force, with over 2,000 ships. No matter how many ships the Titan lost in storms, pirate attacks, or skirmishes with the other maritime forces of Essos, the Braavos Arsenal churned out galleys and recement sailors at an unparalleled rate, always maintaining the blockade and dominance over naval trade. For centuries, the Mage Confederacy had been stifled by the Titan''smercial stranglehold, the real tyrant who controlled supply and demand in the food market. This was the Iron Bank''s most lucrative trade: hunger. And the Never Winter Bank would take the field in this fight... Madness. ''Tsz...! That boy has no idea what perilous quagmire he is about to plunge into...'' Quaithe thought anxiously as she drew the suspicious gaze of the powerful Legilimancer. "[... Is everything all right, Quaithe? What caused that discrepancy in your mental barriers? Keep control of your emotions and stabilize the flow of your core. We''re not sure whether or not Oldtown has any pages left of the art of the Legilimency...but the false Sorcerer is certainly a decent lumancer]." Admonished her master. "[Yes, master! I apologize for my ipetence!]" Quaithe promptly replied, lowering her head. "[Never mind, just stay focused.]" The witch nodded doing as requested. How Quaithe longed for her master''s suspicions to be heightened topel him to force her mental barriers and discover the truth... That way, the pupil would not break her oath with the Green Demon. Meanwhile, the Lion of Casterly Rock had raised the surrender marker, refusing to enter intopetition against the East... But, as expected, the Stag King did not return to King Yellow''s challenge. "6,300,000!!" Roared Robert of House Baratheon, shocking the whole room, including the Queen... "6,600,000!" Chai Duq did not retreat an inch. "6,800,000!!!" Thundered the furious King with more emphasis and air in his lungs. "7,000,000!" The King in The Yellow was not the least impressed and continued to advance. The King of the Seven Kingdoms suffered a surprise attack of saliva and mucus behind him from his sickly Master of Coin, visibly concerned and intent on advising his own King of the possible repercussions of his actions. "I don''t care, Lord Gyles...! 7,500,000!!!" Shouted the King furiously, causing a roar of shock among the spectators and the respiratory copse of his advisor as he slumped lifelessly to the ground... "8,000,000!" Her master deliberately provokes the Stag King by not allowing him time to glorify himself with his impressive gold offerings... And Robert of House Baratheon fell into the trap. "8,500,000!!!!" Shouted the King with greater ferocity... At that point, even the so-called "Andal Queen" seemed on the verge of copsing in an attempt to persuade her father to stop that mad her husband. For good luck, the dignity of the Crown was well defended by the surprised voices of the crowd that muffled shouts such as: "Are you funding him?!?!" or, "You have to stop him! The Crown doesn''t have a penny to spare!", "Robert will never give you back that gold!!!"... but the Lion remained firm andposed as Jaime Lannister, with the help of Ser Boros, dragged the screaming lioness away. "9,000,000!!" Thundered the Sorcerer King in a noticeably higher tone. The assistants of the Never Winter Bank needed help to insert the avnche of discs to be ced in the iron rods in time... "[Master...]" Tried to admonish Quaithe. Carcosa had just reached a noticeably red threshold... "{I know, I know, Quaithe! But don''t worry, I know where to get the funds.}" Replied Chai Duq in a voice in thenguage of Dawn. "9,500,000!!!" Thundered the Mad King of the West. "10,000,000!!!" Rebutted the equally Mad King of the East. "{And pray to tell, where do you n to find the funds, Chai?}" Asked the Guardian Guarantor of the event intruding between his friend''spetitive momentum. "11,000,000 ounces of gold!!!" Shrieked the Stag King with a red face. "{You lend them to me}, 12,000,000!!!" Screamed the Sorcerer, causing The Watcher to take a hit. "{What?!! Look, I don''t even own a penny!}" Roared The Watcher in response. In the meantime, the Confederation''s golden column had just reached precisely half the maximum capacity of the iron rod. "Your Grace, please!!! We-" attempted Lord Yohn Royce in vain, recing his unconscious colleague. "Quiet, I know what I''m doing!!!... 13,000,000!!!" Roared the Stag King from the other side. "{Don''t sing your false misery with me, Zick! You''ve been chummy with the Rich Demon of the North for years! Old Zishua must have collected millions from the First Men! If you don''t have them, go to Mom-Spider and beg her to lend them to you! No ''Buts!'' You still owe me for the custom-made trinkets for your Comrade-Demons, remember...?! Shh! Now, hush...The Drunken Deer is about to smell the bait!"}... 13,600,000!" Shrieked Chai Duq with a mixture of reluctance and false desperation. The King perceived the stranger''stest offer as a sign of weakness, and the Furious Deer did not hesitate to brandish his hammer, gathering all his remaining strength to unleash a devastating final: "15,000,000 OUNCES OF GOLD!!!" The incredulous voices in the hall had generated pure chaos, and only the thundering sounds of inserted metal discs still managed to override the confusion. The Sorcerer King, after casting a mocking wink at the irritated representative of the Iron Bank (no longer smiling), took a step forward to address his rival and, after a respectful bow to the King of Westeros, the King of the East, Duq of the Chai Dynasty, raised the surrender marker, proiming the end of the Auction. "Ladies and Gentlemen...! We have a winner!!! A big cheer for the faction of the Crown, the Stornds and the Valley! And an even greater one for the Lord Protector of the Seven Kingdoms and undisputed Ruler of Westeros, KING ROBERT, FIRST OF HIS NAME, OF THE HOUSE BARATHEON!!!" So proimed the Auctionmaster, setting off a tant burst of jubtion. *p! p! p!* "Yay, King Robert!!!" *p! p! p!* "Long may he reign!!!" "Hail for the King!" "Aye, Aye For His Grace!!!" One person, a woman in a mask, was indeed the individual least ustomed to the festivities and, certainly, the most concerned of all... ''The master has bet more than forty million sights unseen on the Green Fiend''s n... Carcosa can no longer back out. That ship has already sailed, and it''s my fault. I could have prevented it... If only I had revealed the truth about the Bastard in time...'' **** Three days before the inauguration. Camps of the motorcade travelling the Silk Road, in a private pavilion of the Confederation... ["And so... The God-On-Earth, the only son of the Maiden-Made-of-Light and the Lion of the Night, ascended from his mortal form to join the Gods, leaving the legacy of the Great Empire of Dawn to his eldest son, The Pearl Emperor..."] Quaithe modelled with her cantrip the refraction of light to magnify the Great Phoenix of Light & Shadow until it exploded into a hundred smaller Phoenixes, 50 made of light and 50 of shadow, making them fly harmlessly like butterflies around her audience of young Northern nobles... Finally, the White-Pearl Phoenix of Light stood out, perched regally on the high golden throne. The young audience went mad with joy... "Beautiful!!! Wonderful, Lady Quaithe!" *p! p!* roared and apuded young Lyra Mormont as she stood up. "Whooo!!!" Howled in wonderment, the Bastard named Jon Snow. "What did I tell you, Jon! Wasn''t it worth it?! What about you, Samwell Tarly?" Incited the Wolf Cub. "... I-incredible!" stammered the plump heir of House Tarly. "Robb Stark was right! This show surpasses the battle of the ck Dread vs Quicksilver!" Thundered Hugo of n Wull. All of the Wolf Cub''s friends andrades congratted the heir of Winterfell on the choice. The mischief of the eldest son of Eddard Stark had not gone unnoticed. Robb Stark had stirred up a real ho''s nest the night before -- stirring up a minor battle between young lords and squires from prestigious families, deviously manipting a wizard of the Confederacy to obtain his services for free and unauthorized. The only daughter of a lesser lord of the Stornds, Brienne of House Tarth, was even bedridden due to the fractures and injuries she suffered... A couple of sons of the lord of Arbor had also suffered a simr fate, causing a little discontent among the Redwines and Starks. . All to allow him, his half-brother and a couple ofpanions, too young, to witness the bloody duel between Duncan Tallhart and Gelledo Antaryon. The Lady of Winterfell was furious and demanded exemry punishment for her son and all those responsible for inciting or supporting such misdeeds. Jon Snow was the most remarked culprit, ording to Theon Greyjoy''s testimony... But the Wolf Cub took full me for all the charges, exonerating all his aplices and forcing his father to publicly dismiss the matter under thebel "Incident between young nobles."... The Lord of Winterfell was also noticeably angry and ready to punish both his sons with ps on the ears and deprivations of all kinds. But... The Overlord of Carcosa, amused and grateful towards the children for granting him a means of pressure to soundly squeeze The Watcher, descended in person in defence of the Starks progeny, praising the Protector of the North for the bold demonstrations of charisma, ingenuity and leadership of the precocious and promising Heir of Winterfell... Lord Eddard Stark had his hands tied. Publicly punishing his son after praise from the most powerful and respected man in the East could be construed as a gesture of offence against the Sorcerer King. Even the promised magic show was not denied him... Quaithe did not know precisely what minor punishment young Robb had suffered, but the victory of the "Pack" was indeed won on all fronts, elevating the Wolf Cub as the undisputed leader of the group. "Credit to Lady Quaithe, everybody! Let''s hear it for the most talented enchantress in Carcosa!" Encouraged Robb Stark, inciting a roaring apuse from the pavilion. Quaithe bowed to her young noble audience, andter, after tempers subsided, the Red Witch promulgated by raising a finger: "Only one story remains... Choose wisely, noble spectators." There wereints and several general pleading whimpers. "Stop whining, you bunch of ingrates! I had only bargained with old Zick for "Two" stories, not "Three." Lady Quaithe is already gracing us with one more show than we should have!" Howled the honourable pdin of the North guarding her honour. And to the masked woman''s concealed amusement, the audience quieted down. "Which shall we choose? How about Jenny of Oldstone...? It''s a beautiful love story." asked Myra Forrester causally, getting a chorus of ostracizing whistles from the young Ladies Mormont. "The Sword of The Morning vs The Smiling Knight!" Jon Snow tried. "Nha! We''ll have knight battles galore in a few days. No, I propose the Dance of Dragons!.... Come on, people, the Battle between Vaghar and Caraxes is legend!" So proposed without much sess Eddard Karstark. "We have seen a battle between dragons before, Karstark. We are from the North! We want a story from the North! So I propose the heroic battle of Long Lake! Lord Harmond Umber, "the Drunken Giant," and Artos Stark, "the Imcable", against the Wildlings armies led by the King-Beyond-the-Wall, Reymun Redbear! " Umber Ulmen retorted, getting many more cheers. "No! You were not present, but my sisters and I were. Therefore, I propose the Battle of Golden and Silver Snow!" Little Bear roared, gaining even more assent and a look of hatred from Theon Greyjoy... With frowning and slight concern from Quaithe, no one among those present cared for her, considering whether or not the enchantress knew said history or, more importantly, whether she could represent it... But then came the undisputed winner, who stood up with quiet hesitation, proposing in a trembling voice: "W-What do you think of a legendary battle that concerns all of Westeros, but which took ce in the North...? I-I''m talking about the l-Legendary "Battle of Dawn," the victory of the First Men and the Sons of the Forest against the Long Night..." Said Samwell of House Tarly, muting the diatribe. "Why didn''t I think of that...?" Thought Daryn Hornwood aloud after a few seconds of silence. "Why, yes, that''s right! The Battle of Dawn!!! Great thinking, Tarly!" Growled the Wolf Cub enthusiastically. "I support Sam. I vote for the Battle of Dawn!" Jon Snow, "Battle of Dawn for me too!" young Eddard, "Me too!", "Battle of Dawn!!", "Battle of Dawn!!!" a small chorus came to life in the pavilion, and Quaithe raised his hands in understanding, proiming to the delight of her audience: "Mh mh mh... So, ''Battle for the Dawn'' it is." A ze of jubtion arose. "Yess!!!", "Yeeahhh!!!", "Hail to Lady Quaithe!!" The Masked Witch raised a hand, moving it slowly in an arc, lowering the brightness and intensity of braziers, torches and candles scattered throughout the pavilion. The room darkened, as did the carefree joviality of boyhood... "Sit and always remain by the Fire, young lords anddies... For, as the Starks always like to remind us, ''Winter is Coming''..." All the attention of the pavilion, Starks guards included, was totally turned toward her. The Witch noticed with mild surprise that the lit candbra next to Eddard Stark''s Bastard and the Tarly boy were more resilient than usual to her will. It was the second imbnce of control over the Fire in the same hour... Already in the first story, during the winged battle of the dragons, Quaithe overloaded the intensity of the fire jet too much, making it almost dangerous for the children. However, the Sorcerer King''s pupil never lost control over the Fire... Shadow, Light and Fire were her favourite elements, and she was a Grand Sorceress of the Fourth Circle, one step away from breaking through into the pavilion of the Fifth. Control over trivial cantrips-level spells was the stuff of Initiate Apprentices. ''Maybe it wasn''t just carelessness after all... There might be a Gifted.'' Thought the Witch, turning her attention back to the duo. A ''Gifted One'' was a rare individual born with a total affinity toward an element. A being with a natural resonance with the Plot, a gift that only the purest descendant lines of the Progenitor Gods had... Rare were the cases. In thends of the Magicians, where magical blood of level {Not Common} was the norm among the smallfolk, a "Gifted" was a being blessed by magic, with a magical Blood no lower than level {Pure}... Only 1 in 100,000 was born with such a level of purity, but a "Gifted" was much more. It meant having 100% affinity with one type of element and direct high assonance with the nearest rted elements, which, in the case of Fire, meantpatibility with Earth and Darkness of not less than 80%... Many arcanists mistakenly believed Chai Duq to be a "Double Blessed," referring to him as the "Ruler of Light and Shadow", -- but this was not so. The Sorcerer King had confided in her that he was not a "Gifted One"... His chosen affinity, Light, barely reached 90% affinity. The King in the Yellow was simply a hard-working and tireless genius, blessed with a level Blood [King], who had stubbornly honed his skills for centuries... Quaithe barely achieved an 80% affinity with the Shadow element (her mostpatible element) ... If a Gifted One was indeed hiding among those children, it was her duty to find him and report it to the Chief Sorcerer as soon as possible. Quaithe intensified her control over the candle fire and stabilized the lumen to the same gradualness. Her sensitivity to mana instinctively suggested that the imbnce in the Plot was more to the left... Staring more intently at the child, with peculiar piercing grey eyes, intense raven ck hair, and the long face characteristic of the Starks, Quaithe continued by turning more to thetter: "And it is precisely when the sun sets in the midst of harsh Winter, Jon Snow, that the Night is darkest and full of Terrors..." **** End Chapter. ----------- Chapter 165: The Green Fiend Chapter 165: The Green Fiend POV: William Tallhart Private Pavilion. Year 290 second day of the first moon. A few minutes after a magical show began... "Come in, William," the Deputy Commander of the Winter Guardians entered with a swift step, bowing respectfully to his newly knighted General. "Lord...Ser General...!" William did not know if the title "Ser" was more of a diminutive than an honorific than the previous "Lord General." "Just "General" or "Sir" is fine too, William... At easy, Vice Commander." Ordered the General in a friendly tone, cing the paper on the desk and then immediately asking: "Any news from Uncle Leobald? Is Torrhen''s Square ready to receive us?" "No ry or raven back from Torrhen''s Square yet, Sir. But I have an urgent request from Ser Haymitch, General." Communicated William without abandoning his rigid stance. "From Haymitch...? What is it about?" His superior asked with careful interest. "Here...the Captain on Lord Stark''s service told me tomunicate these exact words to you verbatim and that you would grasp the "message." [Eyes too curious during the show. The Masked Witch has sensed something... So do your magic, Sorcerer of the Old Gods]..." Communicated William bluntly, minimally understanding the coded message...but, given his counterpart''s lightning-fast and rmed look, the General must have grasped it fully. "Oh, Shit...! Didn''t Lord Stark ban the magic show?! Robb and Jon were to be segregated in punishment in the crypts of Winterfell until the end of next Winterfell, hearing that man!" So retorted the boy taken aback,shing out at the unsuspecting Vice Commander... "Here... I wouldn''t know, my lord... Indeed, both Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn, untilst night, seemed quite angry." William tried to say. The Lord General rose to his feet, pacing back and forth to work out a solution to the Gods only knew what aplex program... "Family, Duty, Honor my ass!!! And as for you, Mr. "Words of a Stark are not Wind"...grgnn! Other than Moat Cailin, Stark! I''ll make you shell out everyst penny to rebuild all of The Wall from scratch...!! No...Phew...Calm down...We just have to y a little ahead. ...Change of ns, Deputy Commander. We need to speed things up. I need you to ry this to my father and inform him to anticipate my departure by sunset. I need my ship to be ready to receive us as soon as possible." Quicklymunicated the Green Knight after a few seconds of thought. "Yes, Sir!... Emm, what about Lady Dacey, General?" William asked with slight hesitation. *Pach!* The General pped his forehead as a gesture of self-improvement. "Right, the appointment with Dacey...! Good call, William! Good call...!" The General crinkled his eyes for a solution, continuing to pace and mutter to himself: "O holy names... I cannot stand Dacey up! Nor much less dy the event in Torrhen''s Square! Fuck it! Among the three hundred witches and sorcerers, the very Key of the East pulled a Natural 20 on intuition...! Tsz...! And that was not enough; even the Bard wanted to run away! All the convergences in the world came together to stab me in the back with poisoned des in three rounds of surprise!!! What am I going toe up with now...? Seraphinus, you help me...! Shit! One pebble after another, causing avnches from all sides...! It was supposed to be harmless entertainme...nt ..." A stroke of genius seemed to have just run in to help. "But yes, of course! An Entertainment! A dance... some music... some show magic! It all goes together perfectly! Ahahaha! Three birds with one stone!!! Ahahahaha!" The boy suddenly turned 180 degrees and thundered in surprise: "Vice Commander William!" But the 16-year-old officer of the most fearsome and prepared elite squadron in the North was ready. "Yes, Sir!" Replied a battle-ready William. "Send Gelt to Haymitch and tell him to hold the witch back as long as possible! And for heaven''s sake, by "detain her", I mean "waste her time without incurring the wrath of Carcosa!" As for you, William, you must run faster than a Dothraki stallion being chased by fire! Find Master Zick andmunicate to him as soon as possible these exact words: [Love emergency! Your beloved ward needs the help of the Greatest, Most Charming, Funniest, and Selfless Guardian of Love ever known in living memory! ... End POV. ------- POV: Author A few dozen steps from a pavilion set up for a magic show. About twenty minutes after, the fastest ry team in the North performed the most remarkable Parkour performance ever seen in Westeros... ------- A respectable magical performance of the "Battle of Dawn" had recently concluded, and the task of a Red Witch entrusted to her by her master came to an end. But now, far more pressing duties demanded the full attention of Quaithe of Shadows. A mission that could have revolutionized the world of Magicians! Quaithe had to inform the Chief Sorcerer of Carcosa as soon as possible. This was one of the greatest discoveries ever made since the Empire of Dawn! So naturally, the Guardian of Magic had to be made aware of it! And only her master could contact Archwizard Lo Tho directly. Quaithe had tomunicate those words to her master in person. She could not simply use the pendant of telepathy; she had to find Chai Duq. A figure stumbled between her path, pouring hot beer on her... "Oh, darn. Forgive my clumsiness, mdy...Oh, darn... I think I got all over your beautiful dress, my sweetdy!" So said the scruffy man in filthy but well-made clothes... Clothes depicting a double banner, including the Direwolf of the Starks... "A little too sunny an hour to still be drunk, Ser." Reproached the importunate Witch with annoyance. "Ser Haymitch...! Ser Haymitch of...Haventee...no...Raven...Somethigh...Raventree! Yes, Ser Haymitch of Raventree Hall to serve you, mydy...emm...mydy of the masks! No, that doesn''t seem appropriate...Emm...your name, mdy?" Said the knight in a slow, swaying, annoying way.... "You don''t need to know it, nor did I ask yours, ''Ser Haymitch of Raventree Hall''... Now, if you don''t mind, I''d like to pass." Quaithe attempted to discard the harassing drunkard to the left. "A-a moment, mdy, let me-let me help you dry this ugly mess! I have a handkerchief! I am a prepared knight of honour!" The degenerate was touching her pelvis!!! In all thends of the East, such an outrage against a Grand Wizard was certain death! "Stop! Don''t you dare touch me...! {Ragain Arkh-}... Tsz, take off those filthy hands, Ser!" The Witch, for a moment, was carried away by the rage impulse, trying to burn the insane maniac''s insides from within and make him spit out glowing blood from every orifice, but Quaithe then stopped her hand. {No delegate of the Confederation could use superior magic in public}. "Oh, I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, my charmingdy... Forgive me, is it me who is too high or were your irises spitting real fire?! But you''re not one of those infamous Eastern enchantresses, are you?! Ah! I love magic!!! Once I passed...emm...by chance, of course, at a brothel in Oldtown, and there I met an old whoremonger named...Emm...Marw..., yes, Marwyn! He imed to be an Archmaester of the...emm, High Mysterious?.... It doesn''t matter! What matters is-" Quaithe shushed the man by grabbing his face with both hands. "Look at me, Ser Haymitch..." The witch opted for a harmless cantrip of charm. The drunkard''s celestial eyes made contact with hers... Quaithe chose legilimancy for her problem. Something reeked in the Witch''s sharp instincts. She had known all kinds of tavern or harbour drunks in her long life, and the man was no mere alcoholic. "Why do you want to waste my time, sweet and brave Knight?" Asked the witch, stroking her dirt-stained blond hair with both hands. The knight became hypnotized, resting his hands on the shoulders of the only support in sight so as not to fall backward. "Beca...use... Because I must stop...I must stop you, mdy..." Replied the knight in a rxed tone. The witch continued stroking his hair and asking: "Why do you want to stop me, sweet Ser? And on whose orders?" "The Bastard... Snow... By order of "Snow", I must protect "Snow"..." The mind was a brothel of obscenities and nefariousness... Among the myriad impure thoughts, Quaithe dug deep and glimpsed what she was looking for. A boy with white hair and silvery green eyes--he was the ward of The Watcher!!! "That''s enough, Great Mage Quaithe of Shadows...Let him go." A sinister and familiar voice broke the mental link. Quaithe turned suddenly, recognizing the presence... It was Ramas, Zick''s hunting dog! "And as for you." Ramas lightning struck the still half-stunned rider on the knee and throat,nding him. "Urgh! Coff! Coff! Coff! Bleargh..." the helpless man emptied all the excess liquid he had ingested onto thewn, continuing to choke and vomit simultaneously. "Get out, you beggar!" Ramas kicked him violently on the chest, throwing him backwards. The man, after painfully taking the blow, began to crawl away like a worm. "It was my right defending myself, Bounty Hunter... I did not vite any order." Quaithe justified herself. Everyone from Carcosa all the way to Asshai knew the fame of Ramas Sepret, "the Rogue Wizards'' Hunter," the one who, by sheer force alone, delivered the head of Uwhabet Soran, a dangerous fugitive War Mage of the third circle, hidden in a vi-fortress in Qarth. A mansion patrolled by at least two dozen Unsullied and several mercenaries in the pay of the fugitive mage... "You could have simply gotten rid of him by stunning him. Magically extrapting the memories of a poor ragamuffin is not within the permissible faculties of the treaty." Ramas replied. "... What have youe to do, Sir Ramas? Were you stalking me, by any chance?" Rebutted Quaithe. "No, mydy of Asshai... I was looking for you. Master Zick requested the Honorable Duq of the Chai Dynasty for your specific services for a favour." Ramas justified himself by bowing respectfully. "My specific services...? Now?" Asked the witch suspiciously. "I''m afraid so, mydy. You are to embark as soon as possible on the ship departing for Torrhen''s Square and, together with the Honorable Wizard Nogul and Wizard Barontha, you are to render service for two days and two nights to all of Ser Duncan Tallhart''s specific requests... I have a missive from the Guardian Guarantor bearing the seal of the Confederation." Two wizards, well known to her, joined the duo escorted by another pair of agents of the Spider Queen... "Sir Ramas, I''m afraid-" Quaithe''sst vain attempt was nipped in the bud. "The ship sails in two hours, mydy, and the distance to port is considerable. All your belongings are already on their way to be carefully embarked on. There is not much time left. Please follow us." Said the man in an eerie but polite tone and an icy, unyielding gaze. "... So I will." She was left with no other choice. Quaithe would have to contact her master through the amulet... **** About half an hourter... "I told you I could do it." A filthy, smelly Knight passed a dark steel pendant into Ramas Sepret''s hand. "... You did not need to grope her in that indecent way." Admonished Ramas with a grunt. "Of course, there was a need. You were the one who suggested me to ''Mask'' my thoughts, or was it? I needed inspiration." Replied the maniacal Knight ndly. "Do you have any idea who that woman is, Ser? If she wanted, Quaithe of Shadows could torture you in any corner of the world, haunting your dreams for the rest of your days." Admonished the Hound of Zick, peering more carefully at the runes engraved in Valyria''s Steel pendant. "Pff, let ite to pass... My dreams are already a heath of torment and misery." Ramas conceded at least that point. He knew Haymitch''s story, and the Bounty Hunter felt a twinge of empathy and respect for the man who had experienced some of that immense pain and apathy. "Ser Duncan would have another favour to ask of you, Ser... A task befitting you." Communicated Ramas breaking the wave of silence. "I am not Duncan Tallhart''s whore. Tell your master that I have already sold my ass to House Stark...If Bloody Snow needs my services, let him address the favour in person to Lord Eddard." Replied the Knight scornfully... If Zick had been the instigator of the request, Ramas would have already ripped the madman''s balls off, making him sing until he begged for eternal forgiveness. But Duncan had begged him to treat Haymitch with an eye to the matter... Bloody Snow must have foreseen the Bastard Protector''s pissed-off attitude. "Ser Duncan will request the favour from your Lord, Ser... And I am more than certain that Lord Eddard Stark will ept," Ramas replied in a tone that should appear polite. "All right, all right, go for the favour... But speaking of more relevant matters, should I or should I not warn Lord Stark...? Is the child safe or not?" Haymitch asked, abandoning his drunken whorish manner. "He has the protection of my master and his heir... No one will touch that child." Replied The Watcher''s sworn shield. "It will be better for you... So you, do me a favour and take this message to Bloody Snow: [From now on, until the boyes of age, I will hold you personally responsible for any ''unknown evils'' or ''bizarre incidents'' that loom over Jon.]." Ramas peered at the man with a gaze overflowing with murderous intent and bloodlust. "Is that a threat, Ser?" The Knight of jesters did not seem to be affected in the least by the presence of the Death Star himself. Ser Haymitch Rivers, ndly and rudely, turned away from his asional-Complice, massaging his chest and answering: "Indeed it is. So I''ll see you around...emm...Ramt? Mmm, no... I guess I''ll call you Ironfoot from now on... Until next time, Ironfoot!" **** End POV ***** POV: Quaithe of Shadows. In a Galley moored at a small docking port on the Torrhen River. About two hours after a Hound barely restrained the impulse to stab a drunken knight in the back... ----- "Is the gship Galley to your taste, mydy? Can I have something brought to you? You must be tried by the perilous and sudden journey..." Zick''s protg asked courteously. Her captor did not appear to be armed. Instead, Bloody Snow wore a set of simple brown leather pants, a linen tunic with leather shoulder straps and joints, and a half-fur cape. These were hardly battle or grand reception attire... "A fine ship, Ser. No, thank you. The carriage ride was "pleasant". Though "too" sudden and forced for my taste..." So replied the Shadow Witch in a noticeably angry tone. "... Where is my pendant? Was it the maniacal Knight who stole it from me on your order? I warn you, Ser Duncan of House Tallhart, not even the Watcher will be able to stop the fury of the King in the Yellow should I "mysteriously" disappear or perish by an "unfortunate" ident." Somehow, Bloody Snow had learned of her master''s gift...but the Green Knight certainly could not know all its arcane properties. The witch could not contact her master at long distances, but should Quaithe ever be in danger of her life, the pendant would sound an alert to the Archwizard, and if Chai Duq wanted to find her, pendant or not, nothing would stop the Sorcerer King from his purpose. Quaithe was not a "mere" pupil or personal assistant to the Lord Supreme of Carcosa; she was far more valuable... "Ah, just the pendant-your jewel is right here, mydy." Bloody Snow slipped and dangled a dark steel chain from her hands, testing the witch''s patience. "Ser Haymitch has been so thoughtful, searching assiduously for you in an attempt to return it to you... The Knight must have "identally" noticed the pendant on the ground, rightly thinking it belonged to you. A simple "misunderstanding" and nothing more. You will get it back, mydy, and no one here will harm you. You have my word..." Bloody Snow exined in a friendly manner, trying to quell the tension. Quaithe did not respond; the witch reached out to take back what belonged to her ... but the Demon''s hand stepped back. "Nevertheless... Before I take it back, I would kindly appreciate it if you would first listen to what I have to say. I have had to stir up quite a bit of water and erect many emergency bridges to have the honour of your presence, Lady Quaithe... Would you not be so rude as to thwart my efforts before they are due?" Quaithe, before answering, looked around. She and the Demon were alone. No presence disturbed the duo on the spacious and silent bow of the Galea. "You know about Eddard Stark''s Bastard. It was you who purposely drove him away from Winterfell...You didn''t want my master to get too close to that child. Am I right?" Asked the witch without half-measures. "I wonder why everyone always wants to plunge the knife into the heart of the steaming pie and scald their tongue before its time. Where has the good old lukewarm crispy crust gone? Eheheh... It wasn''t funny, huh?" Quaithe was in no mood for jokes or formality. "Yes, I know something about the bastard. And no, I don''t want Chai Duq toe near Jon..." Said the boy, abandoning polite formality and resting both arms on the pier railing. A beautiful sunset rose on the horizon. The river, the mountainousndscape, the t expanses, Quaithe had to admit that the setting was very soothing and evocative of stillness. The witch approached calmly beside her interlocutor, asking: "My master would do no harm to the child, far from it. Chai Duq and the entire Confederacy would protect Jon Snow from any threat, helping him raise his gifts... None-" The eloquent Witch was interrupted. "Jon will not go to Carcosa. He belongs to the North, his family, his House, and his blood." Promulgated Bloody Snow without allowing room for possible negotiations. "You do not know what you are talking about. You don''t know what he represents to the magic-" Quaithe corrected herself, "To ''All the peoples of the Known World.'' Do you even know what dormant power is hidden in his blood?" Asked the witch, hoping inwardly that Bloody Snow knew less than he imed. "... Pure "Ice" and "Fire." A union of Primordial Blood never known in living memory. The prophets of Asshai devoted to the Red cult sing of a "Prince Who Was Promised," who, ording to the Prophecy verses of the song "Fire & Ice... " It was the enchantress who sang the verses in High Valyrian: "{There wille a day after a long Summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this Dread Hour, a warrior will be reborn amidst salt and smoke and shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be Lightbringer... } Aye, this is the first verse that Daenys the Dreamer sang four hundred years ago in the temple of R''hllor, but the Guardian of Love must have at least hinted to you the legend of the lost {Song of the Phoenix}..." Quaithe tested the waters. "I know what you are referring to... All the Great Factions of the Known World have been desperately hunting for any shred of clue concerning the Three Progenitor Artifacts for millennia. Carcosa believes that the reincarnation of the "Starry Gem," the jewel created from the Glowing and Frozen mes of the Dragon God himself, may be concealed within one of his purest descendants... Those who coexist in harmony between two impossible-to-unify elements: Fire and Ice. But Jon is not an Artifact... He is only a child." Zick''s protg knew much more than she believed. Quaithe had to find out to what extent. "Ser Duncan..." She called to the witch in a soft tone. "Yes, mydy...?" The prey took her bait... Bloody Snow''s face turned to look at her. The boy''s eyes made contact with hers, and the Red Witch seized the opportunity by attempting to infiltrate his mind... Surprisingly, there was not much resistance... Only a primary spongy barrier got in the way of her infiltration. Quaithe passed through it in a few moments. Master Chai had confided to her that perhaps even Lo Tho himself could not use the Legilimency art against The Watcher. But perhaps Zick still needed to prepare Duncan for that kind of threat... Quaithe''s consciousness suddenly found itself in a quiet, vast prairie shaded with crystalline green reflections. A natural paradise kissed by faint spasms of warm light and caressed by a calm, gentle breeze. The nose was intoxicated with the scent of wild herbs, and the lungs filled with heady fresh mountain air. The environment was soothing andfortable--as if the woman were surrounded by an ethereal cloud of amniotic fluid ready to embrace and wee her. And there, Quaithe''s eye caught the only source of the light present... A small dying star, too faint to be a child of the sun but too bright to hide among the myriads of sparks scattered across the vast night sky... That was the treasure chest that held all of Duncan''s memories. The boy''s innermost secrets were kept within that fragile, luminous floating bubble. Quaithe confidently approached toward the treasure. Every hidden instinct inwardly soothed the witch by whispering to her ["Come closer, my dear... There is no danger. You are safe here, Alys...No, not Alys...Elissa!"] That name suddenly awakened the enchantress, instantly reactivating all the defences she possessed. That cloud was not cozy bamboozlement; it was a Parasite! A Parasite that wanted to infiltrate her mind in its turn! Quaithe instinctively activated a defensive Fourth Circle magic, summoning a sphere of fire and shadow around her. The cloud vaporized, but the environment did not seem to like the visitor''s aggressive reaction. From being the wee guest she was, Quaithe of Shadows was now considered an "Intruder." The ground began to shake and move. Quaithe was forced to use a levitation spell to detach contact from those amorphous quicksand made of grass... All the green of the vast prairie was being rapidly absorbed by the bright pulsing heart of the environment until it took on humanoid features... No... not humanoid: Titanic! The guardian creature, more than a hundred feet tall, d in shining emerald-green te armour, with three pairs of majestic silvery feathered wings on its back, and wielding a towering, two-handed war hammer as tall and massive as a tower, rose to its feet and...showing part of the gloomy face concealed by its helmet, roared with the most guttural, scratchy, demonic of cries: {"Get Out..."} *ssSDOOMKaaAABOOOM!* It was only a whisper to the titan, but the poor helpless woman''s eardrums exploded. Quaithe tried to raise a wind wall to counteract the air pressure, but a mere shield could not stand up to a host of heavy cavalry. The witch jolted backwards a hundred feet, tumbling pitifully over dry, stiff loam... and that was just the beginning. The Green Titan with Silver Wings did not wish to peacefully repeat the intimation and, brandishing his hammer in the air, the Green Demon sprang to the attack, thundering in a roar of war: {"GEEEET OOUT!!! ROOAARGHH!!!!!"} The speed was ultrasonic; in less than the blink of an eye, the air pressure shattered Quaithe''s enchanted mask and robes, and before the end of the world came upon her helpless body, the invader forcibly severed all mental connections. "IAAYYAAH!!! NOOOO!!! NO! DON''T COME ANY CLOSER!!!" Quaithe knelt on the oak shingles clutching her skull, gued by continuous excruciating spasms... The woman still could not distinguish fiction from reality. Legilimancy was a double-edged sword. One of the most dangerous magical arts with the highest toll of control over the inner will. A single mistake or distraction could turn a mentally lucid person into a decerebrate vegetable for the rest of his days. Disconnecting the mental link so abruptly and without control required a high price to be paid. Her head continued to spin incessantly. A trickle of blood trickled from her nose, her esophagus begged to regurgitate, tormenting her with conatal impulses, and her dder pressed to the point of bursting... Quaithe had to inhale deeply for more than a minute and squeeze out all her psychic will and self-control not to give in to those humiliating impulses. And then ... a hand came to help her not to drown. The Green Fiend gently ced his palm on her head, and in an instant, a warm, restorative feeling melted much of the icy spines that gued her. The first impulse suggested that she look her merciful saviour in the eye and thank him, but the Red Witch could not find the courage to peer into those two abyssal orbs again... Quaithe looked up to scan only part of the Demon''s face, the mouth beginning to move. "I do not like to receive threats, let alone make them in my turn. But listen carefully, Lady Quaithe of Asshai, because I do not like to repeat myself either..." The friendly smile changed to a murderous snarl. "{No One will approach that child without "My" explicit permission Do I make myself clear? }" That voice! It was the same abysmal voice of the Green Titan! Quaithe''s head nodded shakily without meaning to... "{Jon Snow is under My Protection}" **** End Chapter **** Chapter 166: Beyond the Edge of the World (I) Chapter 166: Beyond the Edge of the World (I) POV: Author Galea-Admiral Tallhart. About half an hour after a witch was forced to retreat to a cabin for "personal needs"... "I regret to ask more of you, Lady Quaithe, but I cannot leave Dacey alone in a cramped cabin... The meeting between you and me has been considerably anticipated." Said the Green Knight bowing to his newly returned guest. "Never mind, Ser. I must beg your pardon and make amends for the discourtesy turned on you. I-I can go on." Thest words sounded noticeably forced. Then the Witch pondered for a second over the terms just addressed to her... "... You had nned a meeting? Why waste your time with a lowly assistant when in a little over a moon, you will be dealing with the Chief Sorcerer himself?" Quaithe asked before sitting down. But the Green Demon dodged the questions as if they had never been asked of him, answering: "Please be seated. In the meantime, I have had a table, chairs, and hot drinks set up to warm the spirits." Duncan treated the guest as if the attempted assault and mental invasion had never happened. Now that the Northern Overseer had just received confirmation of his assumptions, Torrhen''s Square and Barrowton were to treat the Witch of the East as a priceless treasure map. Quaithe greeted the kindness with politeness and a gesture of goodwill, sitting down in the indicated seat. Duncan prepared to serve her a herbal infusion. "Infusion of Dusk Rose, Madame Zishua''s favourite drink. It helps to rid the soul of evil thoughts." Quaithe was hesitant for a moment. Visibly, the mask offered no ess to her mouth. But to Duncan''s considerable surprise, the Witch weed the cup of jade and slowly drew the infusion closer to her lips. The Enchanted Mask anticipated the possessor''s Will, magically shrinking down to her nostrils. Duncan did not know the highest priorities of that mask, but, ording to The Watcher, it was a life-saving tool for the Shadowbinger of unknown identity and, at the very least, a ss [Master] item, created and enchanted by the very hands of the King in The Yellow himself. Portions of bare skin, young and smooth, were uncovered. The lips were a slight pale-cerulean but plump, the only jarring note, was the glimmer of a scar on the cheek. Quaithe savoured the brew tastefully and calmly. The Witch ced the half-full steaming cup on the round coffee table, and after the dark redcquer wooden Mask returned to its original features, the woman spoke in a much more rxed tone of voice, saying: "...Thank you, Ser." Then the woman asked, "May I ask you what magical healing art you used just now? What about the Giant Winged Knight? How did you do that? That was not simple lumancy. You did not erect defences but manifested a living creation of the Will itself... To my knowledge, there is no lumancer in the world capable of such a feat." "Difficult to answer both, my Lady. The first is more of an innate gift and the second... I don''t even remember how I got to that point anymore. Let''s just say that I possess an unnatural disposition about controlling Will and that, aftering into contact with the master''s eyes several times, I had firmly given up on trying to erect "Anti-Watcher" Barriers... So, rather than focusing on Defense, I simply opted for Attack." So responded Duncan with sincerity, omitting many parts... It was challenging to exin to a brilliant World Arcanist the long travail suffered by the most logorrhoeic Angel in creation. Yet, it was not just boundless willpower. Over decades of meditation, Matthew had already erected a solid foundation for an inner Safe-Zone. A zone blessed with sacred silence, indispensable and vital for recovering some of the drained mental energies... "What about your spells, my Lady? I thought an arcanist couldn''t use high-level instant spells. I didn''t see any gestures or voices- how did you do it?" Asked the counterpart in curiosity. "In the inner world of wakefulness and dreams, imagination and will are the only limits... It was the Watcher himself who provided inspiration to my master. It has been decades since the Chief Sorcerer personally studied and fostered research in the art of Legilimancy... Now, in that branch, The King in The Yellow has far surpassed his Great Master Watcher, Lo Tho. Lord Chai Duq has no equ..." Thest words "has no equal in the world" stopped at the tip of her tongue. In all honesty, Quaithe did not know who between the two Monsters would prevail in a mental skirmish: {The King in the Yellow Vs The Green Demon}. The mutually friendly exchange of information ended there... Both invoked the right to conceal the footprints of the passage they did not want or could not share to prevent other imitators from knowing and walking it. After another sip of hot brew and courage, the Witch''s eyes focused on her mission. "My mind is clear again, Ser ... We can retrace our path from where it was interrupted." So promulgated the Witch, returning to her calm, cryptic way of speaking. Duncan nodded slightly and took the initiative. "Jon will remain in the North until he reaches his majority. Should heter decide to ept any offers or patronage from the Confederacy, he will be free to follow the path of his choice without pressure or obligation from me or my allies. I want the subject of "Jon Snow" locked away and well buried from prying eyes and ears until that day." The Witch seemed to frown semi-humorously but then replied: "Even if I maintain absolute secrecy, the Name-Cursed "Snow" will not forever deflect him from all possible suspicion. A power too great is quivering to awaken within that child. A power that only Carcosa can support, contain and guide." Quaithe. "I admit that there was a small ... ''ident of distraction'' on my part, but it will not be repeated. I will make sure that power remains dormant and well concealed. I have all the power of the North and the Fourth Organization behind me ... The child will remain hidden and safe." Duncan. "The Fourth Organization is powerful. I also do not deny the impressive potential demonstrated by the First Men, but both factions would do no better than the Confederation of Mages...The City of Night is unmatched in harbouring and concealing protgs who neither want nor need to be found." Rebutted Quaithe. "Has the powerful and well-informed ''Confederation'' ever heard of a possible implementation of a new Bank or Forge-Fortress in the North...?" Quaithe did not answer, but the frown and surprise in her gaze were worth a thousand words. "Precisely..." Concluded the boy with a hint of victory in his voice. "... Who is the child''s mother? With which descendant of the Sons of Fire did the King of Winter join...?" Duncan did not respond with words. But, savouring, in turn, his own brew, he sent some semnce of a clue with his gaze. The Red Witch gave vent to all her intuition, picking up on clues not openly spoken by herself. "He is not Eddard Stark''s son... {The Dragon must always have Three Heads}... The Blood of Valgudryel runs through the child''s veins. Jon is not a bastard Prince of the Kings of Winter; he is a Targaryen Prince..." The child''s secret Patron neither denied nor confirmed any supposition. "I implore you to set the course of this vessel to the winds of reason, Ser Duncan... The Titan of Braavos would do anything to get his hands on a rightful heir to Dragonstone, and Oldtown would unleash every weapon in its possession to eliminate such a threat. The North-the First Men-cannot shoulder such a burden alone." Pleaded Quaithe in a calmer, more epting tone. "It will be instead. Jon will be protected by the Name of the Most Ancient and Powerful Dynasty of Kings in the Known World. The child will grow up here in the North, and the North will protect that child. You do not understand mynd well and the First Men, my Lady. No one will defeat the Dynasty of the Kings of Winter... Not in the North." Having assimted the answer, the Demon''s counterpart retorted in bewilderment: "Do you want to sleep the potential of the Divine Blood of the Progenitor God with the Power of the Dynasty of Kings? Do you want to baptize that boy in the name of Stark, thus wasting our greatest chance of the return of the second Age of Dawn...? The brightest and most harmonious Age the World has ever known." Duncan pondered for a moment at the revtion he missed...After the betrayal of Peremore''s descendants, Carcosa became excessively scrupulous in preventing new leaks of secret information. The greatest haematological and genealogical discoveries and research were well kept in the library of the Starry City. There was a much more Ancient Citadel in the Far East. A ce of research and sharing without constraint or limitation, where theories, research, scientific evidence and magic reigned supreme above every otherw of man. Qyburn would have dly sacrificed an arm in exchange for a day of unlimited reading in the library crypts of the Confederation. "Therefore, the Blood of Kings cannot symbiotically coexist with the Blood of Gods..." Duncan hypothesized. "In summary, this is correct. The gift of the Dynasty of Kings came into being as a "Substitute Power" to enable the "Un-Blessed-Minded" to survive in the Age of Dawn... A power that, through the union and cohesion of the peoples, could enable the descendants of Andalus (the True First Man) to counteract the Tyrannical descendants of the Sons of the Three Progenitors... Why do you think the Valyrians preferred a Council of Dragonlords as a form of government rather than a Monarchy...? You cannot lock up two hungry carnivorous predators in one cell. One of them, sooner orter, will devour the other... And do you know which one will prevail in the fight, Ser?" It was a verymon riddle on earth, her old home -- one of the many riddles her mother, Jennifer, liked to pose to her two children when life knocked them down. The mind of "Not a Child Anymore" recalled that familiar memory of the past, crossing the boundaries of that world into a time lived many decades, if not centuries before... **** ["Don''t cry, Matthew... Your new ssmates don''t know you yet. I''m sure some among them liked your drawings." Said the motherly figure hugging her crying child, who was clutching his torn and scribbled notebook in his hands. "No! Sigh...Sigh...That''s not true, Mom! My drawings...ugh...sigh...Nobody liked them! Nobody liked me. They...Sigh...They were mean and cruel." So replied the sobbing eight-year-old between tears and sadness. But the mother figure did not give up, searching through the ruined pages. "Yet here I see a certain Pdin named Ser Mattiger still untouched and radiant in all his colours. And look here!... What is this note at the bottom of the page?" So asked the bright and loving woman pointing to a small initial. The child wiped his eyes and moved his head uncertainly toward the sketchbook. It was small and slightly smudged, but the note was really there! {Cool character, man! by J.} "... J.? Who is J.?" Matthew asked, substituting sadness for curiosity. "Mh, mh, mh! Ah, who knows... Perhaps another secret lover of Dragons, Heroes and Dungeons lurks in your new ss. The traces of possible new friends are there. It will be up to Ser Mettiger, "The Fearless Hunter", to flush out his prey, my darling." Replied his mother, wiping away his tears. "B-but even if I find this "J," how do you know he will be my friend? What if it''s another cruel joke?" Asked the negative and fearful child. "Riddle: {There are two wolves locked up in two opposite cages. The ''Sad'', ''Timorous'' and ''Skeptical'' Wolf is on one side, and the ''Happy'', ''Brave'' and ''Hopeful'' Wolf on the other. At sunset, the cages are opened by their master, and the two wolves, eternally struggling with each other, fight until the sun rises... In your opinion, which Wolf will prevail over the other, Matthew...?"] The boy''s mind returned to the present, and Duncan answered confidently: "The predator you choose to feed will prevail." The Witch nodded, "Correct answer, Ser... On the day Aegon I chose to be king, he doomed the most magically endowed lineage of the Sons of Fire in all of Valyria. Rather than umting power, Valgudryel''s lineage lost it yearly until they became mere men. This was the real toxin that poisoned the Three-Headed Dragon dynasty... The Targaryens were Sons of the Gods, and Gods are not Kings among mere mortals." Quaithe peered at a semnce of indecision in the boy''s gaze, and the persuasive Shadobinger hammered the still-hot iron vigorously. "The Stark name would erode day by day the unparalleled magical legacy Jon holds within... The glowing, frozen me of the Dragon God would be forever extinguished." Exined Quaithe hoping this would help change the Green Demon''s mind. Duncan lowered his gaze to his fingers tapping on the table for a few seconds, looking thoughtful and indecisive. But only for a few seconds... "This means that the longer Jon carries the Stark name, the less risk there will be for him that someone might dissect him and lock him up as a Trophy-Cavity ... Good." So fired the grinning Green Demon, spitting over the shocked Witch''s Divine Perspective "Now-No-More-Calm-And-Cryptic..." Quaithe snapped to her feet, retorting with indignation and a more pronounced tone: "Did you even listen to part of what I just exined to you, Ser?! The First Guardian of Love dynasty was destroyed by the same path you chose to tread...! I even divulged sensitive and secret information to you on the threshold of "High Treason" by the standards of the Confederation... And what do you do? You mock my concessions by making fun of me?!" A wild and untamed shock of a past, forgotten and buried adventurous life awakened in Quaithe''s unconscious. "Of course, I listened to you, Lady Quaithe, and no, it was not my intention to offend you..." Replied the brash and irritating 12-year-old calmly, sipping another good dose of Elixir-Tranquilizing Roses. Then he continued: "In the first ce, the Valgudryel Dynasty is not over. There are other sleeping heads waiting to be awakened. And second, an Alpha Wolf inmand of a fierce, prepared and numerous Pack can prevail against a single imposing Dragon... I will see to it that Jon has his Pack, and I assure you, my Lady, that there will be no creature in the known world who will not think twice before going against the Jaws of the Wolf. Wasn''t there a famous saying in Zabhad that read precisely, [A single Great War Elephant can sumb in the jaws of a million Ravenous Red Ants... ?] " For a moment, the Red Witch seemed on the verge of leaping at the interlocutor''s throat and trying her luck by arming herself with the fruit knife on the table... but then the woman returned to her seat, shing herst remaining card. "Even if I followed your ''advice'' and remained far from the child, no threat in the world would prevent me from fulfilling my duty by divulging this discovery to the Confederation. Killing me would not solve your problem, Heir of Zick. Even the Watcher has obligations he cannot fail to fulfil... If I die, the bond of friendship between the Guardian of Love and the Overlord of Carcosa will not be enough to save you, nor to prevent the truth about Jon Snow froming out... Chai Duq will turn heaven and earth upside down to know even the most minor facet of the "Who," "How," "When," and "Why"... I would dly give my life in the Name and Glory of my Master and Magic, Ser." The Witch was not bluffing. Zick''s Heir now knew "who" he was really facing. The Green Demon hardened his gaze and replied in a severe tone. "I do not doubt your courage and loyalty, Lady Quaithe. Unfortunately, Carcosa definitely has many means of pressure to sway me. But even I still possess some cards to y... First Men and Magicians can either strike back at each other blow by blow in an adversarial and unproductive "Lose To Lose" rtionship or choose to cooperate with each other and pursue the "Win To Win" route. It is not Chai Duq who will decide which path to take, but you..." The eyes behind the red mask widened slightly, arming themselves with suspicion and caution. "And let''s hear it... What means do the First Men have to force the Confederacy to agree?" Carcosa''s momentary spokeswoman asked. The young boy tossed the woman the "Boiling Potato." "Several-many of them cold, some lukewarm, and some simply ''hot.'' But the most incandescent of them all is you, Grand Witch Quaithe of Asshai, or rather... "Captain" Elissa of Fair Isle." ***** End Part I ***** Chapter 167: Beyond the Edge of the World (II) Chapter 167: Beyond the Edge of the World (II) POV: Davos Seaworth In a fortified shipyard near Torrhen''s Square. A few hours after a forgotten name was spoken... ------ The hour waste, but the night was not sote-not for the men in that shipyard, at least. There was still a good deal of work to bepleted before dawn. At least the first hull''s keel, bulkhead and stern had to bepleted in two days. Two teams of carpenters continued incessantly to curve, carve and oil dark Ironwood and pale Weirdwood nks. Thetter was even rarer and more challenging to work with than the former. The wood was as hard and stiff as granite, difficult and exacting to curve and carve. But the well-paid and elite carpentry team could not bask in theurels of excuses. The Master Carpenter approached with an exhausted air toward the New Fleet Admiral, Ser Davos Seaworth, seeking a hopeful foothold against the woes of his men. "Admiral Seaworth... As you can see for yourself, the men can''t take it anymore. My squad has alreadypleted a double shift. I have no team ready to rece them, nor can we continue the work without a well-deserved and necessary rest. To go further would negatively affect the quality of the project, Ser..." Davos looked at the man with a hint of empathy, scrutinizing him from head to toe. The Onion Knight was also exhausted, as was everyone else. Davos himself was fresh off a ten-hour shift as Instructor Supervisor. That day, he had mmed, squeezed, and stretched his Sailor Trainees to the limit, making them tear all two hundred rags of flesh and bone on the dock at Torrhen''s Square... His Sailors hated him for it. They indeed cursed his name in their sleep. It was already an entire moon that Davos had not granted them a glow of respite. But it had to be done-the Sea was inclement and did not know the meaning of the word "Truce." The body and clothes of Master Carpenter, Hogg, like the vast majority of those present, were soaked with oil, dirt and sweat, and every man''s face seemed to plead for whatever makeshift bunk or pillow was avable. "One more hour, Master Hobb. One hour''s work, that''s all I ask. Just long enough to trim the broadside to the keel, and we will resume work in the morning. Hold out for thisst stretch, and you and ''All'' your men will be guaranteed a ''Full Extra Pay Shift,'' plus a well-deserved evening of refreshments with ''Unlimited Food and Drink'' provided by Torrhen''s Square at the [Inn of the Pearl Hub!]" Davos made sure that all sixty-two workers at work heard his promises well. Many paused to scrutinize the Admiral, only to resume work a secondter with double the tenacity and grit. At least fifteen or sixteen members of those squads were Ironborn prisoners of war, part of the spoils of war Torrhen''s Square won in the crushing victory at Bear Ind. Those who had chosen the red-hot knife instead of Death or The Wall... Eunuchs were forced to work for half pay until the day the debt was paid off, paid as they went with the other half withheld. Alcohol and good food were the few pleasures of life left to those defeated men. Everything could be said about the despicable Iron Ind raiders, but there was no denying that the Ironborn were the finest seamen and shipwrights in all of Westeros. The crew of Davos itself had recently weed into its ranks three seasoned Ironborn men who took the oath to House Tallhart. Men, too bound up in their love of the sea to trade it for a few women or narrow houses of ice. "The broadside will bepleted, Admiral." Promulgated Master Hobb with renewed motivation, taking his leave to return to work. With a few bags of silver and which barrel of fermented alcohol invested, the impossible schedule to meet became more attainable by the minute... Extra costs were not a problem. House Tallhart had spared no expense. Lord Leobald had allocated the Chief Project Treasurer up to 300,000 gold dragoons for the construction of three ships and respective crew training alone. ''We should make it in time... At this rate, at least the first hull skeleton will bepleted.'' Davos assessed himself, thinking back to the urgent dispatch delivered that afternoon. Davos had to find a way to appropriately reward his cadet disciples. The Staff also needed the Carrot... ''They will evict me and hang me from the mast if I do not reward them adequately before they set sail. A visit to the brothels of Barrowton, perhaps? And the three poor eunuch devils...? Perhaps I could persuade House Tallhart to settle their debt, should they return from their voyage...'' Davos postponed the matter to another time. There were more pressing matters to think about. The Key to the East would arrive tomorrow... Some unforeseen event had forced the young lord to plead with the casten of Torrhen''s Square to speed up the construction of the first new prototype. A Huge Innovative Vessel of a type never seen before, in form, structure and performance, which they were to name ''Cog''. The Cog would not be ships made for war but pioneer vessels equipped for long, impetuous voyages in deep, dark and perilous waters. A four-masted, oarless vessel with a wide beam and deep hull,rge enough tofortably take one hundred crew members, with respective supplies of food and drinking water, enough for three whole moons. This particr ship, the first of the three nned, would be christened ''Sun de''... While eminently capable, the Sun de could not have outrun the corvette ''Raptor'', the fastest ship in the North (and probably in all of Westeros and Essos). But the Sun de and its two twins, the ''Moon Walker'' and the ''Stargazer'', would have been unmatched on other vital factors such as Endurance, Stability and Manoeuvrability. "Pull on my three! One, two...and three! Oh, Heave!" Thundered Master Hobb to the ten men lined up with ropes in hand, who, in turn, replied, "Oh, Heave! Oh, Heave!! Oh, Heave!!!" A massive curved bone-white nk was hoisted and slowly positioned at the base of the quarterdeck. Davos and the master carpenters did not know precisely why Lord Duncan had explicitly requested the expensive Weirwood Tree wood for the support and keel ribs... The Tallharts had to enlist the support of the Rangers at the Eastern Fort on the Sea to obtain all the timber they needed. Only the Haunted Forest Beyond The Wall possessed sufficient Weirdwood''s Trees for the job. In fair trade with the Night''s Watch, it was rumoured that many of the Wildlings had repeatedly strongly discouraged the Tallharts from taking wood from the Haunted Forest... Moreover, some old Free Folk Vige Chiefs continued to intimidate the poor devils by telling them tales of curses and ill-wishes that would befall greedy men who desecrated the Gift of the Life-Singers. Unfortunately, such rumours had spread like gue rats, reaching the superstitious members of his crew. This was not a good thing... Sailors and Curses were the perfect condiments for the dish called Mutiny. Lord Leobald Tallhart was forced to give a pep talk to all two hundred sailor recruits in training, reassuring them that his ''Nephew Beloved'' blessed by Seraphine himself, had averted curses by gifting every log in Weirdwood. Before those men sailed the Sea, every potential threat had to be eradicated at the root. Before ''Davos'' set sail, guiding them into the dark unknown... ''My wife is right... They should have nicknamed me the ''Fool''s Knight'' other than Onions. The Fool Knight who followed the orders of the Mad Young Man... No, of the ''Mad Knight''... Now he''s a knight... Well, at least they sound good.'' Davos thought with jovial concern. It was not death that frightened him. His wife, Marya, and their five children would still have a prosperous and secure future ahead should Davos never return. House Tallhart had treated House Seaworth well, erecting a new manor three times asrge, solid and weing as their previous home, granting them good fertilend and good, honest families to cultivate it, providing servants and loyal men-at-arms ready to serve them, but most importantly, a better future for his family. No... Davos would not back down. He would captain the Sun de all the way to the edge of the dark, dark depths, or at least... he would die trying. In a few moons from that day, the Onion Knight, the most famous smuggler in the Narrow Sea, the sailor who had circumnavigated the Sea of Shivers, touched the clearest shores in the Summer Sea, passed the Jade Portals, and survived the perilous and dark Straits of Asshai''s Crocus, he would be at the helm of the small explorer fleet, guiding it to even stranger and more dangerous seas, and attempting to find a route to unknown waters that not even Corlys Vryon, the legendary ''Sea Snake'', had dared to sail... ***** End POV ***** POV: The Adventurous Mistress Tallhart gship galley. A few hours before sixty-three workers were motivated... [Author''s rmended Soundtrack POV: Nothing Else Matter (Instrumental Cover) by Apocalyptica.] ------ Quaithe remained motionless, trying to let out as little information as possible in the face of the diabolical demon who had uttered ''That Name''... ''No, I have to calm down... He couldn''t have dug that deep. The Watcher''s gaze couldn''t have gone past the mask. And The King the Yellow himself has erected the barriers of that well-hidden and guarded chest. It''s a bluff, a mere supposition, a trap to lure me into his devious deception...'' The evil mist could not have passed through the artificialbyrinth so quickly or breached the barriers of Carcosa''s most capable lumancer. Powerful as it was, the Green Demon would not have had time to erode those defences... "That''s the second time you''ve referred to me by that name, Ser... Who is this Elissa of Fair Isle?" So asked the witch with a curious and confused air. "So you deny being, or ever having been, ''Elissa of House Farman'', mydy?" Bloody Snow asked in turn with an irritatingly evil grin. "Completely... I was born and raised in Manticore Ind and bred in Asshai." Said the stone face in the calmest, most believable tone of voice the witch could muster. "I see... So, I must have bet on the wrong horse..." The boy stood up towards the parapet showing a semnce of a defeated air, then rudely gave her his back as he watched the twilight on the horizon. But the demon continued... "It must just be a coincidence, then Well, more than one." Affirmative the Green Knight in a wry voice. "What coincidences are you referring to, Ser...?" Quaithe. "Oh, nothing much, mydy... I cherished this visit to the North by the Confederacy. The First Men need the help of the Magicians in the perilous times ahead... Therefore, I have taken great pains not to leave the fate of this most essential diplomatic visit to Chance... Indeed, it was partly thanks to me that the Chief Sorcerer and his entire trusted delegation made such a long journey from the other end of the world. Therefore, I ensured to get as much information as possible on every guest... Zick and Madame Zishua helped me enormously in gathering as much detail as possible. However... unbelievable as it was, not even The Watcher and the Spider Queen knew much about the mysterious and talented Grand Witch of the Fourth Circle, the Personal Assistant and Spokeswoman of The King in the Yellow himself, Quaithe of the Shadows," the green eyes with silvery streaks turned momentarily, searching for any relenting from the Woman. But Quaithe did not waver... On the contrary, she continued undaunted in her stance. Then the demon continued: "...Therefore, I asked my master the kindness of putting a special eye on you. And guess what? The world''s sharpest and most intuitive gaze could not dig through the peculiar defences of Chai Duq''s assistant... A bizarre event, to say the least. A real challenge for my master, which Zick epted with joy and enthusiasm, investigating more and more..." This time, Quaithe felt the blow, shivering inwardly. Her master had been clear; she was to be ''Transparent'' and ''Invisible'' in the man''s presence and to make contact with The Watcher only as long as was strictly necessary... Knowing that, for two whole moons of the journey, The Guardian of Love had eyes only for her caused cold shivers to grip her... As if a covetous man had obsessively glimpsed her nakedness all along the way. "Of course... it would have been challenging for my master to search for needles in a dark, well-guarded haystack." A small sigh of relief transpired between the wall of impassivity... but the monster turned sharply, raising his index finger. "Unless...! One of his loving disciples had provided him with some enlightenment to point him in the right direction! It''s much easier to search for information when you know ''What'' or ''Who'' to look for." Quaithe''s breath snapped. "And guess what, mydy... The Watcher confidently stated that you are veryfortable on the sea as if a hidden part of you loves to travel. Master Zick also identified an ''overly'' personal attachment towards the Targaryen dynasty... He noticed it during the official speeches between the Guardian of Love and the Leader of the Confederation of Mages. A peculiar attachment towards the fate of Daenerys ''Born of the Storm'', Lady Quaithe. The plot thickens!" That was why The Watcher smiled at her during that meeting... "And not only that. Madame Zishua''swork dug more deeply and carefully, confirming Zick''s first two suppositions. Mr Zoldhak told me that ''you'', mydy, had epted the assignment to keep an eye on the Three-Headed Dragon''s progeny. And that, ''as it happens'', Carcosa''s impressive naval fleet has made incredible improvements over time... Maritime and structural improvements began just two centuries ago. A peculiar ''third'' coincidence, don''t you think? The Chief Sorcerer publicly took you under his wing at the same time, right? A period that coincides with ''another'' discovery from that time... A "Third" coincidence that fits nicely with a "Fourth"... In the year 75, After the Conquest, a young and intrepid sailor named Corlys Vryon sessfully reached the harbours of Asshai, and there, ording to his writings, the Sea Snake swore that he had scanned a wreck. A wreck of a famous ship on the lips of every worthy sailor in Westeros and Essos... [The Sun Chaser]. Does that name ring a bell, Lady Quaithe of Asshai?" Duncan Tallhart approached the table again. "..." Silence was Quaithe''s only reply. "Oh, let me tell you the events concerning it and the story behind its captain. It is a fascinating story, full of ''Dragons'', ''Loves'' and ''Adventures''... The Story of an intrepid young Sea Woman who shocked the Seven Kingdoms when she decided to set a course for the unknown West... To the uncharted ''Sea of Sunset''. A feat that would have made her famous throughout the Known World had said adventuress seeded in finding a treasure more prosperous and coveted than even the mines of Casterly Rock..." Quaithe closed her eyes surrenderingly... She had failed. She had failed her master, her saviour, who had given her a second chance to begin again. The demon was not lying... He did have a means of pressure to force Quaithe into silence. Information that could have triggered the immediate outbreak of war on all fronts. Duncan Tallhart knew Chai Duq''s most jealously guarded secret, the secret weapon the Chief Sorcerer of Carcosa had hidden up his sleeve for the war he so coveted... There was no need for proof. Just by divulging those ''Four Coincidences'', all the eyes of the World would be on her. The Titan and the High Tower would hunt her down by any means, even scaling the high walls of Carcosa with their bare hands if necessary. The Green Demon sentenced the final blow... "The Route Beyond the Edge of the World." **** End Chapter. **** Chapter 168: The Fearless Scarred Chapter 168: The Fearless Scarred POV: The Scarred Man In a Tavern on the Silk Road. Year 290, the seventh day of the first moon. About two days after an Auction ended... ------- The mug was empty again. To Sandor, it seemed to havested less than the first... The stout was decent, there was no denying it, but it was fucking expensive. In times of peace, four copper stars for a pint was simply robbery. But then again, this was the most affordable tavern in the new town full of fucking rich people. Sandor grabbed the half-empty leather purse and peered inside. Four silver moons, five silver stags and seven useless pennies remained... Sandor could at most afford another pint and some boiled beef if he wanted to save something for the return journey. Unfortunately, the man had neither a pavilion nor a tent. The temporary vi granted to House Clegane was not an option. He would have to stay in a damn inn... He couldn''t sleep outside, not in this damn town, at least. All the armed militia escorting the great lords were camped outside the City. The non-nobles were not allowed to carry weapons inside the Silk Road. So Sandor had been forced to spit the bloody name of House Clegane to get his weapons through, paying a fucking fee of an entire Golden Fucking Dragon. Every damned corner was guarded by toons of town guards armed with bludgeons and nastiness. Men who made no distinction between ''smallfolk'', ''merchants'' or ''nobles''. Just that afternoon, Sandor had witnessed the beating and arrest of a Noble Rampole, son of who-knows-who in the Reach, just for taking a piss in an alleyway... ''Tsz... You have to pay even to take a piss in this Handkerchief-Pretty Street of My Ass!'' Sandor thought in frustration. That''s how it worked in the Silk Road: One penny for every ess to the piss collectors and two bloody pennies for every shit in the travellingtrines. The city''s frosty ruler would not allow anyone to sully her beautiful, smooth, fragrant granite streets with their own (or their pets'') excrement. Sandor was an inch away from unsheathing the sword he had paid for when a chubby little man in uniform had fined him,plete with a tax receipt, demanding two silver stags for the natural spige of manure from his steed''s asshole... All his savings were well and truly gone. The man spat at how much money had been needlessly squandered because of his naivety. In Lannisport, that old buffoon who called himself "cksmith" had fleeced him dry, stealing all his hard-earned gold in the Greyjoy rebellion. Luckily for him, the job was discreet... If the armour, helmet, shield and broadsword had had a single shortfall to his specifications, Sandor would have forced the man to swallow all thirty-four of the required gold pieces and then retrieve them from his torn gut. It had now been eight long years that Sandor had served the Lions... Eight years of meagre paypared to his true worth. ''The Hound'', as they began to call him in his unit. Two years as a guard and six as a bloodhound hunting bandits in the Lions''nds, and all he managed to earn besides the paltry 9 gold pieces a year allowance (a little more than twice as much as a private) was awe for him, a modicum of respect and a moniker... If only Sandor had bent the knee and epted that farce of ointments and hypocritical high-sounding words from some Septon, he could have tripled his allowance long ago. A knight earned three times as much as a mere guard. But the Hound would not have done that. Instead, Sandor would always spit at knighthood. No, he would never be a knight... Knight of the Seven or Green Knight, that was; he would not anoint himself with such hypocrisy. The man with no ce to call home, no family, and no future, had invested everything for the tournament that would begin tomorrow. There, Sandor would prove his worth. There, he would get his justice, his revenge... Clegane had prepared years for that fateful day. Training to exhaustion with sword, shield, mace, axe and spear. Tempering his experience in the field, participating in minor melees, hunting bandits and fighting in three bloody battles. At age twelve, Sandor had participated in the Sack of Kings Landing, killing a Targaryen soldier. It hadn''t really been a real duel but a dirty contest to see who could skewer the other first... Sandor was there the night the Greyjoys had stormed the port of Lannisport. Thanks to him, the Lion City had four fewer raiding Ironborns to think about... Andstly, Sandor had entered the fray in the assault on Great Wyk where, in the ranks of the vanguard, he attacked thest bastion remaining loyal to the Greyjoys... In the one-sided ughter on the walls, the Hound had lost count of how many men had perished at his hands, blinded by the anger he felt for the other Clegane storming the main gates. Sandor was no longer a weak, whimpering boy incapable of protecting himself, his father or his sister... Now, the Hound had grown enough to bare his fangs. The archerypetition would be tomorrow''s first event, to be held in a two-day heat. His fate would be written in just over two days... ''Fuck it... What''s the point of saving?'', "Goldfinch! Over here!" Sandor thought there was no point in sparing any more money and called the usual maid buzzing around him. "I''ll be right there, Ser Boor!" replied the honey-haired girl, causing a small burst of hrity among the customers. The tavern was packed, as it was every night. The Singing Maiden was the most coveted tavern for penniless rabble like him. The oak and granite structure could amodate up to two hundred people. Drinks and food were excellent, but the honey pot that attracted every minor merchant or knight-errant ofmon lineage was its waitresses... About twenty maidens between the ages of sixteen and thirty, all good-looking singers, alternated between songs, taking turns between the tables and the domed central stage. For some reason unknown to him, perhaps due to some witchcraft, the music and voice of each singer managed to wiggle through the customers'' various voices, belches andughter. It was as if the sound travelled freely on every wooden wall of the inn so that it reached everyone in the audience. There was always a song in that tavern. Something the Hound in this shitty world appreciated... His sister, L, often sang to him. It was the third night in a row that Sandor had dined there... The waitresses were beginning to recognise him, especially the Goldfinch, the only finch in the cage which wasn''t afraid to approach him. "Another stout, Ser Boor?" Asked the finch cheekily. "I''m not a ''Ser'', Goldfinch... This is the third time I''ve told you already." Growled the Hound faintly. "And I am not a ''Goldfinch'', ''Ser''... If you want me to stop calling you ''Ser'', you must address me by my name, ''Jenny''." The bird had ws and an overly forked tongue, but Sandor would never lift a finger against the impertinent frail creature, he stayed silent. No one here dared touch the singing maidens even if he wanted to. The warning sign at the entrance (which Sandor was unable to read) read: [This is "Not" a Brothel. No harassing or violent actions will be tolerated against the Singing Maiden staff]. The new zon of House Tallhart was neatly engraved in every corner or wall of the inn to remind all fools that the business belonged to Torrhen''s Square. In this case, the Goldfinch called Jenny, the Matron in charge of the finches, enjoyed the protection of every horny beggar with steel, seeking her favour and graces. "What''s that guy eating over there?" Asked the Hound, pointing in the direction from which came the inviting scent of pastry, roasted meat and spices. "He...? Braised beef pie with nutmeg and turmeric." Replied the finch politely, sparing him at least a fucking ''Ser''. "I''ll have that, plus chicken with roast potatoes and white bread. And I''ll also take a whole jug of spiced red wine. What wine can I afford with these?" Sandor emptied the bag on the table, keeping only two silver moons for himself, the coinage needed to pay for his stay and food. "Mmm... let''s see. I rmend some excellent cinnamon-spiced Jh red. With a whole jug and the roast chicken, pie and bread are on the house." Jenny took only the tiny silver and copper coins, leaving tworge silver coins as change. Probably, the girl had realised that the scarred young man, in his twenties, didn''t have much coinage left... "Keep the silver. That''s for you, Goldfinch... I want to hear you sing." The Hound handed the two coins to the woman. Sandor''s hand managed to graze the smooth skin of the most graceful finch in the tavern. Too pretty for a man as ugly as he was... "I do not want your silver, Ser Boor, only kindness and the grace of "my" name. Take back the coinage. Soon, it will be my turn to take the stage anyway." Before the woman could return the silver, a harassing shout caught her by surprise. "JENNY!!! Oh, my sweet, beloved, persuasive Jenny! Your favourite Knight is here!!!" So thundered a shabby knight with messy blond hair and a neglected beard. The stinker, followed by two other men bearing the banners of a Metal Wolf, knelt at the feet of the Maiden-in-Chief, brazenly kissing her hand... The finch quickly retracted his hand with a disgusted air, admonishing: "I am not Your Jenny, Ser Brotelier... Don''t you dare touch me or any of my girls again, or I will have you bludgeoned away." "Ahahaha! What did I tell you? The Matron of the Tavern knows me... We will have a table!" Sandor didn''t know who the drunkard was, but the other embarrassed man behind him was saying something... Maybe it was one of Eddard Stark''s personal guards. "There are no free tables, Ser... There''s a waiting queue out there. You and your friends will have to wait your turn like everyone else. And besides, ''Lord Stark'' would like to tell you that you no longer have an ''unlimited'' line of credit in this tavern. So, if you don''t have the coin, you don''t touch food and drink, Ser Haymitch." Now Sandor also remembered the jester. That was the Drunken Spender who had offered two rounds of drinks to the whole tavern the night before. "Come on,e on, Jenny! Look, I''ve got the coin!" The man pulled out a plump, jingling purse, pulling out a fucking gold dragon in the woman''s hands. Jenny had refused his little silver, but the woman''s eyes hesitated at the gold. "Just do me this small favour of finding us a ce." The drunkard pointed to hispanions behind him. "Ser Jory Cassel and Ser Simon of Wolf Lake here have just been named Green Knights by Lord Eddard Stark himself! We must celebrate! DRINKS FOR EVERYO-" the drinkingpanion stopped the drunkard''s mouth before the impending financial bloodletting that could have ruined even a minor lord... "No, no, mdy. Ser Haymitch here had no intention of offering anything to anyone...! Am I right, Ser?" Asked the supposed ''Ser'' Jory, still holding his hand over the man''s mouth. "Mmgggh, spiffpss cabbhi...! Phew...Ogay, "Nopphing" Driggh Tor Ebebvyone!" the man released his mouth after the nod of surrender, "Happy now...?! Party pooper, all of you." Comined the 40-year-old drunkard. "Please, madame. We only ask for chairs and nothing more. We will make do with anything you can offer us." The handsome man asked politely and humbly, gaining more favourable attention from the Goldfinch. "... Congrattions on your appointment, Knights... These are the only chairs left. "But" you will have to ask permission from the customer who reserved this table, "AND" I appeal to your votes to have Knight of the Brothels maintain some semnce of demeanour." So proposed the Goldfinch, pulling him in. Sandor did not like the idea at all. He had paid for some fucking solitude topped off with good wine, a full stomach and a few songs... Not to mention that Haymitch did look like a first-ss pain in the ass. "Of course, of course, Lady Jenny. We''ll keep Haymitch at bay. I promise that neither you, your employees, nor any customers will get in trouble with us." Said the sissy knight with the long hair. The Finch cast a hopeful nce towards him, seeking help, staring him in the face... The man felt awfully ufortable when someone stared at his face. Sandor constantly brushed his hair so that it covered at least arge part of his burnt side, as no hair grew there... Already his better side was not so good with those grey eyes, a big, hooked nose, sharp cheekbones, a high forehead and long, dark, sparse hair. But his burnt right side -his shame- was nothing short of abominable... His smooth ck skin was dotted with craters and deep cracks oozing red and wet, his ear was just a hole with a stump, and a hint of bone could be seen on his jaw. The scars extended down to his throat. Around his eye was a twisted mass of spots, and on that side, he had no lips... "Sit down, and don''t fuck with me." Clegane blurted out, relenting. The drunkard sputtered with glee. "Ahahaha!!! Thank you! Thank you, Ser...! Emm, your name good man?" "I''m not a Knight, I''m not Good, and I don''t like chatterers either... "Ser. " Clegane replied in a tone that was not at all friendly. "Ah! Perfect, perfect! Neither do I! Ahahah! Jenny, my beloved, everything our good friend has ordered is offered by Lord-... By me!" Shot back the Knight of the Brothels, sitting confidently beside the Hound. "..." almost certainly, on that night, Clegane would add another annoying name to his cklist. The other two Stark men sat with a less festive and confident air than the first. "Pff...mh, mh..." The Goldfinch held back augh; Jenny must have found that scene funny. It was the first time Sandor had seen her smile so closely. After all, women neverughed in his presence... After the finch took the first orders from the three new additions, the girl with rosy skin, red lips, silky, wavy hair the colour of the sun, and the most melodic voice in the realm turned with a smile to the ugliest man in the Seven Kingdoms: "You still haven''t told me your name, Not-a-Ser... What is your name?" For a moment, the man was tempted to answer, "The Hound", but then restrained himself. "Sandor... Sandor Clegane." He replied. "Sandor...?!" The Goldfinch seemed partly surprised by the revtion. Clegane was confused by it. "Any problems?" Asked the young man defensively. That was the problem with trusting people... they always let you down. The added meddling trio allowed the pair a quiet moment to interact. "No! No, no one... So, Sandor, what song would you like to hear?" Asked the Goldfinch with a slightly embarrassed air. The young woman changed her attitude 180, abandoning her usual grumpy and stiff demeanour with a more... "friendly" one. "... The one you sang yesterday. The song with your name on it, Goldfinch." Sandor replied. "Jenny of Oldstones...? If you insist, go for that, Ser Sando-... I meant Sandor! Er... just Sandor. I beg your pardon. First drinks are on the house, milords!" The girl took her to leave with celerity, leaving the drunkard''s gold dragon and Clegane''s silver on the table. Sandor didn''t understand a fucking thing... "... It''s for your name." Said the Knight of the Brothels to the Hound''s rescue. "Has the Name Clegane already achieved such a bad reputation in this Fucking Town?" Asked the Hound grumpily. The othersughed at what was not meant to be a joke. "Do I make youugh?" The fight may start before its time. "Oh... No, no, it''s not you, my good man. You must forgive us. Almost certainly, the story of Joblin Fairytales has not yet reached you Southerners." The guy called Jory replied, justifying himself to the group. "See for yourself, ''Not-a-Ser''..." he pointed to the drunkard. Clegane turned his gaze in the indicated direction. The Goldfinch was confiding in the background with another group of Finches... All three young women turned their eyes towards their table, smiling in surprise and embarrassment. "... What fucking story?" Asked the Hound rudely. "Ah... A story on everyone''s lips, Not-a-Good-Man. A tale that is perhaps even more sessful than ''The Shield Maiden''... It is entitled: ''Ser Sandor, The Fearless Scarred''." Replied Haymitch,ughing under his moustache. "... Are you shitting me?" Sandor asked with justified scepticism. The three Norse couldn''t hold back theirughter. Then Haymitch added: "Not at all, Not-a-Ser... The tale is about a boy from a small house of knights who, in his immature youth, defended the honour of a peasant girl by challenging an evil knight of... ah, who remembers anymore. Anyway, the boy came out horribly scarred and roamed the length and breadth of the country like a Hedge Knight seeking revenge on the bastard who had scarred him. Don''t ask me if he eventually found him because I don''t know. But in any case, the scarred guy, in his long quest, saved people and innocents here and there in the course of various adventures. And the funny thing is, you know what?! The main character, ''Ser Sandor, The Fearless Scarred'', always got pissed when someone called him ''Ser''!.... Pff! Phuahahaahah!" Sandor was astonished by this, not just because of the information shot at him. It sounded like too much borate bullshit to be improvised... That story may have existed. Ser Haymitch rose from his chair and thundered: "Tonight, it''s going to be fun, folks!!! Our Sandor here will attract all the maidens of the North!!! Ahahah! A toast!!!" The drunkard pulled out a sk and poured its contents into Sandor''s mug and three other empty cups on the table, then nimbly leapt onto the chair with one foot resting on the table and shouted: "To Ser Sandor, The Fearless Scarred!!! Cheers!!!" ***** End Chapter. ------ Chapter 169: Someone to Protect (I) Chapter 169: Someone to Protect (I) *****I apologise for those who read the chapter with a missing part. I have tried to rectify this as soon as possible. Happy Reading!**** -------- POV: de Two At a table in the corner of the Singing Maiden. Seconds after a drunkard called for a toast... ----- That Haymitch was a genuine screw-up... de Two was still sceptical that this staggering man, with his guard mostly down and perpetually drunk, could give him a run for his money in a 1 vs 1 fight. But, if Instructor Sergeant Ramas said that, who was he to contradict him? ''It''s not the Drunkard or the Scarred that''s your target, you idiot...! Stay focused on your task.'' The second-best sworn Frost de of Torrhen''s Square admonished himself. The individual he had to watch over was on the opposite side. It was a task that required the utmost concentration. Perhaps that boy was a target of the perilous Faceless Men... Experienced, silent and invisible assassins of the House of ck and White. Individuals who could have danced at the point of a knife against the top ten Frost des... Unbeknownst to the eyes of the World, the shadow war between Torrhen''s Square, Oldtown and Braavos had already begun... The deaths of de Seven, de ''42'', de ''88'' and de ''103'' in thends of the Boltons had ignited a spark of conflict and vengeance between theirrades that was impossible to extinguish. All that remained were the burnt bones of theirrades, with no clues to im the attack. Torrhen''s Square had tripled the funding of the secret unit, drawing resources from the ''War Fund'' and unleashed every team in standby... His Lords demanded to know who was behind the barbaric attack. After two moons of searching, ''Nothing'' was all de Two and hisrades coulde up with. No one knew where Roose Bolton''s Bastard or Euron Greyjoy had ended up - no trail, no suspicious ship, no ce they could hide. Not even the help of the Fourth Organisation led to anything... But now, the search for the bastards guilty of de Seven''s death was no longer de Two''s first priority... Instead, the Frost de had another set of sleeves to think about. Another waitress approached the table. She was the second in that same evening. This time it was a girl with auburn hair and freckles on her face. "I... Can I get you something else, Ser...?" Asked the girl shyly with flushed cheeks and a heated face... Another sweet prey, functional to his cover, tenderly took the bait. "If you ask me in that tone, mydy, then yes... Of course, I would like another half pint of red beer, but I would like your gentle hands to bring it to me. And I long with all my heart for a song from your suave voice and the chance to snatch a kiss from you at the end of the evening." The seventeen-year-old''s face turned crimson. de Two was best suited for the job... He, unlike the other top eight des, was handsome. His hazel eyes, square, smooth, well-shaven and well-proportioned face, short, slightly wavy, oak-brown hair, warm voice, and slender, hardened physique were almost anathema to his job. "Girl...! Hey, Waitress!!! We were here first of that handsome baggage!" A plump Knight with the coats of arms of House Donniger rose indignantly, seeking justice for that affront. Indeed, the Maiden had snubbed the table with the ranting and not-very-attractive Knights of the Valley. "Wait your turn, Ser ''Hugebelly''!!! Get your mockery back in that chair now if you don''t want the guards to make you do it!!!" So roared the ''sweet'' and ''cid'' red-haired Maiden furiously. The girl must have been angry at the sudden bursting of the romantic bubble... There was an outburst ofughter among the witnessing patrons. Some began to throw butts at the Knight brought to heel by the Maiden, mocking him. This was the tavern''s second main attraction. The verbal skirmishes between the Forbidden Maidens and the Rude Knights who coveted the forbidden fruit... Some of the more fearless and rebellious had tested the word of House Tallhart, daring to use more than mere words. Thest poor man was still locked up in some icy prison cell, shivering, his face swollen and bleeding and the fingers of his offended hand broken, waiting for his lord or some good Samaritan to pay the ransom of twenty-five gold dragons for the p... The Knight followed the advice with a pained face but a surrendered air. "...Emm, you were saying, Ser? What song would you like me to sing?" So asked the voice again, tender, unsure and candid... "What is your favourite romantic song?" de Two asked with an affectionate grin. "T-the my...? Well, that is... it would be ''A Rose of Gold'', milord," replied the tender blushing Maiden. "Oh, but look at the coincidence... I have just the right little gift for you." The Hedge Knight named "Ser Elbert of the Kisses" (AKA de Two) pulled out a spun silver chain with a gold pendant in the shape of a rose and gently handed it into the Maiden''s trembling, warm hand, caressing her smooth skin with his fingertips more than necessary. "I-I cannot ept, Ser..." Said the shocked girl feebly with a melted heart and shortness of breath. de Two knew every Singing Maiden employee''s file by heart. The lives and secrets of Jenny''s employees-an intelligence agent serving Torrhen''s Square- were an open book to the man. "Yes, you can... ''You must'', mdy. ''A Rose of Gold'' it is. But when you sing it, I would like your beautiful dewy green eyes to point at mine." And so, for that evening too, the Casanova cover of chasing beautiful maidens had been duly remarked upon. Poor Charlotte walked away from the table looking bewitched with love and fanciful promises. de Two felt a little pity for the maiden... ying with the heart and feelings of a poor girl- who was meless- made him feel dirty. But... de Two had dipped his gloves and boots into much dirtier work, and so far, he had not lost a minute''s sleep over any of it. The des of Frost were not Knights of Honour or high virtues. They were ''Tools of Evil''... Necessary'' Instruments in constant battle among the shadows to eradicate even worse evils. The Tool resumed its vigil over the room overflowing with potential threats... So far, no one suspicious had approached the table, or the dishes served to that scion heir to the North, but de Two''s instincts kept suggesting that someone else was also waiting and watching. Some well-concealed predator watching and studying his prey... It was a game between the Cat and the Mouse... Somewhere in that room, someone with a fictitious face performed an act simr to his own. It was up to the Tool of Torrhen''s Square to track and neutralise him before he could lift a finger towards his protg... ----- End POV ------- POV: Duncan Lords Hall, Winterfell. About four weeks before an instrument began its wake... ------- There were five of them gathered in that small council while the castle and most of its guests slept after yet another festive feast: The King in the North, the Keeper of Love, his sworn shield Ramas and myself. I had requested that emergency meetingte at night, following the urgent missive received from Master Zick. A missive from a long-time friend of his, the former Guardian of Love and current High Priest to Sect Leader of the House of ck and White. After a deep frown at the map lying on the table, Ned asked: "Is there no way to know who the targets are, Master Zick?" The tone was respectful but with a trace of pleading addressed to one of the most powerful and influential beings in the Known World... "... There would be, King Eddard, but it woulde at a high price. Specifically, consuming several favours umted over decades with The Kindly Man... Not that I don''t want to extend you a hand, mind you, it''s just that..." I continued in the master''s ce. "The Fourth Organisation, at the moment, cannot afford such a burden, Your Grace... Theing blizzard has not even begun. Just as Winterfell cannot squander grain reserves before Winter, the Fourth Organisation cannot cheaply squander hard-won privileges with the House of ck and White before a World War." I calmly exined, gaining the Northern Protector''s understanding. The Kindly Man had done the courtesy of "partially" warning Zick about the recent new assignments epted by the sect. The High Priest of the House of ck and White and the Guardian of Love, although now belonging to opposite factions, always maintained a friendly rtionship. Coboration constantly nurtured over time through exchanges of information, mutual favours and trade agreements. "The Faceless Men are dangerous, elusive and unpredictable, but they dare noty a finger on any Starks. Consanguineous, servant or guest, the Agents of the Many Faced-Gods will not go against the protection of the Representative Guardian." I said, trying to reassure the worry-stricken man. "But this protective bond does not extend beyond the residents of Winterfell, Ser Duncan... All my vassals and their families are in danger, and the North does not have enough capable men to send to watch over them." Ned replied, gaining assent from me, which I emitted with sad reluctance. "As for Madame Zishua''s forces? Could not Winterfell demand the services of Pentos under fairpensation... ?" The Lord of Winterfell tried to ask. Zick turned his gaze to his most trusted assistant; Ramas took the floor. "Madame Zishua has already deployed one thousand four hundred chosen agents throughout the North, Your Majesty. Almost a third of our active forces; to require more would be too taxing on the stability of the Organisation... Of them, only fifty or so would be able to counter a Chosen Servant of the Many Faced-God individually. And we need such agents to not fail in our duties as Guarantors... So many lives we must watch over and cannot grant favouritism. Eight Agent-Elites is our limit to watch over your vassals, King Eddard." Ned nodded in reply: "I will take whatever you can offer, Sir Ramas. Winterfell thanks Madame Zishua and Master Zick for their kind disposition... Whatever justpensation the Queen of Pentos demands for the favour granted to us, it shall be paid." Greedy or not, the already indebted Quiet Wolf did not spare any expense when protecting someone. Ramas, the spokesman in charge of the Fourth Organisation, respectfully bowed his head, mutually epting the offer. He then warned specifically: "However, Your Grace, if The Kindly Man had sent one of his Three Direct Disciples for the job, not even myrades or I would be able to foil his intentions... Not without knowing "who" we must protect, at the very least." The Three Disciples... The Many Faced-Gods'' best assassins and servants: White de, ck Tongue, and Grey Face. "The Elite among the Elite", those who could manage to face and assassinate "sessfully" even a member among the Arcane Shields of the King in the Yellow or a direct Ex-disciple of The Watcher himself... Eleven years ago, during a legitimate trade dispute between Braavos and Pentos, a former protg of Zick''s and an elite agent of the Spider Queen, Belwis ''Steel nk'', perished at the hands of the White de... Even the Titan, if adequately provoked, could draw many dangerous supernatural weapons. Zick did not seek revenge for Belwis'' death, nor did he feel hatred towards those who deprived him of his former pupil-friend. Any pupil deemed by The Watcher as "Mature" and fallen on the path he had chosen no longer benefited from The Watcher''s Fury but only from deep sadness and pain to endure... "Of that, I would not worry, Master Ramas," I interjected, drawing attention. "Although we don''t know for sure, we can assume with high probability that the Iron Bank is the main instigator. As rich as they are, engaging the Three Disciples now would only be a waste of resources... The Council of Thirteen has only sent a small vanguard for exploratory purposes. The Titan wants to feel our defences with his fingertips before he strikes the first real blow." I lit a momentary glimmer of hope in Ned''s gloomy face. "I agree with Duncan. The Kindly Man will not delegate assignments without knowing the North''s defences. de One... No, forgive me, ''Edward'' showed a lot of dexterity and tenacity in Braavos. The Sect Leader knows my hand is behind the formation of the Frost des. Before risking the spearheads and future of the House of ck and White, the Kindly Man will send second-order agents or disciples still on probation to test the skills of the shadow unit of the North." For some time now, the Master had often been imputing the names of all the agents of the Frost des. I retook the lead on the subject by cing wooden figurines on the map to take stock of the situation. "Lord Tywin will use all the rotten apples from the West and House Frey that he can gather to harass and slow down the construction work on Moat Cailin, and at least for a while, we should be covered there. On the journey back from the meeting with the Guardian of the Beauty, I will join Prince Benjen, and together, we will go to a parley with the Valley ns. If we seed, we will get at least three thousand fierce warriors, experts in raids and ambushes, tempered by poverty and hunger to defend the Neck, and at least another fifteen or twenty thousand extra arms for the work... With their contribution and Lord Hond Reed''s Craggmen, the Neck will be untouchable." The Watcher contributed to making amends for his shorings. "The Valley ns respect strength and tradition, King Eddard. If your brother Benjen wishes to prove himself as a worthy leader for all the ns, he must prove his worth with Bronze and Blood... Might I suggest Prince Benjen have an... ''intensive'' training session with Master Leng and Master Baragh in theing moons?" Zick proposed politely. It wasn''t a bad idea at all. The Warriors of the ns, almost alwayscking in good steel, were mostly Berserkers, bare-knuckle fighters, and expert sling shooters. If I remember correctly, in the asoiaf canon, that damned Shagga son of Dolf, of the Stone Crows, in the battle of the Green Fork, had been impaled with a dozen arrows and still managed to survive. And Timett, son of Timett, of the Burnt Men, was able to rip out a man''s windpipe with his bare hands with a single w... "A proposal well received, Master Zick. May the honourable Masters Baragh and Leng be free to... ''train'' my brother in whatever way they see fit." Ned replied, bowing his head. "Ahah! Good! Good! I have just had a suitable training ground prepared for the task. It will be an interesting challenge to watch!" Reacted The Watcher enthusiastically. The Master saw Benjen as a precious rough gem waiting to be filed and polished... Well, actually, Zick saw gems everywhere. If Madame Zishua had not put a brake and limits on Zick''s manic obsession, the World would be full of monsters today. Ned had just condemned poor Benjen to three very hard months of "Harsh Winter" apanied by winds of tribtion, broken bones and bruises of all kinds... Master Leng wasn''t easy with punches, kicks and blows, and every time I faced Master Baragh, an instinctive part of me would often shout: ["Fuck, fuck! This guy is serious!!! Forget Friendly Sparring. The Barbarian is trying to kill us, Duncan!!! React, Fuck! Strike to kill! It''s him or you!!!"] "What about Brandon''s Gift and the New Gift? What news do we have on the northern front?" Ned asked, focusing his attention on the opposite side. "The Viges continue to be stormed by supposed Wildlings raids... Lord Commander Mormont has just stationed a permanent garrison of fifty men to defend Mole Town, but the Night''s Watch needs more men-at-arms to safeguard the entirend... Reconnaissance parties or squads of less than a dozen Rangers continue to be wiped out from Sentinel Bastion to Long Mound. The Brotherhood has already reached over forty losses in less than two moons... Those bloodthirsty beasts seem to belong to the Blue Faces or the Purple kes... cannibalistic nsmen among the Cave Dwellers. However, their numbers and their ability to disappear and assault with such precision are somewhat suspect, Your Majesty. They may be mercenaries in the pay of someone to simte the ungodly actions of the Free Folks and generate Chaos... but we still need proof. We have just received confirmation that this attack was ordered neither by Mance Raider nor by any of the other four current Kings-Beyond-the-Wall... However, we have also received rumours that a probable ''Sixth King'' is gathering followers among the various minor ns of the Cave Dwellers." I concluded the report, and Ned replied: "Tragic and rming news... Even if this were not the work of the Free Folks, Ser Duncan, these abject actions would irreparably tarnish our efforts for a reconciliation between the people of the North and South of the Wall. The ns of the Mountains and the Umbers are eager to take the field with weapons drawn, and even the Crown is pressing for the Protector of the North to intervene... We cannot wait any longer." "And we will intervene as soon as possible, Your Majesty, I promise. But in the right way... I think these armed dras of savages are well versed in guerri strategies: [Bite and Run]. Large armed forces would not be helpful for a speedy resolution... If we want to settle this source of hatred and Chaos as soon as possible, the ''Wolves'' will have to be flushed out with predators disguised as ''Sheep''. I retorted, beginning to illustrate a n. *** About five minutester... "We''ll let Commander Syggha and her unit handle it... As for the Northern Lords? Which Houses, in your opinion, will need more protection?" The King asked, indirectly addressing me. "Many are in danger, but the Houses certainly most at risk are Mormont, Ryswell, Bolton and Magnar. House Bolton is the most vulnerable at the moment, and Domeric is thest legitimate line of the Red Kings. The Titan''s maritime fleets will need the new portentous long-range scopes as soon as possible. However, with the Master''s help and the sess of the Mormont ss, we are confident enough to wrest from the Iron Bank a non-aggression veto against the Mormonts, which, if possible, we will attempt to extend to Bolton and Ryswell... In any case, Lady Barbrey has arranged an elite guard of choice for her nephew, Domeric, and her sister, Bethany. It is the Ryswells who will be the most exposed. Lord Rodrick has many sons, nieces, nephews and cousins to protect, and the stallions and mares bred in the Rills are among the most sought-after horses by the nobles of Westeros and Essos... Therefore, if Madame Zishua agrees, I propose concentrating at least one-fifth of all forces sent by the Fourth Organisation in the Rills." Ramas nodded. And I resumed the list, removing a danger marker from the Rills and pointing my finger at Skagos. "Lord Magnar is currently leading a military expedition into the mountains of Skagos to subdue or eradicate all the lesser n leaders not yet loyal to House Stark. It will still take time, only the men of Skagos can safely navigate the various goat paths scattered across the ind, but Lord Magnar has already managed to sessfully negotiate and annex the Crowls of Deepdown and the Stanes of Driftwood, the tworgest ns after the Magnars. That said, I would spend at least four of Madame Zishua''s Elite granted to us in support of the Frost des stationed on Skagos. The disappearance of Lord Magnars'' third-born son is somewhat suspicious... "Rarely" do trivial hunting idents afflict experienced hunters like the Skagosi." The number "of idents" throughout the general North had drastically risen after lowering The Watcher''s Iron Curtain... It wasn''t just the Titan. All the sharks of the vast ocean had sniffed the inviting smell of fresh blood. The recent market supremacy of many products in the North was irritating several wealthy and dangerous individuals around the World. Illyrio Mopatis, for example, was a greedy and stubborn pain in the ass... The perfumed fat man wouldn''t let go of the Targaryens'' heirs and was determined to find a way to counter his losses in the spice and dragon parts trade... The Eunuch Spider would soon be looking for me, and I had to ensure I found a proper ''Message of Peace'' to return to his friend. I also removed the red marker on Skagos. "This brings us to the Titan''s juiciest target, the real building block to trigger a domino effect of chaos and discontent... House Flint of Widow''s Watch." Yet, surprisingly, the King of the North began to show signs of understanding about theplex chessboard of the Great Game. "You believe that Robin Flint''s death during the siege of Pyke was not at the hands of amon ironman?" Asked the Lord of Winterfell. Ramas intervened. "The Faceless Men act in many ways, Your Grace. They can use des or poison darts directly, like simting idents. On the other hand, an agent of the Many Faced-Gods does not necessarily have to get his hands dirty... He, for example, could simply distract or slip - at decisive moments - a target into dangerous situations." So exined The Watcher''s Shield. "... I understand. If Braavos sought Chaos, he could find plenty of it on the thorny issue of Widow''s Watch''s legacy. Both the Flints of Flint''s Finger and the Karstarks and Hornwoods would boast of possible blood heirs to the session, should Lady Lynessa Flint''sst heir, Lord Karstark''s current squire, Eliot Flint, also perish due to mysterious circumstances..." So said the Protector of the North. "Precisely... The Flints of Flint''s Finger and Widow''s Wacht have hated each other for at least eight generations but boast a name inmon and a living family line through Lady Lynesse''s great-uncle. On the other hand, the children of Lord Rickard''s sadly departed wife, Lady Tasha Flint, the daughter of Lady Lyness'' brother, have the most inheritance rights. But the Hornwoods may also enter the race, for Lord Halys Hornwood''s grandmother, decades ago, could have legitimately ascended the seat of Widow''s Watch, but Lady Wy vacated the seat, abdicating for her younger sister, Jasmine Flint, the mother of Lady Lynesse..." The question of ''Legitimate Session'' in Westeros was like a fierce battle between Crack junkies looking for the suitable cable for the X-Box console in aplex, tangled skein of electrical wires. With everyone pulling their own wire, hoping to y Videogames before everyone else... Sooner orter, an alternative had to be found to that problem. Ned proposed a solution. ''It would be better for a Flint to remain on the Widow''s Watch seat should the worst happen. Lady Lynesse should be thirty-eight or thirty-nine. She is still of child-bearing age... The bloodline of the first true Flint of Breakstone Hill is still alive in North Wolfwood. I could oil that woman''s rusty head somehow. Lady Flint has been pestering me for years with petitions about the river rights of Weeping Water. A possible marriage with a Flint of the Mountain n is the solution... Artos Flint, the second son of Lord Torghet, is still a widower and only a few years younger than Lynesse. And if I''m not mistaken, Artos is supposed to have just a sixteen or seventeen-year-old daughter from his previous marriage. A double union between Artos and Lynesse and young Eliot with Lyanna would ultimately settle any possible diatribe. Even if both Flints of Widow''s Watch were to perish, if it were a Flint Progenitor to remain on the seat by marriage rights, no one would question its legitimacy." "A very good solution indeed, Your Grace... However, Lord Karstark has already entered into a marriage agreement with Lady Lynesse for a future union between Eliot and his second cousin, Alys Karstark. Lord Karstark is a proud and dutiful goat. We should find a way to terminate the contract without offending Karhold..." "The eldest son of Lord Tytos, Brynden, is still unmarried. He could be an excellent fallback for Alys Karstark. If the ckwoods ept our offer, I could convince Lord Karstark and Lord Umber to bind their sons and daughters with the heirs of their future neighbours. That way, breaking the contract will not be interpreted as an offence but as a ''Political Necessity''." "Yes... Yes, it''s a good n. Of course, we''d have to rush things with the Night''s Watch and the New Gift concessions, but it''s doable..." I reflected on thest obstacle, exposing it to the small council. "The marriages of the Flints cannot take ce before the wedding of Lady Barbrey and Lord Jorah. So we must protect both Lady Lynesse and Eliot for this period. Torrhen''s best Square agents will safeguard the duo, and we will warn Lady Lynesse in secret of the possible threat. de One cannot move from Braavos yet, but we will send the second and third best alternative to protect the Flints." Ned nodded, cing a point on the Flint topic, so I shifted my attention to my Master, asking: "What does the Guardian of Love say about these ''possible'' attacks by the Titan against the First Men? Will the North be able to react without triggering legitimate grounds for war?" So I asked the individual who represented the impartial arbitral authority among the forces of the World, not my loving Master. Zick looked at me for a few seconds, then decreed: "There is no evidence that the Titan is behind these "alleged attacks"... However, the improper funding of the Iron Bank in directing an avowed direct attack by the Ironborns towards House Mormont and House Tallhart is in itself an action that can justify a fair "Reaction" to such an offence... And if such a reaction were "possibly" magnified with as many unprovable "alleged attacks", the Guardians could not amodate any justification appropriate to either faction for a full-scale war. " Concealed in the depths, The Watcher was a devious double agent-opportunist who feigned false ignorance and political inadequacy only when it suited him... Lucky for the First Men faction. An evil grin and an equally evil thought leavened in me... ''Good... I have more than a few des ready and eager for action, 496rades-in-arms still seeking justice for their four fallen brothers, and a Frosty Lady pissed off at the attack on her beloved husband''s family.'' I pondered, giving full rein to my imagination in drawing up a draft n. It is incumbent on the Iron Bank to always remember that for every ''Action'', there is a ''Reaction''... And it will be Torrhen''s Square and Barrowton to remind them. **** End Part I **** Chapter 170: Someone to Protect (II) Chapter 170: Someone to Protect (II) POV: Eliot Flint At a table in the middle of The Singing Maiden. While ''A Rose of Gold'' was sung by the Maiden named Charlotte... ------ Eliot was once again amazed by the charm and warm simplicity of that Tavern. He was having just another lovely evening in thepany of his new friends and squires of the same age, Jerha and Garoan. Jerha Ged was the son of a family of minor knights of White Harbor and personal squire to Lord Wyman Manderly, and Garoan, though not of noble birth, was the trusted squire and sworn shield of Lord Jon Umber. Of the three, Eliot was the most dressed up for the evening, as was only to be expected... But the 18-year-old still felt a little guilty about his chosen outfit. His set of the finest Flint wool and Karstark leather made hispanions look bad, making them look like ordinary Eliot guards... but his great-aunt insisted, repeating to him: ["You are the future of House Flint, my dear. From the day of your appointment, your every image, deed, or word will be weighed in the eyes of Westeros... So stop whining and put on the gown I have had tailored for you by the finest tailors and leatherworkers in the North!"] Lady Lynessa Flint''s only son, his second cousin Robin, had tragically passed away, leaving no heir, falling valiantly a few moons ago in the naval battle for the conquest of Pyke''s Port... A treacherous stab in the belly by a dying Ironman ended the rightful heir to Widow''s Watch. So now, Eliot, the great-nephew of Lady Lynessa, became the only unlikely heir and future Flints of Widow''s Watch. But this was not what Eliot desired. The boy had never imagined that he might one day be Lord. If Robin had not died in battle before his time, if his brother, Ser Byam, had not joined the Night''s Watch, if his deceased great-uncle''s sons had not been struck down by smallpoxst winter, if his older brother, Dale, had not been unhorsed by a crazed horse two years ago, Eliot could still have pursued his path... Living a free, adventurous life travelling all over the vast, unknown world, earning a living as a tournament knight or, if need be, as a sword in the pay of some peculiar lord of the East. Perhaps spending a year of his life in each great Known City... Oldtown, King''s Landing, Sandspear, Pentos, Vntis, or even Qarth... and who knows, he may one day make it as far as the legendary Asshai of Shadows. So many possibilities, so many ces to see and discover... Just imagine such an experience brought a smile to his face. But now, Eliot was certain that his duty to his family was to remain at Widow''s Watch for the rest of his existence... His Aunt Lynessa had been clear. She would not allow her only heir to put himself in uncalcted danger before giving birth to three or four sessors who could pass on the name of the Flints of Widow''s Watch... [Participate in the Great Tournament, or any other tournament in Westeros...? Forget it]. [Going on a boar hunt...? What for? If you want boar meat, you''ll get it on a silver tter before dinner!] [To go around in the evening, in the streets of the most heavily guarded city in the North, without at least an escort of four armed guards and a healer ready when needed with a needle, suture thread and a supply of antidote?! Have you lost your mind, nephew?! Do you know how many enemies House Flint has?] And this was no joke... Two men from House Flint were just outside the Tavern waiting, and two others, along with a new healer hired by his Aunt, were at a table just behind. The shields and Eliot''s personal healer were pretending to enjoy a pleasant evening. Should Eliot perish, Lynessa''s legacy could be passed on to the Flints of Flint''s Finger. There had been bad blood between the two family branches for centuries. Not to the extent of ckwood and Bracken, of course, but his Aunt would instead have locked Eliot in a tower with a hundred maidens to impregnate than see her manor, hernds or riches at risk at the hands of arrogant rival Flints... There were worse fates, that was certain, but still, Eliot could not get used to the idea. The Flints of Widow''s Watch were bing famous across the continent for the profitable wool trade. In thest three years, Flint''s clothes, quilts, tapestries and carpets were among the most sought-after in the market. Finally, a real fashion had broken out among the nobles of Westeros. Demand was so high that Widow''s Watch was forced to acquire 20,000 sheep''s clothing lots and triple production... The ''Ovedy of The Sheeps'', as the envious lords of the South nicknamed his Aunt Lyness, the one who was gaining a monopoly on the wool market, forcing the other lords,dies and great merchants of Westeros to sell off their lots... No one could rival him in quality and workmanship on woollen clothing. There was even a rumour that many merchants had requested an audience with the Crown to remedy the injustice... "Hey, Eliot! Cheer up, my friend! You''re not even casting a single nce at sweet Charlotte on stage. What''s that? Has your beautiful Flint bewitched you already, by any chance?!" So asked a tipsy and festive Jerha. "Ahahah! More than bewitched! Last night, that beast of a maiden must have scaled the mansion walls to sneak into Eliot''s rooms. Our little prince of Widow''s Watch must have been secretly drained to the bone!" Retorted Garoan, soundly patting Eliot''s shoulder. "Spuzz...!! Cogh...Cogh! Pff...Ahahahah!" A beer trickle escaped Jerha''s nostrils as a cloud of saliva, and hops ran over Eliot. "You two imbeciles! Lyanna Flint was not my choice. I would like to see you in my ce! The next beer, you pay for yourselves!" Trilled Eliot feigning false indignation. The boyughed too, but the mncholy thought of his sad fate managed to hold back hisughter. Just before the duel between Bloody Snow and the Waterdancer broke out, his Aunt forced him to dance with the young and ''Subjectively Pretty'' Lyanna Flint... The girl''s face was not ugly, despite her crooked teeth and hunter''s eyes, but her physique... It could be said that the 16-year-old girl had been a little too hardened by the rigid and unfeminine life in the mountains north of Wolfwood. The girl still had difficultymunicating in themon tongue, slurring the Old Tongue between terms. But more relevantly, Lyanna was more muscr and fucking taller than him. Artos Flint''s daughter looked more like a Wildling than a Westerosi... Moreover, the girl was famous in the Flints ns for having managed to kill two wolves with her axe during a hunting ident... It was like marrying a bloody ''Queen-Beyond-The-Wall''! Having finished his duties as heiress, thedy from Widow''s Watch informs him that this girl will be his future bride. And the wedding would take ce just a week after the end of the tournament... Eliot knew that to a future lord, the chance to choose his own mate was more unique than a rare event and that his Aunt wanted another nephew as soon as possible, but his whole fucking world had turned upside down all of a sudden! Not even three moons ago, Karhold and Widow''s Watch had agreed on a marriage arrangement between Eliot and little Alys Karstark. On the one hand, the boy was dismayed to learn that he would have to marry his second cousin (thirteen years younger!), a child he saw as a younger sister. Still, on the other hand, Eliot was delighted at not having to bind himself to the marriage bond for at least another ten years. Alys would have to reach marriageable age for the celebrations sooner. A period of freedom to travel, venture across the sea and straits, and perhaps never return. But now, all his ns were turned upside down. "... Changing the subject, Jerha, a "singing frog" from the Neck, told me the stories of a "fearless" and "careless" Squire of White Harbor... To be exact, of a squire who "forgot" his Lord''s sword..." Eliot turned the omelette around, going on the attack. Taken aback, Jerha paled. "What? Did you forget Lord Wyman Manderly''s sword, Jerha?! Pff... Phruhaha!" Thundered Garoan, attracting the attention of the neighbouring tables with his big, fatughter. "You...! Who told you that?! Ssshhh! What the heck are you yelling about, Garoan?! The purpose of the evening was to seduce some maiden! Do you want to make us look like fools?" Jerha assaulted Greatjon''s honest servant to sit him down and shut him up before the blonde Maiden he was trying to flirt with noticed anything. **** Thirty minutes ofughter, bickering, storytelling and drinkingter... Of maidens who voluntarily approached their table, there was not a shadow. Instead, all the bees kept buzzing towards two tables: the one with the handsome knight, intent on seducing every Maiden in creation, and the other with the ranting men of Winterfell. For some reason unknown to them, the filthy and troublesome Ser Haymitch, ''The Drunker'', had not yet been kicked out. And not only that... More than five maidens, including the Fairy of the North who had bewitched his friend Garoan, continued tough and show favouritism to the strange foursome, consisting of three merry and festive Stark''s men and the dark and silent scarred beast... The three boys basked in their misery amidst alcohol and mouth-watering treats. Earlier, Eliot had covertly beckoned to his Aunt''s men so that the Tavern''s finest wines and dishes were served to the trio and so that it seemed as if it was the Singing Maiden who was offering them. Garoan earned a respectable first guard''s sry of around 18-20 gold dragoons a year, but poor Jerha, still only a squire, didn''t even get a third of that amount... On the other hand, the rich and generous Lady Lynesse guaranteed her only heir a disproportionate monthly allowance of over 1,000 gold dragoons. A few gold coins less were worth ten times the delightful and distractingpany his friends offered him. A more sprightly Garoan than usual promulgated: "Igh!... I tell you, I will seed instead! In three days, I''ll be juggling well in the fray and... Guurrhp! And I shall conquer the Green Knighthood! From there...! The Goddess Jenny will fall into my arms! We will wed, I will take her to my future manor as a knight-vassal of House Umber, and I will give her sssiiix... No! Seven! Seven children: Jon, Berth, Lily, Caspian, Bethany, Melissa...and-" Jerha interrupted him. "Yeah, yeah, right, Garoan... You will see, my friend. First, you will defeat the Kingyer, then the Riding Mountain, and finally, Bloody Snow himself. In fact, I tell you what, Ser Duncan himself will appoint you a Green Knight and Defender of Beauty, and in doing so, he will give you his steel sword of Valyria, promulgating before the Seven Kingdoms: [Ser Garoan, ever since "that day" I lent you my sword, "Red Rain" no longer answered to my will... This sword has always been yours, Ser. "You are the worthy"]." Eliot doubled over inughter, involuntarily spilling half a cup of red on the tablecloth. "Look, I can beat the Mountain if I want to...! Igh... I''ve been training with Greatjon for years! And I tell you, I''ve held and wielded that sword in my hands!!! I dare you to call me a Lia-" This time, Garoan fell silent to himself... A shadowy, almost eight feet tall, gargantuan and massive, dressed in ck and yellow, bearing an emblem depicting three Dogs in a yellow field, with a sizeable two-handed broadsword sheathed on his left side, walked past the table followed by five other men in the same colours. The general hubbub quieted down as the six men passed by. It was the fucking Mountain himself! Ser Gregor Clegane! Garoan paled and trembled, as did Eliot and Jerha... but by grace granted by the gods, the group did not seem to have heard Garoan''s bold bluster. The giant and the five followers passed the table without even giving them a nce... A few stepster, the biggest and most muscr man Eliot had ever seen stopped in front of his target... A secluded, enamelled ash-wood table half-attached to the wall, more spacious and luxurious than the other positions. The small group of four merchants, seated at the best table in the inn, looked anxiously and fearfully at the monumental predatory figure, who cast a shadow of doom over their pleasant and sumptuous evening. After a few seconds of murderous stares, a moustachioed merchant shivering and d in silks and valuables about to berded with excrement hesitantly asked: "D-do you need help, S-ser?" The ck shadow did not answer, but his hounds beside him snickered with maliciousughter as if they were waiting for a macabre and delightful spectacle. "... Let us leave!" Finally, one of the four merchants sumbed to fear, and hispanions tried to follow him at breakneck speed, "but" one of the Mountain men stopped thest poor wretch. "My good friend, what are you doing? You and yourpanions are running away like this without even paying a shred of a penny for the drinks... ? Here on the Silk Road, there is no leniency for thieves." Said the tall, half-bald man clutching his long arm covered in leather and iron studs. "In truth, S-ser, w-we have already paid... Consumption, here, is paid in advan-" The other man with rotten teeth anticipated him: "Yet, to us, it didn''t look like we saw any fucking coinsing out of your pockets. Are you calling us liars, perfumed ass?" "Come,e, Shitmout...Our good friend here had no intention of calling us liars, ''Am I right?" That vile rabble certainly wanted to extort some coin from the merchant... "N-no, Ser... Now that you mention it, m-maybe, my drinking friends and I forgot to pay for our consumptions..." The poor guy shakily pulled out his semi-inted purse. Not even time to open it, it was snatched from his hands. "We will take these, my good friend. We will be sure to pay our dues at the Tavern, leaving a just tip to the waitresses for the inconvenience and paying the fine to the relevant authorities to redeem your good name to the city guard since you are thieves... Don''t look at us like that, my good friend. You admitted it yourself just now, don''t you remember? There is no need to rm the guard too much for a trivial ''involuntary'' theft... Don''t you agree?" All the men turned predatory nces at the poor man with faces with expressions mixed with fear and outrage... But fear won out. "No... There will be no need. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen." The man slipped out of the loose grip and ran for his life. The ck Giant began to sit in the middle of the table, his back to the walls and his buttocks resting on the cushion of fine-treated leather goose feathers. It was only after the undisputed leader had made himselffortable, pouring himself what remained of the fine and expensive liquor left by his victims, that the rest of the vile pack began tough and howl at the sess of the heist, putting their asses on the spoils of the raid. Like the other witnesses who witnessed the scene, Eliot was scared shitless of this individual. It wasn''t just the build, the height, the muscr arms as thick as tree trunks, but the look... That was the look of a merciless being. That dark, angry face that repudiated any glimmer of love or kindness gave him goosebumps. Every survival instinct screamed at him not to approach that individual under any circumstances. Seeing the fearful expressions on their faces, Jherna and Garoan must have had a simr feeling to his own... But then, one of the three gritted his teeth and managed to ovee the instinct of fear. *Sbam!* Garoan pounded his fist on the table, growling: "Tsz... What a bunch of bastards...! They literally robbed those poor people under vile ckmail. We should intervene!" Jerha pounced on the drunkenrade intent on getting up, holding him in his seat. "No...! Garoan, those are looking for trouble! They are twice as numerous, better armed, armoured, polished than us and ready to draw their des at the first legitimate opportunity." Eliot joined in support: "Calm down and look at their faces; they''re practically begging for someone to bother them. Jerha''s right... It''s none of our business, and should that vile rabble go too far, the city guard will take care of it, kicking their asses and throwing them into the dungeon of the Frosty Queen." Garoan hesitated, still tugging slightly at his restrained arms and shoulders. "But..." grunted the Umber''s man, but Eliot insisted, "Please, Garoan... You will force Jerha and me to follow you if you stand up. If you drag me into a fight, in the off chance that I don''te out with a broken neck, my Aunt would have a tower built especially for me,plete with moat and garrison, for the sole purpose of segregating me until next spring." The impetuous boy, worthy of the name Umber, dropped the bone, spitting jokingly but with a hint of relief: "I''m only doing this to save your quivering asses, pussies!" **** End Part II **** Chapter 171: Someone to Protect (III) Chapter 171: Someone to Protect (III) POV: Sandor Clegane The Singing Maiden. About a minute after a ravenous pack of trouble raided the tavern''s best table... ------ ''He''s less than fifty paces away from me and my sword... What the fuck am I waiting for?'' Thought the Hound, spitting zing fire from his eyes, aimed at the source of all his misfortunes. The remaining members of the festive table, filled with alcoholic food and frivolous giggles, did not seem to notice anything. A couple of the waitresses had allowed themselves to be dazzled by the bullshit war heroics spewed here and there by the Drunkard. Ser Haymitch had sung the sweetest and most legendary songs, passing off his twopanions as the Kings among Kings in the Age of Heroes... Now, the slender brte with freckles and the shapely blonde with gigantic breasts were strumming sweet words and fingers through the hair of the two new green knights, their buttocks firmly between their knees. "Go away..." Grunted Sandor to the young ck-haired hen girl who had been trying to board him for over an hour. The intimidated girl followed the advice, moving away from the table. Fury and hatred red up inside the drunkenly scarred boy, corroding him inside. All the tasty wine and food he had ingested was rebelling in a riot of acidity, weighing down his stomach. Sandor had definitely eaten and drunk too much... The younger brother wanted to gather up all his fighting spirit, get up and stab that abominable mass of muscle and evil to death repeatedly, but his legs were still stiff, his left hand still trembling. His face was the only part of his body that responded to his will. Sandor cast stabbing nces of hatred towards the figure less than sixty feet away from him. ''What the fuck are you waiting for, coward! The Bastard is there!!! The asshole who roasted you like a leg of mutton! Who killed your father! Who raped and murdered your sister! Face him like a man and im your vengeance! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!!!'' Shrieked an angry voice inside Sandor''s foggy mind. The boy, not even twenty years old, clenched his fists so hard that thecquered wooden cup shattered. The wine spilt, and small splinters prated his hand. "Wooo! Wooo! Come on, Clegane! My little story wasn''t that bad! Pff, hahaha!" Thundered the knight of jesters, patting him on the back several times. "Don''t fucking touch me!!!" Sandor shoved Haymitch with a mighty hand to the chest, causing him to stumble over the chair and fall backwards. The hens cackled a small scream of fright, rising to their feet in fear that a fight would break out. However, the drunken knight with feline instincts seemed to soften the fall with a backward somersault and, at the same time, dampen the umted tension. "Thadaaan!!! Oh, no...The stunt failed. The wine spilt...Pff! Hahaha!" Haymitch''s twopanions watched the whole scene, and, after an initial stiff moment, the pussy Jory, the Bullshit Shooter Simon and theirdies-in-waiting rxed, joining in theughter. Sandor inhaled air, sitting back down and trying to regain control. Jenny, the tavern matron, approached their table again with an admonishing air. "Becka, it''s your turn on the stage soon. Tansy, those tables will not be served alone. Go back to your duties,dies. I''m not paying you to frig with customers." Promulgated Jenny, wiping the puddle of wine in front of Clegane with a rag. The singing maids obeyed their employer, but not without first leaving pledges of kisses and provocative whispers to their Green Knights. Sandor''s good ear picked up a "My shift ends in two hours, Ser..." addressed to a bewitched Jory Cassel. "Would you like a bandage and dressings for that wound, Sandor? Our cook, Tanselle, is also an excellent healer." The Goldfinch asked gently, pointing to Sandor''s half-hidden bleeding hand. "It''s nothing just a few splinters." Replied the Hound disinterestedly. The corner of his eye slid back to Gregor''s table, a shiver of fear running down his spine. The previously disinterested Monster was turning his predatory gaze in that direction! "Get away from me, Goldfinch." Intimated Sandor at once with a whispered grunt. "Not before you wipe the table and rece the cup, Ser..." Firmly replied the obstinate maiden. "For your own good, remove yourself from this table at once, ''Jenny''." The equally obstinate man struggled to pursue the suggestion. If forced, Sandor would have even hit her, spending a few nights in a dark, freezing cell as punishment for the crime... Anything as long as that beast did not point his attention at the maiden. A feminine reproachful cry from behind caught the matron''s attention. "I said no, Ser! We are not that kind of maid!" Sbrayed a dark-haired girl intent on serving the neers'' table. "Look, we have plenty of silver, beautiful! And if you and a couple of your friends cheer us up tonight, who knows, maybe we''ll even get a few gold pieces!" So insisted Polliver, a loose-tongued little dog loyal to his brother. The man had not yetid a finger on her, only harassing her with ttery and dirty jokes along with his mates... The whole gang was present, Chiswyck, Polliver, the Tickler, Rafford, and Shitmouth... As far as Sandor could remember, only thetter, Shitmouth, could remotely call himself a ''human being''... A former guard of his father''s who had once helped him stop Gregor from his killing spree dragged him off with three other men as he roasted him alive. "Those trouble seekers are really annoying me... Excuse me, Knights." Jenny wanted to head towards the table to help her employee. But an iron hand grabbed her wrist. Thebative girl turned around, ready to p her attacker, but Sandor defended himself with, "Not them, Goldfinch... Not them. Don''t go near that table." At first, the singing maiden resisted, but then Jenny sensed the message of danger. "... I''ll take care of sending them away." Sandor let go of her wrist and picked up the unsheathed sword resting in his still bleeding hand, but before he could get up, another hand shoved his ass back into the chair. "No, neither do you, Clegane... First, Jenny, get the girls away from the table. Then, Ser Simon, go outside and call the guards before a brothel breaks out. Be sure to use words before actions and take at least eight strong, menacing men with you to give them their due." So ordered the Knight of Jester in a no longer jovial tone, taking Sandor by surprise. "Yes, Commander." The Stark''s man instantly sprinted towards the task entrusted to him, and even Jenny followed Haymitch''s suggestion to the letter. "Get off me, buffoon, before I shatter that hand." Sandor ducked his hand as he stood up, but the annoying man scampered like an eel parading in front of him, then whispered: "You are too drunk, too angry, and too short of numbers to beat you, Not-a-Ser. That beast is an abomination of the Seven Hells born to kill... The Mountain will tear you to pieces and feed you to his pack in no time." The man''s breath was itself a poisonous alcoholic exhtion. "Look who''s talking. You could shoot mes from your mouth and ass at the first spark. ''This'' is none of your business, Jester Eater. This is your final warning: Get the fuck ou- Urgh!" *SMAAACK!!*, *Tiiiiiiiiiinnnnn...!* the lightning-fast and precise knee to the surprise linguine was apanied by an equally swift double p to the ears, which caused a deafening whistle in Sandor''s stunned head. The man slumped with his knees to the ground after a third blow on the leg. At that moment, with his head clouded by alcohol, the ringing pressure on his ears and a crushing pain on his testicles, the mighty man could neither react nor understand what was happening around him. Instead, the room kept spinning and spinning to the point of nausea. The Hound could tell that someone else was helping the slender knight to lift him from the feel and pressure on his arms and armpits. His left grip on the leather handle of the sword remained firm, but Sandor could not prevent the two men from dragging him away against his will. His sight and some of his hearing only began to recover after the duo pushed him back against a dark alley wall... They were just around the corner from the tavern. "Thank you, Jory. I''ll take care of him from here on out... Go to help Simon out. The extra man''s presence will surely put off bad intentions." He could hear Sandor as he rose to his feet with the will and ability to react. The Drunkard was less than ten feet away, waiting for him, armed only with a stick. "I warned you, Ser...Ruaargh!" Sandor drew his longsword and charged forward, ignoring the pain in his hand and the minor twinges on his scrotum. *Swoooss*, the first sh from above,pletely smoothed the target, slipping away into the shadows with a simple side leap. Sandor redirected the de towards the elusive shade, attempting a low sweep but only air. The Hound had lost sight of his grip... "I''m here." *Stock!* a snake bite struck one of the hands clenched on the hilt. "Argh!", *swoss!*, *swing!*, *striinck!* after two more empty projections, the third sh was deflected towards the wall creating a few sparks. The Bastard seemed to anticipate each attack, cocking his head with impressive agility and footwork. After four more failed assaults and at least three more pairs ofshes on his hands and wrists, Sandor roared, "Come here and face me like a man, you coward!!!" "Nha...! You still have plenty of breath and nastiness left in you. Before I cane you to the point of fainting, I have to tear you apart some more. Eheh." Haymitch replied, snickering. With anger prevailing over reason, Sandor charged with ferocity and murderous intent, wanting to tear the jester dancer to pieces. However, an anticipatory counterattack caught him in the act. Haymitch swung to the left,nding a blow on his exposed temple. The impact was devastating and again stunning, and soon after, five more powerful and lightning-fast blows came from all sides, striking hands, nose, knees and throat. All the fucking bare spots of his armour. The Hound had been disarmed, but he tried to draw his stiletto, lunging towards the blurred shadow. *Stook!, *Ting, ting, tin...* the spare de didn''t evenst a second. At that point, Sandor attempted a blind manoeuvre towards the attacker that was parried and repelled with another endless series of bludgeons from all sides... The young man was on the ground, trying to drag his aching hand towards the hilt of the sword that had slipped a few steps away from him. A foot crushed his fingers. Sandor''s swollen face turned towards the attacker standing over him... "Or maybe... I was just waiting for you to discover yourself a little more." Sandor no longer had the strength to fight back. The Hound had been beaten... Beaten by a goddamn drunken knight with a cane. Another bitter truth he would have to live with for the rest of his days, barring any... Sandor roared with hisst remaining strength: "You''re just a lying bastard! Like all the rest of your kind!" "Yes... I am. In any case, it was a fun evening. Let''s do it again sometime." Replied the Bastard cheerfully. Sandor spat a lump of blood onto Ser Haymitch''s boot, grunting, "Sphutt!... Fuck you." "Goodnight, ''Not-a-Ser'' Sandor of House Clegane." Thest words spoken before oblivion. The Hound couldn''t even hear the sound of thest numbing thrashing. Everything went ck... **** End POV. **** POV: Catelyn At a secluded table in an aristocratic inn far more opulent andvish than the Singing Maiden. About an hour before a massive defenceless body was dragged towards the dormitories of a tavern... ------ No prying eyes or ears could have intruded on that private balcony overlooking a hundred-foot cliff. The oak door was firmly closed, and all the stone and wood walls seemed thick and without cracks... Only after the chubby servant of the inn finished serving drinks and refreshments and took her leave did Catelyn prepare to leave the dark corner of the balcony to join the poor old man, taken by surprise. The apologies, rifications and formal chit-chat had just ended... Cat did not have much time left. Ned would return from his evening with the King within two or three hours at most. "Forgive me for the asking, mydy Catelyn, but is your lord father aware of this meeting?" Ser Stevron Frey, the heir to the Twins, asked with a slight note of scepticism. "No one is aware of this meeting, Ser Stevron. I would not have dyed my hair or worn this dress if that were the case... So many ears and prying eyes lurk in this city." Catelyn replied with a slight sigh. Ser Stevron may be amiable and reasonable, but the man did not excel in insight. The Lady of Winterfell had struggled to arrange this meeting. It took years to secure the absolute loyalty of her private handmaiden, Katie. Without a trusted surrogate who could momentarily assume her likeness, a well-paid mercenary to escort her, and the valuable help of long-time friends to find a suitable location, the secret meeting with Walder Frey''s eldest son could not have taken ce. "I understand, mydy... But, you will forgive me if I insist. You sent me that message, making me assume that Riverrun wanted to deal with the Twins without the knowledge of the other Trident bannermen... But, I trusted my lord protector and followed all instructions to the letter. In all sincerity, I expected, at the very least, Ser Edmure as Lord Hoster''s spokesman. And you, mydy, are now thedy of Winterfell, not Riverrun." At least this statement could not be refuted. "My voice still has its worth in the Rivends, my lord. I may be a Stark of Winterfell by rights of marriage, but in my veins flows the blood of the Tullys of Riverrun." So affirmed the daughter of Hoster Tully in a defensive and confident tone. "And would this voice, mydy, convince the Lord of Riverrun to grant said marriage proposal between House Tully and Frey...? In the past, your father has already refused my lord father''s first proposal... So what would change Lord Hoster Tully''s mind, mydy?" Asked the man with slight scepticism. "The Trident has always been a bountifulnd, fertile, unrivalled in river trade and filled with loyal and brave men ready to spill their blood to defend it. My father does not hold Lord Walder in high esteem, there is no denying that, but I also know that the Freys, if they truly wish it, have the chance to show their true valour by redeeming their name once and for all... One choice of one man cannot decree hundreds of years of history of dozens of other noble and valiant Lords protectors of the Crossing. Do you not agree with me, Ser Stevron?" Catelyn asked in her turn. "... I agree, mydy. But how will my household have a chance to redeem its name in this generation?" Stevron asked. Catelyn replied, holding up two fingers: "The only two weaknesses of the Rivends are the central location of the continent, which has always been used as the first battleground between the various kingdoms, and theck of absolute cohesion and unity of its people, Ser Stevron... As a result, Westeros has never known a true period of peace. Not even in the Golden Age of Jaehaerys I, did the conflicts stop altogether. And the next conflict is upon us, my lord." Catelyn took a small sip of water from her cup and continued: "If the Freys of the Twins return to the fold, proving themselves as the most assiduous and loyal supporters of Riverrun, the Trident will once again be a force to be feared and no longer a territory prey to conflicts that do not concern it... Everyone suspects that, in fact, legitimate sons of Rhaegar are still alive and waiting for the opportune moment to return and reim their rightful throne. Even if they were not to be, there would still be two more Targaryens across the Narrow Sea. War will soon be upon us, Ser. There will be opportunities to prove words with actions. My sister sits beside Jon Arryn, and soon, she will give birth to an heir. And my son, Robb, will one day be Lord Protector of the North. That will uncover only two fronts for the Trident: the West and the South... But a blood tie with House Frey, the greatest bannerman of House Tully, the house that has control over the Crossing and blood ties to countless noble families of Westeros, House Lannister included, would put a final stop to the West Front... Your brother Emmon is married to Genna Lannister, Lord Tywin''s sister and the Queen''s aunt. A marriage between my brother Edmure and one of Lord Walder''s daughters would be aplicated political union. My father is a proud and sometimes stubborn man, but Lord Hoster Tully would always put the prosperity and safety of his people, his family, first, Ser..." Catelyn took a pause from her long persuasive so. "... Family, Duty and Honour." Stevron picked up on the underlying message by quoting House Tully''s motto. Immediately afterwards, the representative of House Frey asked: "What would House Tully ask for in dowry in return for this union?" "A symbolic price of the groom''s weight in gold and the total support of House Frey. Should the great Tully-Stark-Arryn Family ever one day be threatened, the Twins must answer the call..." Catelyn added the final detail. "Without Dy." ***** End Part III ***** Chapter 172: Someone to Protect (IV) Chapter 172: Someone to Protect (IV) *****Forgive me for the dy, dear readers. I am currently working as an errand boy and the Christmas period is... simply hell. I will try to publish a new chapter for Christmas and New Year. Once the war of Santa''s assistants in the pay of Amazon is over, I will resume at the usual pace. Happy Reading! P.S. Tip for readers.... Never get too attached to the pets of the Asoiaf world. ***** POV: Benfred Tallhart Silk Road, Kings'' District, near the mansion used to house House Lannister. The morning after a Lady and Knight of the Rivends met (Five hours before the start of the tournament) ------- Dawn had recently broken. The fourth dawn in a row in which Benfred headed towards his pageboy duties. Towards the momentary abode of the cramped, fierce, and not sympathetic Old Lion. At least, for that short stretch of road from Tallhart Manor to the Lannister Manor, besides the aromas of hot brioche and fresh spices hovering in the air, the boy could enjoy thepany of his brother Duncan. Moments with his brother were bing increasingly rare, and they would be even more so in the future... Benfred didn''t want to leave his home, his family and his twin sister. Even Maester Qyburn''s boring lessons he would miss. Soon, the boy would have to leave for Casterly Rock, to the unknownnds of Leo. While his sister, Eddara, would head with the Martell delegation to the Water Gardens. For as long as he could remember, Benfred and Eddara had never been apart from each other for more than a day... The duo headed at a leisurely pace down the back road, well escorted by eight Tallhart''s men and ame dog, Bark, his faithful new best friend. So named for his shaggy brown coat that, when ced near an oak trunk, could blend in almost perfectly with the shrub. "Duncan..." his brother turned to look at him, "Yes, brother?" "Do I really have to go to Casterly Rock...? I don''t want to be that man''s page. Lord Tywin is not a good person. He is stiff, ruthless, opportunistic and haughty. And every time he looks at me, he makes me feel more like a bag of gold of his own than a human being." Said the ten-year-old, making his brother and the whole escort stop. "Mh, mh... Ahaha! Yes, it''s true; it is. But you forgot the adjectives ''Cunning'' and ''Cold'' in the description. Pff...Ahaha!" Replied his brotherughing to himself. "Look at me being serious...! So? Do I really have to...? If you interceded on our father, I''m sure you could convince him-" Duncan interrupted. "It was me who persuaded our father and mother to send you and Eddara to apprentice in the Wesnds and Dorne, Benfred..." The younger brother was shocked, almost finding it hard to believe. Duncan had always been overprotective of the twins, almostpeting with their mother. But, no... it had to be a lie. "You are lying... You just want to take the me from our father. Look, all of Torrhen''s Square has heard the hysterical screams of ourdy mother." After his father Helman and Duncan returned from their expedition to the Iron Inds, Torrhen''s Square weed all the Tallhart heroes returning from the war with a feast. An evening of celebration was marred by a night of screaming and crying from the patronal chamber. "I''m not lying... I''m the one who had one of the worst nights of my life that day. Did you not notice that Lady Myra did not speak to me for over a week?" Duncan replied. "Y-you?! B-But, why? Why do you want to send us away?" Benfred asked, his breath short and his eyes beginning to grow moist. The boy started to feel betrayed and rejected by hisndmark. Duncan reached out and ced his cold hands between his cheeks and neck, putting aside his yful grin. "I don''t want to send you away, Benfred. ''I must''... I am sure Maester Qyburn has exined to you the political importance of a protg among the various Houses of Westeros." Benfred nodded, straining to hold back his tears. Then his brother continued: "House Tallhart, the North, indeed all of Westeros needs your contribution to keep the peace. Your and our sister''s contribution will bring enormous benefits to the continent, and I am not speaking of mere ''Hostages''... On the surface, Lord Tywin Lannister may be a harsh and unpleasant person, but he is also one of the best minds in Westeros. A Lord who has led his Household and all Seven Kingdoms to stability and greatness for years. I want you to stand by the man for as long as he serves. Serve him, obey orders, listen, observe, study, and learn from him as much as possible. One day, Torrhen''s Square will be yours. It will be up to you to safeguard the future of our House." So exined Duncan, throwing him a second shocking revtion, to say the least. "No...! Torrhen''s Square is up to you! You are the eldest son and heir of our father! I don''t want-" Benfred''s groans were interrupted a second time. "I am travelling a different road, brother. A perilous road, full of pitfalls and uncertainties. And I am certainly not immune to death..." Benfred sobbed, and his brother added immediately: "Difficult to kill me and hard to die, yes... but not impossible. Moreover, it is very likely that one day, not too far from this, I will marry Dacey Mormont. My ce will be in Barrowton or Mormont Keep, and my sons and daughters will be the heirs of House Mormont. So, yes, it is almost a given that you may be the next Master of Torrhen''s Square." Then Duncan asked, ''But will you be worthy? Will you do what must be done to prove yourself worthy in taking on the destiny of hundreds of thousands of subjects? People who will call upon you in their time of need? Who will need a guide they can count on?" Benfred faltered, answering on first instinct, "I... I don''t know..." Duncan smiled, answering in turn, "a good answer." His brother withdrew his hands and stroked his head, tousling his neatlybed hair. "Nah! Stop! It took me half an hour to fix it!" The dog''s muzzle approached his struggling master, licking his hand. Benfred dodged the saliva-soaked rebuke. "No! Good, Bark. Sit!... Sit!" The dog looked at him in confusion, then threw himself down on his stomach, waiting for cuddles. "No, Bark! I said sit! No scratching! And no chicken tonight!" This time the dog reacted by standing back up and wagging his tail animatedly with his mouth open, waiting for the sulent reward. "No, Bark! I didn''t mean you''ll get the chicken...! Phew... Forget it and follow me." "Woff! Woff!" replied the dog, starting to run around the group. "I note with pleasure that the training is going well... Do you wish Bark to stay in my care while you stay at Casterly Rock? I am good with animals. When you return, you will have a real trained guard by your side..." Asked his monster brother as they resumed their journey. "No! Bark stays with me! Don''t you dare go near my dog!" Duncanughed for a while and then said. "... It is said that Lord Tywin has already admonished you severely. Therefore, leaving Bark at the kennel during your duties would be best." Benfred cast a defiant re at his brother, then looked around for the spy... "Who told you...?! Weblin, was it you who informed him? You promised me not to mention it to anyone!" The Frost de lowered his gaze slightly with a guilty look and a hint of regret. Almost all of the other members of the Tallhart escort cast their Lord''s son''s security guard silent nces that expressed a clear: [You suck... Betraying the trust of a child.] "Captain Weblin must respect the hierarchies ofmand, Benfred. You do not yet have the authority tomand the men of House Tallhart by baton. That is a privilege that must be earned." So rebutted the General of the Third Legion,ing to the aid of the subordinate charged on all fronts. A single reproachful nce from Duncan was enough to bring the seven escort members back into line. "It was just a little ident! Now, Bark knows very well that he can''t do his business indoors! I won''t give in to your ckmail anymore. I won''t be tricked by uncle Leobald, nor will I be intimidated by that haughty old stern man!!!" Sprayed the child in abative tone. "... No ckmails or tricks. Mine is a simple proposal of ''Exchange of Favours''... Eddara is beginning to learn the sublime art of flexibility and negotiation, gaining huge concessions. While you persist in rejecting every proposal from me and our uncle without even listening to what we could offer you in return." Benfred gnashed his teeth. His sister had managed to wrest a lot of privileges from her brother... A myriad of bespoke Dornish dress sets, collections of unobtainable books, perfumes and beauty creams of all kinds, the finest hunting falcons in the Vale, and even a personal damned bard-enchanter from the East, hired for her entire stay in Dorne... All earned with a handful of walks with Lancel Lannister and a few randomly phrased sweet words. "... What do you want? And what would I get in return?" Benfred asked reluctantly after several moments of hesitation. "Well... I''ve had the opportunity to deal with Lord Tywin in person, and yes, the man is quite a tough cookie and rather inflexible in nature. I doubt you will be able to persuade him to let you keep Bark... "But, if you were to show a little gantry towards young Lady Ysi Royce tonight by inviting her to a simple ''First'' dance, perhaps some words mighte to your rescue..." That despicable sly ckmailer wanted to force him to dance with Ysi ''Bronze Pimple''! ''So that was his n! ...He wanted to use poor Bark as a means of pressure to sell me out to House Royce!'' So reasoned the child inwardly, gnashing his teeth and feeling an extreme urge to kick and punch his ''beloved'' elder brother. He had already had the unpleasant experience of meeting Lord Yohn Royce''s daughter at the first wee banquet. She was the most gossipy, pimply, clingy and talkative eleven-year-old in the Valley! Hisdy mother, Myra, had been pestering him for days with advice and stories about the dormant beauty of the unblossoming flowers of the East and the importance ofmunication between a lord and hisdy. Even his traitorous sister took their mother''s side! Duncan had bought bothdies of Torrhen''s Square big time!!! Benfred gathered up all his indignation, inhaled a hearty breath of air, and then roared: "No! I will convince the Old Lion myself!" End POV. ------- POV: The Great Lion Lannister Mansion Srium. About an hour after a decisive refusal... (Four hours to go until the start of the tournament) ------ The obstinate little boy had arrived, and with him, trembling with his tail between his legs, was still that useless dog with the malformed paw. At least, that morning, the impertinent cupbearer/page had had the decency to arrive an hour earlier than he should have... "Good morning, my Lord... Boots, breeches, tunic, belt and farsetto have just been washed, polished, dried and folded. The Master Barber, Brice, asked me if you would like his services this morning. Also, the breakfast you requested is ready to be served." Said the page novice, pouring out the usual bowl of lukewarm lemon-voured water that his Lord enjoyed every morning as soon as he rose to rinse his pte. Tywin scrutinised each gesture carefully from a seated position while still wearing his velvet night robe. The brat pretended there wasn''t a deformed little elephant in the room polluting the environment. "... And I should eat my breakfast along with the stench of piss and dog hair, do you think? I already warned you not to show that beast in my presence again. Have you a short memory, boy? Or was it a deliberate gesture of defiance towards your Lord...? You have a choice. Dementia or insubordination?" Tywin asked in a cold tone and piercing eyes. "I..." Tywin gave him no respite, roaring, "when your lord asks you a question, you will always answer by looking him in the eye, page!" The boy raised his head sharply in reply: "Yes, my Lord! I beg your pardon, Lord Tywin." The Lion''s calcting green eyes with gold streaks made contact with the small sandy-coloured eyes typical of House Cerwyn. Tywin tested the resilience of the rebellious brat''s gaze. Finally, after a few seconds, the boy made a visual effort not to blink while maintaining his acerbic obsequious bearing. "... Continue." The boy breathed the necessary air with relief before resuming his speech. "I have not forgotten your warning, nor was it my intention to defy your orders, my Lord... On the contrary, I was waiting for the opportune moment to request your favour for a concession." "And what concession would you have the audacity to ask of me after not even four days of sloppy service to my household, page...? Let us hear it." The boy involuntarily lowered his gaze to the trembling dog crouched behind his feet, only to raise it again a blinkter, replying: "I wanted to request permission from you, my Lord, to keep Bark by my side during my services. And, when the time is near, permission to take him to Casterly Rock..." Tywin scrutinised him intently. The man had known from day one that the immature boy was very attached, for some strange reason, to that useless pet dog. A crippled half-breed not even fit to hunt... The dog constantly trembled at Tywin''s presence... Ever since Duncan Tallhart''s departure from Casterly Rock, dogs, cats, crows and horses often stirred at his passing. Even his White Stallion, an elite beast trained and ustomed to his presence for years, seemed no longer to recognise him. The master groom of Casterly Rock was even forced to re-train the warhorse. Probably, the unintentional loss of water from that ''Bark'', which had urred two days earlier during an important meeting with his bannered lords, was not the fault of his master''sck of training. But that still did not justify his page disobeying his will... "For his sixth name-day, I gave my son Jaime, a splendid specimen of a thoroughbred gold-sand pony. I made that clever horse merchant rich. I could have had twenty thoroughbred stallions imported from the Dothraki Sea for the same price paid for that single beast... Jaime loved it with all his heart. He felt like the luckiest child in the Seven Kingdoms. My son took care of the beast day and night, feeding him, grooming his coat every morning, snatching apples from the pantry to spoil him, singing songs to him to put him to sleep and even diligently cleaning the stable withoutint. Six monthster, the pony fractured his leg during an ident on his second hunting trip... A beast with a sealed fate and no chance of being more useful. Jaime pleaded with me for days in tears not to have the animal put down, trying to convince me that one day ''Desert Hare'' would recover and that he would be able to ride again... Can you tell me what hard but necessary teaching he imparted to my son then?" The child swallowed the first formal face was reced by a mask of terror. "Go on... Give it a try and guess." Insisted Tywin Lannister. "I... I guess you ignored his pleas and had Desert Hare put down anyway, my Lord." So replied the boy with a hint of newfound determination. "Wrong... I went along with my son''s wishes. I forced Jaime to watch the needless agony of that poor pony day after day... It took neen long days before Jaime found the courage and the stomach to do ''in person'' what had to be done." Then, the Great Lion tore away the boy''s first veil of false bravado. Now, the little master was afraid... Afraid of what Lord Tywin mightmand. However, after a few seconds of caressing and ncing at his own animal, Benfred Tallhart enacted: "Bark is my responsibility. A lesson my brother wanted me to learn... A burden that only "I" and no one else has the duty to carry." The boy forgot the appetion ''My Lord'', but for this time, Tywin let it pass. The Great Lion''s curiosity had just been piqued. "And what lesson would the witty and wise ''Bloody Snow'' like to convey to you by entrusting that worthless being...? I am all ears." The boy dodged yet another provocation from the Lion. Then, regainingposure and looking him straight in the eye, the page calmly replied: "Ever since I can remember, I have been enchanted and envious of my brother''s heroic deeds. I dreamed, and still dream that one day I might be worthy to stand by his side, to share in the same excitement as the most acimed Hero in all the North... To be part of history, to imagine that one day bards would also sing of me and my deeds and that somewhere in the world, there would be another child lover of stories and tales to hear them. ...Eight moons ago, after the foiled Ironborn invasion at Bear Ind, my brother returned victorious and triumphant to Torrhen''s Square. On the evening of the celebration, I asked Duncan what it felt like to take the life of a defeated enemy... The answer came hourster when the manor was asleep in the middle of the night. My brother woke me and dragged me forcefully from my room to the kennels. I remember every moment and every word that was spoken... Duncan grabbed a puppy aside in a corner, held a dagger in my hand and said: ["This is the reject of the litter. The beast has a malformed paw, his mother and brothers do not recognise him, and he will be of no use to Torrhen''s Square. His fate is already sealed. Master Kennel will put him down tomorrow at first light... But I want you to do it."] I asked him why I would do such a despicable thing, and he replied: ["You asked me what it felt like to take the life of a defeated enemy. It''s not something I can exin in words... you have to experience it for yourself."] Duncan continued to encourage me to kill the cub. I tearfully pleaded with him not to make me do it and to spare the creature... and so, my brother said: ["Many have died at my hands, Benfred... When I take life from another human being, however unexpected or conscious, however swift or slow it was, a moment before the endes, the feeling I feel is what you are feeling now... It hurts. It is a dull but ever-present pain. The faces of the fallen, suffering and defeated, haunt me in my dreams almost every night. That feeling of pain...that constant torment diminishes after each life taken. The day that it stops hurting will be the day that "the Hero of the North" bes a monster to be put down."] Duncan gave me a choice: to "do what had to be done" or "take responsibility",... And that I should learn an important lesson from it. Bark has always been my responsibility since that night, my Lord." Tywin carefully scrutinised the acerbic, overly sensitive boy in silence, with no hair on his stomach but still some glimmer of potential, and asked: "Why do you think your brother made you take on that dead weight over there?" "That''s it... I''m still not sure. I believe Duncan wanted me to understand the burden of taking or sparing a life... A choice that, sooner orter, every self-respecting Lord must make." The Great Lion nodded slightly, exining in turn: "Any lord might show mercy to a traitor or criminal, sparing his life under the sound of his tears and promises. A man on the verge of death is prepared to do or say whatever is necessary to survive, but when the threat of the de or the slipknot is far away and out of sight, who will guarantee that that same man will notmit further rebellious acts or crimes against your House or the people you have sworn to safeguard? To spare the life of a guilty man might cause the death of innocents... And at that point, you will be part of the guilt of those crimes yourself." The boy nodded, showing a hint of respect, and his eyes shot with anticipation for the verdict. "... You may keep that beast for neen more days. ''But'', after that time, if your animal does not prove perfectly trained or masterfully obedient to its master''s wishes, you will be forced to do what must be done... ''In person'' and in ''My Presence''." The boy trembled at the onerous ultimatum he had just issued. But the Great Lion was not yet finished: "Until further notice, you will continue your usual assignments in the morning, and in the afternoon, until the sun goes down, you will join the field sses with the other squires... You will have to hone your ''Trainer-of-Useful-Dogs'' skills in the spare time left to you, Page... Now, you may have my breakfast served, have a hot bath prepared, bring my clothes, and inform Master Brice that I desire his services in precisely two hours." The scion of Torrhen''s Square gnashed his teeth slightly and clenched his fists, but restraining the impulse of hostility, the page unwillingly spat out a: "It shall be done." The boy turned with a jaunty bow towards the door of the srium. "Page...!" the infuriated ten-year-old boy turned at yet another call. "It shall be done, ''My Lord''... From now on, whenever you forget to appeal to your Lord properly, you must pay the token of a thrashing. To receive or to give... Your choice." Tywin directed his gaze towards the dog. "... Yes, ''My-Lord''. With your permission, ''My-Lord''." The boy replied, carefully articting each word. Tywin granted the nod of dismissal. "Let''s go, Bark." The little beast obeyed themand and followed his master, the boy brimming with pent-up fury. The Great Lion stood watching calmly and stone-faced as his furious and humiliated protg exited the srium. Left alone, Tywin prepared to take a rich sip of lukewarm water with fresh wedges of lemon. Still, before doing so, the Great Lion scrutinised the transparent contents of his golden cup, observing in detail a thin wedge of lemon shaped oddly like a shield. The lion''s lips arched slightly in a nostalgic arch, filled with distant memories of his childhood... When he, too, had been a page under the sour and pretentious tongue of King Aegon V and the annoying iron hand of his Sworn Shield... **** End Chapter. **** Chapter 173: A Raven, a White Tree and a Drunkard... (I) Chapter 173: A Raven, a White Tree and a Drunkard... (I) ****Merry Christmas, Dear Readers! As promised, a gift chapter for you! Happy reading and happy festivities!***** __________ POV: Tytos ckwood In a small street on the Silk Road. Year 290, the sixth day of the first moon. Three days before the start of the Tournament... (The Morning after the conclusion of the Auction) -------------------- "I am d you have chosen to walk this road with me, cousin. It is from the day I set foot in the northernnds that I have wished to speak to you... Your nephews, myself and thends of Raventree Hall miss you." So said Lord Tytos ckwood as the pair continued slowly riding their horses along the straight path, paved with granite and gravel, towards the mansion. There was no need for an escort; his cousin Haymitch was worth at least ten trusted armigers. There was no sword or bow in the ckwoodnds that could rival Ser Haymitch ''The Drunk'', the squire who, at the age of fourteen, during the disastrous and bloody battle of the Red Fork between ckwood and Bracken, emerged like a bloody mushroom, with barely a scratch, from a pile of corpses. Haymitch was one of the few survivors of his father''s vanguard, consisting of over two hundred swordsmen, thirty knights and forty archers, who, caught off guard on two sides, had been ambushed in a pincer ambush by the Bracken before reinforcements arrived in time. The most shocking thing was that the boy, covered in enemy blood from head to toe, totally drunk and traumatised, re-emerged from a pile of bodies belonging to the Brackens... Haymitch had single-handedly killed at least nine men-at-arms and used the enemy remains as a makeshift shield and hiding ce. A few yearster, the Raventree bastard again proved his legend, escaping unharmed from an encirclement of more than a dozen bandits seeking revenge. Haymitch was able to retreat into the woods, luring the hunters into his chosen territory, and pick off his pursuers one by one with bows, traps and diversions, transforming himself from prey to hunter... The man''s true talent was not to kill but to survive in the most desperate situations, an individual simply born for danger and battlefields. "I will not be returning to Raventree Hall, Tytos... But you can tell Brynden and Lucas that I missed them too." Tytos lowered his gaze slightly to the head of his steed. "And how is little Hoster doing?" Haymitch asked after a few seconds of silence. "Pff, Hoster is bing more and more of a bookworm... Unlike his brothers, I can''t find a way to get that boy anywhere near a sword or a horse. He always spends his time with his head bent over some tome, hiding in the nooks and crannies of Godswood, out of sight of his master-at-arms." Tytos replied with a hint of affectionate disappointment. "Mh mh mh. Just as well... Perhaps there will be at least one ckwood who will not have to know the horrors of battle. I understand you have sired quite a few offspring during my absence. How many children have you raised?" His cousin asked. "Five... Alyn is thetest, he just turned one, and Edmund has three. Mydy wife has taken up a personal challenge with the Old Gods. Lorena will not stop stealing my sleep until I give her a daughter. And in all sincerity, I also wish to have at least one." Tytos replied. "Good for you and your willing bride, cousin. Always keep up the ckwood name and number until the soldier falls. Ah ah ah!" Tytos joined in theughter. And then, after another minute of silence, he asked: "Are you doing well in Winterfell? I hear you are rebuilding your life there... Lord Eddard has praised your valour for House Stark several times and without once even mentioning your ambiguous entricities." Haymitch kept his gaze forward so as not to let some of his distress show. "I do not fit in anywhere, cousin... But, at least in Winterfell, I can look forward without looking back too much. I should be able to steer clear of a slipknot and a lone tree for at least a while longer...That is if I don''t drink myself to death first." "I''m heartened to hear that... I hope you can find the peace you seek in this ce. Wishing you always the best, Haymitch." His cousin smiled faintly at him fondly, replying in turn: "I wish you both, cousin. You will see; you and your family will do well in the North." Tytos did not grasp the message. "... What do you mean? Are you, by any chance referring to your lord''s proposal?" Tytos asked, trying to extrapte some more information to Haymitch, before this peculiar meeting and without specifics. If Haymitch had not asked him toe without asking too many questions, acting as his guarantor, Tytos would not have agreed. "Mmm... Aye, we''vee close enough already. At this point, anticipating some information will be interpreted as a gesture of necessary courtesy." Tytos attempted to retort, but Haymitch anticipated him. "It is not a meeting with Lord Eddard Stark that awaits you, cousin. I will attend as my lord''s guarantor and witness, but the individual, with whom you will shortly deal in person, is the true mastermind who, for some years now, has ruled unchallenged over the North, acting in the shadows... Do not look at me like that. Before long, you will understand what I am talking about." Haymitch added, not paying too much attention to the shocking preface he had just uttered. "And who would this individual be? If we''re not going to Stark Manor, where are you dragging me to, Haymitch?" Tytos asked with more than justified concern. The man recognised the same superficial tone as Haymitch when, in his youth, his foolish and reckless cousin persuaded him to join him in a ''Simple and Peaceful'' bandit hunt. Only to find himself in some abandoned tavern filled with thieves, rapists and armed murderers, surrounded on all sides and outnumbered... "In a mansion in House Tallhart used to house members of the Brotherhood in ck. Lord Commander Mormont will also attend this meeting. But the Silver-Tongued Devil at the head of the negotiation, with whom I advise you to keep your guard up at all times, cousin, and to whom you will most likely not be able to say no, is the son of Ser Helman Tallhart... Bloody Snow." ***** End POV. ***** POV: Lord Commander Jeor Mormont Brotherhood Mansion in ck. About half an hour after an rming preface... ------ "Honoured to make your acquaintance, Lord Commander." The man introduced himself in a prominent voice, in histe thirties, almost six and a half feet tall, with long dark brown hair, a neatly trimmed, short beard, and adorned in fine burnished scarlet armour, with silver iys depicting the dead dam tree of Raventree Hall surrounded by onyx ravens taking flight. But the distinguishing feature that characterised the man as Lord of Raventree Hall was the magnificent cloak of raven feathers. An attire that almost put the remaining hall members reserved for the meeting to shame. "The honour is mine, Lord Tytos," Jeor replied in an equally firm tone. "Well, my lords. Now that the introductions areplete, we can begin this meeting. Once again, I apologise for theck of notice and the regrettable absence of information. And I thank you for your mutual word in not divulging the topics that will be discussed within these walls." Said the betrothed of little Dacey. The Hero of the North who, not even a year ago, saved his House from a nefarious fate. "I would like to inform you that my father, Ser Helman Tallhart, and my Lord Protector, Lord Eddard Stark, have momentarily granted me full authority to deal with each of you. Therefore, my voice will represent the will of Torrhen''s Square and Winterfell for the duration of the meeting. Commander Haymitch here will attend as guarantor and witness to the meeting." The Knight stepped forward, cing on the long table two scrolls of parchment still closed with two wax seals intact, bearing the emblem of House Stark and Tallhart. Both Jeor and Tytos nodded, not even checking the documents, which, in all likelihood, gave legitimate validity to the twelve-year-old''s ims. "What I want... what the North wishes to propose is close cooperation with your order Lord Commander, and a return to the fold of origin, Lord Tytos. And to make that happen, both the Brotherhood in ck and House ckwood will have to negotiate and agree on amon understanding..." The boy began, opening and spreading a square map measuring five feet on each side of the table. The topographical drawings and names were drawn with enormous care, marking forests, viges, fortresses, hills, mountains, roads, rivers and borders marked with great precision. That was the best-drawn map Jeor had ever seen. A map depicting the northern region of the North: from Last Hearth to the Wall. "What do you mean by a return to the fold, Ser Duncan?" Tytos ckwood asked with a sceptical air. "Just a moment, my lord. I will treat the matter with much care and skill as soon as I can obtain thends you require." The boy turned to Jeor. "House Stark desires thends of the New Gift, my lord - all itsnds." The Lord Commander did not react at first, remaining steadfast with his gaze on the green eyes with almost hypnotic silver streaks of Helman Tallhart''s son. "Thends of the New Gift have belonged to the Night''s Watch for over two centuries, Ser Duncan. They were granted to us by royal decree by Queen Alysanne and her husband, King Jaehaerys I... Fertilends whose gabelle help to sustain the Brotherhood." Jeor Mormont replied in a firm tone. His son, Jorah, had already partially warned him of this meeting... Jeor was prepared. He knew that the boy was on very close terms with Barbrey Mormont and that hisdy wife, first a simple widowed heiress of a dying House and now the wealthiest and most influential woman in the Seven Kingdoms, owed her fortune to one House in particr: House Tallhart... Hard as it may be to believe, that twelve-year-old boy could be the key to the North''s recent sesses. Maester Aemon had warned him that, though rare, such individuals existed... Aemon told him of how, during his studies at the citadel, the experienced man had personally known children as young as six or seven with infallible eidetic memories, able to recall every single word of thousands of pages at first reading, or of prodigious geniuses who could perform mathematical calctions simply impossible without paper and ink. But the boy Jeor was looking at was even more special than that... A marvel in both mind, body and spirit... Old Bear''s instincts kept poking cold shivers under his fur, warning him that a predator far more enormous, fiercer and ravenous than himself stood in front of him. "The Night''s Watch had nearly ten thousand brethren in the days of Jaehaerys I, my lord. And even then, they could not turn their attention to the south. The Brotherhood could man eighteen out of neen forts deployed along the Wall at the time. Still, they needed help to afford to station garrisons in the various forts, towers and abandoned viges all along the New Gift. ording to reports received thest moon, the Night''s Watch currently has one thousand nine hundred and eighty-six brethren, of which nine hundred and thirty-seven are Rangers, four hundred and eleven are Builders, and six hundred and thirty-eight are Attendants... barely enough garrison to five of your neen fortresses. And as for the taxation in thosends, my lord... Well, the smallfolk number less than eight thousand inhabitants, who manage to contribute, on average, between coinage, goods andbour at no more than nine hundred gold dragons a year. A sum insufficient even to maintain the garrison of the Tower of Shadows." The boy took out an open notebook with entries and numbers inscribed in it and continued: "On average, between provisions, armaments, clothing, medicines, horses, firewood, building materials, and many other minor necessities, the Brotherhood must spend gold orbour worth a minimum of five gold dragoons a year per person... Without contributions from the North and the various houses of Westeros, the Night''s Watch can''t evene close to the ten thousand gold dragoons they would need each year. And I''m only talking about subsistence expenses in times of peace and gentle spring breezes..." Mormont remained silent. Never before had the Lord Commander been so eager for the support of his master ountant and First Steward, Bowen Marsh. In all honesty, Jeor did not know if the figures concerning thends of the New Gift were urate, but those concerning the number of his brethren indeed were. Mormont spent a good hour every day getting to know and learn the name and history of every cadet and member of the Brotherhood. Any good leader who respected himself had to know at least the name of the man he would order to follow him, fight or die for him. "... The figures are correct, my lord. Indeed, this before you is a copy of your ounting records. But please, my lord, do not doubt the loyalty of your First Aide. Bowen Marsh is an honest man, but... from what I am told, also a man of rather heavy sleep." Said the demon-witch as if he had read his thoughts. ''Tsz...! Damn it, Bowen! Innocent, I''ll have your bunk moved to the top of the Wall! Then we''ll see if you can stay alert!'' So roared Jeor inwardly, cursing the brother for cornering the fraternity. Not even a tenth of an hourss had passed since the start of the meeting, and the Lord Commander of Night''s Watch was already left with no room for negotiation. "Thends of the New Gift still remain a symbol of honour and prestige for our order, Ser..." Jeor tried to sing, clinging to the few remaining footholds. "So are Westewatch-by-the-Bridge, Sentinel Stand, Greyguard, Stonedoor, Icemark, Queensgate, the Nightfort and all nine abandoned forts... Tumulus of honour and ruins of prestige left to snow, rats and the passage of time. You have no men or priority to safeguard or prosper saidnds. Each year more and more smallfolk, neglected and unattended, choose to migrate south to thends of the Umbers or Karstarks..." Mormont was unbowed in the chest, taking the truthful blow with silent dignity. Even the man at his side, Lord Tytos ckwood, remained in a religious silence, exchanging with him asional hidden nces of mutual solidarity. The tension in the air was palpable, and the green eyes of that monster in adolescent features glittered with malice and ravenousness... Probably, the man was fearfully awaiting his turn in the imminent contractual fighting pit into which he would soon be thrown. "... What do Winterfell and Torrhen''s Square offer in exchange for those ''good fertilends''?" That was the best Jeor coulde up with. The boy, with a show of ''gant benignity'', rxing his voice and gaze and disying a much more human and genuine smile, enacted: "In exchange for those ''excellent fertilends'', House Stark will relinquish the im to taxes and trade duties, leaving the burden and privilege of collecting a tribute to the vassal house to which they will be assigned." The boy cast a brief nce at ckwood, who involuntarily raised his head slightly as if a cold chill had caught him off guard. "House ckwood will pay a 1/5 of the gabels and crops collected entirely to the Night''s Watch and remunerate the brotherhood with a 10% share on trade or customs duties." "A fifth on the gabelle? And a tenth on duties? Winterfell is already demanding an exorbitant pledge from a house that has not even considered the offer yet. House Tully demands from Raventree only a seventh on gabelle and half on customs andnd duties..." Lord Tytos interjected, looking towards the aloof Knight as if seeking confirmation of a possible borate joke. It was Mormont who elucidated what ckwood was missing. "It would not be so, my lord. In fact, the basic tribute would be higher but lower overall... Barring a change, under currentw, if thosends continued to belong to the Brotherhood in ck instead of Winterfell, House ckwood would be exempt from paying the tribute fee to the Crown..." Ser Duncan confirmed Jeor''s supposition. "Precisely, my lords. Lord Stark will shortly enter into negotiations with King Robert and Lord Hoster Tully, and I am very confident that Lord Eddard will be able to maintain the same privileges on thosends. House ckwood would pay 5% less in tribute on both tax and duty." Lord Tytos fell silent with renewed interest, letting the boy continue. "In addition to guaranteeing ready military support -in situations of extreme necessity- House Stark and House Tallhart will guarantee the honourable Brotherhood in ck a minimum tax revenue, twenty times greater than your best tax year in thest decade... We speak of a minimum of thirty thousand gold dragoons a year, with no duties or obligations to protect, my lord. All the Night''s Watch will have to do is bestow an indefinitend grant to House ckwood." The Bear''s eyes glittered. ''A sum sufficient to be able to decently maintain at least double our current numbers...'' Reasoned the Lord Commander with concealed avarice and impatience at agreeing. Tytos''s eyes also glittered. If the Night''s Watch had collected such a tribute from hisnds, the love of logic must have screamed out a ie four times greater. Mormont did not doubt the tinkling, golden promise he had just been offered. From what his sister Maege confided to him a few days ago, Bear Ind was practically increasing its ie a hundredfold, earning almost in a day what Jeor, during his protectorate as lord, managed to save in an entire year... House Mormont had been inundated with requests for ss from every corner of the Known World. It was literally a race to the Mormont ssworks. A moon ago, Myr''s emissaries threatened to mobilise an armed fleet against Bear Ind for such an affront. With thirty thousand gold dragons of additional revenue, the Night''s Watch could also afford to restore and refurbish Grey Watch and Brine Gate. For some time, the Lord Commander and Master Aemon had been nning a way to restore the strength and glory of their sworn order... Jeor was about to ept, but his son''s instincts and prior advice suggested that the other side had yet to ask what he wanted. "That is what Winterfell asks and offers, Ser Duncan... But what does House Tallhart want from the order of the Night''s Watch?" Jeor asked, keeping his guard firmly up. Honour and magnanimity or not, in this cruel world, no meal was free. "Point taken, Lord Commander... House Tallhart has no direct interest in the New Gift. What Torrhen''s Square demands of the Brotherhood, in return for a generous offer, is safe conduct to thends beyond the Wall." Mormont was surprised by the unexpected request. "A safe conduct...? But the men of House Tallhart already hold the right to freely pass through our gates." So countered the man, missing the point. "... Not for the men of House Tallhart, my lord, but for the people who live behind that Wall of ice... I refer mainly to the Free Folks." This time, not even Lord ckwood could maintain the silent impartial bearing. "House Tallhart wants to let those barbaric Wildlings pass south of the Wall, Ser!" Lord Tytos intervened, sonorously resting his hands on the map. "... The answer is no, Ser Duncan." Promulgated the old Bear in an iron manner, the man who, after Mors Umber, aka ''Crowfood'' and Ser Denys Mallister, could appeal as the individual who most of all had met face to face, hated, and warred against the Wildlings for decades... Jeor almost lost count of the blood spilled, and the multitudes have fallen among his people sacrificed to repel the countless raids and raids of those barbarians on Bear Ind. Mormont knew of the rumours concerning that boy''s mother. Perhaps, in Duncan Tallhart''s veins ran a half, if not wholly, Wildlings blood... Out of respect for the individual who had saved his House from ruin and would soon take his niece, Dacey, in marriage, Mormont responded with harsh, cold words. "... A very closed and hasty reply, my lord. Do you not even wish to hear my proposal first?" Asked the boy in a calm but more severe voice. "You would only waste your breath and time, Ser... Since the answer will remain as such. There is no amount of gold or promise you can make to convince me otherwise." Mormont retorted with a morebative will. There would be no negotiating with those animals. Not after the spoils of that grisly massacre Jeor and his brethren had seen in the now-ruined vige of Snowtumulus... "Nor will House ckwood ever eptnds overrun by marauders withoutws or Gods, Ser." Lord Tytos walked half a step closer to Mormont, showing his respect and demonstration of full support. "... I understand. A long and troubled hour lies before us, my lords." The heir to Torrhen''s Square calmly approached the small table filled with silver jugs and cups. And after pouring and offering a generous cup of red to the silent knight guarantor and witness, the demon boy, with the most fierce and piercing eyes Jeor Mormont had ever seen, asked with eerie serenity: "Before we begin... Would anyone care for a drink?" **** End POV. **** POV: The Lord of Winterfell Silk Road, Stark Manor, Lord''s Srium. About three hours after alcoholic and spicy drinks were offered... ----- There was a soft knock at the door; the man put down his quill and answered. "Come in." Ned would have recognised the unmistakable rap of Jory''s knuckles from a mile away. "Commander Ser Haymitch, my lord." Said Jory. "Show him in; I was just waiting for your news. Thank you, Jory. Dismissed for the evening." Jory nodded, bowing respectfully, and then headed off to his deservedly earned time off. ''... I have yet to arrange the investiture of Jory and many other deserving Stark men... I shall request the Guardian of Beauty to service many more green priests as soon as possible. Poor Welk cannot take on all the ceremonies alone.'' Ned added another item to his agenda. "My Lord Stark." Haymitch bowed ndly and walked over to his usual spot of alcoholic refreshment before taking a seat opposite him. Ned had gotten used to it. At least the Knight was designed to show more ''obsequious'' respect in front of witnesses. "So? How did the meeting go?" Ned asked impatiently as soon as the Knight had finished emptying Arbor''s cup of nectar. "Purgh...! I beg your pardon. I really needed that." Haymitch apologised after the elusive burp. And then resumed, as he poured himself another cup, "A real massacre, Ned... A scene that was nothing short of funereal and pitiful," Ned stiffened with concern, wondering urgently: "Meaning? The meeting didn''t go as nned?" "Oh, no... Or rather: yes, the meeting did not go exactly as nned. In short, they both agreed..." Exined Hayimitch with annoyed condescension. Ned was partly relieved. The Protector of the North had already arranged the meeting with the King and Lord Hoster Tully for the following evening. It would have been disgraceful to take part with something concrete in hand. "Mormont has agreed. He will grant the New Gift to Winterfell and give the Wildlings safe conduct, Giants or Sons of Forest that they may be... House ckwood has also agreed. Lord Tytos only requests that the death heart-tree of Raventree Hall be moved to the new abode, along with the remains and sepulchres of the ckwood family, buried there..." Haymitch exined between sips. "A more than legitimate request... So I can already give n Norrey and House Manderly the go-ahead for restoration work at Queencrown? I have three hundred armed men in escort, a team of twenty master builders and seven hundred pairs of arms, ready forbour, patiently awaiting orders." The Knight nodded, allowing himself another sip. "Is there anything else I should know?... What are you omitting, Ser?" Ned asked insistently, tearing with his pincers every word the Knight seemed reluctant to divulge. "The boy went hard... Bloody Snow showed no mercy, even towards his future uncle. The silver-tongued demon squeezed the poor guy to the bone, repeatedly clubbing the unfortunate man with big words and only aiming where it hurt most... Although I was prepared, by the end of the negotiation, I couldn''t help but see the Lord Commander as the ck sheep in the flock of the wicked. The leader of a vile and dishonourable order of men, dedicated to the ughter of the First Men and our ancestors... and Mormont..." Haymitch had to take a warm breath in addition to the usually fermented juice. "Mormont...?" Ned asked more insistently. Haymitch emptied the bag. "Mormont copsed in tears... Literally." It took another gulp to continue. "... I believe the man suffered severe psychological trauma... By the end of the negotiations, the poor man''s eyes were ssy and drained. It was the face of a man filled with regret, who had lost his steadfast belief to fight for... A macabre episode, indeed." Haymitch showed a look filled with guilt and went on to say: "And after he tore Lord Crow to pieces, Ser Duncan dropped his sword on my cousin..." Ned immediately withdrew his look of disappointment, showing a more respectful and understanding one in turn. "Erg, emm... And Lord ckwood?" Lord Eddard asked in a calmer tone after clearing his throat. "There, Tytos... He..." Haymitch was struggling to find the right words. "Let''s just say that I had to convince Tytos for a while in not making too hasty-decision... My cousin was seriously considering retiring and leaving the seat of House ckwood to his son Brynden, a boy of just fourteen..." **** End Part I **** Chapter 174: A Raven, a White Tree and a Drunkard... (II) Chapter 174: A Raven, a White Tree and a Drunkard... (II) ****Happy New Year, dear readers! I wanted to publish this yesterday, but I couldn''t make it in time. I hope the chapter is worth the wait. Happy Reading!**** ----- POV: Duncan Tallhart Housepetitors marquee, Tournament Arena. About a quarter mile away from the Barrowgate. Year 290 BC, the eighth day of the first moon. About a day and a half after the detailed report of a Drunkard. One hour before the start of the Tournament... ------- "Is everything clear, Ser Henry? For the sake of Torrhen''s Square, House Tallhart and the entire North, will you do as I have requested?" I asked in a tone more pleading than imperative. "Phew... Yes, yes, General... I will do asmanded. Should Ipete against the old man, the scion of House ckwood, or the Drunken Knight, I will lose and ensure that the defeat is dignified and credible." The boy sighed slightly with an air of resignation, holding back something he wanted to add. "What is it, Captain? Are you not satisfied with the reward offered to you? Do you desire something other thannd and titles?" I asked, trying to spur on the taciturn best archer of House Tallhart, offering him a half-cup of the Summer wine. Henry always liked to drink a half-cup of red before apetition or a battle. [The Sweet Red of Summer helps to loosen the fingers and heartstrings of a worthy lover of the bow.] He said. Henry epted the offer by taking a small sip as he blushed slightly. "...Here, my Lord... Truly, there would be something... Not that I despise the generous offers of House Tallhart, let me be clear!" So said the young man in his early twenties. "But...? Come on, Henry! In less than an hour, the Tournament will begin. Spit it out!" I incited. "Yes, General! Here... Yes, emm, could I exchange thend offering for gold, Sir?" The Captain of the First Legion Archers unit asked. "Gold...? But thosends would make you much more than the first prize over time. Besides, you were part of the unit of a Hundred Volunteers. You already exchanged your Damascus Steel rewards for gold. From what I know, my father should have rewarded you more than generously..." Henry was certainly not an individual of a thrifty nature. However, it still didn''t seem possible that the guy could have already spent eight thousand gold dragons in less than three moons... "There, yes, in truth: that gold is gone, my Lord... And, currently, I would be down three hundred..." A tremendous and catastrophic assumption crashed through my suppositions. "With whom...? To whom do you owe that gold, Captain...? Please don''t tell me-" "... Deputy Commander Josua of Jh, my lord." Now, everything was clear as day. All those mornings, Henry and Josua weren''t just training in archery... It was still morning, an hour too immature to drink, but I poured myself a half-cup of red anyway and gobbled it down in one go. "It''s not that I can''t win, General! On the contrary, I''m almost at her level! It''s just that ... during our little dailypetitions ..." Henry blushed, " ...dy Josua has been rather ''perceptive'' in raising and lowering the stakes at the appropriate time." There was no need to exin to Henry the dangerous and exorbitant love game he was up against. The boy was totally smitten. "... You shall have your gold. Is half the first prize a sufficient sum for you, Captain?" Henry sprang to attention, answering promptly: "Absolutely, Lord General! Much more than enough." The eyes of the smitten archer sprang up with hope and expectation. ''At least for a couple of years, he should hold out, hoping the poor guy gives up first...'' I thought to myself. If Josua did not continuously squander her gold with the most sublime and expensive pleasures the world could offer, that woman could have be even richer than the prince of Jh. "But... "Caution, Captain. You''re aiming your bow too high at a challenging and dangerous target... Those arrows coulde back and fall on your head." The young man, with a purple face and puppy love eyes, nodded without even considering my warning... "Ah, General!" Henry awoke from his love bubble before I took my leave. "Yes, Henry...?" Me. "I understand that Lady Josua will be taking part in the uing punitive expedition in Brandon''s gift and the future expedition beyond the Wall... Could I join as a volunteer in General Peter''s unit and yours, my Lord?" ***** End POV. ------ POV: Catelyn Stark Tournament Arena. About a quarter mile away from the Barrowgate. The pavilion was reserved for noble spectators. Year 290 BC, the eighth day of the first moon. About an hour after the discovery of a possibly hazardous love interest... -------- Catelyn was seated next to her loving father, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, the Lord of Riverrun and head of her lineage, Hoster Tully. It had been six long years since Catst saw her family at Riverrun, and, with her sad admission, the daughter found her father much scarred by time. As a child, Cat remembered Hoster as a tall, broad man, strong and imposing, with blue eyes and flowing brown hair with shiny auburn highlights. A loving Father-Hero who spoiled and pampered her, always treating her as his little Trident princess... As she grew older, the man became more corpulent, his gaze lost some of its past vigours and his hair and beard became shaggier and greyer. "No, Cat... Lord Walder will get nothing more from me. It is already a miracle that I was able to persuade Lord Jorah and Lady Barbrey to extend their invitation to House Frey after their second act of cowardice and the outrageous toll taken on your Lord Husband''s beloved. And you would now have me give your brother, my only son and future Lord Paramount of the Trident, to one of the daughters of that old, slimy, and cowardly usurer?" So spat her father in a low voice before the announcement of the start of the Tournament came. At the very least, her father weed keeping this conversation private. But, of course, it was better if her brother Edmure didn''t pick up on the details discussed... In fact, it was better if no one knew besides the narrow people involved. Catelyn and Hoster Tully enjoyed a good space free of prying eyes and ears in the raised pavilion, purposely set up for the lords of the Trident. Edmure was talking to his nephew Robb, a few rows down, telling him the story of when he was his uncle Brandon''s squire shortly before the outbreak of the rebellion. Cat could not help but reminisce about the incident between her old childhood friend Petyr and her first betrothed Brandon Stark... when Petyr had futilely fought for her out of love, being badly wounded, an inch from death. But now was not the time to let the past cloud her memory. Cat had a duty to fulfil. "I only ask you to consider the proposal, father. The Freys are the second richest and most influential house in the Trident. They hold a monopoly on the river trade of the Green Fork, are linked with dozens of other influential houses in Westeros, and hold a key military position and strength for the stability and security of ournds... Furthermore, Lord Walder will not live much longer. Eighty-two years is a heavy burden to bear, and his first son and heir, Ser Stevron, is lovable, polite and reasonable. A man, a knight and a future Lord of the Crossing different from the current Lord of the Twins." Sang Catelyn in a soft, persuasive voice, weaving the best bad she could muster. "Pff, it''s thirty years that Ser Stevron has been impatiently awaiting the call of the gods for his lord father. But not even the Stranger wants to wee that mouldy opportunist weasel into his ranks. Unfortunately, in my experience, bad weed dies hard. So it is far more likely that Stevron''s eldest son, that ''Ryman'', will be the next Lord of the Crossing... Did you get a chance to meet him, Cat?" Catelyn lowered her gaze for a moment, then answered: "Not yet." In truth, the woman had wisely "dodged" the possibility of such an encounter... "An unpleasant man, dull as a stone, ayabout, a drunkard, violent and an avid prostitute. Two nights ago, Ser Stevron had to cough up fifty gold dragons of ransom to the citadel authorities to get Ser Ryman out of the cells. Apparently, the man refused to pay what was owed to a high brothel courtesan in the city, which he couldn''t afford, leaving a simple ink promise of a [Pagher] written on a handkerchief instead of the coinage... A truly worthy heir to his grandfather." Unfortunately, Cat could not retort to that unpleasant hall voice rambling through all the nobility like the joke of the season. Her father gently grasped her hand, squeezing it warmly. "... Why all this concern and interest in House Frey? Confide freely in your father, sweet Cat." Both of the Tullys'' blue eyes made contact. "...Family, Duty, Honour?" It was their secret code. The keywords were to start a conversation of ufortable truths that needed to be dealt with and would remain sealed between their lips. "Family, Duty, Honour." Hoster Tully replied with a faint warm smile. "I fear for the future of my son and daughters... Soon Winterfell and House Stark will be under attack. The loyalties of my husband''s bannermen and the stability of the North are rapidly crumbling with each passing day, but Ned seems to be blind and unwilling to act while the enemies of House Stark grow and continue to weave their plots in the shadows..." Her father did not immediately react; the man kept his face calm, raising only a slight frown. "I will not stand still and helpless when my family is in danger." So added the daughter with a resolute look. "... Continue." Catelyn pondered the words carefully, "I have no proof yet, but I believe a civil war in the North is imminent... And House Tallhart will be the fulcrum of origin of the rebellion that will bleed the entire North and the entire continent, father." As soon as Cat uttered the name of the household, her father paled, muttering in a lower but worried voice: "House Tallhart...? Phew... May the Seven escape us, Cat... you couldn''t make a potentially more dangerous usation than that. And to think I was inwardly praying that you wouldn''t mention the Boltons or the Ryswells. But, still, in the name of the Most Holy Father, House Tallhart...?!" Hoster Tully shook her hand more vigorously, continuing, "please, my child, tell me you have not divulged these ''suppositions'' to anyone but me." Catelyn expected a first such reaction. "No one other than you and Maester Luwin knows of this... Luwin thinks as I do, father. And Ned requires less and less of the services of Winterfell''s sworn councillor." Her father sighed with relief as if freed from an evil drape upon his chest. Then Hoster resumed the word: "House Tallhart is one of the most loyal and influential bannermen in House Stark, Cat... Vassals who have proven their oaths time and time again with actions rather than vain words or promises. I don''t even want to name the many contributions, the close alliances, the countless business ties made with Westeros and Essos, or the heroic deeds performed because I would have to spend the whole day just listing them. Suffice it to say that, during the rebellion eight years ago, I met and fought at the side of Ser Helman Tallhart in person in no less than two bloody battles. Despite having less than half the military and economic power today, House Tallhart spared little, spilling more blood than necessary to protect your husband and help in the rebellion. Helman Tallhart is an honest, just and honourable man. One of the few people would choose death over the infamy of the Oathbreaker. I would dly trade dozens of bannermen like Walder Frey to have a single sworn ally as good as Ser Helman... Can you tell me what is going on with you and Maester Luwin?" The conversation could have gone better. And Catelyn had yet to throw the heaviest boulder at the poor man. The daughter braced herself and, keeping herposure and pulling out all the conviction she had, the woman said: "I do not doubt Ser Helman, father, but he who is manoeuvring him like a puppet, and like him, so many others, including my husband... The one which enhances and exploits the brightness of his household''s splendour to conceal himself in the shadows and extend his roots further into every corner of the continent... His son, Duncan Tallhart." Hoster''s eyes widened, bing more altered than they should have been, "His So-...!? What...! ... No... Phew...Anf... Anf... I need to calm down... I need some air." Her father inhaled deeply at the top of his lungs, closing his eyes and pinching the base of his nose for almost a minute. Catelyn gave the man, almost in the throes of a panic attack, time to recover, inwardly cursing Her insensitivity. Hurting her loving father was among thest things Cat wanted to achieve... *Wuoooooooooo!*... *Wuaoooooooo!* two thunderous horn sts drew widespread attention. It was the signal for the official announcement of the start of the long-awaited Tournament. A distraction that would benefit the Lord of Riverrun''s dibobted mind. Over two hundred archers had justpleted their arrangement in four neat rows. A hundred poles with waving banners created a riot of colour. Almost every household in Westeros participated in the firstpetition. Even her brother Edmure wanted to participate, but their father forbade it... The coveted and generous prizes offered attracted elite among the elite from all over the continent. Ordinary people, without at least a name or noble title that could qualify them, could not take part in the tournament. However, candidates of noble lineage were so numerous that the tournament organisers were forced to postpone the start date by one day. The time needed to carry out a hasty and private pre-selection. However ''discreet'' Edmure had proved himself in fencing and riding over time, with bow and arrow, he was, to be generous, ''mediocre''. It would already have been a blessing from the Warrior if the heir of Riverrun had managed to set foot among those 256 chosen candidates... Catelyn''s eye sought out the candidate representing House Tallhart... It was not Bloody Snow, but a young man in his early twenties, ordinary-looking with ck hair, dressed in full military gear and uniform adorned in the new colours of House Tallhart. Three white Heart Trees arranged in a triangle, with a crimson red bow in the centre on a silvery-grey background... Even the new banner of House Tallhart shouted the word ''Bloody Snow'' from every angle. ''Perhaps one of the captains among the newly knighted archers'' units.'' So Catelyn thought as she failed to recognise the figure. Thanking the seven heavens, it seemed that the Old Gods had not blessed the most feared swordsman in the North, even with the noble art of the Bow and Arrow... Catelyn''s eye slid over the two figures next to the knight serving the Tallharts. An older brother of the Night''s Watch also qualified for thepetition... An almost bizarre event. Usually, the Brotherhood in ck did not take part in jousts or tournaments except to try and enlist someone. On the other side, however, was the young eldest son of Lord Tytos ckwood, Brynden... with the unmistakable Ser Haymitch behind him. ''The Bastard of Raventree Hall... Why did that drunkard Haymitch decide to participate? More importantly, is that pervert also an archer?'' Cat wondered with a frown of disgust and irritation at the character. Immediately after the return of the Stark men from the campaign against the Greyjoys, Haymitch had been elevated from a mere knight errant in the guard''s service to First Strategic Commander of Winterfell. The drunken bastard was one of her husband''s first advisors and a trustedmander of the Stark militia. Ned listened more to Haymitch''s advice than to Maester Luwin''s. And not only that, the drunkard was the private master-at-arms of that Jon Snow and his son Robb! Her husband preferred the guidance of that smelly, shameless disgrace Haymitch rather than Ser Rodrick Cassel! There was something else linking those characters... but at first nce, Cat failed to pick up the clue before her eyes. The usher of thepetition took the floor, thus distracting Catelyn''s first thoughts. "Your Majesties! My Lords! My Ladies! Princes! Triarchs and City Lords... And to all you other good people of every known ce!!!" Barbrey Mormont thundered, gaining apuse from the stalls and the stands. Nearly eighty thousand screaming spectators were gathered in the vast seven-acre arched stadium. Even the famous Harrenhall Tournament could only pick so many people in one ce... "Today...!" the cheers andmotion diminished, "TODAY! In this beautiful blue sky, at the gates of the new city of the North, the games for the celebration of the wedding, of the new city, of the new institutions formed, and... Most important of all, for the victory of all fronts of our beloved King Robert!!!" *p! p! p! p!*"Yesss!", "Long live the King!", "Glory to Lady Barbrey!" *p! p!* "... But before we begin this heated and coveted firstpetition between our 256 portentous archers! I, my husband, Lord Jorah, and all of House Mormont have a gift to bestow upon you all, honourable contestants!" The screaming audience fell silent... Everyone wanted to know what the new richest and most powerful woman in Westeros wished to bestow. "As there has been an unexpected show of trust in the Never Winter Bank, to say the least, the prizes for the Tournament will be "modified!" raising them in proportion to the generosity shown by our allies and friends in the North!" This time, severalpetitors broke the proper formation to join in the apuse. Catelyn frowned slightly. The prize for the first two winners in archery was already a disproportionate sum. If she remembered correctly, it had to be ten thousand gold dragoons for first ce and five thousand for the second... A sum sufficient to make any noble scion hungry for glory and riches rises from the depths of the continent. And now the prize would even be raised? "But fear not, my dear investors... Your coffers will be safe from this ''unexpected change''... It will be House Mormont who will shoulder the additionalrgesse!" Promulgated Barbrey addressing the noble stands, causing a small burst of hrity... "The prizes up for grabs will no longer be just two, but rather ''Three''... Three generous prizes for the best three archers!" After a short pause, assistants arranged themselves in front of the rows ofpetitors, opening several chests filled with golden coins and arranging trunks and handles covered in suits of the finest studded leather. "Fifteen thousand gold dragons for the Third ce Winner! And the finest set of archer''s armour, made to measure, of the finest Karstark leather ever devised, lined inside in the softest and most durable silk in creation, fitted with a special kit for any lover of the hunt, and studded with fine Elite-Quality Damascus Steel tes!" The roar of astonishment was definitely more pronounced from the noble stands. "How much could that single suit of armour be worth, father?" Catelyn asked, trying to soften poor Hoster''s anxieties with the moment''s distraction. "That specimen...? I couldn''t say for sure. But if I remember correctly, on House Stark''s price list, the price was around eight hundred gold dragons for a standard specimen of studded leather with Elite Steel." Catelyn quadrupled that price in her mind. "...For Second ce: forty thousand gold dragons! "Three" Custom-made Sets, "And" a new product from the North! A very fine Weirdwood Longbow and Golden Heart Tree!" The crates and dummies doubled. After that came the element that trilled the solution to Catelyn''s dilemma. ''The bows! That''s what the Ranger, the ckwood and Haymitch had inmon! All three archers have bows simr if not identical to that!'' Thought the woman urgently as she carefully observed the white instrument wielded by the three men. Although the boy''s bow, Brynden ckwood, differed a little in colour and shape, the bows of the Night''s Watch and Ser Haymitch were identical to that of the prize. Catelyn still had an awful feeling. "Ser Brynden ckwood has a peculiar bow with him, very simr to the prize..." She pointed out, seeking her father''s opinion. "...Has your husband said anything to you yet?" Her father asked, momentarily setting aside the cruet of wildfire, called ''Bloody Snow'', thrown at him. "Tell me what?" Catelyn asked urgently. "Winterfell is still negotiating with Riverrun, Raventree Hall, the Night''s Watch and the Crown over the vassge of House ckwood. Ned is not as helpless as you think, Cat. Lord Stark wants to bring the former House of the North back into his ranks, offering House Tully a lucrative and generous ransom. We discussed itst night during the private banquet King Robert requested." This time it was Catelyn who was swept away by andslide. So, unbeknownst to her,st night, her husband was negotiating for the future of the North and the Trident! "Father! You cannot give up such a loyal and trustworthy vassal as Lord Tytos ckwood! The ckwoods are among the lineages with the strongest and best-trained militia in the Trident. Thends of the rivers-" Cat was interrupted. "The Rivends and my people will benefit greatly from this agreement, Cat. It has been centuries since House Tully has been helpless and impotent in the continuing bloody skirmishes between the ckwoods and the Brackens... Putting a thousand leagues between two houses in eternal conflict could be the ultimate solution to this thousand-year feud. Besides, many believers of the Old Gods in the ckwoodnds are beginning to be harassed by the fierce supporters of that High Sparrow... I want to solve the problem before it gets bloody. Raventree Castle, half the militia and smallfolk loyal to the ckwoods would remain with us, mostly all the families believing in the Cult of Seven. In addition, Lord Tytos is prepared to surrender almost all hisnded possessions at an almost bargain price, putting a stop even to that pesky Bracken/ckwoodnd diatribe. And Lord Stark is prepared to pay a ransom in Damascus Steel for the respective weight of each member of House ckwood, as well as granting us numerous trade advantages on products exported from the North." ''You mean on the products of House Tallhart!'' roared Catelyn inwardly, holding back that thought. Something suggested to her that behind that revolutionary political manoeuvre was the hand of that Demon. "Giving up their ancient home like that? But what castle ornds would House Stark grant to the ckwoods?" It would be Moat Cailin with the associated Northernnds of the Neck. For too long, thosends had remained unguarded... ''But if so, why put the Night''s Watch in the way?'' The answer came. "Thends of the New Gift... Lord Commander Mormont will relinquish half of the Brotherhood''snds in ck. I believe the future manor of House ckwood may be the disused manor of Queencrowns." Hoster replied, shocking Cat. ''Thends of the new Gift...? But of course, the Lord Commander of the Night''s Watch is Jeor Mormont, Lord Jorah''s father and Dacey''s uncle... So there is certainly the hand of Duncan Tallhart and Barbrey Mormont behind this arrangement!'' Cat reasoned with deep concern. "And what would the bow have to do with it?" Catelyn asked, maintaining her demeanour with extreme effort. An unreasonable and still unmotivated part of her wanted to shout at her father: [Disagree, father! Don''t do it, please! You are giving the enemy what he desires!] "Last night, we witnessed an impressive demonstration. That bow is the key incentive that convinced Lord Tytos to ept. It appears to be a weapon of even better performance and quality than the infamous Golden Tree Heart of the Summer Isles. House ckwood would have a monopoly on production and trade on such a product... But, of course, I would ensure that Riverrun and my bannermen have the proper privileges in that market before epting." Catelyn''s face seethed. The woman had no arrows in her bow to rebut such a deal that was advantageous on all fronts. Catelyn nced at the Drunken Knight, the bastard cousin of Lord Tytos ckwood. At first, it was only a suspicion, but now Catelyn was certain. ''You too are a dirty pawn of the bastard, Bastard!'' Cat cursed every damned impure name born outside the nuptial thmus. Naively, the Tully of Winterfell thought she had moved ahead of her opponent. And yet, before the Silver Trout had managed to secure the loyalty of the Blue Towers, the Blood Demon had already wrested the ck Raven from her grasp... **** End Part II **** Chapter 175: A Raven, a White Tree and a Drunkard... (III) Chapter 175: A Raven, a White Tree and a Drunkard... (III) *****Dear faithful, knowledge-hungry readers, I have some news. Good for me, and annoying for you.... I''ll rip off the band-aid right away. Bad News: until the end of the month I will not be publishing any new chapters of Pdin of Old Gods. Good News (Mainly for me): These past two weeks I have been thunderstruck by shes of inspiration for a new original story (Not Fanfiction). Unfortunately, due to my mising and subsisting job, I don''t have the time and energy to work on both. I have tried and failed miserably by not concluding anything.... Having said that, I need to stop for a few weeks and throw down the wordbuilding and plot drafts of this new work, which, I think I''ll christen {Chronicles of Sand and Iron}. Also, I need to steal everything that can be stolen on some original ideas I was thinking of putting into Pdin of Old Gods. I have a few draft chapters in reserve, which I will have to rework, but fear not, I hate to leave works unfinished. I have the distant ending of this Fan Fictions always on my mind, and it haunts me every morning. I absolutely must keep writing! As a humble but insufficient gesture of apology, I will publish two chapters. Thanks again to everyone for your continued support and endless patience. See you soon, and happy reading!!!**** ------- POV: Brynden ckwood Tournament Arena. While a Silver Trout, filled with bile and frustration, brooded among the noble stands... ------- Brynden''s eyes and ears, like the rest of the two hundred and fifty-five participants, were totally focused on Lady Barbrey Mormont. Two hundred and fifty-six souls waiting to hear the first coveted prize up for grabs for the winner of the Archery Competition. "... And, leaving the best forst, the prize for the First Runner-up!" A hundred servants and guards armed with escorts paraded in front of the contestants, carrying and parading the contents of chests, parrying dozens of sets of armour, armed with plenty of white bows and quivers. A most peculiar trunk in the centre was still closed. "A hundred thousand Golden Dragons!" A roar of astonishment followed the first part of the prize. ''A hundred thousand?! That''s an infinite number of coins! One could demolish and have Raventree Hall rebuilt from scratch with that sum!!!'' Thought the heir of House ckwood, recalling the notions of economics and trade learned during his lessons with Maester Barnabas. In times of peace andmercial prosperity, and in the unlikely event of no unexpected extra expenditure, House ckwood would have had to tighten its belt for at least four years to be able to set aside such a sum. Brynden''s eyes drifted with greedy dreams of prosperity as the boy stood entranced by the mesmerising golden glitter just a few dozen feet from him... "Twelve Finest Archer''s Sets, fitted with twelve bows in Weirdwood and Golden Heart Tree, and our pride and joy..." Two servants stepped forward between the rows, carrying a long ck case. "Found, two years ago, by intrepid research adventurers attempting to explore the perilousnds of the Long Summer, near the ruins of an ancient Valyrian town..." The ebony wooden crate was opened, and an attendant lifted with two hands an imposing double-curved longbow, nearly six feet high, its ck handle and arms etched with several fiery red runes from the base to the top. "A treasure from the Ancient Empire of Valyria... My lords anddies, House Mormont, has the pleasure and honour to offer as a prize to the winner: a Very Rare Dragonbone Bow!" Apuse and jubtion of wonder red up like a fire. The gaze of almost all the opponentspetitors became more determined than ever. If one of the challenges for thepetition was to shoot, with a single arrow, a mother clutching an infant in swaddling clothes, Brynden surmised that at least more than half of those men would shoot the arrow without batting an eyelid. The wake of the boy''s eye shifted to a rival gaze focused on him... It was Henry Bracken, the first nephew of Lord Jonos Bracken and current heir to Stone Hedge. Lord Bracken, unlike Tytos ckwood, had sired only daughters by his two marriages. Lord Jonos''s brother and Henry''s father, Quentyn Bracken, had died at the Rebellion due to a sword wound that went gangrenous. Therefore, unless Jonos had sired a male shortly, it was that slender, muscr boy of just sixteen, with rough brown hair and dark brown eyes, the current heir to the Bracken House. The Bracken boy shed him a defiant grin, which Brynden reciprocated, pointing out his new white weirdwood bow, lent to him by his uncle Haymitch. Henry Bracken gave him a dirty look, trying to conceal his yew-wood bow as much as possible. A good wood for a short bow, butparable to the difference between bronze and hardened steel whenpared to weirdwood... Brynden was a good archer, not the best in Raventree Hall, but still a marksman who hit the bull''s eye nine times out of ten. His father put a bow and arrow in his hand from his fifth name day. House Bracken boasted the best light and heavy cavalry in the Rivends, while House ckwood could boast of the best units of archers in central Westeros... The Bracken could have beaten him in a hypothetical quintana. But with a bow and arrow? With that prize at stake? With the magic bow that Uncle Haymitch had given him?.... Never. Weirdwood was an excellent building material, though scarce and expensive. Wood never rotted and became stronger and more fireproof with time until it became harder than stone. When Maester Barnabas first exined to Brynden the peculiar characteristics of that wood, the child, then only six years old, ran to his father and asked him why House ckwood did not use all the weirdwood from their dead-heart tree to resell it or build weapons, ships, gates or structures out of that fantastic material. After all, their legendary ancestor, Brynden Rivers, known as Bloodraven, possessed a wondrous weirdwood bow. From there, his father began to tell him of the legends of the Sons of Forest and the bloody, thousand-year wars that hadsted between the Singers of Life and the First Men. And of the ancient pact sealed by the two warring races more than eight thousand years ago in the Eye of the Gods. ["If one day you want a weapon from the wood of those sacred trees, my son, you must first go to the Isle of a Thousand Faces in person and ask permission from the Old Gods... This is what my father and grandfather taught me. And that is exactly what my great-grandfather''s cousin Bloodraven did to obtain his."] As fate would have it, the two bitterpetitors, ckwood and Bracken, ended up in the same quadrant. Four quadrants consisting of sixty-fourpetitors each... If both boys from the Rivends made it through the first two rounds, Brynden and Henry would face each other in a 1 vs 1 contest in the third. An event the ckwood eagerly hoped for. Brynden would prevail and bring prestige to the good name of his household. The boy looked at his bow, which he held firmly. It was a bow unlike even those recreated here in the North. That ancient masterpiece of craftsmanship had not been contaminated by the Golden Heart Tree... No. Iprehensible runes were engraved all along the inside of the wood. Some were blood red, others were ck-oxidian. The engraved symbols were almost imperceptible. The harder Brynden tried to read and remember them, the less he could. The boy stared at the man behind him and began to recall his uncle''s advice... **** The day before... "A magic bow?... Are you kidding me, Uncle Haymitch?" Brynden asked with jovial scepticism. "Not at all. See for yourself... Doesn''t the bow already look bigger than before?" It was true! The bow must have stretched at least two inches in that short minute! At first, the instrument looked like a child''s toy, but now, that bow was growing... Moreover, that object was feeding on his blood; it had only taken a few drops. "It belongs to a Children of Forest. To be precise, to the granddaughter of the King of the Children of Forest. It is not a gift... it was only loaned to you for the duration of the tournament. So, be sure to treat it with proper care, nephew." His uncle replied, patting him affectionately on the back as a warning gesture. "A Son of the Forest...! Pff, don''t talk nonsense, Uncle. The Children of the Forest have been extinct for millennia now." Brynden searched Uncle Haymitch''s face for a sign of yfulness but found only seriousness and concern. "Trust me, not the owner of that magic bow. If you do not believe me, try to keep that object for yourself beyond the time limit, and then let me hear from the individual to whom you have left yourst will said." **** Brynden held the enchanted wood tightly, pleasantly warm to the touch, smooth and soft... The archer felt more confident than ever with that instrument. The boy had spent most of the night gaining confidence and shooting arrows at straw targets. The best marksmanship he had ever demonstrated... Brynden felt like a distant chosen descendant of the legendary Ancestor Hero of House Fossoway, Foss, the Archer. That bow read his will, helping his hand to draw, dole out the proper force, aim, wait, and shoot just right. Quite simply, a Treasure-Companion-And-Guide that once tried could not be exchanged for anything else in the world. ''A regal gift on loan from Torrhen''s Square... Is House Tallhart simply showing friendship towards the future allied house? Or is this a ploy by our future business partner to advertise the ckwood/Tallhart product line... ?'' I ponder the boy. ''But who cares. The important thing is that the glory and the prize go to House ckwood!'' Brynden abandoned those thoughts, refocusing his attention on the prize in front and the ancient rival to be shredded. "Now, we will let Barrowton''s master-at-arms, Ser Wyatt of House Stout, conduct the first contest!" A man in his thirties made his debut, bowing to the audience. *p!* Barbrey pped his palms elegantly and sonorously once, then officiated: "Without further ado, let the Games begin!" **** End POV. **** POV: Ulmer of the Kingswood Arena of Contenders. About half an hour, a pping roared through the stands... ------ Ulmer carefully scrutinised his first opponent. A wealthy and plump scion of House Buckwell named Jhona. The experienced archer of the fraternity in ck noticed at once that those clothes worn by thepetitor from House Buckwell, made of tight velvet and adorned with an ufortable ceremonial breastte, were not suitable for the kind ofpetition... ''The boy will pay the price for his noble lustre... I ask your forgiveness in advance, Brother Jarman.'' Ulmer thought, spitting out a bitter piece of chewed red leaf celery. Ser Jarman Buckwell, the boy''s uncle or great-uncle, was his sworn brother and a worthy Ranger of renown among the guardsmen. A true Ranger tempered by seven years of frosty and honourable service. Ulmer had the honour of patrolling on two asions on the other side of the Wall together with Jarman. But now more than ever, the archer in ck was sure that his confrere would forgive him for the necessary lesson he would teach that immature and softened member of House Buckwell. The Night''s Watch needed that gold and that paraphernalia. Lord Commander Jeor had been clear: ["Take this bow and do all you can to bring the brotherhood that prize, Ulmer."] And Ulmer would obey. If the former bandit had to publicly humiliate the King himself, Ulmer would not have hesitated for a second. Now, the Wall was his home and the Night''s Watch was his family to protect. Seventeen years ago, another family weed into its ranks a humble woodsman with nothing left to lose... the Kingswood Brotherhood. Simon Toyne, The Smiling Knight, Wenda the White Fawn, Oswyn Longneck, Big Belly Ben and Fletcher Dick... thetter taught Ulmer how to use a bow. Fletcher Dick was undoubtedly the best archer of his generation, if not of the millennium. No one couldpete with his former teacher. With bow and arrow, Fletcher could unbutton a bowstring from a moving target, inplete darkness and at a distance of more than 150 yards... And it was not a figure of speech. Ulmer witnessed the scene of the hunt for the trembling prisoner of the Swann house, who was freed and then recaptured in the middle of the woods for amusement... At the end of the run, the poor man was left with only his trousers, breeches and boots. Not even after all those years of practice at the Wall, wielding that sublime bow given to him by the Lord Commander, would Ulmer have been able to match Fletcher... But at least the Ranger could boast of being the most valuable archer in the Brotherhood in ck. Fletcher would have ransomed King Aerys himself for such a bow...'' Ulmer thought with mild nostalgia as he felt the masterpiece of the northern master gunsmiths with his calloused hands. A gift from House ckwood for the Brotherhood in ck, which Commander Mormont, in turn, gave to him. The short double-bowl''s hilt, back and knuckles were made of pure Weirdwood, while the belly and limbs were made of Golden Heart Tree. The two types of wood were joined together by animal glue and wrapped in an elegantyer of waterproof birch strips. The rope was a finely woven mix of catgut and unicorn hair bred in thends of Skagos. Stiffness and flexibility of the two kinds of wood married perfectly, creating a bnce never experienced with any bow... An excellent weapon for both short, medium and long distances. Simply perfect for hunting. Ulmer even envisaged the instrument as an excellent substitute for the longbow and a sublime range weapon for horseback. The Dothraki lords would undoubtedly have sold off herds of stallions, mares, or even sons and daughters for such a bow. "Three targets, three attempts. Each pigeon will be released from the turret at each bell chime... The bird is trained to travel perpendicr to you between the two turrets. The arrow that hits the target will score the point. Body: one point. Head: three points. Red Centre: five points. Should both arrows hit the target simultaneously, bothpetitors will get the respective points. The archer who scores the most points will pass the heat. If thepetitors do not achieve a single point, both will be out of thepetition... Good luck,petitors." Exined thepetition judge for the fourth time. It was a very differentpetition from the mere motionless straw target. Thatpetition favoured experienced hunters or well-advanced archers. "... Don''t take this the wrong way, honourable brethren. But I have been hunting pheasants and ducks every moon cycle since I was six years old." He tried to intimate the noble peacock, unting all his arrogance and confidence. ''Pff, a hunt every moon cycle...?'' Ulmerughed inwardly. ''Beyond the Wall, if you wanted to eat anything other than mouldy oatcakes and dried mutton, tougher than ironwood bark, you had to hunt: morning, noon and dusk, every day. And if you used a bow, you had to make sure you brought back every single arrow with its iron point and all the nibs still intact. ''Quite a bit of noble practice, Ser... So, I''ll let you shoot the first arrow. These old but still curious eyes are always eager to learn." Ulmer replied in a calm but amused tone. "Archers, in position...!" signalled the judge. "Inching." Both Buckwell and Ulmer answered the call. ''... Four seconds and four or five wing beats tops before the blind spot.'' Evaluated Ulmer after observing the exact same route some twenty times. In that first round, each pigeon traversed the same three-hundred-foot distance almost identically. The twopetitors, positioned at the apex corner of the triangle, were fifty feet away from the midpoint, each spaced six feet apart and ced within a circumscribed circle of three feet radius, which could not be crossed. Ulmer lightly wet the tip of his nose with saliva to keep track of the wind. The man felt the standard ash arrow with fingertip and forefinger and waited patiently for the bell to ring before extending the bow. Which his opponent did not do... The boy, ovee with anxiety and impatience, began the draw, straining his arms more than necessary to keep the longbow taut. This was a hazardous choice, as the signal varied with every stroke. The bell could be rung immediately or dyed for up to fifteen seconds... To the relief of the contestant with the flushed face, the *Dong!* came six seconds after the pull. The grey bird showed itself, sshing like a thunderbolt perpendicrly towards the second turret. The boy named Jhona released the tightrope an instantter... *Sdruiff!* "Uuuu...!" there was a soft roar of disappointmentpounding the boy''s despondency and embarrassment. The Buckwell had not at all taken into ount the average morning breeze from the west. The arrow did not even take root on the wooden beam of the tower, tipping directly onto the ash wood. At the same time, the attendant at the top, responsible for opening the cages, stepped back fearfully to avoid danger. Before stretching, Ulmer waited another second, and, with lightning-fast and fluid movements like summer silk, the archer pulled, aimed and shot. The bow followed each gesture with imperceptible resistance, releasing the umted energy without recoil. The dart had absorbed all the power of the pull, releasing a force capable of piercing steel. *Stonk!* "Wuoooooo!!!", "Yeees!!", "Come on, Ulmer!", "To the Watch, Brother!" The audience cheered, and his brothers in ck put on the most show. The arrow still vibrated when the judge raised the point g. The bird was pierced right through the back, skewered like a chicken on a spit on the beam of the opposite tower, a foot and a half away from the blind spot... After a quick check, the second judge proimed loudly from the tower: "Red Bull! Five points for Ulmer!" The audience and the noble stands apuded loudly towards the incredible disy of skill just disyed. It was the first Red Centre since the start of the tournament. Even King Robert designed to give him a round of apuse from the royal stands. Ulmer bowed to his audience elegantly, giving a triumphant wink to his sworn brethren and blowing a kiss to a brte damsel in her thirties with gigantic tits, swaying rhythmically in his name. Thepwing of House Buckwell was still left with his mouth half open and his face catatonic. The challenge could already be said to be over. It would have been a miracle if the rival archer had snatched at least one point in thest two remaining attempts... Ulmer threw an additional weight onto the boy''s already burdened shoulders. "Thank you, Ser Jhona... Without your remarkable disy of skill, I could not have learned the ''where'', ''how'' and ''when'' of never having to shoot my arrow." **** End Part III. **** Chapter 176: A Raven, a White Tree and a Drunker... (IV) Chapter 176: A Raven, a White Tree and a Drunker... (IV) POV: Haymitch the Drunker Arena of Contenders. Roughly three hours after a Night''s Watch took the first semi-finalist spot in the first round... ------- It was the fourth heat of the second round. Of the sixty-four contestants in that round, only eight remained. One contestant had to prevail in all six heats to reach the semifinals. The first three challenges had been almost a piece of cake. Haymitch couldn''t even exin how that Gyllen of Grafton (hisst opponent) made it through the second round... Except for the first round, in which even the wimps, who barely grazed the pigeon feather and miraculously snatched a point, passed, the second round was a different story. Each heat increased its difficulty. In the second and third rounds, the number of winged feathers doubled, but only one red point remained. The only valid target to score points. On top of that, the contestants'' circle moved back ten feet. The twopetitors were now ny feet away from the towers. In the fourth round, the number of pigeons remained at four, but in addition to the increase in distance, a second bird was marked with a yellow dot to throw off the archer''s eye... Needless to say, there was a massacre of poor innocent pigeons. But at least the meat of those feathered heroes (the one still ughterable) wouldter be served at the victor''s banquet. ''Hmm... Luck is also a factor to always take into consideration. Another lesson I''ll have to teach those two little brigands over there.'' I pondered Haymitch casting a nce at his two livid young disciples sputtering with false tion on the northern stands. "Courage, Ser Haymitch!!!'', "You can do it, Ser!.... Come on, you rabble! A chorus for the number one archer of House Stark!" In a joking mood, the little pack of ruffians joined the chorus fomented by Robb and Jon. They were sorely mistaken if the two brats thought they could buy it a sneaky little chorus to save them from the punishment that would soon descend upon them. Haymitch was still terrified of drinking from his personal sks. Two evenings ago, during the usual daily training, the small band of criminals apanying the Wolf Cub had reced all the precious contents of the sks with vinegar mixed with copious doses of ck pepper powder... The man almost rejected the first swallowed gulp from his tongue. Haymitch''s response came the following day, doubling the training session''s duration and soundly thrashing the duo. But then, that very morning, Haymitch awoke from his rooms with an unbearable stench of horse shit... Sure enough, the pack was behind it. The problem was that Haymitch still had no idea where the stench came from. The poor man had searched everywhere without finding the slightest trace of dung... But at least the duo did not seem tock ingenuity and cohesion. Essential elements in any battlefield. Ned had been unmistakable... Haymitch had to squeeze those two children without qualms to prepare them as best he could. The Lord of Winterfell wanted Robb and Jon tempered and ready for any danger or future threat. Six years was the time limit. By their twelfth name-day, those children had to be prepared for {The Winter}... Only the Quiet Wolf and Bloody Snow seemed to know the extent of that metaphorical and ominous ice storm that would soon hit the North. "You have a great cheer in the stands, Ser Haymitch of Raventree Hall." Said the massive, dangerous individual beside him. Squared face, marked by slight scars, iron gaze, broken nose, a taurine neck and muscr chest shoulders supported by at least six feet of bone hardened by several battlefields. The leather armour and tunic worn underneath were as worn as the faded but still visible crest of a white tower crowned with mes on smoke grey. Even the elm bow was visibly worn from its possible use. Weapon and armour were fully attuned to their possessor, who, in all probability, was used to brandishing and wearing it even in his sleep. It only took Haymitch one nce to realise that this individual was no mere scion of noble origins with titles bestowed by his middle name. No... the man had earned the title ''Ser'' in blood and steel. Haymitch replied to his first realpetition opponent, Ser Garth Hightower, known as ''Greysteel''. "I won''t deny it, Ser. Lately, I''ve been gaining certain annoying notoriety... And by the way, I''m Ser Haymitch of Winterfell now. But if you prefer, you can simply use my old namesake of Drunkard." There was no hostile intent in Haymitch''s tone, as there was none in his counterpart. The two battle dogs were merely sniffing each other before showing their fangs. "So I beg your pardon, Ser Haymitch of Winterfell... The ckwood crest engraved on your magnificent bow deflected my initial conjecture... A bow almost identical to those up for grabs," replied the second son of Lord Leyton Hightower with sufficient respect, casting a suspicious nce at the same bow that had dominated the first round. "Ah, this toy? A fair bow, I cannot deny it. In fact, it was my cousin, Lord Tytos ckwood, who gave me a gift of it... A small reward for past services rendered at Raventree Hall. I understand it can be easily confused. No offence taken, my good Ser." Said Haymitch, trying to close the subject there. The bloodhound Hightower is on the hunt for information...'' It was still a minute or two before the start of the round that Garth still had time to pester him with more annoying questions. ''... Better to attack early and buy time.'' The guy also had a sharp gaze and a talent for weapons. The rumours Haymitch heard in the Oldtown taverns rang true: House Hightower diligently instructed every family member in faith, body and mind. "I have heard much of you, Ser Garth. The great deeds of ''Greysteel'' in the Disputed Lands were recounted in every tavern or dive bar from Oldtown to Golden Grove... But, if I may ask, Ser, is it true that you managed to gain the rank of lieutenant in the Second Sons after only your first battle?" Garth squinted slightly, sharpening his gaze more. "Tavern exaggerations, Ser... I did not achieve that rank until my seventh month of service." The Knight of Oldtown attempted to narrow the topic he had just raised. But before the Hightower opened his lips again, Haymitch anticipated him again. "Seventh month? Well, a remarkable achievement nheless, Ser. From what I understand, one needs a minimum of six months to obtain a position as a simple lieutenant among the Second Sons. And tell me, was the crushing victory over Khal Pemmo''s thousand also an exaggeration, or is there some truth there too? It is said that you faced three consecutive duels against the blood knights of Pemmo." Greysteel was beginning to sense Haymitch''s game. "Well, that depends, Ser. Are the rumours about a certain lone Raventree Hall Knight who emerged victorious and unharmed from an ambush of twenty armed bandits equally true?" Haymitch smiled at the witty quip and replied: "Mh mh mh...There were thirteen of them, and only half could be considered ''armed''. It took me more than a day and a night to shoot them down during various retreats, night attacks, and dishonourable assaults in the woods. Two of them I slit their throats in their sleep, one was mortally wounded by a passing wild boar, a fourth I impaled while he was taking an emergency dump, and a fifth was put to the sword by the leader of the band himself... Some wanted to retreat, and that rabid dog called Brace, or Brade, as I remember, had to set an example... I shot him sixth. From there on, it was a simply frightened fox hunt." Greysteel returned the admission with an amused grunt. "Khal Pemmo''s was only the dying shadow of a true Khsar... Among the famous ''Thousand'', six hundred were women and ves. There were barely four hundred Dothraki exhausted and exhausted after a long flight against a rival Khsar. Four hundred ill-armed barbarians, mainly consisting of old men or teenagers posing as warriors, had the misfortune to face nine hundred armoured mercenaries on horseback eager for an easy victory. Our heavy cavalry passed through their ranks like a hot knife through butter. The first blood knight I knocked down was already one step away from death with an open nk. But they still credited me with the kill. The second one I decapitated with a surprise sh immediately after he had finished shooting down one of myrades. Only the third could be called a duel." Garth confessed in turn, getting a nod of respect. Thepetition judge called the attention of the two archers about topete. Greysteel pointed his eyes to the white bow, asking a final silent question. "... Let''s do it this way; if you beat me in this trial, you will get some of the information you seek, Ser Garth." Proposed Haymitch. "Mmm... And should you prevail?" asked Garth. "You will wait like everyone else... And you will reveal what you can reveal about that monster shielding your Lord Father. Your brother-inw, if I am not mistaken... Emm, Ser Jon Coop?" Haymitch needed help remembering the middle name. "''Cupps''... gone. May the Warrior guide the hand of the best." Garth replied. ''Pff... Really good at wordy.'' Investigator Hightower wanted to find out whether or not Haymitch was still a believer in the Seven. "And may the ''Father'' judge this contest fairly." ***** About two minutester... "Thigh! A point for Ser Haymitch! Wing! A point for Ser Garth!" Shrieked the line guard. Each arrowhead was soaked in dye to leave a mark. Blue for Haymitch and green for Garth. ''Tzs, shit! He gave up uracy to y ahead...!'' Haymitch inwardly scolded himself for not having foreseen such a possibility. Had the bumbling drunkard hesitated a moment less, he might have hit the redhead. But, instead, Greysteel''s arrow had intentionally reached the bird first to destabilise the target. "Ser Garth advances to four points! Ser Haymitch follows with two points! Last try, contestants...!" Announced thepetition judge loudly amidst ovations and roaring apuse. ''Greysteel will not miss... He will aim for at least one more easy shot. I must score Head or Red Centre. Otherwise, I''m out...'' Haymitch reasoned instinctively. The ckwood Bastard certainly had a better bow, but Greysteelpensated for that deficiency in his greater confidence with his instrument. Haymitch had had little time to be familiar with his... But the more significant problem was that Garth could focus the red-marked bird in the middle of three other fictitious targets before him. Greysteel had finer eyesight than his own. Haymitch''s eye slid in search of the boy Sorcerer... Duncan Tallhart was less than fifty feet away, silently offering him a hand. ''No... That card will serve Ulmer or Brynden more.'' Haymitch raised his left little finger, refusing help. To use that magic, Bloody Snow had toe within thirty feet of him. A suspicious movement that could be justified twice at most. "Archers in position!" Ser Wyatt signalled. Haymitch would not have wanted to resort to so much... Being the demonstration jester of House Tallhart and Mormont pissed him off. No matter how hard the Knight tried to wriggle out of that demon''s shadowy pincers, Bloody Snow, one way or another, always managed to find a way to tie him up and smoke him like a ham at his mercy. Not to mention that with those ss things in his face, he felt ridiculous...! Haymitch grabbed the buckskin cloth out of his pocket against his will, pulled out those strange lenses tied with wire, and fastened them over his ears. A slight murmur ofughter went along with the unexpected gesture... The magic of sight struck Haymitch''s eyes once more. Now, any detail more than a hundred feet away from him was clearly in focus. Haymitch could even glimpse the cracks in the wood of the tower, along with a myriad of details that at first appeared as a blur... The judge hesitated for a second as he witnessed the scene. "Reading ss, Ser...? Why are you putting those weird Maester magnifying sses on your face?" Garth asked with a hint of derision in his tone of voice. "... They''re ''Archer'' lenses, Ser." Cut the publicly mocked counterpart short. Ser Wyatt stood spellbound for a few seconds... "Any problem with the rules, Ser Wyatt?" Asked the annoyed four-eyed man. "Eh...? Emm... No. I guess not, Ser..." The judge cleared his throat to pronounce better: "No regtion prohibits ''personal effects'' or ''decorations'' of any kind!" Despite the announcement, the judge did not stop staring him in the face... Haymitch dazzled him with his gaze, casting a subtle expression of [Do you also want to weave a tapestry in the process? Then what the fuck are you waiting for to give the signal!] "K-Knock...!" replied the judge after the silent rebuke. Archer Stark noticed the absence of wind. ''You like to y ahead, huh?'' Haymitch anticipated the pull by a couple of seconds, pointing his bow towards the tower on the right. Garth was taken aback for a moment, but he, too, replicated the sudden movement. It was a contest of endurance and speed... The seconds ticked by, and the tension in his arms and shoulders began to show. Then, at the ninth second, the *Dong!* came. Haymitch''s eye caught the crimson glow just after the second p of his wings... and he fired without hesitation. Garth dyed half a second. The target''s head jumped, and when the second dart attempted to reach it, the winged body of the prey was already in a vertical dive... Garth''s arrow missed the pigeon by at least two inches. The line guard did not even need a second check to announce publicly: "Heads! Three points for Ser Haymitch! Missed shot! Zero points for Ser Garth!" The stalls exploded, Jon and Robb cheering loudest of all. "Ser Haymitch Rivers umtes five points. Ser Garth Hightower follows with four points. Ser Haymitch prevails!" The Knight slipped off his jester''s sses before bowing respectfully to his opponent. "... A fine contest and a well-deserved victory, Ser Haymitch." Garthplimented, returning the bow with reluctant humility. "Good and hard-fought for sure, Ser Garth. Your dexterity with bow and arrow is a voice I would certainly confirm in any tavern in Westeros..." Haymitch replied in the same tone. "I wonder if you might have a chance to demonstrate my dexterity with sword and spear as well, Ser..." Garth cast him a first urate defiant nce. "... Not in person, I''m afraid. My rusty knee reminds me every morning not to perform the actions of swaggering youth. But you will always have the attention of my watchful eye in the stands, Ser Garth..." A thin bubble of tension was forming between the two. A bubble that isted the two veterans amidst the confusion of the audience. "But from the sounds of it, your knees juggled well during Pyke''s recent siege, deftly breaching its walls first." Garth retorted, moving two steps closer to create more discretion in the conversation. "What can I say...? A limb responds most readily in the middle of a real battle." Replied Haymitch in a jovial tone but with erect shoulders. "... Ahah, well said, ''First Commander of the Winterfell Militia''." Garth had also done his homework. Even his recent appointment had not escaped his ears... The knights'' eyes remained wide open and ready to perceive any trace of threat. Greysteel had no swords with him, but Haymitch would bet his head that the Knight always concealed at least one emergency de. The tension in the air seemed to beg for a blood tribute... But then Garth broke the bubble first by lowering his gaze. "I will send my most trusted squire to collect your questions in writing. You will have part of the answers you seek by tomorrow, Ser Haymitch of Winterfell." Greysteel gave a final slight nod, taking his leave. For a moment, Haymitch was tempted to invite that individual to drink a cup or two of good red, but he quickly repressed the foolish idea... It would have been an invitation to a bloodbath. Not for hatred or any offence caused. The two knights did not need an excuse to be at each other''s throats... It was pure curiosity. Both veterans were quivering with desire to find out which of the two had managed to prevail over the other. Ser Haymitch ''The Drunker''s''st thought, before turning his gaze in the opposite direction, was: ''Ten years ago, I wouldn''t have hesitated for a second to offer him that cup...'' ------- End Chapter. **** Chapter 177: Breath-Stopping Eyes Chapter 177: Breath-Stopping Eyes ****I''m back!!! Thank you all so much for your anticipation, and all your support during the escape! Happy Reading, Dear Readers!**** -------------------- POV: Brynden Arena of Contenders. Year 290, the ninth day of the first moon. On the second day of thepetition. Eighth finals, sixth and final round of the third round. The morning after a drunken Knight, Four-Eyes prevailed in the second round... ------- It was thest race to reach the semi-finals. The tension built up on Brynden''s shoulders was sky-high. The throat was dry and irritated by the 14-year-old''s constant nervous swallowing. The first day of thepetition ended in the third round. Therefore, the final could ur by the second day''s end. The first two races were spring walks in the middle of the countryside, but from the third, the path became steeper and narrower. Shivers of anxiety racked his arms, fingers and legs... The boy even felt like a fool for having publicly mocked Henry Bracken at the banquet the other night. Unfortunately, the heir to Stone Hedge failed by a hair''s breadth in the second heat, thus having no chance topete against his arch-rival. The Bracken was knocked out of thepetition by Ser Andar Royce, the eldest son of Lord Yohn Royce, an excellent archer who gave Brynden a hard time in the third round (he won by only one point). Because of his stupid provocative actions, Brynden, much to his father''s chagrin, had been forced to publicly ept Bracken''s proposed challenge, forcing him to take part in the grand melee and joust... Brynden in the melee could havee out on top, but what about the joust? Despite constant practice,nce and the horse needed to be in harmony with the young rider. It would have been lucky if the 14-year-old had prevailed against any country Hedge Knights... Brynden even felt like a fool in asking his uncle Haymitch if, ''by chance'', there was also some magce in weirdwood that could help him in the uingpetition. His uncle''s reply was just fat, wine-chokedughter... But there was a better time to think about the problems of tomorrow. Those of the here and now were pressing enough. His opponent was the Prince of the Red Flower Vale, Jbhar Xho. A summer inder in his thirties with dark skin and an extravagant cloak of green and scarlet feathers adorned with jewels and delicate gold chain mail. A fierce archer who had scored three headshots in a row in the fourth round. But the catch on his crown that instilled reverence and awe in his opponents was his fine goldenheart longbow. Brynden sought reassurance in the feel of the smooth, prodigious weirdwood tree. It was a few seconds before the start of the sixth round. ''Inhale, Brynden... Phew... Focus on the prey...'' ckwood''s concentration refocused on the enchanted arch. A strange and intimate connection was binding itself more and more between possessor and weapon. The bow was an almost sentient entity. Whispers of answers came not from the instrument but from the churning of the Wind... Brynden closed his eyes and inwardly begged: ''Please. Help me again to guide my arrow...'' The thought was apanied by a strong desire to shoot down the next pigeon, hitting it in the back. *Fiuu...!* a slight warm breeze caressed the nape of his neck, and he answered the call, whispering in a crackle of dry leaves: [... Why do you wish to kill Hunter?] Brynden knew the answer. The bow always asked for a reason for the death of a living being... ''To hunt Beauty.'' A warm pulse of confidence and rxation pervaded the archer''s body. The stiffness in his fingers melted away, and the trembling in his legs ceased. Brynden was ready. "Archers into position!" Thundered the judge. "May Goddess of Hunt guide your arrow, Noble Ravenous Hunter." Wished the Prince in his characteristic ebony pronunciation as he positioned himself with his left foot forward, wielding his faithful golden bow. "And may the Old Gods watch over your hand, Noble Prince Jbhar." Rebutted the heir of Raventree Hall in the same polite tone. "Knock!" Brynden slid the ash arrow to the string, which received and embedded the slender nock like a maiden''s kiss. A hundred feet away, four colour-marked pigeons released from each end of the tower in two opposite directions. And only one of those eight birds was marked with a red dot. An ordeal that Brynden could hardly have passed without good help... The signal waste ining. Only at the stroke of the fourteenth second, a *Dong!* was heard. Brynden inhaled deeply, and time slowed down... His heartbeat roared loudly, elerating. An electrifying itch suggested [Left!] The target was in the middle of the quartet. The elerated beat synchronised with the beating of the prey''s wings. Brynden stretched the rope for just over a second. ckwood had a clear view of the target and wanted to let go of the string, but his fingers resisted, whispering [Not yet... Still waiting]. In the meantime, Jbhar Xho''s rope was thrown... [Wait... NOW!] Brynden rxed his fingers, caressing his right cheek, and the thin ash wood shaft shot out. Jbhar''s arrow struck the back of a bird... but the wrong one. The orange-marked pigeon had ced itself in the middle of the first arrow''s trajectory, providing three-quarters cover for the real target. On the other hand, Brynden''s arrow slipped through the downed obstacle and lodged itself in the top of the target''s neck. Hitting the red dot on the back was almost impossible. The linesmen dyed for a few seconds to pronounce the verdict... Then, an attendant carefully lifted the body of a pigeon and sought advice from his superior, who, after analysing the bird''s body, called back the first judge, Ser Wyatt. ''What have they got to argue about? I practically took his head off. You just have to attribute a headshot to me...!'' Brynden thought with annoyed rm. *** About three minutester... ''Prince Jbhar misses the target. Brynden ckwood''s headshot is valid. However... the jury cannot award him a headshot. Young Lord Brynden moves ahead by a single point!" The Trident stands -except for the Brackens-unched indignant shouts and whistles. "What?! But this is an outrage, Ser! The hole is less than a fingernail away from the skull!" Thundered Brynden, pointing his finger at the little body of the dead bird with arge hole in the high back of its neck. "Right!", "It''s a disgrace!", "That was tantly a headshot!", "No! It wasn''t!", "And yet it was!"...Shouts and arguments of all kinds came from all sides. Many archers approached the group concerned to witness and mutter their point of view. Only two scraps of flesh and feathers still held the head attached to the neck. A very peculiar shot. Usually, the wave and vibration of the shaft directly blew off the bird''s lead, smaller than a walnut. Brynden''s arrow must have been shot with such skill that all the shot''s energy was concentrated on the long thin square tip, preferring pration to concussion. "Neck not be head." The rogue, lowly, profiteering Prince of Jh sustained the judge''s motion, shaking his head in turn. "I have seen dozens of targets get hit in ces further away from the skull and be rated Headshot!" Rebutted Brynden with indignation. Several witnessing archers supported the motion. "Aye, milord, what you assert is valid. And that was precisely the reason for the dy in our assessment... Unfortunately, those shots also severed the head cleanly and marked it with branding paint. We would have attributed the blow to you if even one feather of the scalp had been stained with green paint. But as you can well testify, the skull of this pigeon is still attached to the shoulders-" "Barely attached," Brynden interjected. "Nheless, ''still'' attached and visibly devoid of green... The jury''s decision is made contestant. Now, get back in position." The boy fumed with rage. In such a situation, perfection had turned against him! Such anger disturbed the harmonious connection between him and the bow, affecting the performance of the second shot... **** "Shoulder! A point for Brynden ckwood! Red Centre! Five points for Prince Jbhar Xho! Jbhar takes a 5-2 lead!" With an incredible performance, seasoned with a pinch of dumb luck, Jbhar''s arrow grazed the red dot by a millimetre, marking the dot with a small ssh of blue dye. ''Tsz...! Damn me and myck of self-control! Now, not even a Headshot can make up for it. Prince Xho would only need one point to win... If I don''t score a Red Centre, at least a second ahead of the Summer Inder, I''m out!'' Brynden inwardly scolded himself for his immaturity. One should not have used that bow out of resentment. On the contrary, that object demanded a deep respect for life. And he, like a fool, indulged in immature thoughts, thus polluting the tuning with his remarkable advantage... "Courage, Brother! You can still do it!" His younger brother, Lucas, almost climbed onto the parapet to cheer him on. His father, Tytos, also approached the edge of the stands to cheer: "Come on, my lords, my son needs all the support of the Trident!" The members of House Piper, Mallister, Darry, Smallwood, Wayn, Mooton and Butterwell answered the call by rising, in turn, to cheer more vigorously. Many archers and spectators, clustered in small groups less than fifty feet from the circle, approached to encourage him. "Courage, boy! You can still win!", "You are one step away from the semi-final, young lord!", "Bring honour to the Rivends!" Even the heir of Riverrun, Edmure Tully, joined in the cheering. Brynden appreciated the gesture in his heart, but that expectation only increased the pressure. However, the boy was unaware that such amotion was the ideal diversion to allow a 12-year-old to get close to the edge without arousing suspicion... **** End POV. ------ POV: The Guardian of Love Confederation stands. As an ovation of encouragement grew... -------- {"Tsz! Your pupil is tantly rigging the race... One of those infamous ''Blessed One Spells''?} Asked the Archwizard in a low voice to his guarantor guardian. {"Mmm, yes, it is. How did you notice that? I was pretty sure the confederation couldn''t intercept that magic."} Asked the Watcher in turn in their confidentialnguage. {"No somatic gestures or arcane traces, but lips and the concentration of your gaze betrayed his true intentions. You''re not the only one with a good eye, Zick Perhaps, even the Hightower might have noticed."} The Guardian of Love kept his usual rxed face, not worrying about the possibility. {"Lord Leyton has already been informed of possible ''paranormal attractions''... Everyone here hides their tricks and secrets."} Zick cast an inquiring nce at his counterpart. Chai''s face stiffened instinctively, coughing innocently: {It''s just a small precaution... Nothing more}. {"And that is why I turn a blind eye, my Friend. Lord Leyton also enjoys the same privilege."} The Sorcerer''s curiosity skyrocketed. {"Which is? What is he hiding?"} {"No. This will remain private. Unless you want me to reveal to Lord Hightower what you''re hiding up your sleeve..."} The Archwizard clicked his tongue, renouncing his intentions. {"Everyone is entitled to keep a few little secrets... In any case, I have obtained the approval of my two fellow Guardians. As long as such parlour tricks don''t create too much havoc among the masses, my heir is free to act as he pleases."} Zick concluded. Thest part of the contest had almost dried up the interest of the two spectators. By now, the game had been decided... The ckwood boy had been pumped up to the max. Not even Josua, with her faithful golden bow, would be able to defeat the young archer. {"So what? Who will win the tournament? The drunken knight, by any chance?"} Zick saw no reason to deny this information. {"No... Barring unforeseen circumstances, that Nightwatchman named Ulmer will be awarded the first position. He will be followed by the ckwood boy and Ser Haymitch."} {"Ah... I see. Bloody Snow wants to both finance and revitalise the dying prestige of the Night''s Watch order. And I imagine themercial monopoly on that portentous new arc will be granted by the Exiled House of Crow. The Stark ns to wee the ckwoods into his pack, am I right?"} Chai''s keen eye deduced. {"Correct deduction."} Zick confirmed. {"Mmm, an interesting n... The magic of the Crow descendants'' dynasty is still alive, though definitely watered down... Mha! What bizarre customs in the NorthIf it were up to me, I would have exterminated the Raven Kings back then rather than forcing them into exile."} Then Chai changed the subject. {"In any case, how did you manage to convince the Green King to let you borrow ''Whisper of Zephyr''? I''ve been trying to throw futile offers at the greedy Druid for ages just to give him a peek... But more importantly, why waste it on that acerbic crow-boy? And for a mere contest, to boot."} {"I offered nothing. It was not I who asked for anything. In truth, I was not even aware of the existence of that bow... It was Duncan. The bow belongs to the Beauty Keeper''s granddaughter, Druantia. Somehow, my protg hase to terms with the Green King''s heir. I don''t know the specifics. As to why he needs her for this tournament, I leave that to you, ''Genius of the East''... I wouldn''t want to steal all the fun from you."} The Sorcerer greeted the challenge with an amused grin. {"So your protg has already bought the Green King''s favour... Pff, the encounter in Isle of a Thousand Faces smells more and more like a ''petty trap''. First, Bloody Snow sets up the whole shebang, dodges me by any means possible, holds my most trusted assistant in his grasp, snatches gold and provisions from me, and then sets the stage to corner me in the safe and ''impartial''nds of the Archdruid... Remarkable."} Zick greeted the praise with a faint friendly smile, showing no dismay at the subject ''Quaithe''. The Watcher strongly suspected that The King in The Yellow had already guessed something. Chai had suspiciously epted Zick''s strange and unexpected request without question... "Wooooaaaa!!!!", "Yessss!!!" a roar erupted in the stands, especially on the Trident side. {" So, you knew about Quaithe."} Zick added. "Red Centre and null shot! Competitor Brynden ckwood wins the heat by 7 to 5! Big apuse for our third semi-finalist, my lords anddies!!!" Thundered thepetition judge, raising the boy''s right arm in disbelief. {"Pff, and you ask? You stalked that poor girl the whole way. Whatever you think, Zick, the mind of a descendant of the Great Phoenix never fully rusts. I am nomon sorcerer who gives up his soul and sanity to cling to a mere phctery. So why do you think The God-On-Earth has be the most powerful enchanter in history? Phoenixes always rise from their ashes, firmer and brighter than before}. *p! p! p!* Both Zick and Chai reverently joined in the apuse. Then Chai blurted out: {Tsz...! ckmailing my assistant and forcing her to vow silence... Quaithe is still beating herself up with guilt. And I''m the evil one here? You and that brat are two devious bandit-huggers of the highest order!"} The apuse of the Lord of Carcosa became more aggressive. {"Is the Guardian of Magic aware of that sea route, Chai...? You know very well that we are not allowed to explore the Unknown Continents."} Asked the Guardian while maintaining an unchanged tone and manner. {"Who cares about the Dark Continents! I have not vited any Taboo! Temporarily transiting those waters is still permitted. I only wanted to guard a course to attack those scoundrels in Oldtown from behind for situations of ''extreme necessity''. But now, that crazy disciple of yours is going to screw it up!"} Chai Duq retorted, using another ovation to mask his angry tone. Then the Sorcerer cast a mischievous nce at the Guardian of Love, asking: {"What did Quaithe find out that was so "Scorching" to force your hand to put on all that theatrics? Who or What are you hiding, Zick?"} The Watcher hesitated for a moment. {"...As I said, everyone is entitled to keep a few little secrets}. After that, the Sorcerer and the Watcher indulged in a fair exchange ofughter. The duo entuated their apuse when Competitor ckwood bowed politely to their side to thank them for the praise and apuse they had received. {"Mh, mh, mh... I warn you. I demand to bepensated appropriately for such an affront. I will not go easy on that boy, my Friend... Bloody Snow is teasing, without regard, beings more ancient and powerful than he can imagine... Yes. You know, and he knows what stories and tales can tell. But I have lived those stories in part, Zick. All the pain and suffering I have experienced first-hand, over nearly a millennium, have taught me a precious truth..."} The confusion of the ovations covered Chai''s only sentence expressed inmonnguage. "Power and Antiquity demand respect." The illusory cloak in the Sorcerer''s face withered for a moment, showing The Watcher his true, ancient, dark face. The ck shark-like bulbs adorned with two amber-yellow irises made contact with the Guardian of Love''s rapt eyes. {"Your pupil needs a hard but necessary lesson."} Whispered the Chief Sorcerer while maintaining the slight ceremonial smile for the masses, as the illusion reshaped his skin smooth as jade, free of impurities, and harder than leather Ordinary sorcerers, unwilling to indulge in the ephemeral mortality of life, dosed themselves with the precious Essence of Night to cheat death. Most of Zick''s formerpanions, the Nine Demons, also used it, remaining younger and longer-lived than usual. But sorcerers who truly wished to achieve ''immortality'' bound their souls to rare artefacts. ss or Valyrian steel candles, Leviathan hearts, nes of the Red God sect and many other minor contrivances... However, although bound to this world, as long as the intact object held the phctery, no one couldpletely counter the passage of time. The soul could endure, but not the body. Except for a peculiar and ancient dynasty of wizards... Those who share the legacy of the Phoenix and who, with great difficulty, manage to awaken some of its dormant ancestral power by binding their phctery to an almost unobtainable Phoenix Egg, thest gifts of the God-On-Earth, before ascending to the divine realms... Chai Duq and Lo Tho were the only magicians still alive with such a privilege. Whenever the body of the Guardian of Magic, or the Lord of Carcosa, withered from the passage of time, it rose again amidst mes of light and shadow, stronger and shinier than before. ording to Chai, his master''s skin, nowadays, must have been harder than stone. Hard to the point that ordinary bronze and iron were no longer able to wound the Guardian of Magic... {"You, the Confederation and your disciple will be ''properly''pensated for the inconvenience, Chai. You have my word on that. And it is your right to represent the power and influence of the Noble Confederation of Mages as you see fit..."} The Watcher had only given part of his answer, and the Sorcerer guessed as much, waiting patiently for the remainder. {"However, it is I who dare to warn you, my dear Millennial-Friend-Wizard... I have yet to explore much of the world, and Ick the experience and knowledge you possess; that is true... ''But'', in the course of my short-lived existence, I have nevertheless had the opportunity to experience danger several times and to meet, in person, many frightening beings. Death-worshipping assassins... Warlords dedicated only to the pleasure of blood and conquest... Ancient descendants of forgotten dynasties who sold their souls in the name of revenge... vers addicted to feelings of the purest cruelty and ustomed to the basest depravity... Several disciples, consumed by power and lost in their path... Bankers who would sell out their dearest friends and loves in the name of greed... Lords of ancient cities, guardians of the darkest secrets... And Sorcerers who have sacrificed their existence to peer into and study the deepest and darkest corners of the abyss..."} The eyes of the Guardian of Love sharpened and tinged a deep, dark crimson, drawing the full attention of the powerful individual at his side. The Watcher''s confidential whisper expressed pure seriousness and awe. {"Yet... without a doubt, the day I experienced the true meaning of fear, or to be precise, the ''Fear of the Unknown'', was seven years ago... The moment when I was half a step away from losing control. The moment when I heard in my head thousands of voices begging me to bring down, on the spot and by any means possible, the ''Abomination- Contronature'' that stood in front of me... I had to draw on every ounce of self-control and willpower not to go along with those voices..."} Zick channelled that feeling of pure fear and transmitted it into the Sorcerer''s mental passage. The lumancer, after a moment''s hesitation, opened the doors of the Mental Fortress, guarding Carcosa''s deepest secrets and knowledge, weing the very dangerous ''guest''. Zick showed a single huge painting from his infinite collection. After that, the artist illustrated the gigantic work: The image captured the gaze of a lived individual, brimming with wisdom, knowledge, immense confidence, immovable steadfastness and a potential deeper than the abyss itself... {"I refer to the moment, in which, for the first time, my gaze met the small, silvery-green eyes of a young, defenceless, helpless child from Torrhen''s Square..."} The pearly skin armour of the inscrutable Ex-Emperor of Yi Ti was scratched, leaving an imperceptible mark on his face, to themon eye. But to The Watcher, that tiny glimmer of feeling, mixed in awe, curiosity and fascination, was as dazzling as the sun. Zick released the tension in his gaze, concluding the sermon in themon tongue in his usual rxed and friendly tone. "I remember every moment as if it were yesterday. That was when I felt millions of icy, invisible needles digging into my skin until they reached the roots of my fragile bones... The beating of my heart elerated until it reached the frequency of a mongoose from the Shrykes... The seconds thatsted for minutes... The blood spurts energy in every muscle of my body. The most disturbing and, simultaneously ''exhrating'' encounter of my life. Ha ha!" *** End Chapter. Chapter 178: The Legacy of Love (I) Chapter 178: The Legacy of Love (I) POV: Duncan Great reception hall of the Never Winter Bank. A few hours after the tournament final... ------- As promised, hundreds of pigeons stuffed with walnuts and spicy plums, braised in spiced wine and apanied by potato sticks, fried in oil (potato chips, a ''my'' ''innovative'' idea) were served. The three winning finalists were entitled to the downed prey of their own. The Hall was packed with tables, guests and courtesans. Thousands of people. The most distinguished tables in the Great Hall were for the most distinguished guests, the two hundred and fifty-six participants and their respective escorts. Dornian guests and members of the Confederation preferred to be ced at sides away from the members of The Reach. So that bumping or ''idental'' shoving by ''unwee'' guests would not initiate unpleasant incidents... Currently, I sat at The Watcher''s table on the confederation side. Chai Duq was less than a hundred feet from His Watcher/Badger, engrossed in grunting curses and insults toward any enemy of the Confederacy. "To Brother Ulmer of Kingswood!!! Cheers!" King Robert called for a sixth or seventh toast; by now, I had lost count. "To Ulmeeeer!!!" Yeaaarh!", "To the Champion!!!" A long table of about ny men in ck, arranged at the first row of honour in the Hall, answered the roll call first. Ulmer raised his glittering, majestic dragon bone award upward for the third time, resulting in yet another explosion of apuse and jubtion. Next, the old archer rammed his cheek and hands between the gigantic breasts and soft hips of a good-lookingmoner sitting on hisp. Many ''willing'' maidens and courtesans sought the attention of the heroic fraternity members in ck. Kisses, caresses and somewhat tooscivious rubbing generated murmurs of dissent and looks of scandal among the high nobility. However, the Lord Commander of the Night''s Watch and the King of the Seven Kingdoms continued to pretend otherwise. Mistakenly, it was believed that the noble order of the Brotherhood in ck had taken a vow of eternal chastity instead of ''celibacy.'' There was a difference between being a husband and father to a eunuch. This was one of the main changes that the order of the Night Watch had to implement. Those one hundred thousand gold dragons were also needed to restore and renovate Mole''s Town. Mainly, it''s brothels. There were hundreds of Hedge Knights in the Seven Kingdoms who wandered between realms, trudging between tournaments or minor engagements, in search of the coinage needed to fill their stomachs, delight in a few cups of spiced wine, warm themselves in a hearth surrounded by solid stone, and asionally indulge in the experienced and fragrant hands of a woman of easy virtue. If rumours of an honourable order rich in good food, clothing, wine and women and in search of good men at arms had reached the ears of those swords, the Brotherhood in ck might have been resurrected. Theck of numbers was not the order''s main problem, but the quality of its members. The perception of that role toward the eyes of the continent. It was better to have ten well-trained, armed and fed men of proven loyalty, deserving and ready to die for their oath, than a hundred bandits, disorganized, cold, yearning for a hot meal and looking for the first opportunity to bolt from their ice prison... Certainly willing, ifcking, arms and minds could not be refused...Tyrion was in the right. {The World will always need a home for bastards and broken men}. One could not simply close the door to unwanted volunteers. The solution to this problem came from my most trusted advisor, Qyburn. A system simr to the citadel policy had to be replicated: harnessing thebour of the undeserving or scarcely useful, putting them in the employ of the Brotherhood, training cadets with more selection and time, but continually granting opportunities to anyone. The order of masters bought hundreds of thousands of hours of ''apprentice masters''bour daily, offering nothing more than a room, board and a few sporadic lessons. But the citadel continued to exploit thebour of hopeless rejects for years before convincing them to give up. As a result, only one in ten apprentices -of noble origins- became a maester... On the other hand, only one in a hundredmoners without a political or economic background made it. Two or three thousand valid sworn members of the Brotherhood and tens of thousands of probationary volunteers, always ready to reinforce the ranks of the order in case of extreme need, was the best strategy. In this way, bing a member of the Night''s Watch would no longer be seen as a Punishment but a Privilege... Men would have to plead membership in the Brotherhood and earn that privilege with merit, time and sweat. With a dash of ''selective cleansing'' and the right manoeuvres, soon pronouncing those vows would be a more coveted achievement than Knighthood. My mind was travelling with fantasies, musings and possible viable future ns as I enjoyed my delicious portion of pigeon when I felt a sudden *Spack!* A mighty pat on my back made my pigeon go sideways. Somehow, the handful impacted when I swallowed the morsel, luding my windpipe... "And I say instead that our Duncan, here, Ser Tristan swallows it with a mouthful and spits it out! Tomorrow, you shall see, Narbo! Tell him, Duncan--hey, what''s the matter with you, boy!" Baragh asked, turning to me. "Cough! Cough! Coff!" I replied, spitting out fibres of spicy white meat as I gave signs of gasping for air to the rest of the table. "Come on!", *Spack! Spack! Spack!* "Pull yourself together, boy! Ahah!" Three more devastating patsnded on my back. "So you kill him, you Norvosian idiot!" Gadon Sand rumbled, rising toe to my rescue, along with Master Dywen and Narbo. Zick raised his hand, stopping the rescue, and soon after, the master pressed two fingers on my sr plexus and rested his left hand on my back. A feeling of energetic warmth flowed through me, rxing every contracted muscle. The lusion melted away, giving me much-needed and precious fresh air. " Phew... Purgh! Coff...! T-thank you, master..." I cast a grateful nce at Zick and a murderous one at Baragh. The Legend of the North came close to ending up like Joffrey... I had no intention of dying a virgin a second time. "... Yes, right. Ser Tristan will be chewed up and spit out just like with that bird." Narbo snapped out of it, setting off a bark ofughter. Even the impassive Syggha grunted a glimmer ofughter. "Ahahaha! That was a good one, Narbo! Ahahahah!" Zickughed loudest, losing every bit of decorum as a respectable Guardian. "Look, I have no intention of crossing swords with any of the Twelve Arcane Shields! Besides, the guard of The King in The Yellow will not participate in the tournament...!" "..." Many fell silent; some stared at the elderly individual to my left. "... The Twelve Arcane Shields will not participate in the Grand Melee or Joust, right master?" Last month, Zick assured me that no elite members of Oldtown and Carcosa would be in contention. "Emm... Well, my boy, as you well know, four members of the order have remained in Winterfell to protect the treasures of the Confederation, two Magic Knights are still stationed in White Harbor to watch over the fleet, and all the remaining members have to safeguard, day and night, the Lord of Carcosa..." The Watcher tergiver sipped his spiced mead. "Yes, ''Master''... And all those remaining six also have to obey any order of Chai Duq... So?" I asked impatiently. Already thest-minute addition of Ser Barristan Selmy to the Scrum''s ranks had significantly shaken my predictions. "Coff, Coff... Yes... there may be the possibility that one, two or perhaps three arcane brethren, in their limited free time, may ''dabble'' in some yful knightly entertainment... But fear not my boy, the situation is ''Totally'' under control." Baragh, Dywen, Narbo, Cohollo and Recallio could hold back no longer, bursting outughing, while I remained petrified with dismay. In a short time, yet another round of betting was set up... *** About twenty minutester... The musicians increased the volume and changed musical styles. Finally, Lord and Lady Mormont opened the dancing, and dozens of nobles began to join the entertainment. Dywen, Recallio and Gadon had already found a worthy partner to participate in the entertainment. I chose to stay a while longer with Zick to discuss ''urgent'' matters from the east. For most of the evening, my attention had been directed not to Braavosians, Magicians or Andals but to guests with very different tastes and habits... Even the Harpy was beginning to set her sights westward. Although it has not yet provoked any Good, Wise or Great master, in Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen, New Ghis, Tolos, Elyria, Mantarys and Vntis, des and coins were being secretly sharpened and umted. The vers did not like the change, but more importantly, the Council of the Harpy did not like that the disruptive new market tides depended on a faraway ce where their way of life and culture were despised. Before venturing into the crux of the topic, I opened our private conversation by asking: "What technique did you use first, master? What was that energy? I am invigorated, to say the least. I still feel the benefits of it in my respiratory system." Zick did not seem eager to answer. "... Just a parlour trick learned in the Far East. Nothing to distract your training path for now." I pout with a wounded puppy expression, trying to wring out more glimmers of information... but Zick''s face was firm and closed. "... It''s a dangerous technique, isn''t it?" I tried to ask. "It is... Don''t ask for more, my disciple. Just know that when you reach the stage of the Sixteenth Gate, we will delve into the subject in detail. That''s a promise." This meant energy was closely rted to the learning stage of thest five gates! I had no way to delve further. If The Watcher didn''t want to do or say something, no earthly entity could force him to change his mind. Mouth and stomach were loose enough to move from the appetizer to the main course. "... Do you know about Astapor and New Ghis?" I asked. The rming report hade early in the morning. "The Good Masters of Astapor are offering up to five gold honours for every healthy six- to nine-year-old child... Over five thousand new ''recruits'' have been gathered in thest moon. And the Exalted Masters of New Ghis are doubling the units in training of the Iron Legions, while Vntis is acquiring lumber and carpenters from all over to augment its fleet. Zoldhak estimates that at least ten thousand unsullied have already beenmissioned from various ck market buyers, and at a sum far above Astapor''s onerous standard price... Yes, I know something about that." When the ''very'' button was touched, Zick''s jovial, carefree expression changed, bing the cold, austere, and firm face of a Being devoted to his duty as a Guardian. The Guardian who had sworn to watch over the Love of this world. "Could you take away a rather personal curiosity, Master?" I asked, seizing an opportunity. "If I may, of course, my boy. Ask away." Zick replied. "Before you bound yourself to the role of Guardian, you possessed means, men and freedom of manoeuvre to counter the Harpy... The Nine Demons were at the height of their power, and if you had really wanted to, you could have assembled an army of freedmen more fearsome than the Iron Legions of Old Ghis. You might not have seeded in suppressing the Harpy altogether, but at least the Bay of vers would have fallen... As much as you try to hide it in your remarkably neutral facade, part of me senses your desire for conflict and opposition to very... So why not act when you could?" Frowns of sadness and sorrow mingled in the master''s calm, harmonious smile. "But I, Zoldhak, Baragh and our ninerades acted, my boy -- or at least, we tried to act. We fought strenuously for over a decade against the Harpy -- until we were defeated." In the first ce, I thought I had misheard. I couldn''t believe, indeed, ''didn''t want'' to believe a single word spoken. "What?! How? Who? When did it happen? What enemy was able to defeat The Watcher and the Nine Demons? You are not by any chance referring to the Shrouded Lord? Did the Harpy and the Titan form a coalition against you?" I asked impatiently. I knew of the various problematic skirmishes fought against the Shrouded Lord, the Titan''s ally and current most fearsome weapon. But no major defeat of the Fourth Organization had ever reached my ears. "The Shrouded Lord...? Ah, no, I am not referring to him. The Prince of Sorrows would never lift a finger for a ver. That individual is and will remain quite a headache, that''s for sure. Quite fierce and ''pushy'' if ill-provoked. However, a few well-ced jokes are enough to tame him. Ahah!" Zick strutted with pride, sporting his Grand Master of Laughter air... Then the Watcher rified the matter further. "I think Baragh has already told you the early events of our adventure group..." I nodded, and Zick continued, "What we needed most, initially, was funds. The means required to finance our crazy and unattainable dreams. Before your master was banned for life from every box office in Essos, my group and I managed to wrest mountains of gold from the filthy hands of every Great veholder within our reach. From Tyrosh to Qarth, our group hovered like a swarm of gold-hungry and relentless locusts, bringing misery, pain, and a tragic end to everynista, moneylender, gambler, or noble spectator of habit who delighted in seeing ves die in some pit or arena. As you know, we entrusted most of those umted fortunes to my adopted mother, Zishua. Zoldhak was and still is apetent businessman, but I knew that woman like the back of my hand, and I knew her untapped potential of The Spider Queen... Noble, generous, good-hearted, and gifted in recognizing talents as she was, my former master, Nobaru, herte husband, was almost as bad at business as I was. It was Zishua who skillfully administered the dying Zhao Urat household in the shadows, raising it, in just a few years, from themon slums to the heights of the Great Pyramid of Meereen... But I digress. What matters is that in a short time, we sent dozens of ancient Ghis lineages to the brink, forcing powerful and vile vers to experience firsthand the pain and coercion of their evil. However, our first n was almost entirely futile... Not even time to pull out a weed that immediately several seeds of the exact nature took root on the fertile soil left empty. Then, we decided to adopt a different strategy, concentrating on the ves... Many ancient eyes were already on our trail, and the organization was still in its infancy; we could not simply start a revolution without turning the significant chessboard upside down... We chose to replicate the original idea of Braavos, founding a secret city away from the eyes of the world. A city of freedmen that would wee any runaway ve or supporter of the ''cause'' with open arms, and which, in the future, would be the world''s cyclone that would oppose very by any means... But we were only a few dozen and little known. Wecked the raw material, that was, the inhabitants of this new world. Can you imagine how we approached this problem...?" I reasoned about it for a few seconds. "... Without leaving suspicious traces, nor resorting to violence. You regrly purchased them!" I replied. "Precisely... I asked for help from a good friend, who is very skilled in the art of disguise and full of contacts in the ck market, and we simply passed ourselves off as High ve Merchants. Ten thousand ves were the threshold limit that could be acquired in a short time. Ten thousand souls to whom we offered unconditional freedom, sufficient means to make their choices and the possibility of a new beginning. It was then that the Harpy unted her true power... Always remember, Duncan. Armies, Cities, and Empires fall and rise all the time, but an Ideal is a much more resilient and tenacious weed to pull down. Before long, more than half of those same freedmen chose to take their freedom and acquired fortunes to new, kinder, morefortable cages... They sold out everything for paltry extra privileges, entrusting their preservation and free reign to a new Master ." The revtion awakened my astonishment. "Don''t judge them too harshly, my boy. An animal that lives in a cage most of its life and knows nothing but servility and obedience, topped with a hearty dose of ''false protection,'' doesn''t know what to care about dangerous, harsh and unknown freedom... It took months to convince almost a tenth of them that they were really free beings and that no whip would punish them for it anymore. What shocked me the most were the hundreds who invested their fortunes to be Masters of someone themselves... Many abandoned the now ghost town, and the few who remained had neither the will nor the desire to fight an enemy older than the Valyrian Empire itself. Among those ten thousand souls, only one hundred eighty-three became utterly free from the shackles of the Harpy... It was a significant setback that made us falter. Our greatest defeat. The following events robbed us of the freedom to act a few yearster. We surrendered that dream topromise. Peace and a semnce of control over very, in exchange for an end to hostilities directed against the Council of the Harpy..." Zick was adept at masking the regret that gued him. Then the Watcher took advantage of his opportunity. "To this day, one of my main tasks as the Watcher of Love is to ensure that the scourge of very does not digress beyond the boundaries established by treaty. And it will be a task that will pass to you, should the day evere when you choose to collect the granted legacy." The master''s hopeful old fox eye glittered. "... You are not dead yet, and I have no intention of taking on the role of Guardian of Love, Master. ''But'' I will continue maintaining the beneficial and privileged role of ''Heir of the Guardian'' for a while longer." I replied, not being beguiled by Mother-Eagle''s emotional trap. "Tsz! You little-!... You are just a greedy ck-hearted leech, disciple! Have you no pity for a poor man seeking peace and tranquillity in the few days he has left?!" Blurted out the old man seeking a severance package for early retirement. "A greedy leech, but also wise and shrewd." I retorted. "But not at all humble!" Blurted out the Guardian in search of mange. "Humility and ''Reality of Facts'' are two cousins in eternal hatred with each other. I always admit my shorings, ''When there are any,'' and you, oldyabout, hypocrite, and Mama''s Boy, dare call me conceited!" But, if the old man wanted to pick a fight again, I certainly wouldn''t be the first to back down. "Hypocrite andyabout to me?! Hold your tongue, you impudent brat! Some have lost it and swallowed it for less! And, yes, ''I Dare''! I Dare Indeed!!! I dare confirm my usation, calling you, Chick Still Attached to the Eagle''s Tits, a Presumptuous and Arrogant Son-of-Demon!" Lately, Zick was looking for more ''Sparring'' than usual. Perhaps, it was to better prepare me against the Witch-King. "Swallow your tongue, you Guardian of my boots! Those are Dueling words!!!" I prepared my Imaginary Avatar to the best of my ability, transporting much of my will and concentration into my Mental Realm. Then I brazenly opened the gates of my Manor, ready to wee my awaited opponent. "And so, let the Duel be! I will teach you through tears and sobs the meaning of the word ''Humility'', Green Imp!" The imcable Invader was ready to breach my domain. *Sbam!* I mmed my fist down on the table and turned my chair opposite The Watcher''s, opening my eyes wide for good to make maximum eye contact. "Bring it on, ''Old Plucked Eagle!'' The Green Demon is dying for roast chicken for dinner!" **** End Part I ------ Chapter 179: The Legacy of Love (II) Chapter 179: The Legacy of Love (II) Continuous POV Duncan Great reception hall of the Never Winter Bank. Seconds after a mental battle was fought... ----- I was mentally challenged. I had to use a good portion of Lay of Hands to recover. Casting Lesser Restoration wasn''t that useful. I definitely had an exhausted malus. I needed good Sleep or Greater Restoration for a full recovery. For the 314th time, Zick had kicked my ass... but at least I had managed tost nine seconds longer than in the 313th duel. The Old Man hadn''t held back, ughtering me on almost every front. Although I possessed a higher raw will than The Watcher, that inhuman individual possessed unparalleled control and mastery. It was like a military cadet, armed with a machine gun and bazooka, being stoned to death by a stone-throwing Grandmaster... The mental technique taught to me by Zick was a modified branch of legilimancy/lumancy, a very simr mental art, created by his own hand and remodelled to suit the needs of a Non-Incantor. An art that Zick practised every day for pure enjoyment. It was his only means of dealing with every possible opponent in his imagination. The Watcher was a genius without equal in martial art. In the Real World, Chai Duq was recognised as the undisputed ''King among Mages''. But, had Zick not been cursed by his debilitating physical limitations, he would undoubtedly be recognised from every corner of the globe as ''King among Warriors''. "Noints about creativity and initiative, but you stillck stability and stamina. Your flow, howevermendably unpredictable, must not result in Chaos... Even the most impervious storms follow their own harmony. Focus more on finding and navigating your own, Duncan." With every defeat, there always followed a lesson to be learned. "I will, master... Thank you for the lesson." I replied. "And...? You forget something, I think." The hypocritical old butcher wanted his pound of flesh... "I lost. ''I admit my defeat'', oh my ''Loving Master''. [Glory and Praise to thee, Zick, that of the best master-at-arms, there is none to be seen.] ...Satisfied now?" "Ha ha! More than satisfied! Take care,d, and keep pursuing the path of poetry. I expect a new and original so at your next defeat...! Talk about rewards! On thest moon, we upped the ante. So, as agreed, you owe me a secret... And, this time, you won''t get away with your cheap tricks. I want some juicy information. Something to keep me up all night." Zick demanded his second tribute. "Mmm... I wouldn''t know what to choose, Master. I could even get you a couple of cardiac arrests if you wanted... Any particr request?" So many times, Zick could have investigated my true nature. So many truths could have been extracted from me by force. But never once, in seven long years, did The Watcher ask anything about my... ''past''. "Well, well... Indeed there is. But let''s stick to the subject of ''Legacy''." For a few moments, I looked at the mischievous foxy grin of that naive fake old man and nodded. "Ask away, Master. If it is my chance, I will rify your doubts." "Even if you do not wish to take over my inheritance, you will still be obliged to do so one day. You cannot break the covenant you chose to ept, nor is it any longer my option, except in the event of your ''untimely death'', to designate a new heir. Sooner orter, Duncan, whether you still want it or not, you will be the next Guardian of Love... So why do you have that victorious pdash air of someone who has found a shortcut?" Before I answered, I made sure Zick was serious... He really was! I burst outughing. "Ahahahaha! But how? Has no one told you that yet? Not even the Kindly Man, Lo Tho or the Green King? Sprrzz... Puhahahah! You''re the best, Master! Ahahah! I can hardly believe you really don''t know!" Zick was astonished for a moment, then the frail, weak man grabbed me by thepels of his doublet and demanded, tugging at me, "Know what? What do you know that I don''t know?! Spit it out, you wretch!" "Pff... Yes! Yes! I''ll tell you. I''ll tell you." The Watcher loosened his grip, waiting impatiently for the answer. "Well, technically, it is true that the still extinguished torch of Love has passed to me. And that I, should the current Watcher perish or abdicate of his own free will, would be forced to fill that role... But no one forbids me from appointing a sessor in my turn. My Heir''." I anticipated. "But...! Only a Guardian in charge can designate an Heir...!" Zick turned to his first assistant, bodyguard and trusted advisor... Ramas shook his head, implicitly replying, "Both Duncan and the noble Duq have the right to nominate an Heir-Designate in their turn and, eventually, choose to pass their office directly to said chosen one, should both parties agree and the Heir possesses the necessary age of majority for the nomination..." Ramas added, "You never asked me, Master... I thought you knew." "... Oh, dear me. Zishua will escort me alive..." Then Zick turned to me again with an using index finger pointing. "And you, you devious mad-double-crosser, have you chosen anyone yet! Who?" "No one!... ''Yet''... I have two or three possible candidates in mind, but it will still take time. So you''ll still have to hold out for a few more years, Master, and make sure you eat more vegetables and keep fit." The joke was not received in the spirit I had expected. The yful and jovial Guardian of Love now demanded seriousness... "...I cannot take on that role, Master. Only the integration of Free Folk will take years, and most of my attention will always be on thesends. I have sown my own wind in the North and throughout Westeros. Soon, a storm, ready to strike the First Men, will be reaped. At the very least, I must stay until the end to face the consequences of my actions... " Then I continued ", my possible candidate is filled with untapped potential. And you will guide him towards that possible path." Zick asked, "So, will this ''possible'' candidate be part of my small rewards circle?" The agreement sealed by my Uncle Leobald with the Spider Queen stipted that I could choose half from among those twenty-six impending future disciples of The Watcher. "Of course. He or she will have the best teacher in the world at his or her side. The best guide. But, in each, the choice to take that path will be in their hands. " The Watcher provided a glimmer of a smile. "As it is your right and duty to choose your path, Duncan... If that is the decision of the Heir, the Watcher of Love will support it." Abnormal movements of Mormont guards at the entrance distracted our attention... Something was happening outside the Great Hall. After a brief report from a captain, the New Lord of Barrow Hall, Jorah Mormont, walked swiftly towards the exit, escorted by six armigers. "What is it, Master?" I asked Hawkeye. "It seems that two knights belonging to House Oakheart and Yronwood could not wait for tomorrow''s Great Melee. A duel has just taken ce, and blood has been spilt." Zick exined, reading the whispered lips to Lady Barbrey''s ears. Duels to first orst blood were forbidden within the Silk Road. The winner, barring a royal pardon, would be locked up inside the cells of the Ice Prison. ''''I see... The situation will be more chaotic than I imagined. So many things can go wrong tomorrow. Barbrey has already foiled several attempts at bribery and actions under coercive ckmail... Several tournament controllers would have to exchange blunt weapons for partially sharpened des atst, and many minor knights-errant were hired to hinder ''every'' Green Knight in contention as much as possible. But, on the other hand, the main principals have covered their tracks fairly well." I exined, pointing to possible principals other than Oldtown and Braavos... "Chai is sensibly angry with you, my boy, but he is still one of the few individuals in this world who keeps his word to the end. Ser Tristan, Ser Braitwur, and Ser Ghuruk willpete only to oppose Ser Jon Cupps, not to generate Chaos... That willeter should you fail to keep your agreement with the Lord of Carcosa. Make sure you ''properly'' repay your debt to The King in The Yellow, and there will be no trouble." I was not entirely reassured and asked, " I have treasures aplenty to repay and deal with the Sorcerer, Master... But do you really need three Arcane Shields to stop a single member of the Seven Keepers?" "No. Not for everyone, and only in this particr case. We''re talking about the Lord Commander of the Seven Keepers, the cream of my former Oldtown disciples... Ser Jon, in particr, prefers group fights in the open, and the Arcane Knights are somewhat limited without their magic. The Lord Commander of the Arcane Shields is equally fearsome in his chosen field. In my opinion, Tristan would prevail six times out of ten in a real one-on-one fight against Jon. But in a mere tournament, constrained by yful rules of chivalry, with no armour or magic, Jon would tear Tristan apart in less than three minutes." Exined Zick. "If Oldtown and Carcosa can show off their weapons, the North must also have an equal chance... You know who I want." The Guardian of Love peered at me for a few moments and then nodded, snorting: "Always sticking to the habit of ''pulling opportunities out of crises'', I notice." "Opportunities are flowers that bloom and thrive from mounds of slime and dung, my wise master," I grunted. "Phew... You shall have the sword you seek. But be aware that, with this manoeuvre, you willunch a third huge ho''s nest directly into the halls of the Andalusian High Council... Lord Leyton has already asked me to arrange a private negotiation meeting between you and him. House Hightower wants to negotiate terms of ''cohabitation'' with House Tallhart." I expected a simr proposal. "House Hightower demands the meeting, not ''the Andalus High Council''... Even if we tightened regtions and binding promises, Lord Leyton would hold only a little over a third of the decision-making power in Oldtown. The High Priests and Grand Archmasters would easily find various paths to circumvent bonds of noble promises." "Nevertheless, there always remains a third that counts sensibly among the council. You may despise the history and actions of House Hightower. Still, that man remains one of the individuals who, over the past thirty years, has fought strenuously to maintain as much peace and stability as possible... Don''t forget that, Duncan. The sessful defusing of the Fourth Great World War was also thanks to the work of Leyton Hightower." There was a bitter note of reproach in the suggestion. "... Yes. I know, Master. I apologise for my manners. Personal matters altered my judgement..." Zick immediately eyed the cause in question. "Ah, you''re referring to that gorgeous dowry-hunting maiden? Ahahaha! What a beautiful sight, youth!" Sometimes, as in this case, I yearned to smack the smile off The Watcher''s face. "It''s noughing matter, Old Man! That Harpy Hightower has been harassing and stalking me all over the ce for almost a week now! I can''t even get out of this chair without starting a diplomatic incident between Barrowton and Oldtown! Dacey is ready to maul Lynesse alive at a first ambiguous nce! Are you or are you not a peacekeeping Guardian?! Do your job and help me!" I grabbed the cor of the old man''s robe, tugging at it insistently. The ursed buffoon, who delighted in witnessing the pains and suffering of others, continued tough loudly. "Pff! Ahahaha! May the Three Divine Omens help me! Ahahaha! I can''t...! Ahah... to stop... Phew... Phew... Okay, okay, no moreughing or joking... Urm, umm." Zick rposed himself, and I let go. "Be that as it may, Lord Hightower did note up with such a request empty-handed. Leyton offered a gift to you - one I think you might enjoy." My curiosity had been piqued. "What kind of gift?" I asked. "Information... Information about an impending conspiracy towards the Hero of the North. Something that had escaped even my sight and that only the Defender of the Citadel, as well as the Master Mind in question, could know. A gesture of peace and an invitation to possible cooperation." Zick. "...I''m listening." Finally, the merchant opened the jewel box. "Apparently, Queen Cercei often visited the Grand Maester Pycelle before her departure to the North... Among her personal effects and the various supplies of Post-Pregnancy restorative tonics, there seem to be several vials of poison as well. And, it seems, the one containing ''Basilisk Blood'' has just dissipated into thin air... An event that could coincide with an uing meleepetition... Do you know anyone among tomorrow''s contestants who, identally drugged by the elixir of frenzy, could cause a real ruckus at a friendly celebratory event?" ''Bloody crazy lunatic!'' I gritted my teeth, forcefully restraining the urge to get up and pluck every damned golden lock from the Stupid Lioness''s hair. Gregor Clegane + Basilisk Blood was the perfect recipe for a massacre! What the fuck was that rotten brain suggesting to him? Even if Gregor had managed to take me down amid that Chaos -with only a blunt sword- how was Cercei nning to deflect the using fingers pointed at her and House Lannister to avoid the outbreak of a war between the North and the West? By ordering Gregor to assault her brother Jaime as well? Madness! A thousand or more leaks in the hull could have sunk this ship. "A gift well received. I will thank Lord Leyton in person." "Before resuming serious matters, look over there... Your mother is looking for you." I turned and noticed Myra''s smiling face pointing to the centre of the dance floor... Benfred was dancing with Ysi, Lord Yohn Royce''s eldest daughter. And the young couple was even smiling! '' It seems that even the inflexible Benfred is trying his hand at the subtle art ofpromise. Ah... Observing the hope of promising youth is always peace to the soul." Said Zick enjoying the spectacle. The teacher and I remained silent for the song''s duration, admiring the dance. Benfred was a natural talent on the dance floor. My brother knew how to move, keep time and guide his dame, learn each step with ease, improvise without overdoing it, and at the same time, maintain the poise of a proper nobleman... "What can you tell me about Tywin Lannister, Master? Barbrey thinks I am a fool to put so much faith in the man... What do you think?" I asked in a low voice. "Hmm... Hard to answer that. When talking about you, one would have to redefine the concept of ''Madness''." After the little ironic quip, Zick added, "that man has suffered vast setbacks of disappointment and pain throughout his life. Traumas that have forced him to wear, in perpetuity, a solid, impermeable armour... You managed to create a crack in the Old Lion''s adamantine armour and win some of his respect, but trust will take much longer. The Lion''s survival instinct keeps roaring at him not to trust anyone. ...For the moment, Tywin Lannister is more of a spectator in deep contemtion and waiting... He is waiting for life to show him that all his pirs of belief have been erected on the wrong foundation. Theing years will be decisive for the final decision of the Head of House Lannister. But whatever path he chooses, he will walk it to the end, never looking back. ... In summary, my boy, your n holds its fair share of a gamble." I carefully contemted the analysis of the world''s best observer. "Far be it from me to call myself the best person to ask you this question... But why did you choose him? Why not go for Kevan, Gerion or Tyrion? You have more control over the future choices of those palpable candidates for the Throne of the West." Zick asked with eager curiosity. "I could give you a hundred different answers, Master, but the one you seek is the same, for which I chose Barbrey as Westeros'' Queen of Shadows Candidate... An inalienable factor thatpels me to tread unpredictable paths that rises above all other rational or instinctive deduction, and that will perhaps, one day, decree my doom..." The Watcher waited for the longed-for answer. "Because he deserves it." Zick peered at me with a quick analytical nce, and then the elderly man smiled, replying, "A good answer." "It''s normal. I have a good teacher," then... suppressing my reluctance, I added, "you may set that meeting, Guardian of Love. I will meet Lord Leyton at a time and ce that suits him." "Very Good. I will arrange the meeting for the morning after the end of the second tournament event. You and Lord Leyton will meet in my manor, alone and undisturbed." The old fox had already set up pens and inkwells. Zick had calcted everything. He knew I would ept! "Before the joust? Doesn''t that seem a little too imminent a meeting?" I asked calmly, showing no signs of wanting to back out. "No, it''s perfect, instead. Better to get terms down on paper first. There is a risk that more egregious situations may arise than we had anticipated. Lord Leyton wille to you with a ''Sincere'' proposal for peace. I would like you to listen to it, always showing respect and courtesy to the Protector of the High Council Andalus. The same reverence you would show the Overlord of Carcosa.... Do we understand each other?" I nodded, swallowing a small sob of contempt. Oldtown was not easy to deal with. Not after my intelligence lifted the immacte Andalus facade carpet, showing glimpses of the filth and dust piled underneath. For goodness'' sake, the Wizarding Confederacy was certainly no slouch, nor were the Andals strictly ''worse'' than the Ghiscarians, Braavosians or Dothraki, but Qyburn''stest reports still haunted my dreams. "Wouldn''t the Chief Sorcerer of the Confederacy be angrier with me if he knew that his ''Possible Ally of the North'' dealt with his arch-enemy first rather than with him?" I asked, eyeing the world''s second deadliest individual. Even now, despite months of preparation, I felt considerable anxiety about the long-awaited meeting between The King in The Yellow and myself... At every opportunity, those ruthless, genial eyes tried to undermine my determination, constantly putting me under pressure. Humility aside, I was certainly not one to be frightened lightly. But Duq of the Chai dynasty made me break out in a cold sweat. Even my well-chained and Silent Demon would roar out from time to time {Don''t-Antagonize-That-Monster! He is not Prey in Our Grasp! Keep Away From Him, Brat!!} First Emperor among men and then King among Wizards. The past of that semi-divine being was a legend within the legend. ''''I will take care of Chai. For now, just focus on tomorrow''s event." Zick concluded, "The Keeper of Magic is somewhat untraceable as ofte, but I have already regaled the Keeper of Beauty. The Lord of Winterfell and the other members of the Green Council grant you full representative authority... Prepare yourself, my boy, for when you deal with Lord Hightower, you will speak as the First Men''s High Spokesman." ***** End Chapter. -------- Chapter 180: The Ex-Squire Chapter 180: The Ex-Squire ***Forgive the dy, Dear Readers. Yesterday I was on the verge of publishing it when at thest minute I decided to edit it, rewriting it almost in half! Thank you for your patience and support. Power stone me if you can or leave ament. I need points of view! So many different points of view! Did you enjoy the chapter? Did you not like it? Was it badly written? Did a sentence or a linestory not make sense? Do you want a character dead and buried? Do you want another one to survive and shine until the end? Feel free to write it in ament. Thank you all and happy reading!!!*** ------------------------ POV: Jaime In a mountainous basin of the Silk Road, Second Arena. Year 290, the tenth day of the first moon. The following morning at the First Phase Celebration Banquet... ------- Jaime barely took two gulps of fresh water, the amount needed to recover the liquids lost during the pre-race warm-up. Stuffing one''s belly too much before a gruelling battle only slowed one''s reflexes and generated a constant urge to reject... A hundred or so knights, scattered outside the vast arena enclosure, prepared themselves just as carefully and sparingly for the imminent start of the melee. Given the rich prizes offered beforehand during the archery contest, no one wanted to leave anything to chance... As a result, many of the gazes had the tension of those about to descend into a real battlefield, in which a single mistake, a single misstep or missed sh would spell his end. Some took a straw puppet to warm themselves up, some chose to conserve every ounce of energy, studying desirable rivals, others warmed up in a friendly sparring session to loosen up and be familiar with padding and paraphernalia, and even those who invoked the blessing of the Warrior or any other supernatural entity that might favour a victorious day... And Jaime was no different. The Pdin used his supernatural advantage to assess every possible threat, scouting from time to time and missing those worth giving a face a name. The vast majority of thepetitors ranged between Levels 5 and 6. A very high average by the quality standards of Westeros. Generally, a professional-veteran soldier was between 4 and 5. A tenth among them was branded with a glowing 7. Less than one in forty sported a skimpy Level 8, and asionally, even a rare King-ss ''8'' popped up... That Ser Archibald Yronwood, Lord Yronwood''s nephew, was one of the chosen ones. However, among the armed crowd, with a more significant and more notable symbol, for the moment, Lord Leyton''s second son, Ser Garth Hightower, excelled with his [Level 9, ss Lord]. An opponent to whom the Kingyer would pay considerable attention during the contest. ''House Hightower lives up to its good name...'' Jaime thought to himself, trying to imagine and quantify the realistic level of the former Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the one who weed him into the brotherhood and invested him with the white cape, Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull. ''Ser Gerold was unquestionably skilled with a de and unassable with a shield in his hand, but still a step lower than Barristan and Arthur... Between the peak of the 9th and the beginning of the 10th... Would that mean I might have already reached the level of the White Bull? Tsz, but you watch me think!'' Jaime didn''t want to rely too heavily on his extreme power. The Knightughed, imagining an eventual scene where he tried to intimidate and force his opponents to surrender, shouting at them: {"Surrender, Knights! You are a measly Level 6 and 7, but ''I'' am a Level 10 Rank Squire!!!"} Only to find himself soon afterwards on the ground, stunned and surrounded by swords, axes and clubs repeatedly descending upon his dying remains. Basking in theurels of numbers was the perfect recipe for a stupid and gloryless death. "That will do, for now, Raynald. Stay behind the fence and wait there. I will call you should I need anything else." The Knight passed the water canteen to his new page and future squire, young Raynald Westerling. "Y-yes, Ser Jaime!" Replied the boy bursting with energy and excitement in anticipation of the race. The page blindly followed, withoutint, whatever orders or thankless tasks Jaime gave him. As if every word addressed to him was in itself a bag of gold. Raynald was the first heir of Gawen Westerling, Lord the Crag and the bannerman of his father. Although House Westerling was a minor house and among the poorest in the West, his father insisted that Jaime take the eight-year-old boy under his wing. There had to be a political or economic reason behind it. Lord Tywin Lannister never granted courtesies or favours without anything of equal value in return... But Jaime did not care, as long as the recement obeyed and fulfilled his meagre page duties. His former trusted squire, Merlon Crakehall, was now ''Ser'' Merlon. An honour the boy richly deserved during the siege of Pyke. It was barely an hour before the start of thepetition. Many otherpetitors joined therge group already present... How many in all must have been present? Three hundred? Maybe more...? And many more were still toe. Jaime had never witnessed such avid participation in a tournament... Even during the Harrenhall melee, the participants barely numbered a hundred. In terms of numbers, this would not be a mere melee but a real battle. A battle where ''stamina'' and ''thrift'' would count for far more than martial skill. Lady Barbrey had spared no expense. In addition to the mammoth prizes of gold and treasure, two separate arenas had been set up for this tournament. This arena, in particr, was a veritable Amphitheatre built of wood and stone, almost asrge as the Dragon''s Pit at King''s Landing. The structure reached an elliptical surface over six hundred feet long, five hundred broad, and a hundred feet high... The bleachers, arranged in circr, tiered tiers around the pit of beaten earth and sand, were supported by tall columns and well-piled at the base of the surface to support a sizeable elliptical canopy that covered half the surface of the arena. The covered space provided a shaded area, away from the eyes of the public, for all waitingpetitors. Only the arena in the centre was in in view. Here the melee and future jousting would take ce. How many builders, time and money would it have taken to erect such an architectural work from nothing? In all likelihood, the arena was designed to host other future events. Events and wrestlingpetitions that would have attracted wealthy merchants and squires from distant cities and seeking entertainment filled the Silk Road coffers with coins. Tyrion, too, had a simr idea nned for Lannisport... During the winner''s banquet the night before, Jaime and Tyrion spent the entire evening and much of the night conversing and drinking. His brother talked for hours about his thousand ideas and ns for raising Lannisport as the shiniest city in the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion did not seem daunted by the surprises and novelties that had just been built in the North. Quite the contrary, the dwarf seemed to wee thepetition with open arms, spurring him on toe up with new and original ideas that could outss even Oldtown''s millennia-old wonders and grandeur. The New Governor of Lannisport requested and obtained, with the blessing of the rich and powerful Lord of Casterly Rock, the funds and the green light to implement and renovate the entire town. Tywin Lannister seemed to recognise the true potential hidden in the seeming symbol of shame of the House, granting his almost disowned son an opportunity for prominence. Dawn would finally dawn for Tyrion of House Lannister, and Jaime could not have been happier for him. If there was a lion who deserved all the happiness in that shitty, merciless jungle called the world, it was Tyrion... ''No...! Not now. Stay focused, you idiot! Never, ever indulge in guilt when wielding a sword.'' Jaime forced himself to erase the thought of Tysha. Another of his greatest shames. This was neither the time nor the ce for painful reminiscences. After the events of Pyke, a small and fragile spark of hope manifested itself in that hell of betrayals, secrets and dishonour that was his life. In his final months, Jaime strove to guard and nurture that spark with all his might. For perhaps, and only ''perhaps'', that faint light in the dark could lead him to a different path... A path that could bring a new dawn even on the Knight Without Honour. The Kingyer pursued the sacred path of sword and spear with every effort, sparing Nothing. Jaime felt with his fingers the multitudes of calloused scars and furrows, which had been added to his palms in thest few moons. Those blisters erupted and healed, by dint of drills and wear and tear on the sword grip, were evidence of hismitment to the way. "It is the right choice, Ser." A calm, warm male voice, smooth and gentle as a summer breeze, caressed the Knight''s ear. Jaime turned to put a face to the unfamiliar timbre of voice, and, in a single blink of his eyes after turning, intending to ask the stranger a justified "I beg your pardon?", his face, arms, torso and legs became petrified with dismay. Jaime recognised the old man with rapt eyes. He knew ''who'' he was, ''whose'' Master he was, and most importantly, ''what'' he had been able to teach him... But what Jaime did not know until now was what unnatural number stood above that individual''s head. ''Is this not a hallucination! May the Warrior fulminate me...! That old man is a [Fucking Level 13, Rank King!!!].'' Roared the terrified Lion inwardly. And it wasn''t just a standard Rank King pinnacle; that number was as dazzling as a second sun and abnormally gigantic, like an overflowing sack of grain just one grain away from breaking! That symbol was begging in agony to burst out and leap onto the podium [14]... Not even Barristan''s former Level 10 Rank King, which kept overflowing for years, could bepared to such a thing! ''''Huh? Do I have something dangerous above my head...? Ah, right... What a fool I am. You share the same gift as Duncan. Forgive me, Ser. I did not mean to disturb your peace." Said the man, nicknamed The Watcher, casually, breaking away from the wooden fence where he was leaning to step back a little over thirty feet from Jaime. The limit range where his power as Pdin had an effect. The monstrous and illogical silver number faded. And the Knight, within seconds, regained a semnce of self-control. Enough cognitive capacity to roar: ''He knows! He knows of my abilities!'' Jaime looked around. That old man knew of his unnatural abilities and had just blurted out dangerous ims to the four winds... But, in an inexplicably peculiar manner, no other person was around. Yet, Jaime was quite sure that, a few minutes earlier, that area was crowded... "Fear not. This is and will remain a private conversation. Not even Varys''s little birds would make it past the perimeter. My friends are impably thorough and annoyingly overprotective... Mmm, from bad to worse. That might sound like a threat, haha!" Specified the old man, singing and ying to himself. "N-no... I''m the one apologising. It''s just... Why all this trouble to talk to me alone...? Emm... Old Master?" Jaime was struggling to find a proper appetion. How was he supposed to address the martial monster two and three-quarters feet above Barristan fucking Selmy? The terrifying old man came to his rescue. "You can just call me Zick if you like In all sincerity, I only came here to observe. It''s my great passion and habit to stand on the sidelines and watch and study potential future warriors or already-established fighters. But, taking advantage of a small and propitious asion, I also hope to exchange a few words with you... And in answer to your unspoken question, Ser, just before you turned around, I was referring to your wise choice to cut ties with any futile thoughts." Thest sentence needed rification; Jaime still required to understand what he was talking about. The old Master, with jovial patience and his constant smile, rified a second time. "When a warrior draws his sword intending to use it, the past must be a dull and dusty history book to be left behind, and the future an iprehensible and intricate constetion of stars that must not draw your gaze upwards... But the Present... The Present bes the whole. In a struggle, you look forward. And the only voices you must listen to are the Sound of Breathing and the Song of Steel." "... You have a strange way of dispensing advice, old man. It sounds more like a lesson in philosophical poetry than fighting." Jaime bit his tongue at letting that final "Old Man" slip out. The Knight had no intention of offending. Yet, for some reason, Jaime unconsciously lowered the shield of etiquette and courtesy, embracing inappropriate confidentiality. "Ahahah! Yes. You may be right. But I assure you I am neither a poet nor a philosopher. I only have a decent memory and good giarism skills. I shamelessly stole sentences from men and women far more erudite than myself." Luckily for him, the old man was affable and easy tough with... The man''s presence alone was enough to change the atmosphere of the air around him. Despite the impressive contradictory number, Jaime could perceive no threat or feeling of dangering from that individual. Regarding measuring danger, it was as if an infirm, harmless, homeless flea-bitten man from Flea Bottom was standing before him. But in terms of presence and eyes... it was like standing in front of a mountain with a human face. A calm and solitary mountain, in total harmony with the surrounding hills, ins and forests, that could see ''Everything''. ''Unique... That man is unique. I wouldn''t know how else to describe him... There are no individuals like him.'' Thought the Knight. "You are Duncan''s Master? Are you the creator of that fencing technique?" Jaime asked, heedless of formalities, letting himself be carried away by the tsunami of confidence and harmony. "The one and ''Unique'' haha! And you... You are Ser Jaime, son of Tywin, of the Ancient and Mighty Lannister Dynasty. The Lion who, during the siege of Pyke, led the rearguard and fought in the front line to prevent my mad pupil from being surrounded and crushed by enemies... I wanted to take this opportunity to thank you, Ser. I am in your debt. And I am that kind of man who, like your father, always repays a debt sooner orter." Jaime was stunned for a moment. A voice inside him screamed at him to seize the opportunity right then and there, get down on his knees and beg that individual to grant him every ounce of his knowledge... Butmon sense and dignity prevailed. "You owe me nothing, old man. That day in Pyke, I simply fulfilled my duties... I am a Kingsguard, and I answer to my King''s orders. Robert Baratheon ordered me to join and obey themander of the infiltration expedition. Your apprentice and, at the time, my superior-in-chiefmanded me to protect and prevent the enemies of the realm from passing through. If you feel indebted, Master, it is to the King you must address." Jaime struggled not to cut his tongue out and swallow it. The same voice shouted at him [You filthy worthless piece of dung from my boots! Do you want to leave that drunken pig all the credit?! What the fuck is wrong with you, you crazy, ungrateful maniac?!] "Mh, mh, mh... A tad constructed and not very truthful answer, ''Kingyer''. I don''t need these eyes to tell me with certainty that you loathe and loathe your king, at least as much as you hate being nicknamed by that namesake." The Royal Guard did not retort to the usation. Those yellowish, mystical, rapacious eyes pierced his armour as if it were made of soft wool... It was a battle lost before it had even begun. Instinct screamed at him that no lie could be concealed from this man. The Watcher loosened the pressure of his gaze and added: "It may well have been honour and obedience to the king that motivated your heroic deeds, Ser. Nevertheless, it was not the horns of the Crowned Stag that prevented the enemy from crossing that threshold... The dexterity of the ws, the strength of the fangs and the ferocity of the roar that held back the Kraken." The lion remained silent. "Besides... You don''t even know with ''what'' or ''how'' I would like to repay such a favour. Mmm... I don''t think Robert Baratheon would care, nor could he do much about it. ''But''... I won''t insist further if you really don''t want to." Zick snorted meekly with a falsely surrendered air, preparing himself in gestures to take his leave. "Wait, Old Man...!" The veteran fisherman had cast his hook,plete with bait, and the fish took the trick with all thirty-two teeth. "Mpf...! You are rude to call me ''Old'', Young Lion. Look, I''m barely past fifty. I''m in the prime of my silver years. And I still remain a youngster in spirit." The old fox did not stop, turning his back on his interlocutor with an offended air and moving further away. "Forgive my bad manners, ''Noble and Wise Master''! With what?... With what ''noble'' and ''virtuous'' gift would you like to return the favour?" A predatory eagle''s eye turned. "Umm, that''s better... But before you open the chest, Knight, I would like you to answer a question of mine." Promulgated the cunning hunter, and the prey nodded. "Why do you walk the way of the sword, Ser?" What kind of question was that? Was the old man serious? Of course, any noble male of Westeros could have given the same answer... But, in the blink of an eye, Jaime glimpsed the depth of the question addressed explicitly for him. ''Why, of all the possible paths I could have taken, did I choose this one?'' Was it for Cercei that he epted the white cloak? To free himself from marriage to Lysa Tully and to be close to his one love...? No... It was not that. The Young Lion''s introspection transported his thoughts to a specific memory... That day fourteen years ago, between the gates of Casterly Rock, when Rheagar Targaryen crossed the bridge riding his white steed in all its splendour and royalty. And, beside him, followed the man whom the child, barely ten years old, could not take his eyes off even for an instant. The man, the heir of Casterly Rock, hoped to be... a True Knight. A sworn sword without equal, honoured, feared, recognised in every corner of the continent and enshrined in legend: Ser Arthur Dayne. Simple, sincere words were all Jaime''s voice could muster. "Because I wanted..." the Lion corrected himself. "Because I want to walk a parallel path to the Sword of the Morning... To reach that peak and surpass it." The Watcher neither judged nor disputed any words. Simply, the old Master rxed the hardened wrinkles on his face and answered in turn: "I have had the opportunity to observe and get to know Ser Arthur in person... Mh, mh. You and I have met before, Ser Jaime, during your reconnaissance among the viges of Kingswood. The Kingsguard was on the hunt for notorious bandits... At the time, you were the squire of the Sword of the Morning, his faithful, silent shadow spewing hope and dreams of glory." Jaime was stunned by the revtion. "... Forgive me. I have no memory of it. Not to offend you, Master, but you are not an individual who, once met, goes so unnoticed." In an instant, as if by magic, the man''s clothes transmuted, taking the form of an old, hooded, ragged beggar. A sh illuminated Jaime''s memories. It was an event too peculiar to be forgotten. "That old man... You were that beggar who begged Ser Arthur for a nket and a hot meal!" That day, near Wendwaters, Dayne detached himself from the group to make sure in person that beggar had a hearth and meal for the night. A few hourster, Ser Arthur joined Jaime and his brethren, not uttering a word until the following dawn... The Knight wanted to be left undisturbed in his thoughts, staying awake all night. "Ser Arthur did not only leave behind a name and an ancestral sword as a legacy for all future aspiring knights in search of honour and glory... He left behind an iplete and crude fencing technique but with incredible potential. A raw ore that, if heated, bent and tempered properly, could shine as brightly as the Valyrian Steel wielded by my disciple." ''A fencing technique that could rival the Gates Locks? The Legacy of Dayne?!'' Roared the Young Lion inwardly, as lips and eyes remained open and petrified. "And do you know ''who'', to this day, keeps that martial legacy alive and secretly guarded?" There was no need for an answer. But what Jaime, in a re of frustration and guilt, retorted was: "The Sword of The Morning would not wish such an inheritance to pass to a sworn brother who betrayed his Prince and King." "...Few know the true wishes of the dead, Ser. And in any case, Ser Arthur passed that Inheritance to me. I am now its guardian. The choice is mine...And I could choose you, Jaime Lannister..." {"I could"}... something was missing from the roll call to grant that ''gift''. ''In the end, it''s always a matter of gold...'' Jaime thought, a good dose of disappointment. "How much...? How much gold do you want?" Asked the former squire. "Gold...? Ah, no, no, you misunderstand me, Ser. I''m not looking for gold, I-" Tried to answer the old man. "What, then...? Lands? Titles? My father''s favour?" Jaime asked with celerity. Perhaps the Watcher was seeking a position at court as First Master at Arms. The Kingyer wanted to settle this question quickly. However, a nagging feeling of unease and bitterness gripped him in his stomach... ''''Nothing like that! Have a little patience, Boy! I was getting there!" Replied the Watcher in an indignant voice... Jaime fell silent, waiting for the verdict. "Erm, umm... As I was saying. What I would like from you in return is a ''demonstration''. Nothing more and Nothing less. A Red Knight will also take part in thispetition. I wish you to fight him...''" Promulgated the old Zick with sparks of expectation. "A Red Knight...? And who would that be?" Jaime did not expect such a request. "Eheh... That''s for you to find out." Zick replied, grinning with amusement. "Do you want me to defeat him or ''kill'' him...?" Jaime was already in the process of telling the old fool to fuck off... Perhaps the former squire did not know The Sword of the Morning so well as to know exactly his truest wishes. But what the Kingyer did know was that Ser Arthur would never, ever have approved of the disgrace of murder in a knightlypetition. At least this infamy, towards the memory of an honourable man, Jaime would have avoided it. The old manughed. "Mh, mh! I doubt you can pull it off, especially with a blunt de..." After the amused and openly defiant look, the Watcher exined: "It is not murder that I ask, Ser Jaime. ''But''... fight just the same as if you were facing an enemy of the House Lannister on a real battlefield. Face the Red Knight with nothing spared." Was the old fool serious? To fight ''seriously'' meant to strike with the intention of killing... No. That curious but, at the same time, confident and soothing look was looking for something else. "Give it your all in this ordeal, Young Lion. Prove to me ''Why'', at the time, Dayne deemed you worthy of knighthood. Prove to me not with words but with the "Song of the Steel" Do this for me and the legacy of The Sword of the Morning will be yours." --------- End Chapter. Chapter 181: Fat Pigs, Slimy Spiders and Mighty Giants Chapter 181: Fat Pigs, Slimy Spiders and Mighty Giants POV: Cercei Lannister Royal Bleachers, Great Arena. Minutes after a former beggar and a former squire sealed a pact... ------- A silent figure d in gold and white approached behind the Queen; it was Ser Meryn Trant. The quiet man, without an eye, tongue, a portion of his nose removed and the skin of his face and scalp horribly scarred, had recently resumed Royal Guard service. Despite Meryn''s asional grunts of choked sobs of pain, the white sword, seething with pent-up hatred and vengeance, had recovered prodigiously well from the torture he had endured less than two weeks earlier at Barrowton... Every healer or maester who set out to medicate or examine Ser Meryn imed that there was never a more rapid and wondrous recovery. At first hovering between life and death, the man''s severe wounds healed at least ten times faster than usual. A true miracle. This benefited the Queen''s cause, bringing the already loyal Meryn to a much higher level of blind devotion and obedience. It was enough to promise the knight that, sooner orter, Barbrey and Jorah Mormont would pay for such an affront with blood. By now, the only existential foothold left for the broken knight was revenge against the Queen''s enemies. Meryn would have obeyed any order from Cercei without flinching, even if it meant facing certain death. Cercei rose from the opulent royal throne, promulgating politely: "My King, Lord and Lady Stak, I require a little leave of absence... With your permission." "Yes, yes, go ahead and unleash your liquid gold, my Queen. But watch out fortrine thieves! Lord Tywin is wont to put at least two armed men guarding his pit! Aahahah!" Sbrayed Robert with vulgarity. Cersei''s hand was tempted to grab the crystal pitcher and m it down on that big, fat pig nose. But the Queen kept her demeanour. The Pig-King dared to ridicule her like that, despite her tormenting sacrifice that night... The night before, the Queen had made a thousand efforts to drive the fetid, drunken Stag-Whoremongering insane with pleasure. Even adding that damned aphrodisiac -suggested to him by Pycelle- that reeked of a rotten oyster. Unhappily, the Queen dosed the powder incorrectly, identally overdoing it by half a teaspoon. The Stag rode the Lioness with the energy and impetuosity of a crazed aurochs for more than an hour before releasing the ''first rant''. Jaws, wrist, belly, hips and buttocks were still sore... The pig seemed to take pleasure only in bringing pain and degradation to his victim. But Cercei, to thest, resisted, gripping the pole and the two inexhaustible rocks tightly and pulling the truth out of the pig by dint of obscene grunts of pleasure... But now, Cercei knew. She knew where the Crown and Casterly Rock had pulled out ''Forty-Five Million Golden Dragons'' to replenish Barbrey Mormont''s coffers. The Braavosians had entered the game... Casterly Rock and The Iron Bank were forming a coalition to halt the rise of the North. It was information that repaid the price of her pains... "Would you likepany, my Queen?" Lady Stark asked, offering herself as ady-in-waiting. ''What is that woman seeking from me? I''m telling her I need the pythal, and she offers to hold my robes and cleanse my virtues?'' In thest week, Catelyn Stark had be stickier than resin... "No, I thank you... You need not be inconvenienced, Lady Catelyn. Ser Meryn will ensure I don''t get lost in this vast,byrinthine Amphitheatre. I will return before the contest begins." The Lady of Winterfell nodded, giving up in the attempt with her built-up friendship smile. Atst, Cercei had the green light. Robert was too concentrated on drinking and reminiscing, between obscene jokes and past acts of manhood, about his youthful adventures with the Lord of Winterfell. A few steps from the royal cage, the Queen did not hesitate to ask in a low voice: "Well? Is it done?" Ser Meryn''s closed helmet nodded. Cercei investigated deeper. Nothing was to be left to chance in this n. "So our friend has epted the gold...? And he has already ''corrected'' the sk?" Meryn shook his head this time, but before Cercei could react, the knight pulled out a small sk containing thick white liquid. It was poppy milk... ''Ah... Even better.'' It was well-known that Ser Gregor gobbled gallons of poppy milk daily because of his excruciating migraines. "Well... The tournament will take ce in two stages. That sk must touch the lips of our champion no earlier than the end of the first phase. Take paper and inkwell and inform Ser Amory Lorch not to expose himself to danger in this first skirmish and to leave the honour of the first victory to my brother and his men. Burn the parchment as soon as you have finished." Meryn no longer used speech, but at least, unlike the inept Ser Boros Blunt, the knight could read and write. "And remember, Ser, our mon friend" and any trace connected to him will have to "disappear" before the end of the race. And you will not have to wear white or gold colours while you take care of the cleaning." The Silent Knight nodded. Cercei hastened his pace, distancing himself at an appropriate distance from her sworn sword. The Golden Lioness released a p of an impatient smile. The queen could hardly wait to return to the stands to witness the first truly delightful spectacle of this wedding. ------------- End POV. **** POV: Duncan Great Arena. With just minutes to go before the start of the match... This time, it was Jorah Mormont who did the opening honours. Barbrey was to grant her groom space and authority so the nobility would recognise the established position of the man of New Lord and Protector of the Barronds. The surprise prizes had just been announced. -The third winner would receive a reward of twenty thousand gold dragons plus a set of Elite Quality Damascus Steel weapons. -To the second winner: forty thousand gold dragons and a weapon in Damascus Steel of His Choice forged by the hands of Grand Maester Tobho Mott. -To the first ce winner: eighty thousand gold dragons ''And'' a steel dagger of Valyria. A rare haul snatched from the hands of an elite Agent of Illyrio Mopatis who had the misfortune to cross des with de One... I hoped this spoils of war might send a message to the cautious and well-hidden Tricked Spider, who had not yet revealed his face. Illyrio and Varys still had no idea what dark, deep quagmire they were plunging into. In all likelihood, the fat grub and the eunuch spider were unaware that they were part of a web far more extensive and intricate than they could have imagined and that directing it was an insect far more voracious, cunning and maniptive than they. Amon mercenary from Braavos could never have married the unmarried daughter of the Prince of Pentos'' cousin without a persuasive whisper reaching thetter''s ears. Likewise, an acerbic but promising thief could not have stolen with impunity the secrets of nobles, merchants and ''friends'', protected by an invisible but inescapable veil of vignce, if a Shadow Queen had not wanted to put him to the test... Twenty years ago, Madame Zishua financed and supported the duo''s rise in the shadows, ensuring that the vastwork of birds became an instrument of the Fourth Organisation. ''I swear, Fat Pig... Zishua''s tool or not, if you don''t even sniff this slop, I''ll start pulling out the cleaver. And this time, I won''t just slice off a few strands of your bacon... Your fragrant emissary had bettere out of his hiding hole and pay me homage as soon as possible.'' I thought with annoyance as I observed the dagger that belonged to a certain Silk Step disyed in in sight at the edge of the enclosure. Varys knew his business; he had done his homework well. The Eunuch Spider had not only secured a solid cover to infiltrate the North, but he must have been able to extract information about The Watcher... Unfortunately, Zick or my agents had not yet been able to flush the Spider out. Ser Willem Darry was already on his deathbed. Diabetes would have wiped him out in less than a moon. Given the countless political reversals that had taken ce in this tournament, the Titan would not have let the Targaryen Princes slip out from under his nose with ease... When the protection contract signed between the Sealord and Queen Rhae expired, the Iron Bank would openly enter the fray for custody of Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen. And Torrhen''s Square and the Never Winter Bank could not descend on the Titan''s chosen field while a pesky Cheese Merchant was waiting in the shadows looking for the first opportunity to stab us. I looked at the crowd in the stands and wondered if Varys dared to mingle with the group... No. At first nce, the Watcher would have caught him on his Radar, revealing any trickery or possible disguise... Probably, the Spider was taking advantage of someone else''s eyes and whispers to observe. ''Really Clever... Yet, I know you''re here somewhere, Spider.'' I gave up the attempt and refocused on much more imminent problems. I took advantage of the excess minutes remaining to give the paraphernalia a final check. Longsword (blunt) and round shield were well-bnced. For thispetition, I opted for a helmet without a visor. So that I could have a better view and a better draft of fresh air. Mott was a true artist... The cksmith had masterfully corrugated, oiled and interlocked every piece of metal in my armour so that the guards on the joints slid freely without obstruction, thus providing superior manoeuvrability and total frictionless movement. Greatjon and I were the only ones wearing tes of tempered metal significantly lighter than thepetition. But what Lord Umber''s Damascus Elite armour did not possess, apart from the hammer touch of a Grand Maester, were protective spells. Mott had consumed the power of three High Mana Stones (3 5th level stones worth about 6,000 golden dragons each) to engrave, activate and keep the runes alive. The most impressive effect was the dampening of blunt blows. No matter where a mace, morningstar, hammer or whatever blunt weapon struck me (excluding my head), the energy of the impact would be redistributed evenly throughout my armour, transforming a possibly destabilising fractured rib or copsed lung into an annoying but much more bearable tingling sensation throughout my body. The only problem with this incredible benefit was thepactness they required of tes so that there was an absoluteck of perspiration. The sun was high, and its hot rays extinguished the benefits of the cool early summer breeze. It would be a sweat bath for everypetitor, d in padding and full te armour. With that heat and movement, I''d be wearing a bloody oven. ''Hmm... Carcosa guards the spells from Forgemaster to vary the temperatures as needed... Gauntlgrym definitely needs to get his hands on those runes. Even one or two degrees more or less would make the difference between life and death in North of the Wall and Dorne.'' "Ser Duncan!" An annoyingly recognisable honeyed voice broke my thoughts. Lately, fate delighted in throwing distractions at me whenever my mind sprouted good ideas... ''Oh, no...No, No, No, No, NO...! Noooo!... Sigh, sigh...Great Father...Seraphinus, Metatron, St. Michael, St. Gabriel and any other Heavenly Merciful listening! Please have mercy!'' I turned slowly towards the fence, disguised with a polite smile, and replied: "Lady Linesse... What a pleasure and honour to meet you ''again'' on this beautiful morning." At first light, the Hightower maiden had ''coincidentally'' intercepted Benfred and me on our way to apany my brother from Tallhart Manor to the Great Lion''s abode... I cast helping nces at my men. William, Todd, and even ''Peter''...the man I awarded with my de the knighthood, giving him a name,nds and titles, ignored me. The snakes disguised as Juror Brothers stood apart like perfect blind strangers, turning away and leaving mepletely exposed... ''Filthy Traitors! The North will remember, Cowards!'' Iposed myself, gritting my teeth concealed and stepped forward. Lynesse was dazzling, intoxicating, endearingly seductive, and bubbling with innocence from every pore. The two soft, firm breasts were too ''undressed'' for the rules of etiquette. The pale skin of her arms and shoulders was utterly bare. Only a thin, too-tight cerulean velvet dress prevented the ''Pious Maiden'' (belonging to the family most devoted to the cult of the Seven) from showing herself to the world as mother had made her. Despite everything, two nights before, I had faced a worse situation than this... During the retreat from one of the usual banquets, held two nights before the winner''s celebration, Lynesse caught me and my escort in the act, staging a real Guitti-king theatre to force me to escort her back to the vi... The Spider Maiden had paid (or seduced) brigands and an armed escort to orchestrate a failed attack at night on the back streets of the Silk Road... The maiden who had escaped danger and was apanied by a single Hightower guard, visibly bruised and fatigued, rushed into my arms in tears, her dress half torn, reciting the most believable andpelling of monologues ever conceived in dramatic literature while an uncovered pink nipple begged for contact with my body... That girl was Satan''s subus. "Ser Duncan. Oh, my Knight, I...I did not wish to intrude on your preparations for the contest, Ser, but I bring urgent, ominous news concerning you, Ser. I have only just heard...I had to warn you. Otherwise, I would never have forgiven myself." Intoned the maiden in a veil of concern and thoughtfulness towards me. Half of the Northern participants at my side fell into the spider''s web, drawing their eyes and ears closer in rm. "What ominous news, mydy?" I asked with a note of scepticism. Lynesse paid no heed to my indifference. The maiden looked around, leaned her chest on the wooden beam, and moved another half step closer, all to whisper what seemed to be a forbidden secret to me. "Ser Lyn Corbrey... It hase to my attention that Ser Lyn boasted in front of many witnessesst night that he could take you down in a duel with his Lady Farlow... And it seems that the bloodthirsty knight of House Corbrey, with the help of other knights of the Vale, wishes to put your name to the test in this contest. You will not only have to watch out for the Lannisters and the Braavosians in this test, Ser... Sigh..." A tear dropped down her cheek... "Sigh, everyone wants to hurt you...! You will be the main target of this ughterhouse! I beg you, Ser, I implore you, for your sake, at least for this race, to give up andy down your sword... Come back to me, Ser Duncan." To the Norrey audience at my side melted their hearts and infuriated their spirits. Barge of n Norrey, beating his biped axe upon his chest, thundered a "Fear not, Maiden of the South! No steel maiden of the Valley shall approach the Hero of the North! Not even their spittle will touch our Bloody Snow!" "Aye!" "Well said, Barge!" "We''ll kick those Vins'' asses!" other beguiled men of the ns and House Umber joined the chorus of support. Only the men of House Tallhart, Greatjon and Maege Mormont, "The She-Bear", remained silent... In particr, Dacey''s mother seemed on the verge of jumping the fence and lowering her bat on the brazen little girl (half-naked), shamelessly attempting to seduce her daughter''s betrothed. "...Thank you for your warning, Lady Lynesse. As you can see, I have good swords and shields ready to defend myself. Now, please, mydy, return to the stands to your father and ay all your other concerns." I replied dryly and coldly. "Did you hear Ser Duncan, a little girl of the High Tower...?! Go back to your frivolous southern gossip and leave the serious matters to the Warriors of the North!" Grumbled the She-Bear. Lynesse paid no attention to the Lady of Mormont Keep''s intimidation. "So you will throw yourself into danger, Ser...? But... Please, at least ept this lucky charm I made for you." Lynesse slipped a green handkerchief from the neckline of her bra. The embroidered cloth was soaked in ''Sins of Lys'', the new Tyrell fragrance sold as wine in the higher-end brothels of Essos and Westeros. "...I already have a lucky charm. And fortune has always smiled upon me since the day ''My Lady'' gave it to me." I hardened my tone of voice. I had had enough of these provocations. The Hightower girl was far from stupid... That Spider disguised as Innocent-Girl-Swamp was weaving a definite web. Lynesse exploited the political/economic rtions between The Reach and the North, daring far more than was allowed in the noble costume. And, now that Queen Cercei was on the hunt for any pretext to seek vengeance against House Tallhart and Mormont, the girl was practically begging for the irascible Dacey to attack her, breaking the sacredws of hospitality first. Lady Maege had to handcuff her daughter to her wrist to prevent Dacey frommitting folly. "...Oh...I understand, Ser..." First, the smooth, pale face grew sad, but my eye caught an imperceptible mischievous grin of pure amusement. *Uaawuuuunnn* A horn st came to my aid... "Factions, deploy! Stay behind the line! At Lord Jorah''s signal, the first round will begin!" Signalled Ser Ted of Bear Cave, the first guard of Barrowton and current match judge for the tournament''s second round. I used the general distraction to roar covertly, "Now, go away, mydy." "So I shall, Ser... Fortunately for me, I have another true young gentleman of House Tallhart who has chivalrously offered to keep mepany and offer me his friendly support in this contest too violent and frightening for the eyes of a frail Southern maiden...Mh, Mh." The evil witch was talking about Benfred! Hence the early morning ambush! Lynesse wasn''t looking for me... ''You maniptive little bitch...'' Before I could retort, Lynesse Hightower turned to promulgate out: "I wish you good fortune for the following battles, Bloody Snow." I thought Leyton would remain patient, ponderous and staid in this Great Gathering... I was wrong. The Old Man of Oldtown was already unleashing his hounds. The Watcher had anticipated the meeting between First Men and Andals. The Guardian of Love wasn''t worried about any idents from outside elements but me. ''No one touches My Family!'' I clenched my jaw with such force that it came close to splintering a few mrs. I regained myposure a few secondster and turned all my pent-up anger into hydrogen fuel in reserve, ready to fire a rocket to the moon at the first spark. I turned to my right arm. "Change of n, William... If House Hightower seeks a fight, than it shall have it." "But, Lord General... What about the Mountain?" Asked the Deputy Commander of the Winter Guardians with an rmed whisper. I turned my gaze to a Greatjon Umber ravenous for action, eager to shatter bones with his giant two-handed broadsword and put his new full armour in Damascus Elite to the test... "We will put our trust in our Armoured Giant." ***** End Chapter. Chapter 182: A Great Start (I) Chapter 182: A Great Start (I) POV: Duncan Great Arena. Seconds after a Maiden of the South walked away from a Knight of the North... --------- The first selective phase was a variation of g stealing. The rules were simple: {Capture a rival g and defend your own by the end of time}. Arge one-hour hourss, five feet high and raised with wooden nks, stood beneath the main stands in in view. Next to it, arge brass and bronze te would throw a *Gong* at each ten-minute interval. At least half of the contestants would fail this round. It was a test of strategy, cohesion and resilience. Many would exit through recklessness, surrender, injury or disqualification... Four hundred and twelve contestants were divided into sixteen teams; probably only about a hundred would have passed. As was natural, the coalitions mainly followed the membership and heraldic hierarchy of Westeros and Essos... Sixteen teams, of which twelve were from the West, Dorne, Reach, Stornds, Crownds, Rivends, The Vale, Ironborn, Isle of Summer, IB, Free City and, of course, the North. Thest four were a mixture of lesser Essos Cities, Hedge Knights, and fighters from all over. The three Arcane Shields of Carcosa were on the same team as my Red Knight. Those remaining twenty-two old, scruffy, and unfamiliarpetitors (unwanted and discarded by every other major faction) had yet to learn with what fortune fate had favoured them. Our team included: Me, William, Todd the Shield and Peter Atreides from Torrhen''s Square; Greatjon Umber, his squire Garoan and two other fierce swordsmen from Last Hearth. The new Green Knights: Ser Jory Cassel and Ser Simon from Winterfell; Theo Knott, Hugo Wull, Barge and two other men from the Mountain ns; Ser Breston of Mound Hills, Ser Wyatt Stout and two other elite swordsmen from Barrowton, Lady Maege Mormont and her sworn sword (as well as possible new concubine), Wober the Massif; And nine other excellent swords, maces or hammers from other Northern Houses that had proved their worth in the siege of Pyke. It was a good team tomand. I did not even have to ask for or win a by-election for the burden of leadership. All thepetitors from the North took it for granted that I would lead them in this first phase. It was at most two minutes until the starting Gong... I took advantage of the remaining time to observe the preparations of the rival factions, but above all, of the most dangerous members. Ser Jon Cupps was in the second row beside Greysteel, less than two hundred feet from me. Lord Leyton yearned for the secrets of Zick''s technique... I did not know if the Knight of the Seven Keepers intended a direct assault on me in this round. It was challenging for us to cross swords immediately. The water would first have to erode the rock wall to collide with the opposite current. I already had dozens of ravenous eyes on me for targets of fame and glory, and the prize money had only thrown further fuel into the mes... The Knight of the Vale, Ser Lyn Corbray, the rightful possessor of the famous Lady Farlow sword, never took his eyes off me. The man was disturbing and dangerous, besides being renowned for his attachment to gold and children... But the eyes most bloodthirsty and lusting for a massacre were undoubtedly those concealed by a thick and gigantic ck steel helmet... The Riding Mountain that stood a few steps away from Ser Jaime, in the faction of the West, situated at the opposite end from ours. On Ser Gregor''s left nked a stocky homunculus armoured with the colours and banners of House Lorch. Another prey the Red Viper yearned to bite. It was well known that Ser Amory Lorch was the man appointed by the Old Lion to find and suppress Rhaenys Targaryen, Oberyn''s beloved niece... I directed my gaze towards the Dorne faction seeking the attention of Prince Martell, garnished in a half helmet, bracelets and leggings of yellowcquered steel, d in fine red studded leather armour wielding a long spear and a shining round shield in the shape of the sun with pride and confidence. Oberyn''s eyes looked towards me... I shook my head, issuing a final warning [Don''t do it]. The Red Viper clicked his tongue with a furious expression. ''Hang in there, my friend... You will get what you ask for. You just have to be patient a little longer.'' The thought seemed to travel the total of ny feet, reaching its target. Oberyn''s head responded to the plea, nodding almost imperceptibly. "Are you ready, Greatjon?" I asked to the tall, giant Green Knight at my side. The giant Umber tapped his metal glove on his breastte and thundered: "An Umber is always ready to fight, Boy! If that hill of dog dung is looking for trouble, he will find it!" Morale was sky-high, the broadsword asrge and thick as Clegane''s, the skill in wielding it almost equivalent, and the armour was of vastly superior quality. Greatjon could do it. "You may not have to confront him in this first round, but should that happen, forgive me in advance if I have to leave all the heavy work to you... If I can, I wille to your support as soon as possible. I promise." The original n was to detain the Mountain andter eliminate him from thepetition together. "Do what you must without any Southern pussy justifications, Bloody Snow... I will do my part." I nodded my thanks to my Tank-Watcher. I studied the most favourable position for our team. And I found a rtively sustainable and promising spot for a multi-directional defence and counter-attack. Unfortunately, cover points on which to build a solid defence were almost nonexistent. Each team was obliged to cross the red line marking the perimeter by at least ten paces. Once the fight began, anyone who crossed that line, or went beyond it, would be disqualified. I gathered the men into a double-ring circle. Greatjon''s squire, Garoan, had the task of carrying and guarding the pole with the green banner, ourpetition banner. "Be ready, Men! United as links of a chain and firm as anvils! At least three rival factions will charge at us like a mad herd! Our priority in the first half hour ''is'' and ''will remain'' defence! Protect our Standard Bearer at any cost!" "Yes, Commander," "Aye, Ser Duncan," "We are with you, Bloody Snow!" Several squad members replied, the remainder nodding in tacit determination. "And piss in your trousers now, if you must, Stinking Scoundrels! Or, at the first hammering suffered, your sausage will explode like a pig''s dder! Uarhahah!!!" Sbrayed Greatjon, beating a blow on the metal shell. "Let the Great Melee begin!!!" Lord Jorah pped his hands, and a metallic *Gooonghnn!* immediately vibrated throughout the arena, followed by a jubnt ovation from all the stands. "March step! Advance!" I thundered, crossing the red line first. Fifty feet separated us from the favourable position. The circle in formation moved with me. Dozens of euphoric, impatient and inexperiencedpetitors charged into the centre, breaking away from their group and generating the first chaotic collision of steel. Screams mixed with expletives, orders and battle roars,bined with the shing of steel, burst out across the arena. Three figures d in scandent, rusty metal immediately charged towards me. I proceeded at a slow pace, waiting for the opportune moment, and less than fifteen feet from the collision, I shouted: "Wall!" The ring suddenly stopped, and the shield holders anchored themselves in ce. *Sbam!* The first running opponent bounced like a ball off the wall, ending up on the ground half-stunned. The second managed to get close to attempt a mace blow which I quickly intercepted with my shield, only to be pushed sideways by Todd''s shield on my left and blocked, with impressive coordination, by Hugo Wull''s hammer on my right. The poor suicide bomber copsed to the ground, half dead, without even knowing what weapon had cracked his helmet so brutally. The third, the one furthest back among the three, reared up like a bolted horse and recoiled from the danger, waiting for reinforcements to arrive. "We''re almost there! Resume the march!" The double ring of northern warriors obeyed. We reached the predetermined point in seconds; a gap between the Trident faction and the Valley, less than sixty feet from the centre of the Arena. "Nine of the Trident on the left nk, iing!" Reported William, our support lookout. "Another dozen Tyroshi and Lysenians from behind!" Warned Ser Peter, the rearguard leader. ''Plus ten more from the Vale in front of us...'' By the looks of it, Lynesse''s tip was valid. Ser Lyl Corbray wanted to be remembered as the first knight to cross swords with Bloody Snow. The three groups approached at a slow pace without colliding with each other... As expected, the factions formed a momentary coalition against the North. Not even a minute had passed since the starting signal, and we were already surrounded... "Ready to engage in battle!" I raised my sword high and thundered, "Like an Anvil!" "Like an Anvil!!! Wuuoaarrg!!!" More than half of my fellow soldiers roared unison, tightening the circle as each prepared to greet their opponent. The fight began, and it was anything but a disy of knightly fencing - it was a tavern brawl. Aggressive and dirty shes, jostling between shields, blows that hardly distinguished enemy or ally. A couple of men were already on the ground, tumbling with each other between fists, headbutts and knees. I saw Greatjon nt his broadsword in the sandy loam to grab a Tyroshi from behind, lift him with all his armour in the air and throw him like a boulder at a couple of Lysenians. Maege Mormont and Wober cleaved their clubs as gracefully as a fly swatter, shredding and grinding any living thing in front of them. Theo Knott grabbed a shield of a knight of House Piper to bring it close to him and battered his helmet with fists. Very few relied on long weapons for the counter-offensive. Myrades from the North were fierce and skilled warriors, but they were far from being Winter Guardians. Their unity and formation werecking and chaotic, yet our opponents'' seemed ''pitiful'' inparison. We had the advantage of unity while our opponents could hardly keep from fighting each other. The first ring more than managed to fend off the first wave, while the second provided support from behind. A knight with the zon of House Upcliff adorned with a respectable [Level 6; Rank Page] found his way to parry and try his luck. "Fall, unbeliever!" Apparently, the seed of rivalry between the Knights of Seven and the Green Knights was sprouting fast. *Stiiiin!*, *Crack!*, "Uaaarrghh....!" I parried the unbnced two-handed sh from above with ease, and without any qualms, I used my shield to decisively strike the right knee that was too unbnced towards the front, fracturing it. Another Knight of the Valley, unidentified, tried to grab my shield and drag me forward... I let him, but in turn, used the force of the momentum to throw it into the jaws of Greatjon and William, immediately behind me. I didn''t even turn around. By now, the fate of that poor soul was in the hands of the Old Gods'' mercy... I returned to the position after the jaws of the North spat a chewed and digested Valley Man back into the sand. And I did my fair share in helping the group repel the first wave. A good dozen men from the Free Cities, the Rivends and the Valleyy on the ground, some unconscious, others bruised and in pain. Some reinforcements arrived, and our enemies attempted a second assault, paying a high price in bruises, fractures and dislocated ligaments. Our group also suffered casualties, albeit minimal. A Cerwyn House Sword and a Manderly Knight were forced to retreat, and a couple more men were visibly wounded. But the price was negligible... we were averaging seven enemy casualties for every one of our losses. After another two minutes of brutal fighting, the opponents began to fearfully distance themselves. Only one knight, d in fine steel armourcquered in the colours of House Corbray, dared to step forward. "You''re mine, little pussy! Uargh!", "No, Barge! Hold the positio..." I tried to warn, but it was toote. The ns warrior charged forward with shield and axe, distancing himself too far from the front line. The skirmish was short and brutal... First, the Knight of the Valley ughtered poor Barge in less than five exchanges. Then, after the Northman was on his knees, totally unarmed, Lyn Corbray turned to me. "There you are, ''Ser'' of the Saplings..." *Smack!* Ser Lyn aggressively struck onest hilt blow topletely ouw Barge of n Norrey... Afterwards, the bastard dealt an unnecessary kick to the poor, already-defeated man. "I challenge you, Ser Duncan Tallhart! Face me if you dare!" Promulgated Ser Lyn loudly so that the whole arena witnessed. A couple of the Valley''s men spaced out to allow room for the Knight who issued the official challenge... This was one of the few unspoken rules of Scrum that was most respected. The only glimmer of chivalry allowed in that tangle of chaos and violence. When someone announced a challenge to a duel in a tournament and the other side epted, no one was to interfere. Theo Norrey was about to charge at Corbray, seeking revenge for his n member, but I stopped him by raising a hand. "Think about dragging Barge away, Theo..." then I turned to the man who threw down the gauntlet. "I ept your challenge, Ser!" A small arena in the arena formed. Competitors, still intent on fighting instead of assisting, were pushed back by the Northern and Valley factions to eliminate any source of the disturbance. Ser Lyn advanced slowly, armed with a shield, longsword and a smile thirsting for blood and glory. The man was a [Level 9; Rank Knight], perhaps the best sword in the Valley... Lyn Corbray won his fame at the Battle of the Trident, ying Prince Lewyn Martell, one of Aerys II''s Kingsguards, in a duel and raising the ruined fortunes of Vale''s troops against the ten thousand Dornish spears... The Knight who wrested from his elder brother''s hands, by merit and right of conquest, ''Lady Farlow'', one of the few Valyrian swords still circling in Westeros. ''A worthy opponent at the start of the race... So be it.'' Zick had advised me not to rely on spells or The Gates Locks for this contest. Not that the aim was to retain my true abilities, but more to sharpen and temper my basic ones, gaining as much experience as possible in this theoretically ''Non-Lethal'' test. I opened the honours of the dance first, throwing myself forward with shield and sword raised. Lyn flinched to the side, intercepting and dampening the shield''s impact with his own. Then the swordsman attempted a sh towards my back... I allowed the sword to collide with my tes. *Stoonggn!*the Corbray had expended a lot of energy on that blow, hoping to destabilise me. Damascus'' armour absorbed every Newton of force, redistributing it evenly throughout his body. What should have been a blow magically turned into a gentle pat on the back... I took the opportunity by surprise for a lightning twist followed by a sh from below, concealed to thest by my shield. Although with unexpected difficulty, Ser Lyn managed to intercept it with excellent footwork. But the counterattack was only just beginning. I wore less weight and was less limited by metal friction than my opponent, and without hesitation orpliments, I took full advantage of that advantage. Shield strikes, double side shes, lunges, remissions, counterattacks... I didn''t give my opponent a moment''s respite. Finally, Ser Lyn took a blow on his shoulder and retreated three steps to catch his breath. "A good assault, no doubt about it... But now, it is my turn." Intimated the Corbray. "Less talk and more action, Ser," I replied. "Uaargh!" Lyn threw his shield to the ground, brandished his sword with two hands and charged like a fury, sparing nothing. The series of attacks was swift, precise and ruthless, a veritable storm of des that could have given even the current Disciple-Followers of the Watcher a run for their money. Ser Lyn''s fame was well deserved. Between his fierce assaults, Lyn tried several times to push me towards the human wall that witnessed the duel and demarcated our perimeter. Still, with the help of the right, the chivalrous and cushioning audience, I remained steadfast and unbowed. I concentrated my attention on the defence of my head and the stability of my legs, letting every other non-critical blow go to waste... I wanted to wear down my opponent''s stamina while sparing my own. After less than a minute, Lyn began to show signs of frustration. "Relying on your precious armour is all you can do, Bloody Snow!" Roared the Knight of the Valley, resuming the assault. A sh to the arm, a lunge to the ribs, several swords to the shoulder straps... Nothing. The armour was a wall of rubber. My body gave no sign of yielding. A few cracks began to show on Lyn''s blunt sword. A second enchanted effect of the armour. The magic object would return some of the energy of the blow to its owner... The Knight''s hands began to tremble. Lyn must have felt more than just a tingle on his fingers. "Anf... Anf... Where has the legendary fame of the Hero of the North gone!" Lyn began to gasp. My basic Warrior level had to be at the pinnacle of Level 9. A barrier had to be broken to reach the height of Level 10*... I threw my shield to the ground, replicating the double-handed sword style. "It''s Coming." ***** End Part I *Author''s note: [A reminder to all readers. Pdins and other ''Blesseds'' hold a dual-level system: -Natural one (Basic one that any other individual inos possesses). Example: Ser Lyn Corbray [Level 9; Rank Knight]. -Supernatural or Artificial. Example Duncan [Level 5 as Pdin], Jaime [Level 0 as Pdin], Aeron Greyjoy [Level 4 as Cleric]. Mc, like any other individual, can increase their Natural Level like anyone else, through: Trainings, experiences and studies. However, for any Supernatural level increase (in this case: Pdin) he must meet the specifications of the Divine Ritual. In this chapter, Duncan uses the term ''Base'' because Mc is the exception to the rule. That is, through Zick''s technique, The Closing Gates, his Natural proficiency level increases abnormally during use]. Chapter 183: A Great Start (II) Chapter 183: A Great Start (II) POV: Barristan Selmy Great Arena. While a duel between a Knight anointed by the Seven faced another anointed by the Old Golds... ------------- This was not round to seek a chivalrous duel against Prodigy Boy... So there was nothing honourable about this first phase of the contest. Barristan only had to concentrate on the first objective that would pave the way to his goal: conquer and defend. Selmy had been chosen to lead the Cronds faction. Although the twenty-six-member group included two other worthy white swords: Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Preston Greenfield, most of therades were scions of noble birth who had only dreamt of a battlefield. The training and coordination of many of the ''Knights'' of the Cronds went to waste... Thoros of Myr''s ming sword and Ser Balon Swann''s mace partlypensated for this significant deficiency, but their chances of victory in this contest were precarious. *Stiing!* *Stuff!* "Stick together!" Barristan thundered after disarming andnding a double sh on a warrior of House Haw. Themand shout almost bounced off amidst the utter chaos of shouting and shing metal around them, but a good half received the order. The Cronds faction was squeezed between three poles: Ironborns, Dornians and men of The Reach. In less than a quarter of an hour, six of theirrades had already retreated, and a good dozen more were wounded and heavily fatigued. But luckily for them, The Reach and Dorne were mostly at each other''s throats, and it seemed to be the faction led by House Tyrell that was the favourite. Prince Oberyn was holding as many as two knights of House Florent and Redwine in the centre, but on the other hand, the swords of House Hightower and Bulwer were undermining the left nk of the Dornians, making their way towards the centre. "Barristan! We must concentrate our forces on the Ironborns! We will be torn to pieces if we stay in the centre!" Shouted Thoros at his side as he continued to batter an Ironborn''s shield with his wildfire-disyed sword to pieces and on the verge of catching fire. Barristan took a breath to assess the chaotic situation. Thoros was partly right; they could not be surrounded in the middle. "No! The Lannisters are behind them, waiting to pounce on the wounded prey! We must force an exit!" A few suicidal fools attempted to assault the West Faction. Their Leader andmander, Jaime Lannister, had a good idea of cing the gpole in the hands of Ser Gregor Clegane. No conscientious contestant wanted to ask the Riding Mountain to kindly hand over the pole. The faction of the Wests had an unbroken herd of ravenous Lions patiently waiting for the other predators to pounce on each other. Thoros nodded, and Barristan moved to the opposite front, addressing hisrades with the followingmand: ''Ser Balon, Ser Mandon and you three, defend the rear guard! Everyone else, with me! Assault the right nk of Dorne! Let us breakthrough!" Barristan and Thoros charged first, followed by an honest roar of war in answering assent. Barristan''s sword cleaved mercilessly towards a distracted and worn-out member of House Lemonwood, unseating him in one move. Thoros and Ser Preston thrust like charging aurochs at theirrades beside them, creating a breach. The Dornians could not hold, their right nk copsing like a house of cards, leaving The Reach an easy victory over the measly dozen remaining. Barristan had been right. As soon as the Cronds group withdrew from the fray, Ser Jaime ordered to assault the Ironborns group from behind, allowing their group a more essible retreat. Only two members failed to escape from the clutches of Chaos. An almost inevitable but nevertheless eptable loss. Now that space was open again, Barristan studied the situation... The North was caught in a pincer between the Vale and the Free Cities coalition, and a duel seemed to ur within a circle. By the side of that group, the Rivends was on the verge of giving way against an unlikely group of mercenaries and Hedge Knights, led by a shy Knight in red armour. ''They''re too far away. We''ll never make it in time.'' The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard stood astonished for a moment at the impressive disy of skill by that Red Knight and three other warriors bearing the zons of that strange Leader from the East who had given his King a run for his money during the auction. The fencingbination was an unstoppable typhoon that swept away any glimmer of defence. Twenty Allied swords were on the sidelines surrounding the blue banner. Only those four were assaulting the dozen Rivermen left to defend the g, and they weren''t just winning... They were routing them! ''It seems there isn''t just one Bloody Snow who deserves my attention...'' Barristan awoke with celerity from the inappropriate enchantment. There was definitely a better time to take the side of a spectator. The elderly knight scrutinised his attention from the opposite side, analysing the remaining possibilities. The most affordable prey was... "There!!! Assaulting the Summer Inds faction! Chaargeee!!!" "Uaaaarghh!" Seventeen swords and hammers from the Cronds answered theirmander''s call, charging behind a halved group of strangers on the brink of defeat. ***** End POV. ------------ POV: Jaime Lannister In the middle of the fray. Immediately after, eighteen crownd swords assaulted the backs of a dozen warriors of the Summer Isles... -------- In his retinue, the Young Lion and ten other swords of the West threw themselves brutally into the chaotic cloud of metal and dust. Jaime absolutely had to lead his group to victory. Not for his own honour, not for that of his family or the West, but for mere personal gain. It would not be possible to face the Red Knight at his best in this round, and, stock part of that group''s skills and guerri strategy, Jaime was confident that his chosen opponent would reach the second stage of the fray. Old Zick had good reason to be so confident in his champion... The Kingyer had witnessed with his own eyes the defeat of Lord Jason Mallister at thetter''s hands. The Red Knight had disarmed and forced Mallister to surrender in less than three exchanges and then demolished a Frey Knight, a Piper and the heir Bracken soon afterwards... No one seemed to be his match. ''We must win this battle!'' There was no other option. Faction West would need more material time to reach that group. The Red Knight faction must have already retired victorious from the first race. If all of the stillpeting members of a group had crossed the red perimeter with the two gs, that group would have automatically advanced to the second stage. "Ser Lyle, Ser Addam! The g-bearer!" The two knights did not hesitate in throwing themselves towards the indicated prey. Poor Ser Wex Unfear would soon be robbed of his precious burden. Ser Lyle and Wex were both part of the Hundred Volunteers... It could be said that the two were formerrades. Jaime was confident that Ser Lyle would bring his club down on the boy in an ''honourable'' and ''chivalrous'' manner without causing him too many unnecessary fractures and bruises... The Ironmen didn''t stand a chance. The Haw House had remained strong, but all the best axes and swords of the Iron Inds had perished in the Failed Rebellion. Beyond that, the Ironborncked skill innd battles. Cohesion and discipline werecking, and these men were not used to yful fighting. Only Lord Amon Fury and his four loyal knights seemed to be able to maintain that minimum of martial unity... Jaime''s sword vibrated fiercely against Lord Fury''s shield, forcing the man to retreat. Ser Ruben''s and Ser Edward''s swords attempted a counterattack. Still, Jaime anticipated the duo by parrying the first sh with his shield and rotating his longsword along with his torso for a sweep from below. Edward became unbnced and fell to the ground. Jaime''s armed sidekick, his cousin, Daven Lannister, took the opportunity to throw himself at the man and pin him down with his own weight on the already heavy armour and shout: "Surrender, Ser!" Daven drew his own pointed stiletto towards the helmet''s slit to symbolise the hypothetical death that would ensue. "Urg... I... I surrender..." By now, all that was missing was Amon, Ruben and another handful of wounded ironmen to stop the fight. Lord n and Ser Ruben returned to their positions, showing signs of wanting to continue the duel. "You cannot win, Lord Fury... Throw your swords to the ground." Jaime suggested, raising his sword and shield as a sign of respect. "Aye, Ser... We cannot. But we can still fight for the dignity of defeat." Jaime weed the choice. The Pdin had to give credit for the effort. Jaime recalled that a few months earlier at Pike, Amon and hisrades hovered between Level 5 and 6. Then, young Wex was not even on the pinnacle of Level 4, but now, all five of Pyke''s Heroes were at least on the stage of Level 6. And Ser Ruben Iron had even broken through the Squire Rank of Level 7... The new Lord of Pike and his Swordsmen had trained strenuously during this short time, increasing their fighting skills at an astonishing speed. His cousin Daven was an honest [Level 6 Rank Lord]. So, Jaime would leave Amon to him and take Ser Ruben for himself. The skirmishsted less than a minute... But as soon as the entire Ironborn faction was annihted and the g conquered, an rm came from the rear guard. "Jaime! The Martells are stealing the Ironborn banner from us!" It was the voice of his friend Addam. Jaime abandoned his attention to his defeated opponents and turned suddenly. That Red Viper Bastard was fleeing with a handful of men with two banners in their hands. The Dornians had given up the fight against the Reach to attempt onest surprise assault on a much more ptable dying prey! "Fuck! Don''t let them get away! They must not reach the red line!" It was Chaos. Half of the Lions hade into conflict with the members of the Reach. Those devious Dornians had sacrificed two-thirds of their members to hold back their opponents and grant their Prince an escape. Oberyn and four other swords had slithered away between the opening between the Ironborn and the Westmen... Luckily for them, the pointless skirmish between The Reach and The West quickly ceased. Instead, the two groups joined forces to hunt down the g thieves. The retreat was halted just in time. The five Dornians were surrounded by over twenty enemies with red and green zons. "That does not belong to you, Dornian Prince." Jaime pointed his sword at Oberyn. "The right of conquest thinks differently, Kingyer. If you want it, conquer it with the sword, not vain words. Prove to this arena that you cannot just stab kings in the back!" The provocation had been publicly issued. It was not an escape but an official duel that the Red Viper sought... ''Level 9; Rank King...'' Oberyn Martell was the warrior of celebrated fame sung about. The Prince''s mighty ensign and bearer of the Dornish yellow banner, Ser Archibald Yronwood (Level 8; Rank King), thundered in turn, ''I challenge any Hignd Knight for the right to this g...! Well?! None of you cowards dares to face me in an honest One Vs One duel?!" Murmurs of anger and expletives erupted among the members of The Reach-West coalition... "I ept the challenge, Ser... And I will take back what belongs to us." A massive man, d in thick steel with a faded zon of a white tower crowned with mes on a smoke grey, armed with a bastard sword, stepped forward. Another formidable [Level 9; Rank Lord]. "It''s Greysteel!", "Come on, Ser Garth!", "Honour to House Hightower!" grew ovations of support from the faction of The Reach. But Jaime''s gaze was not on Garth, Archibald, or Oberyn... No. A shortness of breath simr to the first encounter with the Watcher struck the Young Lion. It had been a few seconds, but Jaime''s eyes had captured him. They had captured another dazzling monstrous number within the ranks of the Reach... Above the head of the knight-unknown to him-who stood beside Garth Hightower, hoisted a monstrous and inexplicable: {Level 11; Rank King}... ''Who the heck is that monster! What''s his name? Who does he serve? To whom does that banner belong?! He''s from Westeros... What the fuck is going on in this continent?!'' Jaime peered for the first time and in gloomy astonishment at the knight d in bruised and dirty armour whose name had not been sung in any bad nor ever appeared in any tournament or battle of note in the past decades... Ser Jon Cupps. Now alert to Jaime''s abnormal interest in him, the man looked away, backing a step to mingle behind the rows of ranting men waiting for the big show. "So, Little Lion...? Does the idea of facing a real warrior in a fair fight terrify you by any chance?... Uh uh! Looks like the flower minions have bigger balls than you." Continued to taunt Oberyn by pointing his spear at Jaime. The Kingyer awoke from his paralysis. There was a better time and a ce to reshuffle all the heraldry of Westeros. Jaime would do the necessary researchter. After all, someone simr to him must have picked up on the same anomaly and whom he could ask... At least fifty contestants were gathering in a circle and anxiously awaiting the answer from the best sword in the West. "... Let no one interfere! The victors shall have the right to leave this camp with the spoils of conquest. Let no one... and I repeat: "NO ONE!"y a finger on the winning faction!" Roared the Young Lion before approaching only the Viper with a venomous tongue. "I ept your challenge, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell." The Red Viper showed an evil, warlike smile. Not only the small circle of spectators but the whole arena erupted in jubtion. Tens of thousands of eyes and voices were directed at the imminent double duel about to begin. -------- End Chapter. ***** Chapter 184: The Steel Show Chapter 184: The Steel Show ******* Forgive the dy. A very messy week. I hope the chapter is good enough to partly make up for your dissatisfaction. Happy reading, dear readers! ******* POV: Sandor Clegane On the arena fence staff andpetitors. Just before three duels began... **** Sandor cursed himself for the umpteenth time for his weakness. The Hound silently grunted another twinge of pain as he clutched the wrist of his sword hand, blindfolded with splints and garnished with a linen band tied around his neck. That damned fractured hand wasn''t even suitable for wiping his butt, let alone holding and wielding a sword or spear... His swollen and bruised left foot and knee also begged for mercy, but at least, albeit with difficulty, Sandor could still walk. The shameful fight he had lost to the Drunken Knight had taken a heavy toll. It would take at least two more weeks of rest to get back into the game. So the Hound was forced to withdraw from the contest... It would only have been pointless and ridiculous suicide to participate in the Great Melee. Maybe, just maybe, Sandor had a slim chance of participating in the joust. His wrist could not move, but his hand could still close firmly and grasp a shield. Wielding thence with his left hand and relying on the horse for weight on his legs, Sandor could still beat some inexperienced rider... ''Tsz... What good would that do? Risking myst assets for some second-hand horses and rusty bits of scrap metal?'' Sandor thought bitterly. Even if he had unseated a third-ratepetitor, the armour and horse he had won would not have relieved his bitter situation. The truth was that the Hound didn''t give a shit about gold or his own well-being. Sandor just wanted a favourable battleground to cause his brother every possible evil. To prove to that evil Mountain of dung and steel that, now, he too could fight. He, too, could hurt, kill, and inflict pain and humiliation... But this was not the day. If there was one thing Sandor had learned from that tragic lesson of two nights before, it was: ''I''m still too fucking weak. You''re fucking weak!'' Sandor cursed himself again when... "Does it bother you if I join you in this good vantage point, Not-a-Ser?" a devilish, irritating, and excruciatingly recognisable voice caught him off guard... It was the fucking Drunken Dancer. "... If I answer, ''Of course I fucking do.'' Would you leave? Or would you break my remaining good limbs to make me?" Haymitchughed, shamelessly taking his seat without permission. "I apologise for the wrist, ''but'' you hadn''t left me much choice... You were stubborn about not letting go of the sharp de, and you were so pissed off. I wouldn''t have gotten away with a few rough cuts or a simple hole in my belly. Am I right?" Ser Haymitch asked ironically. "You say right. If I could have, I would have gutted you from your tongues to your neck and shoved that wooden stick up your arse." Sandor replied with a furious grunt as he turned to point out the jester and dozens of other injuries for which he had not received an apology. The good side of his face was swollen to the point that it looked like the face of someone who had chosen to use a beehive instead of a pillow for the night. "... It remains nicer to look at than the other side." Sandor cashed in on the barb quietly and with such... such patience. As much as Clegane wanted to hate the man, the Hound remained indebted to him... If he had wanted to that night, the drunkard could have imed his life or not cared and let Sandor charge badly towards an inevitable end. Haymitch had even dragged his unconscious ass between thefortable, warm sheets of the Singing Maiden instead of leaving him in that forlorn alley in the cold and filth. Clegane would never admit it openly, but receiving the warm care and attention of the tavern''s finches, especially Jenny, had been alright. Sandor resumed observing the chaotic and brutal unfolding of the melee. Haymitch gave him the grace of a scarce minute''s silence... But, strangely enough, that silence was bing increasingly uneasy. "Why are you here?" Asked the Hound, always keeping his gaze firmly focused on a pile of armour almost eight feet high. Apparently, Gregor was not going to have much fun at this early stage. The Kingyer was exploiting the Riding Mountain as the keeper of the banner, and no one was trying to test the defences of Tywin Lannister''s Dog. "I have already told you. This is an excellent observation point. From here, there is a good view of all thepeting factions, and it can also enjoy shade and discretion." Haymitch replied. "I meant, ''Why to stay and observe when you can participate...?'' Are you so full of coins that you can ignore an eighty thousand gold dragon prize?" "Nha, I''m fine like that. I''ve already won fifteen thousand at the archerypetition. Between taverns, whores and other fancies, the hoard shouldst me for at least three or even four moons..." The Hound could not hold back a slight grimace of a smile mixed with a rusty grunt ofughter. Not even a garrison would have managed to squander so much money quickly on booze and whores. That gold was enough to build a small manor from nothing and maintain a servant for decades. "Ahah, I finally managed to wring a grin from those hardened pieces of leather you call lips. And by the way, am I supposed to take that question as apliment? Are you implying I am skilled enough to prevail in the fray?" Sandor had dropped his breeches; he bit his tongue at his stupidity. The Hound replied with a grunt of contempt at the catch, then spilt the beans. "...Goldfinch sang a bad about you... There was a time when you weren''t thought to be just a harassing drunkard. You were Ser Haymitch of Raventree Hall, ''The Imperious Drunkard''. The most frequent tavern-goer in the Rivends and the de most feared by the Brackens and every rabble of bandits from Tumbleton to the Twin Towers." "Long ago... Now I''m just ''The Drunkard''..." Jenny had told him of the reason for his retirement from the Rivends. Then Haymitch darted. "Oh, look at that! The Young Lion and The Red Viper are about to go at each other''s throats. And the skirmish between Bloody Snow and the Knight Corbray is also getting more heated." The Hound did not overlook the glissade on the subject, nor did he miss the direction of the man''s gaze. Haymitch was looking for someone else in the middle of that quagmire. "I bet a jug of red on the Dornish!" Came out suddenly the Drunkard, extinguishing the veil of mncholy altogether. "Without poison and with blunt fangs, the Red Viper doesn''t stand a chance against the Kingyer... I''ll take that bet." Even if he lost, the Hound could get away with serving the Drunkard some sour, cheap wine. But if he had won, he might as well have grabbed the best red in that City of Fucking Rich People. Then, he could y along and win a little satisfaction in the heath of misery. "Do you still intend to join the joust, Clegane?" Haymitch asked before the duel began. "And how the fuck do you think I could participate looking like this?" The bastard liked to throw salt in the wounds. "That wasn''t a ''No''." Then Haymitch continued, " Maybe I could help you get back on track." "What if the answer was a ''Yes''? How do you think you could help me? By squiring me? By holding up my running spear? Pff... I can barely wipe my arse, let alone hit a target with a spear, and the jousting will begin in less than two days." The Hound. "Maybe I could... I happen to know a Healer. The guy is a real pain in the ass and triple entendre, but he also possesses a portentous healing art. And as it happens, this individual owes me a couple of favours and is right in this town, within reach..." Sandor scrutinised the interlocutor carefully... Was this another joke, or was the guy serious? The Hound had already received a visit from a Maester, and the healer told him it would take at least a moon of absolute rest to fully recover... But strange rumours and stories circted throughout the taverns of Westeros. Many imed to have known fellows or acquaintances of friends who had been miraculously healed by a barefoot Septon from Quiet Isle... And Ser Meryn Trant had recently recovered from wounds far more serious than his own. Sandor knew this from first-hand experience. It took months, if not years, to recover from burns like that, and instead, that pussy Meryn was on her feet after only two weeks... "What would this ''Miraculous Healer'' want from me in return?" Asked the Hound after a few seconds of pondering. "From you? Oh, nothing you can''t afford. Only that you don''t mention it to anyone... Would you be able to keep a vow of silence, Not-a-Ser?" Clegane remained impassive and silent for almost a minute. Why was the man so insistent on helping him? To what end? What did he want from him? Another sword tomand for the ranks of the Wolves? This shitty world took a toll on everything. And anything true or pure had to be defended day and night without ever letting your guard down if you didn''t want the world to take it away... Bullshit like ''Honour'', ''Love'' and ''Friendship'' only existed in bedtime stories. "What do you care about me...? Why are you doing this?" Asked the Hound. Haymitch also needed a few seconds to remove his mask, but the man replied. "There is goodness in you." Sandor instinctively averted his gaze, hiding it in the face of anger and scars. "You don''t know shit about me," Sandor replied defensively. "I know that when you were ten, you begged Prince Rhaegar to dismiss Gregor from his knighthood, trying to warn him of the monster he really was... I know who you are. I know about your childhood, your father, your sister... and your brother." Sandor froze. No one could have known... It took him months and all his father''s political influence to get a private audience with the prince. Rhaegar swore to the Seven that he would keep this confidential... "Don''t try to hide it with that shitty attitude of yours, Clegane. There is goodness hidden in your gaze. And something more than mere revenge. Something desperately yearning for a just reason to fight." Haymitch concluded, "... Because you are a broken sword, Clegane. You and I are two broken swords, consumed by pain, rusted by loneliness. But unlike me, you are still young, with a life full of possibilities. You haven''t yet discerned the little good in this lousy world... you can still heal." Sandor had never felt so ufortable in his life. A cowardly part inside him longed to escape and get as far away as possible from the cause of that difort. The man was undecided whether or not to ept the help offered him... but then, the Hound''s head and neck made this small but at the same time mammoth leap of stupid and naive faith, and he nodded. "Good... You will receive a visit from my healer by next dawn." the drunkard pulled out a sk and, only after suspiciously sniffing its contents, took a small sip. Then the man handed the sk to Sandor and proposed: "Now let us enjoy this Steel Show." ---------------------- End POV. ***** POV: Duncan In the middle of a duel. While two spectators were enjoying a show between alcohol and silence... ------- I intercepted a mighty sh from above and dampened the energy of the blow by deflecting it to the side. Corbray was physically stronger than me. After various tests and research, with the help of Qyburn, I realised that strength statistics were very subjective. Other factors came into y, such as the difference in mass. Currently, my body mass was around 100 pounds. In a mere Strength contest, my 15 points would be suppressed at the same statistic against a grown man twice my weight... It was a theory simr to the weight divisions of professional boxing, where 15 or 20 pounds more or less was too abysmal a difference for two boxers. One example was Ramas. The man probably possessed the hardest and strongest 160 pounds of flesh in the Known World, but Baragh or Narbo would still have fractured his wrist and hand like dry twigs in an arm wrestling contest. The Closure of the Gates, exploited to its limits, had allowed me tost a few minutes against Victarion Greyjoy''s 300 pounds of muscle and 19, if not 20, killing points. A monstrous strength that would have crushed even Denys Drumm''s. *Stiiin!*, *ng!*, *Stiing!* my sword and Lyn Corbray''s continued to generate sparks and ngours. The Knight of the Valley had stopped wasting his breath with vain words. Corbray was bing more and more tired. I held my own without too much effort in a forced de-to-de sh. I could feel his arms trembling. I tried to kick my left foot forward to destabilise him, but Lyn preceded the surprise blow by changing position. There was no denying it. Corbray''s footwork and fencing technique was excellent. Ser Lynpensated for hisck of stamina and his injuries with technique and strategy. "Ruaargh!" The Knight attempted another fierce assault,nding a feint from below and a left fist. Then came in rapid session four de swings from all directions. I parried two of them and dodged the third, but the fourth swing hit my forearm. The armour made the blow negligible. I began my counter-offensive by harnessing the strength of my legs and went for a lunge which Lyn dodged by leaping to the side, but the man hadnded right where I had intended. I curbed the charge and threw myself to the side, swinging a long sweeping sh. The man dodged the second blow with difficulty and threw himself too far back. I pressed the unbnce and smashed the opening in front of me with a barrage of lunges and half-slices. Corbray closed in his fragile metal shell like a turtle surrounded by dogfish. Shoulder, chest, belly, knee and head... I rang that man like a bell. I also gave a hard blow to his left hand, which Lyn absorbed with a grunt of pain. The man retreated further, looking for a way out of that hailstorm and, impressively, found it by rolling forward through sand and dirt. In the process, Lyn lost his helmet, drenching his head in wet sand... Now the upraised man had not only been injured but humiliated. The beautiful bright colours of House Corbray had been stained from head to toe with brown loam, yellowish sand and drops of blood. "Spuit! Damn you... I''ll kill you, Bastard." Intimated Ser Lyn under his breath after spitting a lump of blood and sand. My opponent was at a disadvantage. For every hit on the armour tes, two of mine entered more precisely and decisively between the exposed joints. Lyn''s left hand was almost useless, and the right could no longer wield the weapon''s weight. "If I had-" I anticipated the threat. "If you had used Lady Farlow, I would have taken out your insides with my Red Rain at the start of the second assault, Ser. You would have already died three times before you could even wound me." "Bullshit...! Without that armour, you wouldn''t have been able to stand up to me for even a minute!" Corbray. I raised my guard and repositioned myself with my sword, ready for the final act. "You are right... Words without actions are only wind. I will prove it to you in this final assault." The feeble defence left to my opponent had no more secrets for me. In those three minutes of exchanges, I had even memorised the habits of footwork. I did not grant the Knight the mercy of regaining his strength. It was not an honour he had deserved nor one he would ever bestow. I advanced slowly but surely towards my prey. Corbray tried to fend me off with sluggish, chaotic blows. I parried and deflected each blow, delivering a gloved right to the liver. The man''s breath broke as he trudged backwards with his sword quivering. I advanced again. This time I only had to deflect a sh on the level of a novice page, and I swung at the victim''s bare face with a backhanded blow, causing him to spit blood and copse to the ground. "On your feet." Corbray was still slumped on all fours coughing up blood. "I said, On your feet, Ser! I do not stoop to rage on helpless men on the ground. And my hand quivers to strike you again." I released my grip on the hilt, removed my helmet and grabbed Corbray''s ruff to raise him. The body and armour were too heavy to lift with my teenage body... I cast the spell [Bless] to have better control over my will. At that point, I loosened the chains that bound the Beast''s right arm and tapped into some of that chaotic and violent dormant force. As expected, the demon took advantage of that small window of opportunity, attempting to gain the upper hand... Impulses of endorphin and adrenalin tried to seduce me and drag me back into that oblivion of chaos and madness, but they failed... The strength in my right arm overflowed. I quickly lifted Corbray''s two hundred and fifty pounds of flesh and steel and then mmed him back down with a devastating left hook. I lifted him again, hitting him in the belly with another hook and a headbutt to the nasal septum. A wave of blood spray ran over me. Lyn could not have withstood another one without losing consciousness. So, before delivering the third blow, I release the most minor possible portion of Lay of Hands. Sufficient to keep him from passing out but not strong enough to reinvigorate him. And so I did for the fourth and then the fifth... I took my time... I went on, striking until the victim''s swollen, purple face was on the verge of copse. But before thest spark of lucidity withered, in the same tone of voice I used with a certain witch from the East, I whispered the exact words into Lyn''s ear: "This is for Barge, you Arrogant Piece of Shit. Always remember, Ser... {We Do Not Forget}." I dropped the body in the sand and turned around. A dozen men from the Valley standing there to witness the event stood petrified by the brutal spectacle. Their faces were demoralised masks polluted with terror. This was only the beginning. Ser Corbray had only been the appetiser for the reply message I wanted to send to Lord Leyton and his daughter. I searched the stands for Lynesse''s gaze and found it. The maiden was beside Benfred, smiling and jubnt at my victory... Benfred was still too young, naive and unsuspecting to understand what kind of evil snake was at his side. It was up to me to intervene. In the next round, my fury would be directed at the pride of Oldtown. ''Approach my brother, Lynesse, and I will approach yours. Before long, we shall find out together if the fame and trust in Greysteel are well ced.'' By now, William and the rear guard had ultimately repelled the remaining assault attempts of the Triarchy coalition. Only the Vale remained. I gathered my helmet, sword and shield and turned to my remaining eighteenrades with sky-high morale, eagerness for action and impatience to receive orders... "The duel is over. Assault what remains of Ser Corbray''s faction... Tear to pieces those who still have the will to fight and bring me that damn g." ***** End Chapter. -------- Chapter 185: The Sword of the West Chapter 185: The Sword of the West POV: Jaime In the middle of a double duel. While a Knight of the Vale was being beaten to death... ---------- The third Gong had already sounded. This meant there were less than ten minutes to the end of the first half-hour. Not even two minutes had passed since the start of Jaime''s duel, but it seemed like an eternity to the knight... The Red Viper snapped again. The spear attempted a double lunge, Jaime deflected and flung aside and then attempted a counter-offensive, but the snake retreated too quickly, and Lion''s w did not have sufficient range to reach him. Oberyn was damned quicker than he was. It wasn''t just the difference in weight between the two suits of armour. That was the quickest and most responsive opponent Jaime had ever faced. By now, it was already four consecutive assaults that the Young Lion was forced into an unanswerable defence. Oberyn was not out of breath and had not even been noticeably wounded by the other shes. Jaime could not wait... In the long run, the spear would find an opening and leave a mark. So the Lion had to find a way to face his opponent briefly. Less than twenty feet away from them, Ser Archibald and Ser Garth were shing blow after blow at a hand-to-hand distance. Hammer Vs Bastard Sword. A tenacious and brutal fight based on strength and endurance. Oberyn sprang forward for the fifth time, battering him with a series of less powerful but more precise lunges. Again, his opponent was aiming at the exposed joints of his armour. *Sttiiing*, *Screethc!*, *ng!* the spear''s tip was not so ''blunt''. The cold iron left a groove on his breastte... Some Lannister blood would have been spilt without the steel te for protection. "...A weapon not exactly for the Tournament, Prince Oberyn." Said Jaime in a voice held at the first opportunity for breath between the two. The Knight of the West would never have shouted "Irregrity!" to the four winds, stooping to piteous Braavosi scenes. "I was not allowed to carry a sharp or pointed weapon inside the arena, Ser... But no regtion forbade me to carry a sharpening whetstone." Admitted the Dornian Prince with unashamed honesty. So, in that handful of minutes of waiting, he or one of his men had prepared to covertly and swiftly sharpen the spear''s point. "And I''m guessing that that reflection on the de''s edges is more than just your armourer''s colourful creativity..." In direct contact with the sunlight, the metal of the spear glistened with a peculiar purple reflection. The tip had been soaked in poison. "Uh, uh, uh... You imagine well, Kingyer. Fear not. It is nothing incurable, but keep the de away from your soft skin." The Viper circled around him again and attempted another assault. This time, the spear opted for a feint followed by a diagonal spin to strike the left nk. Jaime intercepted the shaft with metal and attempted to trap the spear between de and shield, but Oberyn reacted before his long wooden arm was even scratched. The Dornish did not give him a moment''s respite. Right side, left side, top, belly, legs... The spear came from all directions like an endless series of arrows shot by several toons of archers. Jaime used to shield and armour to the best of his ability to cover the critical points. ''Fight back, or be done with it!'' Jaime openlynded a full lunge to the side, but the spear deflected to the side, pushing the serpent a step too far forward, straight into Lion''s jaws as he leapt at the opportunity, charging ahead. Luckily for him, the tes seemed to hold, although the twinge was felt. But the pain took its toll on what he had hoped for. Finally, Oberyn was within range of his de. Jaime did not hesitate and unleashed all his cards, swinging his sword in search of a double sh. Oberyn parried the first with his left arm incquered steel, taking a discreet recoil, than the de deflected in search of the exposed neck. *Fiuu! * The de missed its target by less than a fingernail. Oberyn, in an unparalleled acrobatic manoeuvre, gave up his shield and used the momentum absorbed on his arm to sprint back, simultaneously spinning and kicking his own shaft with his right leg. But Jaime would not allow him to retreat like that. The Kingyer pursued the acrobat with a swinging sword in hand. The Kingyer stormed the retreating man with shes from all sides, advancing. None of the blowsnded. The acrobat spun to the side, backwards, pirouetting in the most evasive ways possible while making the most of his pole as defence and support. Credit where it''s due... Oberyn Martell was performing an acrobatic show even more incredible than that of the now deceased Braavosi prodigal son. The crowd went wild at the astonishing twist. Waves of ovations apanied each sessful stunt. However, the Prince''s run had reached the end of the line. A human wall of steel-d spectators awaited the Dornian at the end of the perimeter. ''You are mine!'' This is what the Young Lion roared inwardly before a second twist caught him off guard. Oberyn took advantage of the short space he left to hurl his spear towards Jaime like a javelin, straight for the face. ''Shit!'' Jaime barely had time to raise his shield and pray his grip on it was firm enough to absorb the impact... The iron collided with the oak, and the partially deflected shaft scratched the top of the helmet, passing the target behind him. Jaime managed to escape a bleak and final end, but he had utterly lost sight of his opponent... A strong impact on the calf came, and Lion''s stability copsed to the ground, his back and butt on the sandy loam. The Knight had difficulty getting up with the total weight of his armour. His cousin Daven came to the rescue to help him. "No...! Don''t you dare interfere, Daven! Take your fucking hand away now! This is a duel!" Roared Jaime with the urge to chop off that fucking limb. The recently knighted seventeen-year-old obeyed, intimidated, backing away without a breath. It took Jaime another good four seconds to get to his feet. That damned white cape had twisted into one of his leggings, and the seventy pounds of steel plus padding certainly hadn''t helped. In a real battlefield, an armoured knight on the ground was a man already half-doomed... If Martell had not sacrificed his only weapon to attempt thatst manoeuvre, Jaime would already have been forced to surrender through a spear aimed at his throat. The Dornian was thirty feet away, positioned in the centre, spear in hand again and waiting... ''I can''t win like this...'' Jaime realised after considering several futile alternatives. Oberyn would never fall for the same trap a second time, and he could not find a viable way to win a favourable position again... In that dark, dead-end moment, a distant but pressing eye presence from the stands caught Jaime''s attention. The Watcher''s gaze was upon him. And, as if sorcery allowed the old man to read his mind from that distance, the face of the elderly master-at-arms nodded, conveying a clear but silent message to the Young Lion. {"No, you cannot. One missed parry or one misstep, and it will be the end of you... What will the Lion do on the edge of the precipice with the hunter''s de at his throat??"} Was it a figment of his imagination? Or was it really witchcraft? But, at the moment, suppositions were of little interest, for a fierce and imcable wave of inspiration permeated inside Jaime. The swordsman had yet to y hisst cards... Instead, his mind was obsessed with the Red Knight and the coveted prize he would win if he proved himself worthy. But if he couldn''t face the Red Knight in this contest, what was stopping Jaime from proving to that old man, here and now, that this was not all he could do! ''I am not fighting to give my best but to win by risking as little as possible.'' Realised Jaime inwardly with fervent conviction. Now, the swordsman knew what had to be done. Jaime advanced slowly and parried himself in front of his opponent ten feet away. Oberyn stood waiting with one eye on the second duel about to conclude. "It seems Ser Archibald is about to be defeated by the celebrated Greysteel... But no matter. Having defeated you, there will soon be a showdown with Soldier Hightower." Ser Garth prevailed against the now spent and wounded Knight of House Yronwood. But Jaime had no interest in anything that happened outside his area. Westeros could have burned, earthquakes could have demolished his old home, tsunamis could have swallowed King''s Landing... none of this would have interfered in his small world, inhabited by only two individuals and decorated only by sand, leather and steel. The only world that existed in the here and now. The Lion nted the tip of his sword in the sand. The Dornian watched the scene with a frown of surprise and iprehension. "Am I to interpret this as a gesture of surrender, Kingyer...?" Oberyn asked in a subtle tone of mockery. "No, Dornish Prince... A request for a momentary reprieve. With your permission, Ser, I would need a brief minute before resuming our duel." Promulgated Jaime of House Lannister. "A minute''s respite...? And do you think this minute will help reverse this duel''s oue with its already decided ending?" Replied the Dornish with an air of amusement and confidence in his impending victory. "I am convinced of it. That minute will decree your defeat." Roared the Lion with equal confidence and little sly sincerity. "...Uh, uh... Uh, uh, uh... Ahahaha! You are as stupid and naive as a mule, but you have two balls bigger than an elephant, Kingyer! ...So be it. I''m not renowned for my chivalry, but you''ve whetted my curiosity." *Stump*, the base of the spear sank into the soft loam and stood straight and steady, with no hand wielding it. "You will have your minute." Jaime bowed his head in thanks and swiftly made the preparations he needed. First, the knight shed the heavy oak shield and tore off the sps between the shoulder straps, stripping himself of his white cape and throwing it to the ground. "Oh... You are seven years toote for that." Apanied Oberyn''s voice, along with someughter from the witnesses. But Jaime didn''t care and moved on to the shoulder straps, untying the knots without hesitation. The heavy, thick breastte fell to the ground... Then it was the turn of the helmet, the shoulder straps, the ruff, leggings, forearms, and even the padded jacket. "To seduce me, you''ll have to take off your shirt and breeches too." A wave of derision burst through the ranks. Only hisrades from the West held back. Hundreds of spectators in the standsughed and started hurling obscene jokes... "Ser Jaime, the Naked Lion! Ahahah!", "Do you even keep your breeches on, Kingyer! Puhahah!" In all likelihood, the spectatorughing the hardest was the King himself. His father would have hated him for it. The Old Lion hated it when anyone mocked him or his family name. But Jaime didn''t care; the whistling andughter were just faint annoying ringing in his ears. Finally, Jaime slipped off his studded leather gloves. The feel of his hand had to merge with the hilt. The Lion grasped the hilt of the sword, the only tool he needed to fight, and drew it, slicing through the air with a single arm movement. *Swiiinnn...* That was the sound that muffled everything. The clearest and most sublime sound of all. "Forgive the wait, Prince Dornian... Now, I am ready." Each word spoken was a disturbing rumble in the symphony of his breath. Oberyn abandoned the streak of hrity. "Mmm... Giving up protection for speed. I respect your choice, Ser." It was the first time Oberyn Martell had referred to him as ''Ser''. "However, I must warn you... The Poison imprinted in my de is not lethal in itself, but it has a very potent immediate-actingxative effect." Intimated the Viper. "A single scratch will be enough to lord your breeches over everyone and prove to tens of thousands of spectators that ''A Lannister Doesn''t Shit Gold''... Are you sure you want to continue, Ser Jaime?" Asked the Red Viper with an evil smile. A beaming smile that begged for his prey to answer, "Yes, I do." "Then I shall emerge from this fight without a scratch, Prince Oberyn." Replied a proud and ravenous roar. "So be it." The ted Dornian grabbed his staff with both hands, twirling it in the air to loosen his movements and prepare himself as best he could. *Swoomm*, *Sfuu*, *Sfuuom* The air being cut by the wooden rod generated a different sound from his thin de, but it was just as harmonious. Finally, the Lion''s body felt again that same feeling of power experienced at the battle of Pyke when Jaime was surrounded by danger on all fronts. A ce and time in which no mistakes were allowed... A climax in which the Young Lion had indeed given his best. Jaime threw himself into the danger first without hesitation, taking advantage of the far-swinging moment for an advance attack and vibrating his de in search of a diagonal cut. Oberyn retreated a step, dodging the first sh, then counter-attacked with the same spear strike aimed at his left shoulder. Jaime brandished his sword with both hands and intercepted the shaft, deflecting it with a silky smooth movement, apanying the force of the shaft over his scalp until it drove the poisoned point into the ground. The snake was momentarily surprised by the unexpected and difficult manoeuvre that had seeded and retreated backwards in less than a blink. Still, the lion''s w was already vibrating in pursuit. The noise was inaudible, but the touch confirmed the sessful, if minimal, cross-blow. The Viper''s chin had been grazed by the metal. Oberyn pivoted with his torso to attempt a sweeping blow, and the lion redirected in turn, ying anticipation to intercept him. *ang!* The contrast sang a rough metallic melody. Blow after blow, melody after melody, the two opponents continued to y without a moment''s respite. The Red Viper gave full rein to all his physical acrobatics to counter Lion''s unstoppable assault. Still, what the beast could not replicate with his more rigid and massive body, he made up for with the fluidity and technique of his w. Jaime''s sword vibrated and danced in strenuous contact with the wood and metal of the spear. His breath became regr and harmonised with the orchestra''s melody, generating a song that Jaime hoped would never end. The warm air in his lungs, the instinct moving his body like a puppet, the danger gently caressing his skin, his eyes and ears attentive in capturing every detail of the spectacle... A sublime moment. A stage on which he felt alive, for which Jaime had been born. The dancer had no idea how much time had passed. But he did know that the melody was slowing down more and more and that the sound of his counterpart''s breathing was no longer in time with the orchestra. Oberyn''s blows became more and more predictable, slower and less powerful. ''No... Please. Don''t stop ying. Keep singing with me!'' Jaime''s sword could have pierced through the musician''s defence at least a dozen times, but the Lion held back his ws and focused on the metal singing. The target was no longer the body but the tip of the spear... *Stiiinng*, *aang*, *Sdiing* magical sparks apanied the symphony orchestra, like those fireworks that pyromantic alchemists used to embellish the celebration of the first year of King Robert''s reign. Everything remained so fascinating, magical and wonderful. However, the opera still needed to bepleted. Something was missing from that symphony of instruments: a voice, a song, or a climax to reach sublimation. Hidden within him, Jaime sensed a strong desire, apelling need, to reach the summit, to stand up and ''Roar''. But then, before the culminating point could be reached, suddenly... *Craaack!* a malignant, harassing noise, apanied by a burst of splinters, suddenly intruded into the melody, extinguishing the great symphony altogether. Jaime''s heart wept a bitter tear as he saw that hispanion''s instrument had broken in half... The bubble burst, and the world returned to empty, silent and sad... Oberyn stepped back to catch his breath, barely wielding the two useless pieces of wood. "Anf... Anf... Sword! Anf! Anf...! Quickly! Give me a sword! " Commanded the Prince, drenched in sweat, staggering and with his lungs on the verge of copse, towards the few remaining Dornishrades. Now that the harsh, real-world was upon him again, Jaime realised that perhaps the song hadsted much longer than he had perceived. How much time had passed in that series of exchanges...? The knight turned around as he granted his opponent the same favour he had shown in what seemed like minutes ago. But it could not have been only two or three minutes ago... The arena was abnormally silent, and every gaze was turned towards that pole. The spectatorpetitors who bounded the perimeter for the duel were no longer dozens but hundreds. His confreres Ser Barristan, Ser Preston, Ser Mandon Moore, Thoros of Myr, Ser Amon Fury and his loyal knights, foreignpetitors from other cities, hedge knight, Bloody Snow and the entire northern party, and even that second monstrous anomaly of The Reach... all those who still could, wounded or not, had approached the centre of the arena to watch the duel more closely. The contest''s concentration pointed towards the duel between the Red Viper and the Young Lion... The Reach had already earned the Dornish g and passed the test. No one was fighting anymore... The handful of men from Dorne and the almost-integral unit of the West was thest factions still in the race. *Gong!* The fourth signal came... It sounded strange. In less than half an hour, all fourteenpeting factions had already fought and determined losers and winners? "Ser Jaime! Commander! Can you hear me...!" Jaime turned to Ser Addam Marbrant, his childhood friend and loyal bannerman of House Lannister. The Knight nodded in reply after looking at Addam in a crooked and confused manner for a moment. Jaime had stabbed a king in the back, but the gods had not yet punished him by depriving him of his hearing. "You only have ten minutes left, Ser!!! If you do not end this duel in less than ten minutes, there will be no winner! Both factions would be disqualified from thepetition!" ''Only Ten Minutes?!... And when the fuck were the two missing rings?'' It didn''t seem possible to him. So that Ser Addam had gone mad? Was thatst chime really the sixth Gong! Had Jaime and Oberyn really danced at the tip of their swords for over twenty minutes, non-stop?! As the adrenaline ceased to circte, Jaime began to feel the pangs of over-exertion throughout his body. His throat was parched and begging for fresh water, all the muscles in his body were burning like furnaces ready for the crucible, the joints in his shoulders were creaking like rusty hinges, and his sword hand was dripping blood; soon new calluses would be added to the collection... And the sword itself, at first as light as a twig, now seemed to weigh as much as an oak log. But no cuts or scratches stained his robe; the poisoned spear had failed to touch his body. Jaime had kept his promise. A shinier, though much shorter-ranged tusk was soon given to the Dornish prince. Oberyn Nymeros Martell was also suffering the tremendous blows of an effort that his more agile but less robust physique could no longer withstand... The Dornish could barely stand. He needed both arms to support that trembling curved sword. Jaime had already won this duel... Oberyn was visibly no longer able to fight. As was only to be expected. The valiant Dornishman had wielded a weapon heavier than his own with an extra thirty pounds of leather, metal and padding... The Prince of Dorne must have been exhausted, to say the least. But the Knight would not bring that formidable warrior dishonour. Jaime advanced swiftly to end the suffering of the warrior who still wished to leave that arena with his head held high. A single exchange was enough to disarm the man and point the de''s tip at his throat. After a few seconds of hesitation, thest spark of that fighting candle went out. Oberyn reluctantly but loudly spat out the aforementioned words: "You have won this battle, Kingyer... I dere my surrender." Thest words were spat reluctantly, "The g belongs to you... Knight." Jaime nodded and withdrew his sword, resting the point on the ground. The judge of the contest did not miss the opportunity to approach, raise Jaime''s arm of the de upwards and pronounce in a thunderous voice: "Ladies and gentlemen! Our final winners of this first round...! A big cheer for Ser Jaime Lannister and all the contestants of the West!!!" Finally came the second and most gargantuan anomaly of all... "WHOOOOOOAAA!!!" *p! p! p!* "YEEEESSSS!!!" A deafening roar, consisting of thousands of voices shouting in unison, topped with roaring apuse, flooded the amphitheatre... "Kingyer!!!" shrieked a few, "Ser Jaime Lannister!!!" chanted others, "The Young Lion!!!" called in part and many others, with its more recent namesake "The Lion Keeper!!!". There was a cacophony of names, ovations and apuse, all directed at him. Then thundered another name near the royal stands: "The Sword of the West!" thetter took root, prevailing over the others, and spread like a wave. "The Sword of the West!!!"... "The Sword of the WEST!" ... "The Sword OF THE WEST!"... "The SwoRD OF THE WEST!" No one wasughing more than he was... No one seemed to remember the stain of the infamy of the Kingyer, the Man Without Honour... anymore. Thousands, whethermoners or nobles, from the north, the south or foreignnds, all the enraptured witnesses of that spectacle of arms, which was soon to be enshrined in legend, shouted in chorus and unison: "THE SWORD OF THE WEST!!!" ******* ----------- End Chapter. Chapter 186: Change of Plans... Chapter 186: Change of ns... *****Hello to all dear readers. Forgive the dy in the release of this chapter. I left at thest minute for the Easter holidays and to iste myself from the world. I hope you all had a good holiday too. Happy reading!***** POV: Author Great Arena, West Faction Preparatory Pavilions. About two hours after a new Sword was hailed in the legend... ------ Jerry was in no mood for celebration. His peers of the same rank had recently finished toasting in the name of the Sword of the West, together with their master riders... For Squire Berry of House Stillwood there had never been a party nor any asional pint of ale. His gloomy and very dangerous master, Ser Gregor of House Clegane, was in no mood for celebration... Not that he had ever been in the air in the very long two years Berry had served. Perhaps there was no more dangerous job in the world than his. The squires of the Riding Mountain did notst long... His father, Ser Jonas Stilwood, kept telling him that being the squire of one of the most respected and feared knights of the Seven Kingdoms was a golden opportunity. But, for Berry, it was a punishment for the seven hells. He had seen ''Who'' and ''What'' that monstrous gargantuan creature was... and sure enough, he was neither a man nor a Knight. How many murders had Berry witnessed at Clegane''s Keep? How many unprovoked rapes, raids or horrible violence had the viges under the protection of House Clegane suffered in that year alone? Berry did not consider himself a saint... He, too, had participated in those raids, forcibly possessed young peasant girls and pocketed some silver in those raids. But not because he wanted to but because he was forced to. He was the squire of the Mountain... And if there was a reason why he had survived this burden of certain doom for so long, it was because Berry had been able to read the nature of that monster at once. If amon servant wished to survive the Master of Clegane''s Keep, there were four sacredws to be observed at all times: - Make no noise; - Do not stare at him; - Do whatever Hemanded to do; - And to get as far away from that being as possible when someone disregarded the first three rules... For a squire forced to assist his Knight-Master day and night, there were many more rules... many more obligations. And when the day ever came when the monster would deem Berry more of a nuisance than a utility, the boy would end up like thest four of his predecessors, i.e. [Died in Abnormal Circumstances]. It was not an ''if'' but only a ''when''. That would have been the end if Berry had not found a way out of that prison and its executioner. Therefore Berry would have carried out that task to the end. Consequently, he would have poisoned the daily dose of poppy milk that Ser Gregor used to drink, epted that purse of three hundred gold dragoons, and immediately took that safe conduct to Braavos. The knighthood, the family name, and that life of terror could all go fuck themselves. Three hundred gold coins were enough to live decades without problems or obligations in the city where currency was worth more than any other social status... A life of freedom. Berry continued the strenuous march towards his master''s pavilion. Ser Gregor demanded that his helmet and boots be shined and polished before the end of the hour and that his squire find the best wine in that dump of an arena. The Second Phase of the Great Melee would begin in less than an hour. Unfortunately, it was only a little while before the end of his pains... "Make way! Hey, you! Move, you idiot!" Shouted Berry to a ragged brat who had suddenly stopped in his tracks with a dry full of soapy water between his legs. A passing knight from the opposite direction dodged the obstacle of the bucket by lurching forward, only to bump into Berry. The squire ended up in the dirt and muddy loam with everything he carried. "No! No, fuck! No!... But do you know what you have done?! These were my lord''s boots and helmet! I had just cleaned them, you piece of..." Berry bit his tongue. That was a knight, and he was a mere squire. Anger and frustration made him lose his mind for a moment. "You were saying, boy? Go ahead..." The massive man in armour wore no recognisable zon. He was probably a low-ss Hedge Knight, but he was still a dangerous individual who knew his stuff. That hardened look on his face and the scars were proof of that. "No... nothing, Ser. It was just a mere ident, and I only have myself to me." Berry bowed his head. "Umm... That''s better. Are you a squire? And is that your lord''s equipment?" The man asked in a calmer tone. "It is milord," Berry replied, maintaining a humble and repentant tone. "Apologise to your lord for me. Here... let me at least help you gather." Surprisingly, the man helped him lift his wine bag and helmet. "They''re dirty again... You''ll have to polish them again, boy." *Ting, Ting* something metallic and silvery was thrown inside the helmet. "That silver deer is for you. For your trouble." **** About twenty minutester... "I apologise for the dy, my lord." Ser Gregor was no lord, but the beast liked the sound of greatness. First, Berry offered the bag of wine with a bow. The Mountain hardly ever drank water, only dark beer, wine and sometimes a bucket of milk. The giant man sat on a reinforced bench, still half d in over two hundred pounds of steel and looking furious, grabbed the half-gallon bag, popped the cork, sniffed and began gobbling its contents. "Red of Arbor, my lord, taken from the reserves of a knight of House Redwine." "I did not ask." Berry fell silent, lowering his gaze to the ground... Then, after the giant gobbled down half a sk, he asked in a dry,manding tone: "... What took you so long?" Berry did not hesitate in answering. "A Hedge Knight who wanted to attack me noticed my lord''s zons on my robe and intentionally decided to shove me to stain your helmet and boots with mud, my lord... A petty and cowardly attack on the noble House Clegane. I had to redo the work you requested twice." Replied the boy. "Who was that?" Asked the monster yearning for a massacre. Ser Gregor was already wrathful at being unable to fight in that first round. That idiot Jaime Lannister had used his most powerful weapon as a mere standard-bearer page... "I do not know his name. But he was definitely a Knight about to enter the second round. On his shield was stamped a sunset on a broken hill, my lord. The armour was worn and rusty. Certainly a knight of low caste hunting for easy glory to make a name for himself." Gregor Clegane remained silent. A vein throbbed on the giant''s temple, and the giant rubbed it with his fingers to ease the twinge. It was time! Ser Gregor was about to have a migraine attack! "Poppy milk, my lord?" Berry had already uncorked and offered the sk, anticipating the giant''s wishes. The man grabbed the elixir and drank it all in one gulp. ''It is done...'' Now all that was missing was the bnce of his fee and escape. Moreover, the Mute Knight assured him that Gregor would die by sunrise. So, Berry had little more than half a day''s head start to vanish. **** About an hourter. Just before the second and final round began... The barn was empty and dimly lit. Berry arrived at the appointed rally point minutes early, but his employer was there. "Where''s my gold, Ser? And why the wagon? I need a fast horse, not a cart pulled by two nags." The hooded man approached and pointed to arge wooden crate. "That crate?" The knight nodded. Berry approached slowly and with stiletto ready in hand towards the crate. The knight apanied him with amp to illuminate the dark corner. The inside of the crate wasrge enough to carry a grown man. Inside was ayer of straw and sand, pillows, bags for water and provisions, and arge, heavy-looking leather bag. Berry did not hesitate, grabbed the heavy bag, opened it and basked in the glitter of gold. "So I''ll be boarded in the ship via thi-" A cold, firm bite on the sr plexus broke his voice. The icy de came out with brutality, tearing through the deadly hole to the mouth of his belly. Berry had no time to look at the wound. The precious pouch had fallen, and the 18-year-old was pushed into the chest. The agonysted a few handfuls of minutes. Thest seconds of Berry''s life were apanied by the blows of a hammer to drive his coffin''s final nails firmly into the ground... End POV. ----------- POV: Duncan Grand Arena. About half an hour before a crate was loaded onto a wagon to be loaded onto the first ship and left to sink in the deepest waters of Salt Lance... ------ There were still minutes to go before the Great Scrum resumed. de 12 hadpleted its mission. Gregor Clegane had received the temporary panacea for the Blood of Basilisk. Inside that bag of wine had dissolved tranquilisers capable of knocking out a horse. Now one could only pray that the Mad Giant had at least drunk half of that solution to counteract the effects of the Poison. Stealing the poisoned vial would have been more effective, but we did not know if the squire had one or more doses in reserve. But, at that moment, my worries and anxieties focused on another unexpected problem... My eyes kept scanning the perimeter of the stands without finding the culprit I longed to electrocute. That traitorous coward was hiding from my gaze. ''I know you are somewhere and can see me. Run and hide all you want, old man. I have already sent a dispatch to Zishua... Be a man and face the consequences of your actions, coward!'' So I moved my lip as little as possible to ensure The Watcher caught every word. This time, Zick had really done it. That hardened fool of a master had lit the matches and set up the first log of wood to fuel and foment the great me echoing ''The Sword of The West''. Now I knew what the Master had in mind. I should have expected it... That ageing wayward child had failed to be patient! Through no fault, the Young Lion had anticipated his grand Debut/Return to the Known World, thus uncovering a covered card I had longed to conceal for at least a few years! ''Damn it, Master! On earth was going through your mind?! You pointed the great eye of the High Tower at Jaime! Casterly Rock cannot yet face Oldtown! Now, go straight to Leyton and confess that you have sung me every note and facet of Podrick Lann''s bad! And be sure to also point out to him that your protg is moving heaven and earth in his quest for Brightroar!'' I knew that Zick had not acted on a personal whim... The Watcher must have made contact with Jaime and discerned his innermost desires. The Masster wanted to return the Keeper''s Lion''s favour for not betraying me that day in Pyke and for fighting for my safety in my hour of need. If the Keeper of Love wished to act personally in the name of what he loved most, no one, not even Zishua or the other two Guardians, could stop him. Regarding his precious protgs-disciples, the Watcher always returned a favour granted or a wrong done. Amon Fury and his fourrades were the most recent example. The Fourth Organisation had mobilised before Torrhen''s Square to support the new Lord of Pyke. Already from the first moons of his rule, Lord Amon had been inundated with merchants seeking solid, favourable and prolonged trade deals, financiers from all over ready to invest coffers overflowing with gold, and mercenaries and sailors looking for a new home to put down roots and ready to swear eternal allegiance to the hero of Pyke. Disgruntled at the takeover of the Iron Men''s rule by a foreign house, rebellious voices continued to be silenced throughout the ind or to ''disappear altogether''. On top of all this, spies reported the arrival of a master-at-arms from the East. A veteran knight of Westeros who crushed and hardened every loyalist in Amon. Robert Baratheon had left his new bannerman just under ten thousand gold dragoons in the coffers of Pyke, a dozen shabby longships, fifty or so fishing boats, an inessible harbour, a castle with half-copsed walls, and only a hundred or so volunteer swords from the Stornds to defend manor, coastline and possible rebellion. Six monthster, Pyke''s coffers were once again filled with gold and silver, the harbour was cleared of debris and upgraded, the walls rebuilt, the militia increased to over one thousand five hundred trained units (loyal only to House Fury), and Lord Amon''s fleet numbered thirty-five brand new merchant corvettes, forty longships, fifteen war galleys and over two hundred fishing boats... This was the power of The Watcher and the guardian organisation hidden in his shadow. If on a whim or for mere amusement one day Zick woke up with the desire to see nobles and high princes of mighty cities or kingdoms dancing, they would don jester''s clothes and dance like dancing bears in the city streets day and night without question... The Master had given Jaime a little motivational boost to throw him towards his first ''Echo of Warrior Songs''. A technique that, if well used, could iste a fighter and direct him towards the pinnacle of concentration, thus pushing his mind and body towards their limits. A dangerous technique that could iste you from the real world, expose you to any external danger, and take a high toll on physical and mental stress. A martial art suitable for duels but not to be used in the middle of a battlefield. The Lion had managed to prevail against the Red Viper... It had not been a rigged duel. The Warrior Prince had indeed given everything to win. Oberyn had even used the breathing technique I had synthesised mainly for him to the utmost of his ability. It wasn''t just stubbornness and dedication. Such skill and talent had to be apanied by a frightening potential hidden within him... Jaime was a true prodigy. Suffice it to say that it took me over two weeks of training to master the Echo of Songs at that level. But even today, I couldn''t have dominated it for that long. And Jaime had managed it on the first attempt!.... This was far beyond my expectations. The Young Lion was a notch above his uncle, Tygget. ''A monster... A monster not born from a human womb but from a forge. A being fuelled by the adrenalin and fury of a battlefield.'' So I thought with rm, reasoning out all the possible consequences. ''I must warn you as soon as possible, Zishua. Only that woman can stop Zick!'' Indeed, the Watcher would have moved heaven and earth to ensnare Jaime as his disciple... So he had to be prevented. For the sake of the world, The Watcher could not possibly take Jaime as his pupil! That would have thrown ampoules of wildfire into the halls of Leyton Hightower... Other than ''Nine Demons''. Should a potential threat to the Hightower dynasty be weaned from the world''s most dangerous, capable and unpredictable master-at-arms, Oldtown would not hesitate an instant to light the fires of war against the world as a whole to prevent it. I looked at Jaime, on the opposite side of the arena... As I thought, the swordsman was still visibly exhausted from the effort. Three hours of rest was not enough to recover from such stress. The Lion could not create a second great spectacle for the Red Knight. ''It would be a miracle if Jaime could wield the sword for another ten minutes. He can''t do it... What now? What do I do...?'' I couldn''t be the final challenger. That would have been a cry of scandal... My gaze focused on the only viable alternative. ''In terms of technique and fame, there is no better choice, but will the old knight be able to hold out until the end?'' One hundred and six contestants had made it through to the final round. It was to be a long and perilous fight to determine the three winners. ''There is no alternative... It will be Chaos and Massacre.'' I had no alternative but to thin the herd as quickly as possible, send the Master''s advice to fuck off, and protect my new champion. "William, Ser Peter, Todd, approach, please." My men answered the call. "Except for Greatjon, I have a favour to ask of our northernrades remaining in the race. Spread the word." It would no longer be a team fight. Now the All Against All phase hade... But I had thirteen other loyalrades, in good shape and ready to sacrifice. "What is the message, Lord General?" William asked. "[Don''t fight to win, but to knock out as manypetitors as possible... y dirty and Unleash]." William and Peter looked at each other with a frown of concern. Asking Theo Knott, the Barbarians of the ns, the Umber men and The She-Bear to go wild was anything but the hope of an honourable friendlypetition for celebrations. Blood would have flowed, someone could have been seriously injured if not killed, and, along with all that, wishes of rancour and vengeance from the remaining factions of Westeros and Essos against the entire faction of the North... General Peter wanted to reiterate something, but William stopped him. The Vice Commander of the Winter Guardians knew me well. He sensed and recognised well that stillness before the storm. A crimson storm called ''Bloody Snow''... "As for the three of you... Keep your distance from me and give Ser Barristan Selmy a hand." ***** End Chapter. ------------- Chapter 187: Dangerous Vibrations (I) Chapter 187: Dangerous Vibrations (I) POV: Author Great Arena. About three minutes after the start of Phase II... **** Men of the North, West, Reach, Stornds, Cronds, IB, Triarchy, the Hedge Knights and Mercenaries faction led by the Red Knight and the three Arcane Shields advanced to the second and final phase. Finally, all thepetitors dispersed into the Chaos of the True Great Melee. There were no more ties of blood or brotherhood on this battlefield. By now, only dreams of glory and wealth spurred the fighting spirits of the participants. But those hopeful torches were lent dissipation by the arrival of an icy, irrepressible gust of wind... "You! I challenge you to a du... Urgh!" A knight of House Fell was caught off guard by a series of destabilising swords from behind before he could finish the sentence. The man lost consciousness immediately after receiving a full sh to the temple. Then the demon directed his gaze towards the second easy prey a few steps from the edge of the boundary perimeter and snapped. "No! That was a duel, infamous! Don''te clo-'' Another Crondspetitor was swept away by a double flying kick and thrown off the red line. ''Seven...'' The 12-year-old didn''t stop and immediately charged towards a second pair ofpetitors who were focused and distracted by their fight. An Ibbenese and Tyroshi were soon joined as number Eight and Nine. Bloody Snow''s eye caught other potential prey but then discarded the target. That Florent scion was already prey for Theo Knott. The Pack of the Northern Beast was also going at it hard. Blows to the back, bites, low and merciless blows, fingers in the eyes, hit and run strategies, surprise 3-on-1 ambushes... everything was fair game. As a result, at least thirtypetitors had already left thepetition. Some even came out with one or two ear butts missing, others with a broken limb inside out. "Have you seen those Northern bastards...! Let''s stop them!" A small coalition of Knights began to notice the improprieties and infamies perpetrated by Duncan Tallhart''s pack. A Level 5, a couple of Level 6s and a Level 7 charged against the beast that was reaping the most victims and surrounded it. The pupil had no more reason to follow the master''s directives. The pdin cast [Shield Of Faith] upon himself and, with shield and sword guard raised, fearlessly endured the first wave of attacks. Swords, clubs and axes bounced against shield and armour without affecting the stability of the rock in the slightest. Then, Bloody Snow slipped behind the weaker member at the first opening, stunning him with a shield blow on the chin. The stunned victim stood for a few seconds. Seconds which Duncan exploited to use the paralysed body as a shield guard. The poor Hedge Knight was felled by a friendly sh, and the Beast pounced on the second, weaker and more distracted victim. A diagonal sh followed by an armoured elbow strike to the half-unfastened ruff ended the second opponent''s contest. Duncan finished them individually, shamelessly exploiting the defence''s unassable advantage. And, just as the twelfth victim was felled, a gigantic shadow fell over the boy. A brutal sh that sliced through the air with a disruptive sound caught Bloody Snow off guard, forcing him to raise his shield urgently in the perceived rough direction. *Sduump!!!* Despite Mott''s armour, the reinforced ironwood shield, and the protective spell, the boy was lifted a foot into the air and catapulted five or six feet into the air. So monstrous was the force contained in that impact. Duncan tumbled another five feet to the ground. This blow he had felt. ''Urgh... So I felt it,'' thought the young warrior as he felt the partial numbness in his arm and the remnants of vibration all over his body. Bloody Snow looked up from the ground. The shield was chipped, the tes dented, and the shadow continued to approach. A metallic, guttural,manding voice emerged from the massive ck helmet. "I have found you." The Riding Mountain did not hesitate to drop the long broadsword, wielded with both hands, from top to bottom, well aimed at the boy''s helmet on the ground. Duncan instinctively rolled to the left, and the steel harpooned the ground, missing the target by a whisker. "Uaaargh!" the sword, stuck nearly a foot deep, broke free from the obstruction diagonally and with incredible speed, lifting clouds of sand and clods of earth with it. ''Holy shit!'' Duncan had no time to dodge or deflect the second blow. He opted for the only alternative left, to lift what was left of the shield and resist. The sideways impact forced him to skid another four feet across the ground. But the sequence of attacks was not over. A third and devastating blow, charged from the top down, impacted full force on the shield. *SBAAAM!!* An explosion of splinters erupted from the struggling boy. Head and back was crushed violently to the ground. His helmet recoiled from the half-broken shield, injuring his nose and chin... Duncan had to strain to keep his concentration on the still-active spell. Gregor showed no mercy and raised his sword in less than a second. "[Release me, Boy! What are you waiting for?! You won''t be able to take another hit!" Shouted an inner demonic voice impulsively, filled with rage and survival instinct. ''Urgh... Maybe just a little push.'' Thought the warrior instinctively. *Fiuuu!'' Duncan inhaled more profoundly, and time slowed down more. The chains were extended to give the Beast more autonomy. And instantly, a wave of supernatural strength and responsiveness surged through his body. With a slight swing of his back and legs, Duncan returned to his feet, dropping the remnants of his shield. Gregor''s sword was already charged backwards, ready to strike within tenths of a second. There was enough room to manoeuvre to dodge the blow. However, Duncan did not opt for a dodge. Instead, he concentrated the excess strength on his legs for a leap,unched himself towards the Human Catapult and brought his forearms together to intercept the de. ''Now!'' With the reaction, the Pdin released the abjuration spell of the second circle he had already chanted and held for the asion. [Aid]...A patina of temporary vitality covered the boy''s body, invigorating him. Damascus'' bracelets made contact with the enemy broadsword less than halfway through the swing arc. The desired projection was sessful. The cohesion of Shield of Faith, Mott''s Damascus and Aid absorbed most of the damage, and Duncan used the counterforce of the lever to catapult himself in the opposite direction. The boy flew at least twenty feet backwards, spinning on himself tond and rise like a panther a momentter. The acrobatic gymnastics sequence would have deserved a gold medal and earned a 10.0 from all six jury members if only the athlete had also managed not to lose his sword. Bloody Snow was unarmed, but at least he had gained enough distance to escape from that deadly assault and breathlessness to prepare the correct countermeasures. ''So much for "Slightly Stronger Than Me", Baragh of my boots... That''s level of strength from: [Captain America would sweat through four shirts to beat The Mountain at arm wrestling!]'' Duncan cursed inwardly. The force generated by that tank of muscle was beyond his expectations... it was simply inhuman. Duncan also spected that the Basilisk Blood''s effects hadn''t beenpletely neutralised. Certainly, that was no sedated horse. Ser Gregor recovered quickly from his passing moment of disbelief and confusion. The slit was narrow and did not offer a good view. The Mountain spotted his prey again and marched slowly but surely toward Duncan. The sword was too close to Gregor''s range to be retrieved... ''But why such slowness?'' Abnormal air shifts behind him aroused the young warrior''s sharp sense of danger. Another enemy was lending a hand to the Mountain. Duncan crouched like a frog, dodging the sh aimed at his head. "Die!" was Ser Amory Lorch. Duncan dodged and parried the imprecise series of shes with his armbands. An ineffective assault, and too inexperienced to do him any damage, but enough to waste precious time. The boy stepped back as far as he could, seeking ever greater distance from the real danger about to arrive. "Die, you Bastard! Die! Die!" Amory apanied a ridiculous "Die" on almost every sh... Then the boy suddenly stopped retreating, blocking his sword hand and catching Amory off guard. "My ally has alsoe, Ser Amory..." The corner of the man''s eye turned, and he caught a glimpse of the second giant moley of roaring ironmonger. The sword of a Giant shorter than a foot of the Mountain but just as massive in width was holding its own against Gregor Clegane...Greatjon Umber had joined the fray. "Send my respects to the Queen and pass on a ''thank you for the sword'' from me." They were thest words perceived by Cercei Lannister''s second assassin before a twist of an iron hand fractured two of his fingers, disarming him, and a single green-lit right hook mmed into his helmet, knocking him out. ****** End POV. --------- POV: Jaime In the middle of the melee. About ten minutes after two giants began to battle, a boy from the North pointed his new longsword at other targets. -------- Every damn muscle in his body screamed pain. Even though he gritted his teeth and inhaled to the maximum of his lung capacity to try and ease the twinges, Jaime''s body could not respond appropriately to hismands. It was as if skin, muscles and bones had been soaked in resin, making every movement rigid, arduous and damnably painful. Jaime was unable to put on the te armour. Only the breastte looked like a Lady''s breath-breaking corset made of lead. And Jaime knew what it was like to wear a corset. At eight years old, he and his sister were practically identical. Cercei wanted to y "Let''s Swap Roles"; her brother wore his sister''s clothes for almost a week before family and servants noticed. All the pathetic and weak Sword of the West managed to equip her with was a half helmet, padding, a light leather torso cover, thin shoulder straps, leggings and armbands; even the shield was totally out of Reach. As a result, Jaime could hardly wield the sword properly. The physique begged him to lie down and sleep for an entire moon... but the Knight could not give in. Not now that Jaime was a foot away from the finish line. The Red Knight was less than forty paces away... just short of it. Another obstacle stood before him. A swordsman of Myr sought confrontation. Jaime raised his guard, barely parrying the first sh. The vibration of the recoil felt like a hammer blow on his fingers and wrists, but the sword still held firm. The Lion managed to withstand the second set of exchanges bypensating for the physical deficiency with anticipation, posture and superior fencing technique... But even so, that Level 6 Rank Squire was still ahead in the good physical condition and thirsting for glory. Luckily for him, Ser Lyle Crakehall came to the rescue. The mighty Crakehall Knight disposed of the Myrense in a few rounds of blows. As soon as the conflict ended, Jaime turned to his bishop-friend, ''Go away, Lyle! You too. Ser An, Ser Wiston, Ser Addam... You all have your own race to think about! This is not your battle!" The voice expressed reproach, but the eyes deep gratitude towards the four loyalrades who continued to surround and support him. "Do you want all the glory just for you again, Sword of the West?!" Reiterated Addam Marbrant aloud amidst the confusion and with his guard still turned towards the possible dangers and without retreating a step. "Urg, crack hairy arse of an Ibbenese!.... With all due respect, Ser...! This is our race, and we choose to fight whoever the fuck we want!" Thundered Ser Lyle Crakehall in the middle of a fight. Jaime renounced his pride, and after tacitly thanking hisrades, the shabby Knight continued on his way. It was the slowest, most perilous and painful forty feet ever travelled. Luckily for them, the melee seemed to be drawing to a close. Barely thirtypetitors remained in the race. By the looks of it, Bloody Snow and the swords of the North had generated a real mess in the race. Two or three participating members of the North had even been disqualified by the judges... Ser Gregor was still in a tough battle against the giant Umber, and Jaime had lost track of Duncan minutes ago. Thest time the Young Lion caught a glimpse of Bloody Snow, he was in the ranks of the Reach, dedicated and focused in a brutal and aggressive swordfight against Greysteel. Addam and Ser Wiston needed to catch up, giving battle to foes too hostile to be ignored... But in the end, Jaime reached his goal. "This is where my race will end. Thank you, Knights, of the West. Now, go." Lyle and An nodded. "May the Warrior smile upon you again, Ser." Ser Lyle finally concluded and then headed towards his own goals. ''Smiling? Mpff... he''ll have tough his ass off to favour me.'' So Jaime thought as he observed the Red Knight up close for the first time... The warrior was not tall, just under six feet, with a helmet included. The physique looked slender inside the perfect,pact armour of redcquered steel. A red horsehair fell from the full helmet from which nothing could be glimpsed. A fine, darker crimson cape rested on his shoulders. The Red Knight wielded only a sword that was at least two inches longer than Jaime''s but, at the same time, also finer and lighter in appearance. The whole thing was adorned with a silvery, bright and fearsome: [Level 10; Rank Knight]. The red warrior had just disarmed and unhorsed a massive Stornds knight with fluidity and brevity. The man attempted to rise, but the Red Knight pressed the blunt tip of his de to the crook of his throat, pushing his head back down. "Urgh... I... I giv... I give up!" The sword withdrew its grip, leaving the defeated man with his remaining dignity. Then the Red Knight''s attention turned to Jaime... "Fight me, Ser... I challenge you to a duel." Promulgated the Lion, keeping his back and mane well erect to conceal his weaknesses. "You cannot fight in that condition, Ser. Retreat." Replied a young voice, harsh, metallic and dry but with an off note that Jaime''s ear could not identify. "Beat the same with me." Insisted Jaime without denying anything. "... You cannot win." The Red Knight. "Aye, I cannot. But do not underestimate me, Ser. The challenge remains." Jaime raised his guard, draining all his remaining energy. His opponent, after a moment''s hesitation, replicated the gesture. Jaime charged. With his back and legs stiffer and rustier than an iron rod, left to rot in the depths of the abyss for decades, high manoeuvres and footwork were not an option. Only arms, wrists and hands still responded ''decently'' to brain impulses. The Red Knight parried and deflected the ridiculous assault of the novice squire with ease, without counterattacking. "You will aggravate your condition... You may never recover from the damage." Intimated the Knight. But Jaime did not heed the words and continued undaunted to cleave blows. The Red Knight returned no blows... "Fight fair! React, Ser! This is a duel!" Roared the humiliated Lion, attempting a third, more aggressive assault. *Sting*, *ng*, *Stiin* For the first time, the opponent attempted a disarming manoeuvre, which Jaime managed to prevent. At that point, The Red Knight provoked began his first assault. The warrior swung his sword towards Lion''s neck with impressive fluidity and speed. Jaime grasped the tip of his de with his left hand to wield it like a staff and parried the first blow, but the swinging and repulsion allowed the Red Knight to replicate the same fencing motion towards the exposed right nk. Jaime''s left palm opened, and he grasped the de''s t to push it as quickly as possible towards the opposite direction... but the defensive reaction was in vain. The second sh was a feint... *Stuff!* "Cough! Coff!" A tremendous gloved hook to the pit of the stomach destabilised the Lion. Jaime stepped back as far as he could, straining as hard as possible to prevent his knees from kissing the ground. "Surrender, Ser Jaime" The adversary''s guard rose up. "I will not hold back in the second assault." Threatened the Red Knight. "Coff...coff...Puit!" Jaime spat a lump of blood on the ground, then retorted, "Would you have granted such favouritism to an enemy in the middle of a real battlefield, Ser?" The Red Knight did not reply. "Exactly... So, stop talking and give it your best shot, Knight." The warrior unfastened his crimson cape, letting it fall to the ground, then changed his guard and leg position to a more intimidating style. ''About time.'' Jaime was also saving his few remaining cards. He couldn''t win, that was as certain as theing of the next dawn, but at least the swordsman could rekindle thest dying gleams of that raging me he used to defeat Oberyn. He could feel it in his belly. Even in that pitiful state, that torch could still be rekindled with the right push and motivation. There was still that unexpressed Roar, all he had left to give. That was the price for Dayne''s legacy... and a Lannister always paid his debts. Jaime inhaled and exhaled... Time slowed, the sound died away, and the sound of breathing roared louder and louder. Finally, the heart quickened, and the ever-rising blood began to cool and extinguish the burning pangs. The Lion was ready. There was no time for a prolonged struggle. Head, heart and belly begged him to stop this madness instantly before the inevitable copse of the entire body... Onest brief, but intense assault was all he could grant. The Sword of the West and The Red Knight snapped at the exact moment. Both swords collided with ferocity, fluidity and speed at the limit of human capabilities, creating a steel storm. The beginning was rusty and violent. The Red Knight''s sword surpassed him in technique, fluidity and responsiveness. Several enemy shes flew through the defence, shing forearms, hips, thighs and helmets, but the pain felt like a mosquito bitepared to the three hours of constant stabbing he had endured. It wasn''t the apex yet; the me had barely ignited... ''More'' The lion''s w became even faster. ''Even more...'' The sword became more fluid and light. ''I see it! I can hear it in the sound... I can feel it in my skin; I can even smell it... I can do more!'' An indefinable sensory synesthesia permeated inside Jaime, making sword and swordsman one. A curved, undting path, clearly traced and visible only to the lion''s senses, began manifesting itself. Naturally, the sword wanted of its own ord to travel that path. With every correct swing undertaken, his faithful friend,panion and lover gave him a thrill sweeter than the caress of his mother, more intoxicating than a warm kiss from Cercei, all seasoned with pulses of adrenalin and danger... it was even better than sex. Simply pure ecstasy. A pleasure the man needed, one he could not give up for anything in the world. Only that sensation could awaken the sleeping Lion. A slightly annoyed rm disturbed that magic. The tendon in his ankle had torn, but it didn''t matter. It was not painful. The two lovers could safely continue dancing... Jaime continued on his way, abandoning all worries, all duties, all dangers, losing control of himself... **** End Chapter. ----- Chapter 188: Dangerous Vibrations (II) Chapter 188: Dangerous Vibrations (II) ****Needless to justify my abandonment. For some of you it will be uneptable no matter what I say. Others will have already forgotten about it.... But for the few who remain, I will only say: The Pdin of the Old Gods is back. Enjoy Reading.**** ---------------- POV: The Red Knight In the midst of a storm of des. At the exact moment a Lion lost control... --------- For the first time since the beginning of that skirmish already decided by fate, the Red Knight was in trouble. The swordsman, guided and trained by Zick himself since the tender age of seven, could barely hold the relentless steel storm. Something was wrong... In so many years of experience and direct witness to superhuman monsters of all kinds, the warrior had never seen anything like it. Not even with Duncan and the fearsome Eleven Open Gates had the warrior experienced such pressure... This level of fencing was beyond reasonable, simply not possible. Jaime Lannister''s face was ssy and smiling. The Red Knight suffered a broadsword on her sternum. The Mad Lion had already found an opening in the defence. The swordsman retreated, distancing herself from that fury to catch her breath. And at that exact moment, in which The Red Knight could minimally perceive the world beyond that storm, a piercing, terribly jarring, and rmed presence at the highest levels roared into the knight. {"YOU MUST STOP HIM!!! STOP HIM BEFORE IT''S TOO LATE!!!"} The rmed student''s eyes turned toward the roaring, maic presence over five hundred feet away. Contact with The Watcher''s gaze was more dazzling and seductive than a lighthouse on the open sea in the middle of the night. The Knight raised the slit in her helmet and answered the call by moving her lips in punctuation to ask, {"Master! What''s going on?!"} The presence in the head answered instantly and urgently but in a quieter voice: {"That boy is in danger! Ser Jaime has lost control! There is no time for exnations or games! Do everything you can to knock him out as soon as possible! If you don''t, his body will shatter, and his heart will give out!!! Save him, Knight!"} The Knight continued to retreat without detaching his gaze from the Master, distancing himself from the swordsman in total frenzy. The Watcher''s sword obeyed and gave its best to confront the monster in Berserker''s state. But... in less than just seven exchanges, the Red Knight was forced into a second retreat. The Red Knight made a second attempt, trying to give more than 100%, but it was useless...Ser Jaime repelled the assault even more quickly than before. With each passing second, the skill, strength and speed of the Crazy Lion''s sword grew by leaps and bounds... It was simply incontestable. {"I can''t do it, Master! He has be too strong!"} Gasped the individual with shame and a sense of helplessness. The unchanging course of the stars had already been decided... {"No, You can! You can do it, my child! You are the first sword of the order! I have chosen you as the first Knight because you can do this and much more! And you will not be alone in this struggle. I will lead you... Hold your position and gaze on me, Knight of Love."} **** End POV. ------ POV: Ser Jon Cupps Great Scrum. Minutes of struggle before a Lion lost control... ***** The Lord Commander of the Seven Keepers continued to be gripped by the fearsome double assault of Ser Tristan and Ser Guruk, the Yellow King''s magical guard dogs... Jon dodged, parried and counterattacked with unparalleled skill all the deadlybos aimed at the front and back of himself. The Oldtown knight''s teeth grunted increasingly with each passing second, cursing the cowardice disyed by the Arcane Shields. *Stiing*,*ang*,*Swoosh* Jon held his own admirably against another cowardly assault... ''They always aim at my blind spots! That damn lizard fights more like a hitman than a swordsman...! Fuck!!! I can''t waste any more time! Ser Garth needs me!'' Jon cursed inwardly, grinding his teeth harder. The situation was grave... For some reason, Bloody Snow had targeted Greysteel, his lord''s favourite son, viciously attacking him without reservation. And, although Ser Garth had shown incredible tenacity and skill in fending off that bloodthirsty young demon, the Hightower knight was no match for him. Duncan Tallhart had certainly restrained himself during the duel against the Braavosian... Jon could not entirely focus his attention on the duo. The blood lust emanating from that 12-year-old demon could be felt ten leagues away. Jon''s instincts could not help but turn an eye toward his protg. Even in that perilous state, Jon could win, sure. The Indomitable had prevailed in worse situations, but in the current state, it would take time, a time he did not have. Ser Tristan and Ser Guruk were not fighting intending to defeat him but with the intent of buying as much time as possible and keeping the member of the Seven Keepers pinned in ce. Thus making him unable to reinforce Garth and confront Bloody Snow. By now, Ser Jon Cupps had shelved the n to test the abilities of Zick''s protg. The pressing priority was to get Greysteel out of that steel inferno as soon as possible! Oldtown''s best sword began a fierce counterattack, forcing the dancing lizard back and then charging unreservedly toward Tristan. The Carcosa swordsman was deserving of his fame, for sure. The fencing game was expert and with hundreds if not thousands of deadly experiences he had lived through... Only the upper echelons of Carcosa knew in detail how old each member of the Twelve Arcane Shields was. Those godless beasts were regrly fed by rivers of Night Essence, the true elixir of long life. Each member could serve periodically for even a century or even two without being gued by the signs of age. Ser Tristan''s fame began toe to life from the dawn of Maekar''s reign, and the magic knight of the East had held firm as Lord Commander for nearly half a century... But despite the abysmal difference in experience, Jon felt deep to the core that he could beat that man with mere steel and pure fencing skill. Such was the talent of Ser Jon Cupps. The Lord Commander of Arcane Shields absorbed the onught of eight projections by concentrating on defence, leaving a gap to a single and insufficient muffled sh toward the thigh. Jon was ready to swing a second steel storm that, this time, would sweep the primary opponent''s defence altogether. However, the attacker had to focus his de toward four lunges from a dual wielder behind him. The pesky, flexible-jointed lizard was tremendously attuned between attack and defence with hisrade-in-arms. Besides that, his attack style was a: snap, bite and retreat, just like a snake. Easy to face individually but damn annoying to counter against multiple enemies. Nothing had changed. The standoff between the threebatants remained unchanged. "Face me in a fair 1-on-1 confrontation. As the true knight you so fear to be! Coward!" Jon ranted defiantly at the Lord Commander of the Arcane Shields. But Ser Tristan did not fall for the provocation "Mpf, why should I...? This is not the ce for real duelling, Ser... This is just y, and we y here for pure fun. Don''t you agree too, brother?" "Assbsoolutelysh, my lord Commanderssh..." slurred the half-lizard mockingly. "Damn you...! I''ll make you pay. I swear by the name of the Seven." Jon eyed the target to be rescued. Garth was knee-deep in the ground, swollen, without a solid arm to hold a weapon any longer as he wielded his remaining half-oak shield. Bloody Snow was giving him no respite. Then, a possible opportunity for help presented itself. Two, to be precise... "Ser Mors, Ser Willem! Give our Lord a hand! Get him out of the arena!!!" The members of House Bulwer had finally disposed of their previous opponents. Except for young Willem, still too immature and who knows how still miraculouslypeting among this ughter, Mors Bulwer was one of House Hightower''s best bannerman fighters. The two snapped as soon as they noticed the critical plight of Lord Leyton''s second son ... however, out of the clouds of dust, a third figure also snapped, intent on protecting the northern boy''s back. Ser Braitwur quickly intercepted the duo, stunning Willem with a single blow and restraining Mors like a bull tamer. Carcosa had deployed as many as three members of the Arcane Shields in the race to protect Duncan Tallhart. Garth was about to lose thest bit of stamina. The Green Demon had abandoned his sword and shield and thrown himself on the swollen Greysteel in a bare-knuckle beating. Garth''s left shoulder must have dislocated, for the man could not lift both arms to protect his face studded with kicks and punches. ''Garth will never dere surrender! I have no choice left!'' Jon would not have wanted or even been able to y that card, but as his Lord had said days ago, [Uncertain times call for flexible measures]. However ... before Jon activated the arcane tattoo engraved in his arm, Bloody Snow suddenly broke away from his victim, interrupting all hostility or interest in the fray, turning his gaze toward the stands with an enchanted air. As if someone in the audience had called to him and captured his attentionpletely. Even the Arcane Shields at his guard could not help but notice the anomaly of events. Without hesitating or looking around, the boy picked up two long swords from the ground and sprinted at full speed toward the opposite end of the arena. "Ser Braitwur! Don''t let him out of your sight! We''ll catch up with you as soon as we can!" Ser Tristan ordered. "Yes, Lord Commander!" The Arcane Shield sprinted toward the pursuit without even bothering to reap the final blow to Mors Bulwer. Now that Ser Jon''s gaze was on Duncan Tallhart''s goal, his innate instinct for danger kicked in. The stunned Commander of the Seven Keepers could not help but think: ''May The Crone light my way. What the heck is going on in this tournament?'' A strange vibration tingled all over his skin. The veteran of a hundred battles sensed a primal and dangerous presence a few hundred feet away... and it was noting from Bloody Snow. ***** End POV. ----- POV: Duncan Great Arena. One minute after a master sent out a second distress signal... ***** As soon as I arrived, I could not believe what I had witnessed... Syggha gave her all in a brutal, no-holds-barred fight that was almost impossible for the untrained eye to discern. The Red Knight who should have made her debut, the Divisional Commander of the Shield Maiden, a favourite pupil of The Watcher as well as the first Knight of an order buried and forgotten by history, invested by The Watcher himself, had been cornered by a Knight of the West. An exhausted man, his body tried, bordering on failing to the point where he should no longer have been able to properly lift a sword for at least a moon...Ser Jaime Lannister. ''What the fuck is going on? How is this possible? This has nothing to do with the Pdin''s blessing here...Then what is it?'' It only took me a few moments to superficially analyze the situation. Jaime must have somehow broken body limiters, venting his repressed potential. But this was not normal at all. It was like a raging river had swept over and knocked down a dam. Before this event, Jaime had barely reached [Level 10; Rank Squire]... but now, his level kept fluctuating and changing constantly between the peaks of Level 11 to 12! This was not humanly possible! Syggha had also exceeded her limits, reaching a [Level 11; Rank Knight], but it was different, and I knew where that surplus came from. ''The Master is using visual synchronicity to support Syggha! The situation is really desperate!'' Jaime''s gaze was ssy, amused and bloodthirsty. The body moved like a predatory beast reincarnated as a fencing master. Although the weapons were blunted, the dynamics of the fight were perceptible from a mile away. It was no longer a contest...That was a fight to the death. ''He can''t resist...I still need to get a range healing spells. I have to touch him!'' but to do so, it was imperative that the Mad Lion must be knocked out first and foremost. I did not spare myself. I activated my breathing technique to the limit, opened all twelve gates and threw myself into the fray. The Lion sensed the dangerous intruder behind him. He willingly epted the double challenge, lifting and grabbing a curved Tyroshi de with hand and foot to add another makeshift w to his arsenal. A roar of booing and cursing from the audience flooded the arena. The spectators did not appreciate my improper intervention in the spectacr duel that was taking ce. But none of this was of the slightest importance. What was at stake here was the life of Jaime Lannister, Tywin''s beloved eldest son, one of the three keys to the West, the chosen sword of Magic, and the man who had long ago put his life on the line to save mine. Syggha synchronized his assault with mine. Ser Jaime was inundated by a steel storm, forcing the Lion into a defensive Dual Wielder style. Several shes broke through, but the beast''s ws protected his head. On the surface, Jaime appeared not to be in the least afflicted by the blows to his side, arms and legs that he suffered. Inside that body, there must have been more adrenaline flowing than blood... In less than a dozen exchanges, Ser Jaime closed the gap that gripped him, beginning his counteroffensive. The green number above his head swelled and glowed until it peaked at Level 12. *ng! ng!* Jaime parried a two-way double sh while holding both of them still with one arm each. "Urggh!!!" I tried to counter the Lion''s full-body strength with the Red Knight''s support on the opposite side, but the beast was immovable. "Roaarhh!" a firmer muscr force from Baragh forced both of them back a few steps, then the beast kicked Syggha, knocking her to the ground despite the advance interception. At that point, the crazed Lion focused on me, charging me with exhration. "Fiuuu!" I gathered every ounce of concentration for the impending assault. I was ready for the storm of ws. Jaime leapt into the air, twirling both swords like a cyclone. *Sting, Sting, Sting, Sting, Stiing!* I parried all five multidirectional shes, then intercepted a deadly sh from above with both des. A blow that, although I cushioned with dozens of different muscles between my back, arms, shoulders, and legs, still forced me to bend my knee on the ground. Such a sh would have shattered the helmet and skull of any ordinary knight. My strength, amplified by Zick''s technique, was insufficient to counter such blows. That single one-handed blow contained almost as much force as a two-handed axe blow from Victarion Greyjoy... I lost control over the mental prison for a moment, and immediately afterwards, a wave of wild energy rushed to my aid, enabling me to rise to my feet and counter the force of the Lion. ["What are you waiting for, boy? To stand up to one monster, you need another monster...''] ''No, I don''t! I want to save him, not kill him!'' I rejected the idea by regaining control. Going into a killing frenzy to stop a man afflicted with a killing frenzy was undoubtedly not the answer. The Lion was ready to lower the second w, but the Red Knight came to my aid. I took the opportunity to unleash my counteroffensive. I pumped Zick''s technique to the limit, hammering the beast with dozens of unpredictable shes from every direction while the Knight of Love gave his all from the opposite direction. One of my shes hit the back of his head, but it was not enough to cause enough damage to destabilize the Lion, seemingly immune to pain. In any case, we were gaining an advantage. "Let''s not give him a break, Syggha!" Syggha shouted, "We have less than three minutes!" The Watcher must have been able to peer into the limits of Jaime''s body andmunicated the information to the former disciple. Although the confrontation was slightly in our favour, we would never have been able to reach our goal in time. Fortunately for us, an unexpected third aid entered the fray. He was a member of the Arcane Shields, whose name I did not have the head to remember. But the [Level 11; Rank Page] was more than enough to describe his skills. "Ser...!" the knight anticipated, "I already know everything! The Watcher has requested my intervention! I will help you!" Our chances of saving Jaime in time had just increased significantly. But nothing was to be left to chance. [Bless] the Knight of Love and Magic also benefited from the buff. We surrounded Jaime on three sides. "Pretty good spell, kid... Well, I guess the situation calls for ''flexibility'' to the regtions." The Arcane Shield kicked off the dancing byunching from the hand a semi-perceptible air breeze at Lion''s feet, raising a cloud of dust that blinded him for a few moments. "Let''s charge!" Thundered Syggha, kicking off the dance. Atst, the Lion had reached a limit he could not surpass. Our superiority was indisputable. Jaime suffered assaults from every direction, barely managing to parry three-quarters of the blows with no chance to counterattack effectively. Now, the predator had be the prey. ''Yes, we can do it! It''s yielding!'' I thought with relief just before fate intervened to bring bnce... I underestimated the problem of the audience''s disappointment, for all the booing and cursing of dissent at the unequal sh drew someone''s attention. "Three against One! Spuuth! And you call yourselves knights?!" Ser Lyle Crakehall and Ser Addam Marbrand arrived in support of their lord by throwing themselves into the fray. Beyond that... another presence was behind. "He is right This is not a fair confrontation, Ser Duncan." An elderly voice, calm but at the same time brimming with fighting spirit, made me sink into frustration. Ser Barristan Selmy came to the rescue of his own sworn brother... -------- End Chapter. ***** Chapter 189: Mountain & Dam Chapter 189: Mountain & Dam POV: The Watcher Among the noble stands of the Eastern Confederacy. Seconds after help arrived in favour of the Lion... -------- ''Tsz...! I''ll be damned, and my stupidity be damned!'' Zick towered, standing alone among the various nobles of the East, still seated, intent on enjoying a great spectacle. Unaware of what was taking ce in the dark shadows of the world. Only three individuals among the dozens of spectators knew who he was and what role he yed. To all the other noble lords of important foreign cities, Zick was nothing more than an advisor/master of arms of some elevation who had somehow been fortunate enough to merit a prized seat in the front ranks next to the noble Sorcerer of the East. The master''s eyes were crimson red and were beginning to burn like ming balls. Tiny shoots of red tears started running down his nose and slowly trickled down his cheeks. {"You are overexerting your skills, my friend...You will consume what little is left in yourke of vitality more quickly if you continue to create leaks in the dam."} Chai Duq remained sitting there with his usual regal and impassive bearing. As if the catastrophic events that were looming did not touch him. But Zick knew the King in The Yellow well--the Sorcerer was having a st, enjoying the events as if they were the event of the century. {"I know my limits better than anyone, Chai. If you''re not going to help me in this mess, at the very least, shut up and be quiet as a mountain."} Grunted the Watcher in an irritated tone in the ancientnguage of Dawn. {"I am already helping."} Chai Duq. {"And how, pray to tell?"} Zick asked without breaking the visual connection with Syggha. {"I do not feel that I prevented Ser Braitwur from giving your pupil a helping hand. And it was more than my right to do so if I am correct. I warned you that I would find a way to teach that brat a lesson in humility. And ordering my sworn Arcane Shield to interrupt if not ''thwart'' the Golden Lion''s rescue attempt would be a fitting punishment--don''t you think, Guardian of Love?"} The King in the Yellow. {"The agreements were that your swords would watch Duncan''s back in thispetition! Are you going back on your word, ''My Friend''?"} The Watcher. {"I promised that Ser Tristan, Ser Guruk and Ser Braitwur would keep the pesky bugbears of Oldtown and Braavos in check, not that he had his back...And it sure looks to me like your pupil has a problem with the noble Lannister royal family..."} Zick could not see the counterpart. Still, he would have bet every asset in his possession that, at that moment, the slimy double-crossing Sorcerer was shing a thirty-two-tooth smile. {"Cut to the chase and tell me what you want for ''contribution'' from the noble Confederation of Wizards."} Ser Jon had just surrendered by dragging the battered Greysteel out of the arena. Two other more than worthy members of the Arcane Shields coulde to the rescue or ''stand in the way'' of Duncan and Syggha. Time was running out...Chai Duq had the upper hand. {"... One thousand elite units trained by Eagle w and Ghost de. Two hundred among them shall be worthy of the Magic Knighthood, and I want them floured and baked by the next lunar eclipse."} Promulgated the Monarch of Shamelessness and Greed. {"Two hundred Knights?! Tsz...! You are a poisonous snake! The next eclipse is in less than three years!"} Spat Zick angrily. Time was not the biggest problem, nor was it the favour he should have called in from his formerrades-in-arms; what the poor man feared most was Zishua... The old woman would not have forgiven him so easily for pulling two of the nine most dangerous cards out of the deck so lightly, nor for granting so cheaply and without limitation a thousand very dangerous weapons to a mad warmonger. {"Ehehe! I am a Phoenix, not amon reptile. And the demands of the noblest and proudest creature among the animal kingdoms are not over ..."} Chai Duq. {"What more do you want?!"} Zick could not observe the cunning ckmailer behind him. The direction of his gaze had to remain sharply focused on the confrontation. {"The Confederation and the Fourth Organization will not have to shell out a single piece of copper for the battalion. Magic stones, enchantments, provisions, sries, horses and transportation, healing herbs, elixirs, equipment, enchanted equipment ''And''...the fee for the services of the masters of arms. Any expense or cost rted to that unit from its formation to future employment must be paid solely and exclusively by House Tallhart. And I don''t need to tell you that the quality standards of these warriors will have to live up to the good name of Carcosa...Deal?"} The smiling sorcerer. Phantom de was undoubtedly the most demanding of the elements. The avarice of Josua of Jh was nothing short of ''Amateur''pared to the professional in the field. House Tallhart was about to take a more than decent financial hit. With the funds spent, Torrhen''s Square could have forged and maintained roughly five or six thousand units of Frost des... And all this just to keep the Arcane Shields from acting as turncoats in the little time they had left. Zick did not care about money or material possessions but to force other people to whom such resources gave value, and at such a delicate moment in which a life he had put in jeopardy depended on such an arrangement... The Watcher was noticeably angry with his ''Old Sorcerer Friend''. ''When wee to the Eye of the Gods, and you transact your swinish business with my pupil, I shall spur the Green Demon so that he may also slip off that silken rag between your buttocks, Rascal!'' It was wiser not to pull too hard. Zick did not have the means or the will to call Chai''s bluff. Lion Boy was on hisst legs, and for the next move, The Watcher needed every ounce of concentration at his disposal. {"Deal."} As soon as the deal was sealed, The King Sorcerer stood up and reached the side of his longtimepanion. {"Good... In my magnanimity, I have just ordered Ser Tristan and Ser Guruk to prevent any more ''troublemakers'' from getting in the way of the fun."} {"There is nothing funny about it."} Replicated the Watcher. *Snap* The Sorcerer activated a sound interference bubble with a simple snap of his fingers. Chai felt the need for additional protection besides a lost tongue for what would be uttered. {"Ahahah! There is, instead! We are witnessing a legendary event, My Friend! A Bearer in golden locks is awakening and under the best eyes of Oldtown to boot! Ahahah...! If it is indeed the will of the supreme, powerful and feared The Watcher to continue meddling in the nefarious fate that will inevitably await Lan''s Heir, this can only mean one possible future scenario for us all..."} For years now, Zick had been living sleepless nights, with the seed of doubt that, by supporting Duncan to the end, he could have brought the Known World to a cataclysm never before witnessed...and instead, he had been one. The decisive ounce that would bring death and destruction to all continents had beenid on the scales of his own hand. ''He is right...I am to me. This disaster could have been avoided. If only I had been more careful, less impatient... I could have stopped that boy. Told him he had nothing more to prove. But instead I...! Tsz!'' the Guardian of Love cursed himself, sinking his nails into his palms until he dug down to that fragile, useless flesh. Chai Duq took his time to utter the longed-forst word... {"War."} ***** End POV. ----- POV: Duncan Great Scrum Seconds before a nefarious word was spoken... ------ The situation was critical, to say the least! The magic knight grappled with two opponents, one more challenging and tenacious than a boar. Syggha was again bearing all the pressure of the Lion Berseker alone, and I was caught by Westeros''s most valiant and skilled swordsman. *ng!*,*Sting!*, *Scriiing!* steel shed against steel with no concrete result. ''Tsz...! It will take too long to analyze and trante this sword style. It is not an opponent I can defeat in less than a minute. Nor do I have time to make Ser Barristan desist from his intentions...! Fuck! FUUCK! FUUCK!!!'' I cringed at the adverse fate. "Just before, I saw you do better." Barristan charged. The smooth, firm swings, the footwork, the perfectly poised posture, the absence of openings... Every movement of that man with a sword was apanied by a metallic humming in the wind that shouted the word "Outstanding!" I parried and deflected twoteral blows in session and then attempted a disarm from below, which Barristan anticipated, repelled and returned with a single swing. "Are you holding back for fear of hurting an old man, boy!" The next few swings were more aggressive and fast but just as charged with precision and fluidity. I attempted a counteroffensive, but in my distraction, I did not notice that the spell time [Bless] ended--a minute had already passed. ''No!'' Barristan did not miss the opportunity *ng!*, *Stuff...* and disarmed his left sword. {"DUNCAN!!! Calm down and return to the present! Hold your breath, regrize your flow, observe and find the crack!"} My performance was so miserable and confusing that it forced the master to divert some of Syggha''s needed concentration on me. ''I have no time for this, master! Time is my enemy!", "Do you even dare to turn your gaze elsewhere?" The perfect storm nicknamed ''The Bold'' aimed and descended on every breach of my defence. Temple, shoulder de and rib crashed and vibrated--luckily for me, I was still wearing the best armour the North had seen in thest millennium. The damage was negligible. Then, a slight but prating twinge pierced my brain. As if a red-hot needle had surgically pierced my skull... I knew instantly what and who was responsible. On hundreds of asions, the Watcher tested my mental stamina by probing my defences, but never before did Zick dare to be so invasive and brutal. {"Time is the key! Make Time, your ally! Use every form of Time! That''s the crack in the egg, boy!"} ''What the heck does that m... You''re right! Time is the key!'' the confusion dissipated in the blink of an eye. The master did not himself have the answer to my dilemma. Still, The Watcher had searched for it and found it among the hundreds of possibilities enclosed in my mind, directing me subconsciously to the solution I was most confident about but had not yet focused on. Now I knew what had to be done. Extreme evils required dirty, unfair but nevertheless effective remedies. William was too distant and busy, but-"SER PETER!!!" I shouted with every ounce of breath as I prepared to repel Barristan''s third pressing assault. "My lord!" Ser Peter Atreides, the Knight of Beauty loyal to me, answered the call from over seventy feet away while still intent on carrying out my previous orders-namely, [Watching Ser Barristan Selmy''s back.] "Restrain Barristan with every means at your disposal! Attack him from behind!" If I did not have enough Time, I would have to use the Time of others. "B-but...! M-my Lord! I''m a Knig-" "DO IT!!! Cripple the Old Man or stab him in the throat if you must! No matter!" After kicking and fending off his opponent from the Stornds, Peter grasped the message and charged with a drawn sword, screaming at the honourable and respected member of the Kingsguard... On the other hand, the very said member was caught off guard with a stunned and visually disgusted face and, for the first Time since the beginning of the confrontation, Barristan slightly lowered his guard, turning for a moment behind himself. It was one thing to face several enemies at a time, but deliberately striking a knight in the back in the middle of a duel was a mean, despicable act worthy of disqualification in a tournament... Peter would soon join the circle of ''Future Disqualifiers'' along with myself and Ser Braitwur (I finally remembered the name). ''I must use your Time too! Give me the necessary strength!"}, I opened the cage and loosened the chains almostpletely {"Uh, mh, mh...! It''s about Time!"} An abominable rush of energy and murderous fury pervaded me to the core. I could maintain only the tight control necessary to keep from going mad. It was dangerous. I couldst ten or fifteen seconds at most beforepletely losing my mind. "Uuhaarh!" I fiercely assaulted the 50-year-old knight with all my increased strength and speed. *ngh!*,*Sdeeng!*,*Stiing!*, *Studh!* "Urgh!" a mighty sh entered the man''s side. Barristan was forced back in the direction of the imminent new iing threat. I gave the man no respite. I leapt for a devastating double kick to thecquered steel breastte, sending the man in armour flying nearly ten feet backward. ''Seven seconds...urgh...six.'' I leapt and sprinted toward Jaime''s direction, pumping as much energy as possible from every muscle fibre. Not even Usain Bolt (A famous athlete in my world) doped to the bone with a fire behind him could have matched my sprint. ''Four... three...'' Zick and Syggha had already worked to attract the Lion in my direction and waited patiently and with a thousand sacrifices for the move that would save Jaime on the way. The duo acted with pinpoint synchronicity. The Red Knight forced the crazed beast to turn its back on me. The sword had already slipped to the ground. I had only my hands, all I needed. I tackled the Lion Berserker and sped my arms tightly around his arms and pelvis. The hands were in no way toe off Jaime''s body for as long as it took to activate: [Lay of Hands!] As I used the power granted to me by the heavens, a warm, joyful, patient but very petnt voice very familiar to me recurred in my mind, belly and heart: ''If you can''t reach the Mountain, force the Mountain toe to you... If the Dam is in danger of giving way and depriving the vige of water, don''t use what little time you have left to collect as much water as you can but invest it in trying to dam the Dam and gain much more time.'' "Rooar!!" I repeated the verses of Seraphinus inside me like a mantra as I countered with all my might the mighty force of the Roaring Lion seeking freedom from its grip. My arms burned like hot coals, and the pain receptors cried for mercy. ''I can''t give in!!! Not now! NOT NOW!!!'' I had to endure two more seconds dted to the limit of the rtivity of time before Lay of Hands activated and curbed Jaime''s deadly wounds to win more time. "UAAAARGHH!!!"...finally, tepid green glows pervaded Jaime''s body. All the reserve of healing power in my possession was exhausted. There was no time for victory chants. My life was in danger. I was forced to restrict the limitations of my inner demon, and I had a very dangerous beast, newly invigorated and healed, less than an inch away, with no strength left to counter it. I let go and rolled away. The Lion''s w grabbed me by the foot with the intent to let his prey slip away... *Swwoosh!*"Uaargh!" fortunately for me, the Watcher and Syggha granted me a retreat. I scrambled back to my feet and eyed the stands first. {"Well done, my boy! You just gave Ser Jaime at least five more minutes."} I rejoiced inwardly-there was still hope. Adhia the situation Ser Braitwur had stunned Ser Addam but was still struggling with Ser Lyle. Ser Peter was engaged in a no-holds-barred fight against Ser Barristan. Other surviving members of the race who were chasing an easy victory against tired and wounded opponents were being handled by William, Ser Jory Cassel and the two magic knights in the service of the Sorcerer King, forming a perimeter around our area. "What are you doing?" The Knight of Love was retreating in the direction of Peter and Barristan. "I leave that to you. I have my own race to win." Syggha replied, throwing me a sword that slipped from the hands of an unconsciouspetitor on the ground nearby. "But..." it was a sharp-sighted figure over five hundred feet away who replied. {"It''s you and me now. It''s time to break through to 13 the gate... We can do it, my boy."} ***** End Chapter. Chapter 190: Roaring Heart Chapter 190: Roaring Heart POV: Cersei Royal Shores Shortly after, a master and a pupil joined forces... ***** A total debacle... Weeks of preparations were thrown into thetrine. That useless sack of meat Amory Lorch had served no good purpose, and Ser Gregor, though he hade close, had failed to bring down the threat. The bloody Giant of House Umber had given her knight a run for his money until the end, even managing to drag the Mountain with him out of the arena... At least, Jon Umber had been badly injured by the scuffle, paying the toll of an eye for his crimes against House Lannister. In a fit of fury, Gregor had crushed him like a grape as the two armoured giants continued to pound each other to the ground. The Giant Umber''s screams of pain thundered throughout the arena. Still, despite the copious bleeding hole in his face, the Northern barbarian continued to strike back until ten men managed to separate the two... The men from the North were simply Crazy-Bloods. During this second run, Cersei counted at least seven, if not ''eight'' deaths from the proven end. The maimings, fractures or lost limbs were simply too many to count. Many squires or attendants, tasked with dragging and securing the contestants to safety, gave off their stomachs or even lost consciousness in the middle of the arena, thus requiring twice the manpower for the job. One had even witnessed the pitiful spectacle of a squire of House Leygood who squatted down on the sand and began to cry like a baby, invoking his mother''s help and mercy... The boy had failed to keep his nerves in check as he tried to drag his lord away with his leg bent into a hook and his bones sticking out. At least a third of the contestants would not have been able to participate in the joust. Of course, at every melee of any tournament, ''idents'' happened, but this was simply a massacre! Barrels of blood had been offered in tribute in the name of Lord and Lady Mormont. Even Jaime''s... her poor Jaime''s. That coward Tallhart had defeated her brave and valiant lover by deception, impropriety of numbers and sorcery. The Golden Lion, The Sword of The West, was the only one who had cornered Bloody Snow. ''Tzs... First, they surrounded him, attacked him from behind, and finally hit him with magic to bring him down! Oh, Jaime... My love, what have they done to you? I swear the bastard will pay for this.'' Cersei promised herself inwardly as she tried to scrutinize signs of her twin unconscious and severely wounded and, moments earlier, rushed in on a stretcher by a squadron of attendants and healers. Cersei had seen him. The whole arena had witnessed the final skirmish between Bloody Snow and The Sword of The West... Amidst the hundreds of swings, acrobatics, and ngors of steel, that demon-child''s final sh, which shattered the lion''s steel and knocked her Jaime out at the temple, was light green... A dazzling rip in the sky. Sorcery! And if that were not enough, that Red Hedge Knight, tantly in cahoots with the Demon Bastard, had also entered the picture... "My Lords and Ladies! I present to you the winner of the fray...! Ser Syggha of the Long Summer!!!" The Red Knight slipped off his helmet and allowed the judge to raise his sword arm. The female features of the face were distinct, even from that long distance. "It''s a woman!" Roared Cersei in indignation and bewilderment. A woman had stood up to her brother Jaime! A woman! And what''s more, the judge had acimed her with the title "Ser"! Cersei pointed her eyes filled with anger at her husband. Robert could not help but greet the look with a semnce of seriousness. "She is, my Queen." Eddard Stark replied in a calm but slightly ufortable tone. "...A woman, Ned? A woman knight?" Robert did not seem entirely out of his senses by the grace of the seven. Even the king appeared to demonstrate a tone of displeasure at the question. Cersei did not miss the precious opportunity. "Yes, Lord Stark... Do the North and the Old Gods also recognize women as ''Green Knights''? I highly doubt that any Septon has anointed and blessed a nameless woman as a knight of the seven! Do you know the repercussions such an outrage will bring to the crown?" The king let the lioness'' rant pass, maintaining a look of doubt directed at his friend. "The Old Gods do not preclude women from knighthood, my Queen. Nor does the North repudiate women who choose the path of steel over that of silk. For generations for the Mormonts, the Umbers, and as for many mountain ns, many Northern daughters have been taught how to hunt and survive during winter and how to defend themselves against Iron Ind raiders and Wildlings from childhood onward. Beyond the Wall, to this day, Spearwives exist and are still widespread: Women recognized by all free folks as warriors..." "Lady Syggha is not from the North." An unexpected surprise, help came from Lord Eddard''s consort, Lady Catelyn Stark. The newly interrupted Lord of Winterfell briefly turned toward his wife''s unyielding gaze of "Integer-Servant-of-Truth," and then admitted, "No. Lady Syggha is not from the North but has sworn allegiance to one of my bannermen and, by extension, to Winterfell and the Crown." "And to what Household, your bishop, would she have sworn loyalty? And why does the name of origin belong to an uninhabited region of Valyria? "Did ''Ser'' Syggha swear her sword to House Baratheon or Targaryen, my lord?" Tyrion was not the only one at Casterly Rock who heeded Maester Vrick''s lessons. ''The wolf is in trouble!'' Snatching this victory from the flesh of a northern dog, thus having a way to vent all the fury and discontent he had umted in thest hour, gave the lioness a watering in her jaws too sublime to be ignored. "House Tallhart, my Queen--and, no. As far as she knows, Ser Syggha does not fight or have demonstrations against House Targaryen. She chose that name solely because that is where she was born: in a caravan that was on the Demon Road near Long Summer. Here in Westeros, it is amon custom that any Hedge Knight without a name ornd is free to choose a name that represents him... Moreover, Ser Syggha is not a knight devoted to the cult of the New or Old Gods. She is a knight of a forgotten order, older than the Empire of Valyria: A Knight of Love." Both the lioness, the deer and the trout were caught off guard by the wolf''s words. "Pff, a ''Knight of Love,'' Lord Stark? Is this a new story written by the famous bard of Torrhen''s Square? And you think for your king this is a sufficient answer? Not even in children''s fairy tales has ever been a rumour of Knights-Of-Love." Cersei sneered at her counterpart sonorously. "In history lessons or ''children''s fairy tales,'' had my Queen ever heard of the order of the Green Knights, defenders of Beauty, beforeing here to the North...?" Though in a minor tone, the Lord of Winterfell''s words were imbued with the same insolence. Cersei gnashed her teeth. ''You will pay for this affront too, Quiet Wolf! Torrhen''s Square and Winterfell will fall to pieces!'' The lioness did not give up. "Nheless, as wee as the words of a noble member of House Stark are to the entire continent, the Crown needs historical documents and well-established evidence before it can even ''consider'' the destabilizing and confusing advent of a third order of Knights, my lords... Evidence and documentation should be provided by the maesters of Oldtown and not by lords of the North." Countered the Queen, maintaining authority and restraint. "Hold back the sceptre, woman! You too, Ned. That''s enough of that. Don''t ruin the show for me with bickering about paperwork and politics...!" The fat deer intervened, casting an annoyed look more at the lioness than the wolf. "I beg pardon of the King and Queen, Your Graces..." replied the wolf, bowing his head in apology. Cersei was not ready to give in, but Robert anticipated her, "Woman or not, Ser Syggha loyally defeated ''Ser-Barristan-Fucking-Selmy,'' the greatest knight of his time. This is enough to make anyone a worthy knight: dogs, cats or pigs. End of story." ''Tsz...! If I had been given a sword in my hand as a child instead of needle and thread, I would have beaten the old man too.'' But this the Queen kept to herself. "And of the reprehensible conduct of Ser Duncan Tallhart, perpetrated against the honoured and respectable members of the Royal Guard, my king? Did not the cries of the valiant Knight of Beauty ordering one of his men to attack Ser Barristan from behind reach his Majesty''s ears? The boy even encouraged disloyal actions against my Household. A personal reprisal against House Lannister. Against members of the royal family, your family." Bloody Snow was not going to get away with this. Not this time. "The boy and all aplices involved have been disqualified from the race. Sufficient justice has been done." Robert. "My brother has been seriously injured! The blood that runs through your children''s veins has been spilt!" The image of Jaime spitting out copious mouthfuls of blood in thest exchanges remained well etched in Cersei''s mind. "Not even the Royal Family is immune to spilling drops of blood in a bloody storm of steel. Ser Jaime knew the risks, and I''m sure the best healers and maesters in the North are taking egregious care of your brother, my Queen. Is that not so, Ned?" Robert. "It is so, Your Grace. Ser Jaime will receive the best care the North offers." The Lord of Winterfell replied. "Ser Jaime would not need such treatment if Ser Duncan Tallhart had not vited any semnce of honour and decorum in this contest, Your Grace." A second aid came. "Cat...!" Dazzled Lord Eddard. "It is the truth, Ned." Cersei began to pick up on the signs of enmity Catelyn Stark felt toward the Bastard of the North. ''Of course. She is a mother, too, after all. And she, like me, fears for her son''s future... Interesting!'' "Phew! Let the New and Olds spare me... Listen carefully, woman. I''m addressing bothdies here! ''That'' was a real melee. A representation of a battlefield worthy of its name! Have you ever witnessed a real battle, my Queen? Have you, my Lady Stark?" "No, your Grace..." Lady Catelyn replied, taken aback. "That honour and virtue crap between gendarmes does not exist in battle! Men kill other men with any sharp, pointed or blunt instrument. With teeth and nails if necessary! Iron, wood, stone, rags, hands or feet! I have seen the seven''s most virtuous and credulous knights die in the most horrible and indescribable ways. Knights were unhorsed and stabbed to death by groups of vigers. Vigers were used as a wall of flesh to protect ''fearless'' knights from the first enemy charge. I saw a g-bearing boy strangle an archer with the very g that symbolized the honour of his household! A knight crushed the skull of a lesser lord with a branch, attacking him from behind. Another who tried to rip a man''s jaw off with his bare hands...! And all those survivors, tainted by the most abject deeds, are called ''Heroes of the Kingdom'' to this day! Shall I go on?!" Lioness and Trout were shushed. Cersei rose from her throne, maintaining decorum and dignity. "With your permission, my King. My family needs me. I am sure my father will want to hear the King''s opinion from me in this matter." "Ah! Yes, yes, run along to your father, my Queen." The King sipped cheerfully from the chalice of victory. "Lady Stark-would you be pleased to apany me? I could never leave a woman alone with these two...Battlefield Men." Proposed the Queen. "It would be my honour, Your Grace." Replied her possible future ally with aplicit smile. ****** End POV. --------------- POV: The Watcher In a medical tent set up near the Godswood. About an hour after, a Lioness and a Trout walked away from their respective husbands... **** "How much time do we have left?" Asked the Guardian to his trusted sworn shield. "Another hour at most before the Lord of Casterly Rock learns that his son is not where he should be, Master. From that point on..." Ramas hesitated. "Mm... The situation will no longer be manageable. I understand, Ramas. One hour will be enough. You and the boys have done a great job. Go ahead." Ramas took his leave of the tent with a bow. The guy had thrown all the leadership, creativity, and logistical skills he possessed into fulfilling the crazyst-minute demands of a Crazy Old Man... At least a hundred organisation agents had been unleashed and put to work so that Ser Jaime would be transported in great secrecy into his care. Duncan had just finished meditating and gathering his power. The boy had already cast a diagnostic spell on the body, barely clinging to life and in temporary stasis. If the Sorcerer King had not instructed his personal healer to put the Young Lion in cryopreservation with magic, attempts to save Ser Jaime would have been in vain. His ward''s gaze overflowed with bewilderment and anxiety. "Tell me everything. Leave nothing out." Ordered the Watcher. "I can save him-but I cannot heal him. At best, with my skills, I could make him a cripple, but I could not even guarantee that he would be able to walk again. My magic has healing powers, not regenerative ones, Master. I have permanently damaged Ser Jaime with the first emergency cures grafted onto the field. Fractured bones have been welded into amorphous positions, and numerousyers of scarring in vital organs have formed and cannot be removed. Not with the knowledge Westeros currently possesses, at least. If Ser Qyburn were here, we would have a much more objective opinion..." The boy was beginning to lose hope. "Continue..." Zick. "Almost every joint is gone. Muscle fibres in the arms, legs, and back are frayed mush of jelly. Bleeding in eighteen ces. Two arteries arepromised. One hundred and nine fractures, eighty-three of which are dposed, in forty-two body bones. The vertebrae are a mess. The neck is almost broken... " The Watcher caught the anomaly that Duncan held forst " What about the heart?" The boy hesitated. "The heart is strong. Incredibly strong. I think the organ is even resisting the freezing spell. It looks like a roaring beast in a cage, itching to get out of the chest. No...I stand corrected. It''s as if..." The Guardian of Love anticipated the sentence, "As if it were calling out to someone...or something." Duncan nodded. "What is he calling back? What is happening to Jaime, Master...?" Asked his heir. "You will have your answers, Duncan. But not today. Pleasee out of the tent now and let me work. I will need maximum concentration. Stay within calling range. Before long, Ser Jaime will need your gifts again." The boy''s eyes sparked with surprise. "Can you cure him?" Duncan asked. "Yes... I can." ---------- End POV. **** POV: Malora Hightower About 1,000 miles south of Barrowton. Oldtown, the basement of the Hight Tower. While in Guardian and a Pdin confronted each other... ------ The enchantress novice continued to voraciously absorb every piece of information possible from all the texts provided to her by her father. Dozens of forbidden texts not essible even to the best Archmaester in the citadel were scattered, in a confusing manner, over almost the entire table of the Andalus High Council. "I don''t understand... I don''t understand... No! Now I get it! Eheheh..." Malora waved his fingers and whispered the arcane words. A ck circle of runes materialized, and the spell was activated. An odourless but dense and voluminous curtain of shadow smoke spread in the direction she wanted, engulfing all forms of artificial light in that area. That was the penultimate spell of the first circle for the acolyte to understand and assimte. There was only one more to go before they could begin to try their hand at the spells of the second circle. *Scriick... Scriick* that faint harassing noise of unknown origin came again. It was already the fourth time in thest hour. "Where are you, you damn rat? How did you get in here?" Malora snapped to his feet. The irascible genius of House Hightower was archly annoyed by the sound of little paws walking on the ss. The enchantress could not discern any life forms nearby. Then a stroke of inspiration came to her aid. Thest spell she learned: [Agar''s Mist], she could also pick up any life form within the cloud. {"Aratum Dohi!"} the ck mist spread. In less than a minute, the whole area of thousands of square feet was enveloped in the spell. It was pitch ck, but Malora could see, feeling every object in the room. Even invisible creatures would not have been able to hide but nothing. Not a single life form. Not even a shadow. "How is this possible? The spell works! So why! Why? Why? Why?!" Malora slumped to the ground, scratching his head whirlingly... *Scriick... Scriick* "Again?! But from where?" *Scriick... Scriick* Then, among the hundreds discarded, a hypothesis dazzled the maiden''s mind. Malora immediately deactivated the spell, dispelling the cloud. She rested her ear on the floor. At the spot where a mechanism of immense arcane power held a legendary relic. ''No! It is not possible!'' Terror gripped the heart of Peremore''s heir. The Mad Maid urgently activated the mechanism button concealed under the armrest of the dragon ss pew. Devices and counterweights were set in motion, and a crystal shrine rose from the ground. The nefarious assumption was correct-the enchanted shrine was cracking! Canvases of tiny cracks kept forming and closing continuously, but the restorative spell could not keep the same pace as the opposing force. ''The magic stones!'' there had to be six 3rd stones and a rare 6th stone in reserve to power the artefact container. Malora approached, and, to her dismay, nothing remained but the dust of all the six 3rd-grade magic stones that were to remain embedded in the crown made of Valyria steel at the base of the pir! Completely consumed! Only thest spare stone was holding out, and the cyan rune on the worked Pure ss was beginning to fade! Malora immediately filled in the gaps with whatever she had on hand. The maiden inserted two 2nd magic stones she had in her pocket. The artefact absorbed them like a ma, sticking them into the empty holes in the crown. The shrine suddenly revitalized, restoring much of the damage. But it was not enough. It was a temporary palliative providing sufficient intervals to reach the casket. Malora grabbed five precious 5th magic stones and approached the coffin again. A minuteter, the threat had been thoroughly thwarted. The crystal casket was spotless and bnce again. But the majestic and roaring steel sword of Valyria inside did not seem intent on surrendering. The artefact, forged by Valgudryel for a specific Forgotten Hero and dormant for centuries, had awakened and imed freedom from imprisonment. Someone was summoning Lann''s Legacy...and Brightroar yearned to respond. ***** End Chapter Chapter 191: First Men & Andals (I) Chapter 191: First Men & Andals (I) POV: Leyton Hightower Silk Road. On a Resort Estate in Freedom of Use at the Fourth Organization. ------- The sun rose above the mountain ranges of the Barronds. The hour hade. Leyton gave the order for his slender armed escort to take leave and indulge in the hospitable care offered at the entrance to the mansion. Only Ser Jon Cupps continued to follow him. "I don''t want any trouble, Ser Jon. Do not give in to any provocation or ''offer.'' Any disagreements between you and the Companions of the Guardian must remain buried and forgotten throughout our stay. And in the name of The Crone, always remain at least twenty paces away from Baragh No Dua... Do I make myself clear?" Ordered Leyton in a feeble but authoritative tone a few dozen steps away from the leading weing group. The Protector of Oldtown sensed the looks of scorn and hatred from a pair of The Watcher''s hounds, well turned toward the first sworn shield. It was normal. The Watcher possessed the temperance and understanding to put aside past disagreements, but his ravenous hounds: no. Although it had not directly been Ser Jon Cupps who had duelled Valtazar, the older members'' former travellingpanion, it had still been the hand of one of his Seven Keepers brethren and former Student of Zick, who had delivered the final blow. By now, nine years had passed since that ''legitimate'' skirmish of conquest, which took ce at Isle of Tears. "Certainly, my lord... But should it be Master Zick who offers me a match? How should I act?" Rebutted Jon with mitigation and reverence. "Favorable participation for The Watcher and hospitable -But Closed- neutrality toward anyone else." Jon nodded silently. They were thest words spoken between them before they came within earshot. "Lord Leyton, my good friend, wee to my humble residence. Ser Jon, my dear boy, a warm wee to you as well. Come now. Approach my esteemed guests; do not be shy and abandon all narrow formality!" The Watcher was the first to step forward with open arms, disying his immovable joviality and tranquillity, the Guardian of Love forge marks. Leyton did not fail to notice the ghostly, weathered look on the man''s face, concealed beneath sunny smiles. The Guardian looked a decade older and fresh from a sleepless, feverish night. ''So my suspicions were well-founded... Your hand is behind that cataclysm. You even had to abuse your longevity in that puerile cover-up attempt.'' The thought was deliberately conveyed in a covert pantomime of nces. Leyton was certain that Zick had grasped the message. A few seconds of silenceter, the undisputed Oldtown Spokesman answered the roll call. "Honorable Guardian, thank you for your warm hospitality. My retinue and I wee it in the spirit with which you give it to us." Promulgated Leyton, bowed with firm respect. Jon apanied the gesture with impable synchrony. ...There were still ''Magic Words'' missing to make the form official. No offer of Bread and Salt could match the promised protection. The Watcher did not hesitate. The Guardian offered his hand, clearly pronouncing: "In the name of Love, I Zick, his Guardian and Keeper, the Nameless One, son of Dollinger and the Nameless Mother, do consecrate to you, Leyton of the Hightower Dynasty, my full hospitality and protection." A hint of crimson red sparkled from the thumb of his hand. Leyton epted the hand without hesitation, offering his blood and pronouncing in turn: "In the name of Beauty and Magic, I, Leyton of the Hightower Dynasty, son of Othar and Shyrine, wee your hospitality and protection." Leyton felt a warm andfortable veil of protection rest on his shoulders. Now, no one could touch the guest. The icy gazes of Zick''s eleven Companion Shields lowered, showing reverence and servility. The cold etiquette bearing could be loosened. "I hope it''s not too early, my dear old friend." Said Leyton, returning the smile. "Oh, not at all. My ward is ready to receive you at any time. But first...would you like something warm to drink or eat? These ''Summer'' mornings in the North are apanied by icy needles that undermine the warm spirit of an early day! Ha ha ha! Or, would you appreciate a good breakfast in thepany of an Expert Master of Jokes...? Come on, Leyton! You look austere and wasted! Put something warm on your stomach, topped with a goodugh! Ha ha!" The Watcher''s boldness was part of his Legend. Only the Seven knew "how" that fragile individual had survived this ruthless and upromising world before his rise. "Not for me, thank you. I appreciate fasting before a negotiation." Replied Leyton politely. The old eagle probably also knew how many drops of lukewarm lemon-voured water he had drunk that morning. It was the very presence of The Watcher that made his stomach or any other digestive orifice lude...Zick was a tireless miner, armed with Valyria''s steel pickaxe, hunting for Secrets in the Rock. If only his tenebrous Concubine, the mother of Malora, had not created a protective Anti-The Watcher spell to safeguard him... ''No. Best not to think about it.'' "Ah... I see, I see. Well, too bad. What about you, Jon? Breakfast with your ravenous old Master, looking for food andpany? I have some excellent pomegranate juice, olive oil bread, and the best-toasted bacon in Westeros. Come on, my Boy! That was your favourite start-of-the-day meal!" Zick affectionately embraced the armoured Knight. Leyton batted an approving eysh at his son-inw. "It will be my pleasure, Master. With your permission, my lord." And Leyton replied, soon after, "Go ahead, Ser." The Protector of Oldtown was escorted by Ramas and Will toward the interior of the Mansion. About two minutester. "This is the room, Lord Hightower. Confidentiality and quiet will be ensured for the duration of the meeting. For security reasons, the doors will be sealed. Inside, you will find a magic bell. Should you or your counterpart wish to end the meeting, ring it twice. For any other problems or needs, only one chime. We will respond to your needs as soon as possible." Exined Ramas before opening the door in solid Ironwood. "Thank you, Sir Ramas." The Dark Man''s steely gaze suggested that a tiny detail was still missing. Leyton sensed at once. The man handed over a brooch concealed under his doublet''s breast and all the enchanted jewels. Then he slipped off the belt containing the stiletto and ''Vignce,'' the ancestral long sword made of Valyrian Steel of the Hightower House. The two men from The Watcher collected each good, carefully cing it in an excellent and durable Weirdwood Trunk near the door. Upon opening the trunk, Leyton caught a glimpse of Red Rain''s case and hilt. His counterpart had also been stripped of any weapons or arcane trinkets that could harm, protect or influence either of them. The door leaf was opened. The room had no windows; sunlight would be present in this meeting. Among the various candlelights and hearths, something could already be glimpsed. A table and two chairs resting on a leather rug, scrolls of parchment, containers of sealing wax and candles, small tables of pitchers and cups, and, farther back, a figure from behind waiting in front of a lit firece. "Enjoy your stay, Lord Leyton. We wish you a peaceful and fruitful meeting." The Protector of the Council Andalus entered, granting only a slight nod. The door was closed and sealed secondster. The figure just over five feet tall, with steel-white hair of medium length pulled back, wearing a grey leather doublet adorned with fine green stitching and dark brown breeches and boots, did not yet turn to wee the guest. The 12-year-old boy remained erect, his hands sped behind and his head bowed to stare at the faint mes dancing in the firece. ''Not a very good start.'' Thought the most powerful and wealthy man in Westeros. The individual who, if he really wanted to, could have forced Great Lords, Kings or Queens to polish his boots with the tip of his tongue. But Leyton absorbed the little insult with the nobility of spirit as he slowly approached beside the young figure, beginning to stare at the hearth in turn. Now that he was facing the source of origin, the man was intoxicated by a soothing and pleasant fragrance of incense. The air smelled of embers and forest. A smell that generated the remembrance of a man sitting in front of a warm hearth on a starry night in the midst of the fascinating wilderness. After a few seconds of silence, apanied by the soothing sound of the crackling of burning logs, the boy spoke. "Stone pine wood. It is a rare and little-known tree that needs cold and specific mineral nutrients... It grows only among the Frost w Mountains. Farmers are trying to get a few specimens nted and sprouting among these mountain ranges. If they are sessful, a good trade will flourish." "... Yes, it could. I would dly purchase a few batches. Incense and aromatic woods aremonly used for religious rituals. Honestly, I don''t think I''ve ever used them as firewood... But it''s still a market that will take time and quiet to grow." Leyton added. "True, it will take Time and Peace..." Finally, Bloody Snow gave him a nce. "Forgive myck of manners. Wee, Lord Leyton. It''s a pleasure and an honour for me to make your acquaintance." He promulgated the boy formally, paying a reverent bow. "The honour and pleasure are equally reciprocated, ser Duncan. Thank you for epting my offer of a meeting." The Lord of Oldtown returned the bow. Exchanging due etiquettes, the boy looked around uncertainly, then asked: "Would you care for a little break from the ceremony of negotiation, my Lord...? I propose holding our ''political discussion'' near the hearth. From what I hear, you possess a remarkable memory. We shouldn''t need maps. Lord Eddard Stark has swiftly infected me with his passion for the hearth... Mmm, we should also move chairs and tables, and, s, we should be our own servants." Bloody Snow made his proposal with the same joviality of an ordinary 12-year-old, carefree and exalted about the future. "I don''t see why not, Ser." Puffed the man with an interested half grin. Beyond what was said about the Old Man of Oldtown, Leyton was not exactly a genius, born with a golden spoon and an army of servants at his mercy. In his youth, the man endured all the drudgery of any page and squire of humble origins. Apprising himself of serving meals and linens, grooming horses, cleaning stables and pits, rewriting tomes, polishing weapons and floors, and servicing every tedious and tiresome request of Lords, Knights, High Priests and Maesters. The man could still feel the callus formed on his hands and knees at the age of ten, when his father, Othar, forced him, as punishment for failing to show proper respect to his knight-bearer, to wash, dry and polish, with a mere rusty bucket, a broken brush and a filthy rag, every inch of the altar of the Starry Temple. Work had never been a problem. After barely a minute, the two factions were seated and lined up facing each other. It was the First Men faction that opened the dancing. "I have been inundated up to my waist with love letters and continually harassed day and night by requests for ''unexpected visits''... And now, the same fate awaits my brother Benfred. You hurled against your daughter like a boulder of siege. What is the price to make Lynesse desist?" "Lynesse, too, is distressed over the fate of her beloved brother, Garth... Your ''aggressive'' response toward her love, Ser, has traumatized my poor daughter. It is normal for a fragile-minded maiden to seek constion and protection from less bloodthirsty and golden-hearted parties." Leyton replied after tasting his cup of squeezed orange juice. "From the rumours that have reached me, Ser Garth is recovering excellently from injuries in the melee. The knight of Oldtown is eager for an opportunity for revenge in the jousting... so? What is the price for turning Lynesse away from every House Tallhart member?" Retorted and asked the ruler of Torrhen''s Square. "A marriage proposal with Oldtown''s most resplendent and graceful maiden wouldpletely smooth out any ''possible'' annoyance. If the heirs of Torrhen''s Square do not favour such a union, perhaps the heir of Winterfell, Robb Stark, will be." Leyton smiled. "A price too exorbitant. I would simply be better off offering her twice what you offered." Bloody Snow retorted with a hint of sarcasm and irritation. Lynesse had performed her duty to perfection. Leyton knew that his daughter had no chance of winning the heart of a member of House Tallhart. Her father wanted to get the interested party''s attention by forcing him into a negotiation. The fact that he sat on the negotiating table before ''open'' hostilities was an achievement. "An exclusive right to the sale -indefinitely- of the Mormont ss, from the South of the Neck to the Salt Coast, would greatly help to stitch up the wound of disappointment in my poor Lynesse''s heart and help her father to umte a just Dowry to find her a recement candidate." Proposed Leyton. "... Exclusive from Arbor to the mouth of the Mander." Countered ser Duncan. "Not enough. From Arbor to Sharp Point." The Lord of Oldtown. "Exclusive sales on the whole of the Reach, plus a partnership service between Mormont Keep and Oldtown for trade on the Red Mountain route and the route to Sun Lance... Take it or leave it." The man''s decades-old instincts suggested he take. "Deal." The Green Knight rxed his haggard face and snorted an ovation of relief. "Oh, glory to the Ancients. And this problem is solved, too." Leyton did not know whether tough or be offended by the inappropriate outburst. The man took the initiative to begin more thorny matters. "Truly a fine show you and Lady Barbrey put on, Ser... You fooled us well. All the best minds in Braavos and Oldtown were betting on a probable conspiracy of House Dustin and Tallhart against Winterfell. The opening of a Bank in the North was beyond the most mystical prediction. Using your ''Damascus Steel'' to lure and bind a good chunk of the pockets of Westeros and Essos, then... A true masterstroke." Bloody Snow greeted the statement as apliment. "Of course, it was a bold move on the part of the North... The Titan does not look kindly on a possible archrival, but more importantly, President Ultherro will not allow a woman to cast a stain on the Iron Bank. I hope Lady Barbrey is prepared for the incumbent storm that her institution will encounter. I do not think I need to remind you of what happened at the Rogare Bank... Am I right?" The boy''s rxed face did not waver. Duncan Tallhartfortably took his time to reply. "Funny that House Hightower itself should mention the events of Rogar Bank and the concern for a female leader... Right after its fall, wasn''t it Oldtown that sprouted a Bank using the ashes of Rogar Bank as fertiliser? And if I am not mistaken, was it not Lord Lyonel Hightower''s stepmother, Lady Samantha Talry, who set up and ran the whole shebang? Did Oldtown give the Titan a good stab in the arm at that time? And how long did the conflict of interestst before he opted for a plea bargain and closed the institution? Forty years...? The Andalus Councilundered quite a lot of money, publicly elevating the Hightower House as the second richest in Westeros. And all because of one Woman..." Leyton humbly cashed in on the modest usation of hypocrisy, seizing the tide to his advantage. "If I may ask, how long have you been nning? And it was you who nned all this? I mean, the wedding, the return of the Green and Red Knights, the inauguration and the big tournament?" The man was dying to slip that pebble off his boot. "About six years. The idea was mine, but for its realisation, much of the credit goes to Barbrey. Keeping it a secret was certainly the thorniest and most exhausting burden of the whole project. As for ''The Return of the Green and Red Knights'', it was more of an unforeseen consequence... We were hoping to leave that cherry forst." At first nce, the boy seemed to have too loose a tongue, a possible opening that could have been exploited. But after a moment''s careful thought, Leyton deduced that any information revealed was now irrelevant. Presumably, with a little more effort and a pinch of logic, Oldtown could have grasped it for itself quickly. It had been a mere gesture of courtesy and nothing more. "I see... Thank you for dispelling this little curiosity of mine, Ser." The Old Man of Oldtown. "My turn, my lord." There was an ambush behind the apparent ''Gesture of Nobility''. A tribute to be paid that, if unpaid, would havebelled Leyton a ''Discourteous Counterpart''. "Question away. If I can, I will answer just as clearly." The die had been cast. "I know something of the previous Lord Protector of the Andalus High Council, your Great Uncle Wace Hightower. You learned under him, serving as his squire and assistant for nearly a decade, but I also learned that Lord Wace had an eye for another nephew. The former Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, your uncle, Ser Gerold Hightower..." It was a sore point for the man discussing the White Bull. Although he was his uncle by kinship, the trifling age difference between the two and the many affectionate bonds shared during their youth ssified Gerold more as an older brother. The only brother Leyton ever had. "... What in particr would you like to know about Gerold?" Leyton asked, inhaling cold air to cool emotional reminiscences. "Did ser Gerold have a role in the Politics of the Council? Was it Lord Wace who ordered your uncle to wear the white cloak so he could approach the Council of King Aegon V?" Bloody Snow asked. "Absolutely not! Lord Wace doted on his nephew. However, Gerold was not eligible to be heir, but, on the other hand, my uncle excelled in many other fields, such as swordy, military wit and leadership. He could still conquer a key position for the family, even rising to the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Sons of Light. He was hard-headed but fair, loyal to the core. A true knight bound by honour and oath. At only sixteen years of age, he earned his spurs. It was Ser Duncan the High himself who invested him with the knighthood... When Gerold saw a faint glimpse of the true entity hidden behind his House, he abandoned the city, choosing the Dragon and the Realm over his family!" Leyton''s tongue paused briefly to swallow the bitter pillow of sadness and regret. "My uncle never participated in the ''Affairs of the Council''. He joined the Kingsguard primarily to keep an eye on the Grand Maester and secretly protect the Royal Family from the threat of Oldtown... Gerold did not betray the vow of silence imposed on him by the leader of House Hightower, but he still served House Targaryen honestly and loyally, until hisst breath." Concluded the Lord of Oldtown in a firm tone. Leyton would not ept any shame or discussion of the honour of the White Bull. The honour for which, decades ago, Leyton lost a Brother. "I will ask no more about it... Thank you for your sincerity, Lord Leyton." The boy seemed to recognise and respect the boundaries not to be crossed. After a few seconds of respite, Bloody Snow dug more towards the heart of the encounter. "Zick tells me you have a ''sincere'' Proposal for Peace... What peace could the people who have whispered, conspired, led and forced The First Men to kill each other for millennia, while even now they n a possible ''Purge'' offer?" "The Andals are not the first nor thest people acting to attempt to expand their domains," Leyton replied, justifying himself. "The end is always that. It cannot be denied, of course. But the ''ways'' to that end define the man. Andals, First Men, Magicians, Ghiscarians, Summer Ind Men, Ironmen, Rhoynars, Valiryans, Dothraky... We are all peoples of Man. We were all spawned from the same seed." Duncan. "And of the various ''Ways'' used over the millennia by the Magicians and Valyrians to hunt and segregate a nomadic people forced into exile from the meanders of Essos to the Hills of Andalos? Does history even remember that?" Leyton retorted. "But you had found a homnd in the Andalos Hills. Rhoynars and Valyrians were ready to recognise the Andal Kingdom, drawing up treaties demarcating borders.... You had good, fertilends a peace agreement protected by the Three Guardians, yet you chose to draw your swords to the West. The First Men have never waged war against the Andals. The invasion into thends of Westeros, the cataclysmic prelude to the Second Great War, the extermination of the Life Singers, the Great Purge of the Druids and Green Knights, the persecution of the Believers in the Old Gods... the Andals started that cycle of conflict, hatred and suffering." Bloody Snow. "You forget that the Andals did ''half the work'' in exterminating the Life Singers. The First Men cut down the forests and impregnated the rivers with the blood of Sons of the Forest and Giants... Later, you chose peace, union and harmony, true, but not without a heavy toll of ''Conflict'', ''Hate'', and ''Suffering''. After settlement, paid for with Steel and Blood, the Andals sealed millennia-long truces with marriages and treaties. Actions not so dissimr to those of the First Men..." The Old Man of Oldtown. Bloody Snow took a second''s respite. The boy filled his cup with water and offered a second one to his counterpart. Leyton epted. Having cooled his throat, the First Men''s representative retook the floor. "You are a very skilled fencer, my lord. You force me back further and further into the corner of hypocrisy. But, for now, let us put aside the Coming of the Andals and move on to more... recent generations." ------ End Part I ***** Chapter 192: First Men & Andals (II) Chapter 192: First Men & Andals (II) POV: Duncan Silk Road, the residence of the Guardian of Love. Seconds after the water was served... -------- Zick had described the man''s personality and character to perfection. I now understood why the Watcher would not tolerate any disrespect from me... Leyton Hightower was a true Nobleman. A temperate, brilliant man, flexible-minded but ready for conflict, dutiful in his duty, respectful towards Power and constantly aware of the heavy burden of responsibilityid on his shoulders. There was constantly a bright warning sign in front of me: {Level 12; ss Lord}. But the emanating presence showed no trace of hostility. He was not the monster in disguise I imagined... he was a man. Simply a man, upholder of the correct principles, but born and bred into the wrong faction. Part of me felt sorrow knowing that one day, not so far away, depending on whatever agreement was made today, that individual would be one of my most bitter enemies. I would dly have paid mountains of gold to get Leyton on my side, but that would remain a fantasy... The floor was mine. "I do not know whether or not Oldtown wasplicit in the Great Disaster of Valyria, but your assiduous ''badgering'' aimed at the Dragon Dynasty and the Politics of the North is quite reprehensible... Many a war has been orchestrated by the Andalusian Council. And let us not waste time on innuendo and wordy; Oldtown is moving to dere war on us on all fronts." "{If you want Peace, prepare for War} was one of the first teachings of my predecessor. It has been centuries since the Andal Council diligentlyplied with every Treaty of Vaes Diaf use. Every past action of my House, including The Dance of Dragons, never vited any rule. No sword of Oldtown has ever been turned against the Royal Protected Dynasties. And House Targaryen is not part of the circle. It was our right to move against a potential threat to our people. The ''orchestrated wars'' you refer to were necessary to avoid a prelude to another Great Disaster. Humanity will always seek conflict. Oldtown, like the Three Guardians, acts to prevent wars fought from remaining ''small'' and ''manageable''." Leyton''s gaze grew harder, and he went on to say: "What the ''First Men'' are doing, in this generation, is inciting all the Great Factions to take sides and prepare at each other''s throats... Is this really what you seek, Ser? A World War? Every corner of the Unknown World gued by Chaos? The suffering of millions of innocents...? Should you listen to me, years, if not decades, dominated by Suffering, Destruction, and Death may be avoided." Leyton was good at conveying the intensity of his intentions. A catastrophic scenario began to haunt me. Cold shivers and feelings of revulsion tingled from the tips of my toes to my neck. A part of me yearned for war. All the training, the ns, the close alliances, the countless preparations made and yet to bepleted served that long-awaited moment, but... from the opposite side, a more minor, less loud-voiced part was crying and begging me to stop now. It begged me to never again throw myself into that horror... I felt my hands stained with sticky blood and emanating a foul iron stench. I got up and approached the hearth, trying to wash away and dry that unpleasant sensation. "I hear you, Lord Leyton... So, what does Oldtown propose to avert such a disaster?" Leyton took the opportunity to stand up in turn and approach me. Then, the man articted in a clear but quieter voice the following terms: "Pay the price necessary to appease The King in the Yellow, then cut ties with Carcosa. Offer the Titan Council a sufficient cooperative share of the Never Winter Bank and appease the conflict of interest with the Iron Bank. Distribute Damascus Steel ''evenly'' to every corner of the World and maintain the bnce of the Great Powers. Open the Northern borders to Oldtown and consolidate the union between First Men and Andals in the marriage bond. Fair ceremonies for both New and Old Gods. And, for the sake of quiet, cease or, at the very least, ''slow down considerably'' any other revolutionary ''Northern Novelties''... Any new discoveries must, at the very least, receive the approval of the leadership of the Fourth Organisation." I looked at the man with a suspicious and slightly surprised look. "You mediated part of those terms with Madame Zishua, didn''t you?" The Spider Queen had been throwingshings and ps at me for months to persuade me to a peaceful resolution. ''''I did. Although the Lady of Pentos cunningly ''neglected'' the impending news of the Silk Road, Madame Zhao Urat and I still made considerable effort to find a possible meeting point." Twenty-six years ago, the credit for defusing World War IV did not lie solely with the Former Guardian of Love. The promising young New Lord Protector of the Andalus Council, Lord Leyton Hightower and the New Sovereign of the Shadow, Madame Zishua Zhao Urat, sat at the negotiating table for three days and nights to negotiate asting peace. ''Pff, that''s why the Watcher went full-breasted for you with such urgency.... Zishua must have groomed Zick for good...'' I thought between grins. Probably thest of that morning... ytime had ended. And the tone became more serious. The ruthless and bloody negotiation pit had been opened. The fate of how many souls would be determined by the following words? "Your terms are too general, my lord. What do you mean by ''Opening the Frontiers'' and ''Cutting ties with Carcosa''? Also, what would Oldtown offer in return for these exorbitant concessions?" I asked. "We are not as blind or foolish as you think, Ser... We know you seek the Return of the Age of Magic. You have spent rivers of gold to purchase or hire every text and scribe. The Maester of Torrhen''s Square''s little theatre could notst long. The Citadel is aware that Qyburn has betrayed the order... Another brilliant idea of yours?" ''And it''s about time, Sheep!'' I wanted to rant that aloud, but I restrained myself. "Not really... If you can, my lord, report to the honourable Grand Archmaesters that it''s nothing personal. As the Braavosians say: {Business is Business}." "Of course, I will report it to them... But I don''t think it will help to assuage the repercussions of such an affront. You should know that the Citadel has already ced a bounty of ten thousand gold dragons on the ck market for Qyburn''s head. I exposed myself to prevent the ''Seven Secrets'' from being unleashed... Three Grand Archmaesters out of seven even voted for a more drastic ''Extremely'' resolution." The Citadel was not to be trifled with. Members of the Secret Seven were one thing, but we still needed more healers or researchers to counter the Order of Maesters'' weapons. A Bubonic gue, Cholera or worse could hit the North anytime. "It seems like a disproportionate reaction for some information and a handful of borrowed coins. Torrhen''s Square is more than willing to return every single pennies-plus interest the ny-four thousand seven hundred gold coins allocated to Qyburn over the past three years to ''Spy'', ''Steal'' and ''Report'' House Tallhart''s trade secrets to the Citadel. We will also offer three times the weight of our Maester in gold as a gesture of thanks and goodwill. However... in the unfortunate event that those ''Thieves'' do not like such a gift and gesture of apology and demand more, it is good for the Grand Archmaesters to know this: {The Seven Secrets will always be wee in Torrhen''s Square. The squadrons of Frost des, under the direct Command of Ser Qyburn, are eager to prove themselves... Furthermore, House Tallhart is ready and will counterfeit ''Thirty Thousand Golden Dragons'' for every hand, dominant or not, of any Oldtown Thief garnished with Chain, Mask, Ring and Stirrup}" Leyton looked at me cloudy-eyed and intrigued for a few moments. "... In the South, traitors have their heads cut off, but here in the North, thieves have their hands cut off." I rified. "It will be my duty to inform the members directly concerned..." Promulgated Leyton with a concealed air of amusement. "But the point remains, Ser. My voice has veto limits. Your rush to education and your ranks of healers are threatening the authority of the Citadel. If even amon Barrowton fishmonger can read, who knows what is being taught among the isted and inessible viges of Torrhen''s Square. It has taken the Maesters and members of the Andal Council centuries to contain and extinguish the dying embers of the raging, out-of-control Fire, named ''Magic''... I am not asking for total prohibition of the Lost Arts, but simple control and agreed cooperation." I interjected for more rity. "The Andal Council wants to control the spread of education and ascertain our future research. Watchful eyes and ears, alert for every page read, rune deciphered or discovery made. An imposing whisper establishing what is forbidden and what is not..." Leyton neither confirmed nor denied. "...The Citadel also has good Arcane knowledge. Your researchers and schrs will even be able to use much of the Forbidden Section. We will even allow you to ''Freely Research'' the Ancient Art of Life Magic. But what is paramount for the Council of Archmaesters and Andalus is that the knowledge of the East never sets foot in Westeros again. The Confederacy has longed for its return to Westeros for millennia, and that must not happen." Leyton exined, entuating a dash of menace in thest verse. "And what of the Green Priests and Knights? Will the High Priests of the Starry Sept also willingly ept the breaking of their monopoly on the Knighthood and the free spread of the cult of the Old Gods?" I asked, without expressing any opinion on the first point. "Of course, they won''t ept it ''willingly''... There will be diatribes and disagreements from every priest of the Seven. It maye to a conflict of faith on the part of the most Fanatical... but it will be contained. I will expose myself to appease the most controversial of the Council. With time and gradualness, the cult of the Green Priests and Knights will return and be integrated and recognised in every corner of the Continent." This was no small concession. Oldtown and the High Creed would still have to oppose the affront publicly perpetrated by the King of the Seven Kingdoms. In all likelihood, the current Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn, will already be being buried alive by petitions and diatribes moved by the High Septon and members of the Council of Baelor... Even for the Starry Sept, a facade of cover was necessary. Skirmishes by fanatical cultists were inevitable. Whether the Temple of Baelor and the Red Fortress wanted it or not, blood would be spilled in the name of the Old and New Gods. Leyton was flexing considerably to offer honest and reasonable terms. "As for opening the Northern Gates? What is the tribute the High Tower requires?" "... Torrhen Square must grant the Hightower House a symbolic contribution of its choice. We will settle for any ''Novelty'' or ''Improvement'' simrly offered to any Great Lord of the North. As well as free ess to the Port of Waterdeep and White Harbour exchanges, and a 10% tribute on the ck market of the North..." It was only pocket change in the Great Set. "What else?" I asked. "The cessation of the First Men''s war augmentation. You have free ess to Damascus Steel, top-quality leather, new bows for your archers, and soon new ranks of Knights... On top of that, you have garnished your ranks of nearly twenty thousand swords, rebuilt fleets of ships in the Coasts, and gained considerable ''guidance'' from The Watcher. The North has already proven that it has the means to defend itself. Further augmentation would be an open deration of war." That was nothingpared to Oldtown''s militias and Naval Braavos''s fleets. The Damascus Steel was an excellent Bellic Upgrade; there was no denying it, but still insufficient. The Valley ns and Wildlings would have died out if only better weapons and armour were sufficient for hegemony. Several Valley Knights, fully armoured and armed to the teeth, were still pissing at the mere thought of having to charge through the ill-armed and savage ranks of those metal-hungry and bloodthirsty Barbarians. Braavos and Oldtown feared not the war improvements of the North, for the North, but more those for the Fourth Organisation and the Confederation of Mages: for the moment, the only world forces capable of standing up to them. The Hightower militia was top of the range on the discipline, training, mobilisation and experience front. The best cavalry in the world was stationed and ever vignt within the walls of Oldtown. Its elite infantry, constantly tempered in the endless skirmishes of Sothoryos, could make the Ghiscarian Iron Legions envious. These forces left out the Company of the Sons of Light, the power of the Creed, and the secret arcane and alchemical weapons well guarded in the High Tower and Citadel. And I did not mention the City-Enchanted-Fortress itself and its First Keeper... To this day, I had no draft of a viable n to breach the walls of Oldtown''s defensive ranks. The Great Wizard Protector of Oldtown was an untouchable, almost Semigod, in his High Tower. Even if Leyton emerged from there, charging recklessly at the enemy, armed with Keeper of Knowledge and spells, his war power wasparable to up to a thousand, if not two thousand, swords of the Sons of Light... And that was no exaggeration. At eighteen, the New Protector of the Council proved his valour in the field, single-handedly vanquishing over eight hundred elite members of the Fellowship of the Sons of Night in the famous ''Yeen Massacre''. From that day on, Leyton Hightower proved to the World Factions that he was a worthy rival to Chai Duq. That man alone had the strength and ability to take me and the entire Winter Guardians unit down. So... No! Absolutely not! A lone, open war against Oldtown was definitely out of the question! The restoration of the Moat Cailin, the Tallhart/Dustin (now Mormont) militia and the revival of the dormant power in the dynasty of the Winter Kings were a crucial addition to the First Men''s defence. However, the North still needed more numbers, preparation and magic to face the armies of Oldtown on neutral ground. I waited a second time to give my answer on the subject. Leyton''s lips were not closed, and his eyes yearned for another request.... "What else?" I asked in an annoyed but still patient tone. The Keeper of the Hightower estate took his time with thisst request. The air became more tense.... Leyton was about to throw a pretty big mine at me. "I havergely understood your sights on the continent, Ser. You are apparently dodging interest in the Iron Throne, but at the same time, you have found a way to protect and hide the rightful heir of Dragonstone from the eyes of the world... Eight hundred million gold coins in Dragon ss would appeal to anyone, especially a Magical Confederacy short on ingredients for their runes." Twenty-four points in will was not enough to keep my muscles from stiffening. "You have moved prodigiously well to get the Nymeros Martell Dynasty on your side... And I suppose you''ve properly loosened up Highgarden as well. I wonder what on earth you could have offered that Old Thorn to spur her to sell out during the auction... New Products? Priorities on the Damascus ck market? Or a ''Royal Wedding Promise'' for my granddaughter Margaery?" Leyton possessed no proof. He couldn''t have any. I had left no trace... Was it all the result of his intuition? Or was it the work of a power of divination? Both possibilities troubled me. "Not to mention ''Casterly Rock''... I''d like to know what you dared report to Lord Tywin Lannister. And Lord Eddard? You could have reported every detail to thetter, leaving nothing out, ''Heir of Zick''." Finally came the most dangerous confrontation of all. One mistake, one distraction, one suspicion too many and a catastrophe of Valyria-like proportions could soon befall the entire North. I transmuted my facial expressions into stone, ready to sing the most convincing lie ever told in the history of man. Still, before I could even inhale gaseous fuel for my vocal cords, Leyton disarmed me, thundering, "DON''T DENY IT!" The room vibrated, and the fire absorbed some energy, changing to a more voracious and violent green hue. A fair amount of mystic power enhanced the shout... Probably, the Great Wizard cast a personal cantrip not unlike [Thaumaturgy]. "Do not dare to insult my intelligence, Duncan Tallhart! Ser Jaime''s events have ousted doubt for certainty! You know...!" I remained silent. "The Guardian of Love confided it to you, his Heir, the only First Men without Royal Dynasty to whom it could be confided... You are aware of Valgudryel, his daughter Rheyna and her consort... Podrick Lann!" ------- End Chapter. ***** Chapter 193: One for All Chapter 193: One for All POV: Author Private rooms, holiday estate of House Lannister, Silk Road. Three days after the events of the Great Melee. **** The pangs of hunger forced Jaime to open his eyes. It was the fifth or sixth-time voracity had taken over sleep. Never in all his life had the Young Lion felt such a craving for food. They could have served him horse hay or swine feed on the tray, and Jaime would have willingly devoured it all, along with the plump, sulent hands of the servants. "Feed me! Feed me! Food! What the fuck are you waiting for!" Jaime grumbled to the two attendants near the trays. An elderly voice intruded. "S-ser Jaime, my lord... Before you eat and go back to sleep, tell me how you feel? Do you feel pain, my lord?" He was some northern maester or in his father''s employ. Jaime rose from that prison of goose feathers and skins and peered at the bald old man adorned with the standard grey tonic and the long chain hanging around his neck, scrutinising him with murderous nces. "Tired and hungry... ''Hungry'' first of all. You have your diagnosis, old man. Now, feed me, you two! That''s an order!!!" The two valets snapped, overriding the healer''s authority. A wooden tray was ced and secured on the doors of the canopy. A bowl of broth and a cream of peas were the two usual courses -approved by the healers-to feed the possible dying man. Jaime disregarded them and gobbled the contents voraciously as if the fate of the Seven Kingdoms depended on that gesture. The hot broth flowed down like water. The vour of the beef, onions, beets, carrots and various voured herbs was a riot of ecstasy. It was the best broth in the world. Then, it was the turn of the cream of peas... The nutmeg, savouriness and creaminess were sublime. The stuffed bowl was empty in less than a minute. "I want those chicken legs and that ham...! And bring me that bread." The murderous lust for survival had subsided slightly. But it was not enough. The hungry Lion demanded more. Jaime pounced first on the crispy fowl meat. It might not have been chicken but duck, but the jaws and pte didn''t give a shit what kind of bird it was. Jaime devoted all the energy and attention in the world to the food served to him. The maester''s face looked sweaty and worried at the unhealthy and disturbing spectacle. The old man seemed reluctant to approach the patient, as if he believed the Lion might maul living flesh nearby. "M-my lord Jaime... I note that you no longer require assistance in eating. That is good, ser... good indeed. It means you are regaining your strength... P-perhaps..." Jaime ignored the harassing buzz, concentrating on chewing and swallowing that mouthful of white bread and sliced ham faster. After a couple more futile attempts, the maester approached the edge of the bed, poking his left leg with a wooden chopstick. "Do you hear something, my lord?" Fury took over. No one was to disturb the Lion while he ate! Jaime sprang to his feet, knocking over skins and victuals and then grabbing the old pest by the cor. "And do you feel anything if I squeeze here! What if I pull here?" His right hand gripped the mushy shoulder while his left pulled on the chain. "Argh...! No! No, milord! Please!... Coff...!" Regaining seconds of lucidity, the knight noticed the wrappings and bandages covering his naked body. A gross linen codpiece was wrapped over his private parts, like swaddling bandages for babies who could not shit or pee alone. Jaime let go of the poor wretch who was only trying to fulfil his duties. "Don''t disturb me while I eat anymore, maester... Do what you must while I sleep. Without waking me." The knight approached the serving table, deciding and serving himself delicacies. *** Twenty minutester... Jaime finished draining an entire jug of milk. Finally, that insatiable sense of emptiness was filled but was soon reced by exhaustion. The body still demanded rest. Finally, muscles and joints seemed to synchronise with the mind again. The first day Jaime opened his eyes again, he could not control his fingers properly... As if arms, hands and fingers did not belong to him. ''I''m almost healed... I just need to sleep and continue training.'' The very thought itself seemed like a contradiction. But not to Jaime. Not for the man who had taken refuge in the world of dreams for more than three nights. The swordsman couldn''t wait to re-enter that world. Without asking anyone''s permission, the Lion slumped back into his personal nest of mattress, pillows and furs, falling asleep again. In the twilight and waking phase, the visions and voices returned. "Yes... I can"... "I''m sorry, boy. I''m to me... Hang on still." That strange warmth remained, and together now, the horrid sound of broken bones and screams. That scratchy feeling inside, the thousand needles that seemed to want to stitch up skin and skinned organs... And that deafening heartbeat. ...Those two unnatural crestfallen eyes stared at him, piercing his skull like searing needles. And that conviction that kept shing and repeating: {The Dayne Legacy is yours}. The nightmares were the pawns to be paid to re-enter thend of dreams. Terrifyingly realistic nightmares, but, this time, too, Jaime resisted. The Young Lion catapulted himself back into the training yard: the training yard of Casterly Rock, the most familiar and safe ce of his childhood. "Pick up the sword." Said the darkened-faced figure in armour, there waiting for his return. A Jaime d only in breeches, boots, and tunic obeyed themand. Jaime tried to ask, "It is you, is it not? I recognise your voice, ser!" before the imminent assault. The knight-at-arms responded by unsheathing both blunt des, charging without hesitation. Jaime defended himself by raising his guard. The two-handed broadsword was not his favourite weapon, but the swordsman tried his best to adapt his fencing style. In less than five exchanges, Jaime ended up on the ground immediately after suffering an impossible sweep to parry. "On your feet." The knight did not repeat himself and plunged his de towards the target. Jaime rolled away and stood up, suffering the second relentless assault of the master swordsman a momentter. *ng! Stuff*.... "On your feet!" *Sskiin, ng, stuff!* "Again!" ... "Again!" The training continued and continued without any respite, without mercy. What he wanted from the knight Jaime most admired and had been let down... No Mercy. **** The Lord of Casterly Rock stood and gazed in icy silence at the figure lying on his son''s bed. Jaime continued to lie recovering, gripped by sudden short convulsions and muscle spasms. Tywin squared Maester Lorence with cial, expectant eyes. After all, the maester had sent for him for ''d News'', but Jaime''s condition seemed unchanged. "It is not as it seems, my Lord! I assure you that your son, ser Jaime, is on the fast track to recovery! See for yourself..." Maester Lorence disyed the chaotic remains of a table filled with consumed or spilled foodstuffs. Tywin waited impatiently for further polish. "M-less than two hours ago, ser Jaime stood up to eat! He was strong, full of energy and appetite, my Lord! He... he did not wish to be disturbed. He specifically ordered me not to disturb him during the meal. I h-have witnesses..." The two valets nodded without looking up. "If my son is on the mend, as you im, maester... Why does he continue to suffer between fevers and convulsions?" Tywin asked, in the same tone of voice that preludes a death sentence. "Gulp... A-after careful analysis and findings, I have drawn that those are notmon convulsions, my Lord Tywin... Convulsions are apanied by foam, drool, and possible jaw spasms. But Ser Jaime shows no such symptoms. His breathing, thoughboured, is regr." Replied the sweaty, shivering healer. "And so? What would they be?" Lord Tywin. "They are... they are ''unusual muscr contractions''. Contractions that, in my humble opinion, help the body stimte blood flow and tone the muscles. A kind of unconscious exercise or rehabilitation... In fact, more than once, ser Jaime spoke in his sleep. As if gripped by a realistic nightmare or dream for the mind, slurring or quoting actual expressions of...mmm: ''confrontation'' if we may say so." Old Lion arched an eyebrow as a sign of iprehension. Maester Lorence attempted to rify further. "I have had a match with my colleagues: Maester Wallick of Castle Cerwyn and Maester Luwin of Winterfell; though very rare, such cases have been found in the citadel''s records... Simply put, my Lord, ser Jaime... he... " the maester seemed hesitant to utter thest statement. But his father''s inflexible andmanding presence left no choice. "... Ser Jaime trains in his sleep." **** The day before. In a private room of a holiday resort not far from the temporary home of House Lannister... The twelve-year-old representative remained impassive, firm in his iron stance and unwilling to yield in the silent struggle of nces. The air was filled with hostile intent. Duncan Tallhart broke the silence first. "Yes. I know of Podrick Lann and the legacy of Valgudryel that House Hightower most fears..." The veil lifted; it was Leyton who spoke, advancing a step with negligible animosity. "You seek Brightroar, the scourge of my dynasty. You wish to see the menace of House Lann resurrected, a crime for which you and every member of your House deserve to be legitimately dispelled from history like ashes..." Leyton. "You speak of ''legitimacy''? I yearn for a possible ally who can counter the most pressing threat to my people, Lord Leyton. I don''t care if this ally has armies, resources, fleets, blood of kings, sorcerers or magical artefacts... If he will have the power my people need to survive and have a more prosperous future, why should I feel used of a possible crime? What right does House Hightower have to make such an usation, if not the mere power to destroy and annihte?" Duncan released massive, austere flushes of will. A pressure of resolve and menace that could have cowed even the steadiest of steeds. But the Old Man of Hightower did not allow himself to be intimidated or impressed, advancing further. "You do not even imagine the magnitude of the powers you are provoking and awakening, boy. The World you do not know will have no mercy on you and all those you care for." The Sorcerer. "You may be right... But if this World -which I do not yet know- should ever have a problem with me, my lord, it is not because of what I have done so far, but because of What-I-Will-Do." The Pdin. The Great Wizard of Old Town could not use mind magic to frighten or test the boy further. The ancient bond of protection in the name of the three great powers was upromising towards any sort of attack. But the veteran warrior-wizard''s instincts pealed not to test the mental will of that Twelve-Year-Old-Cmity-Anomal that the North had spat out of -the Seven only knew- what icy, dark abysses. Leyton had always had an innate talent for identifying an individual''s true potential, and now that the source of all his impending trouble was right in front of him, he knew for sure that Duncan Tallhart might one day be a menace that not even the union of The Watcher and The King in the Yellow could match. The Old Man lowered the levels of hostility, and the environment slowly changed back to its original state. "The alliance between the West and the North will not hold. Oldtown will not allow it." Affirmed Leyton in a calmer tone after he sat back down and allowed himself a sip from the cup. "Perhaps... That is why the North seeks other possible alliances. If the First Men cannot rely on the Lion, the Dragon at the head of a Rhoynars army will be a more viable alternative." Bloody Snow continued, "But, from what I know, Oldtown will not only have to worry about the North over the threat of the Lion''s Return... It seems the Titan has also just entered the race to win the friendship and support of Casterly Rock." "A mere assurance by Braavos to force Oldtown into a more ''advantageous'' cooperation for the Iron Bank, nothing more. Braavosians are known for shrewdness and profit-seeking, not recklessness." Leyton replied, not taking the bait. "An alliance not too reliable for a potential war on a global scale, my lord." Bloody Snow. "An undoubtedly fragile partnership, should it be only the North to destroy. However, it would be a solid andsting alliance should the First Men team up with the Rhoynars or Magicians. Dorne would be a passable nuisance to Oldtown; I do not deny that, but not a threat. The Dornians are famous for their ''Bite and Run'' guerri strategy over the long haul, strong and resilient as cockroaches in their desert of rock and sand. But in the open field...? The armies of Dorne wouldn''t stand a chance on the green ins and hills of the Reach, and unless they wished for a heavy defeat, House Martell wouldn''t even dare utter the words ''Siege'' and ''Oldtown''. As for the Magicians... The Confederacy would withstand pressure in the Far East... but the North? Here in Westeros? In the domain of Oldtown and with the presence of the Titan less than three hundred miles from Widow''s Head? The Witch-King''s armies and fleets would have to get past the Dothraki Khsars, armies of vers and mercenaries in our pay, and, at the very least, two thousand Braavosi ships to travel the three thousand miles necessary to give you a firm hand on the battlefield... The wait for your ''vital allies'' would be ''long'', to say the least, Ser." The Old Man of Oldtown. "I get the impression that you are overlooking another dangerous and, to say the least, ''underestimated'' ally of House Tallhart, Lord Leyton." Duncan. "Be realistic, boy... Even if, and I say ''if'', the North were to seed in gaining the unlikely full support of the Fourth Organisation, we both know that that order is nearing its twilight. The Spider Queen and The Watcher no longer have long to live, and the foundations of that empire rest on those two indispensable pirs. With Madame Zishua gone, her Vice, Zoldhak No Dua, would barely be able to support a third of the Spider Queen''s cloth, and the Nine Demons follow and will only ever answer to one individual: your Wretched-Master... How many years does the Guardian of Love have left to live? Four? Perhaps five?" Leyton. "You are right..." Duncan turned towards the mes of the firece, concealing in time his eyes stained with sadness and regret at the bitter truth. However, secondster, the voice resumed, "But I was not referring to The Watcher and the Fourth Organisation, my Lord..." The 12-year-old pronounced the name proudly, "House Stark." Leyton kept his gaze solid as those iron green eyes with silvery undertones assaulted him with renewed vigour. "I refer to the power of the dynasty of the Kings of Winter, the descendants of Garth Greenhand''s legendary son, Brandon of the Bloody de... The Most Powerful, Ancient and Dreaded dynasty among the First Men that Westeros has ever known. The only legacy that the Blood of Andalus has failed to dilute and suppress as it would wish. The only House capable of repelling and halting the Andalus invasion... And we both know, ''Old Man'', that it was not only due to the Neck and the impervious climate of thesends, as history would have us remember, that Andals armies, strong in their own steel and ten times as numerous, were decimated again and again by a barbarian herd equipped with furs and bronze." Bloody Snow sang his evil tune and then awaited the spectator''s judgement. "... That power the Starks no longer possess. The dynasty of the Kings of Winter has been buried and frozen for millennia. Torrhen Starkid the final stone on the tomb of that legacy three centuries ago." Countered The Old Man of Oldtown. "Everything that can be built can be destroyed. Just as everything that has been buried can be exhumed... Brandon the Builder left a legacy, not just a mound of stone and mortar. As long as Winterfell stands and a Stark king stands there to defend it, the North shall not fall." Bloody Snow. "A war can never be won by remaining on the defensive. The Starks have no power in the south, and the High Tower rises far above Winterfell. The armies of Winterfell would not even be able to see the green mes of my tower before they were blown away like ashes by the winds of Summer...! I suggest you don''t put too much faith in worn-out spells and past prophecies, boy. The High Tower and the Titan now hold the power to bring down and annihte Brandon''s legacy and all the North! And Torrhen''s Square would be the first to prove it!" Leyton Hightower. "You have the power and resources for such a feat, no doubt about it, but not without ''Inestimable Sacrifice''. Why do you think Thorren''s Square, Barrowton and Winterfell waited so long before revealing themselves to the World...? Braavos and Oldtown would suffer losses so significant as to dispel millennia of hard-fought and long-suffering hegemony in any punitive invasion. Ten Andals or any invading foreigners will fall for every First Men able to wield a weapon! I swear by the name of the Old Gods and by the name of the Three Great Powers, Leyton of the Hightower dynasty, if it is to be Our End, I will ensure that the North has a ''Great End'': that it will be remembered until the end of time! Blood will be shed willshall intrigue the Snows of the North until history capittes and names an entire cycle of seasons as: {The Crimson Winter}!" The Demon of the North released a murderous aura so icy and filled with bloodlust that it was able to arouse shivers and turgid hairs from the arms to the mouth of the Great Sorcerer''s Neck; a war veteran who had experienced the manifestation of the Seven Hells. Only one other unnameable entity had been capable of this. The name ''Bloody Snow'' was not a nickname dictated by chance.... Silence reigned in the hall for over a minute. Then Leyton Hightower resumed speaking. "There are worse hells than ''Crimson Winter'', Duncan Tallhart. If this remains the only path, House Hightower will walk it without looking back..." Promulgated the Protector of the Council Andalus in an authoritative tone but with a look polluted by unwanted resignation. "Nevertheless, I came to you, the one whom the Council First Men appointed as its representative, in good faith and with the hope of building a different path together." Bloody Snow replied, in a much more assertive tone: "What else does Council Andalus require to build this path?" "Only twost demands that,pared to the others, cannot be negotiated..." Leyton continued, "When The Watcher passes away, you are to pick up the duties of the Guardian of Love, sealing your neutrality towards the Known World and its sovereign factions on the same terms epted by the predecessor..." The boy seemed to expect such a request. "And the second?" "... Jaime Lannister." **** End Chapter. Chapter 194: I Chose You (I) Chapter 194: I Chose You (I) POV: The Guardian of Love In a garden of a vi on the Silk Road. About an hour after a meeting between two Great Factions ended... **** Zick approached toward the fountain, a work of art made of marble and granite, depicting a creative form of a tree tangled between the wings of a phoenix and the long body of a two-headed draconic serpent. Running water gushed from the mouths at the top of the dragon,pping at the feathery wings tangled in the world tree''s branches. A shower of crystalline tears seeped and trickled into the fountain''s basin, generating a harmonious noise and visual effect. He would find the boy visibly troubled and gued by gloomy thoughts there. Duncan was trying to regain hisposure. The student, now more than ever, needed guidance. "May I sit next to you?" Gently asked the man tried by tremendous aches and pains, the price to be paid for the forbidding efforts required of his constitution two days ago. "You must, Master... Why are you still standing? You need absolute rest." Duncan replied in an anguished tone. "I can afford another conversation before being imprisoned in that cage of pillows and annoying cares... I never liked being treated like a dying ss-boned invalid... Opl!" Zick slowlyy on the bench, letting himself fall into thest foot. His legs and knees were as feeble as a pudding supported by toothpicks. "Pff, but you''re a dying ss-boned invalid." A faint grin bloomed between the lips of the disrespectful disciple. "... But I am still the strongest and most powerful dying disabled person in the world." Rebutted the Watcher. Both Duncan and Zick indulged in the lightheartedness ofughter. A cool breeze, rustling bushes, leaves, and flowers caressed the duo. "Do you remember the night of the auction...? I''ve been thinking a lot about our philosophical exchange." The Watcher. "You mean the root of conflicts in the world?" The boy asked, reciprocated by a nod of assent. "I admit that your views on happiness have caused me a few hours of insomnia. I have been elucubating on the subject at length, and today, I can finally tell you that I disagree with you." Duncan arched an eyebrow slightly with an interested look. "Oh no? For what reason? If it is not the Pursuit of Happiness, what is the reason that spurs man toward conflict?" Duncan. "My physical condition has been inspiring-think about it. If a deity or entity of immeasurable power offered you, here and now, a potion, spell or magic pill that would make you immeasurably happy at all times for the rest of your days, and I''m talking about ''immeasurable happiness'' that no material good, event or pleasure in the world could ever give you, ''but,'' that the necessary condition for such a paradise would be absolute and perpetual confinement in a bed, would you, Duncan Tallhart, ept?" Zickpletely disarmed the student, generating a more than visible inner conflict in him. "No. I would not ept." Duncan replied in a surrendering tone after a full minute of reflection. "And the reason behind your refusal?" Asked the Master with an unconcealed spark of victory in his eyes. "Because I would not consider that happiness to be genuine... Or rather, I would much rather conquer a minimal portion of that happiness by my own hand, by facing and prevailing over the world''s challenges, than to receive it in such an undeserving manner... I would feel no satisfaction." Duncan had slight difficulty finding the right words. "That''s right, boy! That''s right! You found the key point: ''Satisfaction''... Man does not really yearn for happiness but for ''Satisfaction.'' Man, woman or child would always prefer a hard game in which the chances of victory are one in a hundred to another in which victory is certain in 100 per cent of cases... For, in our hearts, we all want to try our hand at something and win. The happiness we yearn for is that whiches from satisfaction." Exined the Guardian with emphasis and joviality. "... A valid argument to which, to my chagrin, I cannot disagree." Duncan re-embraced the despondency. The Watcher guessed the reason behind such an answer, anticipating it. "Yeah... Humanity will never stop fighting. Even in the most fertile and utopian time for peace, sooner orter, conflict will prevail... The winds of war loom." Affirmed the Guardian with a slightly resigned tone but no air of disappointment. "I tried, master -- but I was unable. I refused peace... Another generation of peace and prosperity was at hand. With the right arrangements, perhaps, that peace could havested even a century... And I refused. I might have just decreed the end of us all." Duncan exined, looking at the mountainousndscape with a nk stare. "The end is certain for everyone and everything, my boy... But, after the end, there always arises a beginning." Zick replied, resting a hand on the boy''s shoulder. "But to what beginning will this end lead?" Duncan. "... I don''t think even the gods have the precise answer to this question. We can study, calcte, n, predict and control all we want, but the future will never be exactly as imagined. And this rule applies to men, kings, Guardians and even the gods themselves..." Zick slowly inhaled the fresh morning air, indulging himself, and added: "But it is also said that the history of the world is written by the victors... And you have a chance to win, Duncan Tallhart. Big or small, that chance exists. I firmly believe that." Duncan looked at the teacher and asked jovially, "Would you bet your money on that possibility?" "Ahahah! What money...? I''m sorry, but I can''t even own a coin long enough to spend it, let alone bet it! Ahahah!" The master gave the student moments of lightheartedness and serenity amidughter and the exchange of jokes. But that serenity was a prelude to stormy and nefarious arguments. "... Leyton wanted Jaime''s head. And I had to be the architect of his death... But I would be a hypocrite to appeal to that. The truth is that from the beginning, I did not want to ept. I was just looking for a valid excuse to lie to myself... I seek this conflict, master. I was not and still am not worthy of the role of spokesman. I put my personal desires above my people." Duncan confessed. "I knew Leyton would demand Jaime''s life...I preferred not to warn you on that matter out of constraints concerning promises made. And No, Duncan-you do not seek conflict for selfish reasons. You and Ser Jaime are damned by fate, my boy..." At that point, there was no point in keeping secrets. Zick had clung to thatst thread as long as he could, hoping not to have to pass that heavy burden on to this generation. But before that, The Watcher had to get rid of an unwanted and unkind look. "You have overstepped the bounds enough already, Old Man." Zick earnestly squared the peak of a silent elm d in thick green, dozens of feet away from the fountain, continuing in an intimidating tone: "Here, in my hallowed abode, you do not enjoy the protection of the Green King. You are not wee among us... Do not force me to blind youpletely, Greenseer. Now, Leave!" A ck raven cawed sonorously in response, gliding and hovering hastily through the skies instantly as if a flock of eagles had taken off in pursuit to hunt him down. "Pardon the interruption. Mpff-what rudeness. One cannot let one''s guard down for even a sacrosanct second these days!" Lord Bloodraven had caught The Watcher''s debilitating moment. Since the day The Guardian of Lovended in the North, the meddlesome old man had been ying guards and thieves with him. Almost certainly, The Three-Eyed Raven was hunting for the Guardian of Beauty''s goodwill to gain the grace of his little band of exiles. "Are you sure you want to visit the Old Raven''sir?" Zick asked. "I won''t have many opportunities to go North of the Wall, Master. After Mance Raider, I will deal with Lord Brynden in person. The North needs him and his Dark Sister." Duncan replied without hesitation. "So be it, but don''t forget your heritage. You are thest living descendant of Joramun. From Hunted Forest to the Frost ws, the magic of life belongs to you by right of blood. Be sure to remind him that he is a guest in yournd." Zick added. "Thend does not belong to me at all. For the next four years, I only have the right to freely avail myself of the Life Singers'' magic. Only the Green King knows what I will inherit in concrete at my sixteenth name-day fulfilment." Replicated the heir of Joramun. "Pff, scribal technicalities..." Zick. "Where does all this resentment toward Old Bloodravene from? Lord Brynden has always been a loyal supporter of the Three-Headed Dragon, and the blood of Valgudryel runs in his veins." Pinned Duncan. "Tsz...! Some time ago, the Enchanting Sapling tried to seduce and corrupt one among my disciples. The cowardly carrion infiltrated the dreams of my poor, immature child, disturbing his sleep! My word, if at that time the Green King had not interfered, begging my favours, today, the Greenseers would be extinct!" No one could maliciously touch one of his blooming buds and go unpunished. No one. Only the Gods and the Nine Demons knew what unspeakable cruelties and abysmal gues The Watcher could unleash at the height of his fury. Zick calmed down, cooling past-but not forgotten-hot spirits. There were more pressing matters, and Duncan was right: Bloodraven would help with the looming threat. "You were saying, master? Haunted by fate?" Asked the boy, suffering from justified curiosity. After ensuring that no other ''disturbing elements'' attempted to eavesdrop on the delicate conversation, the Watcher resumed the floor: "You and Ser Jaime will have one thing inmon from now on... Both of you will be hunted by the ''Sleeping Leviathan'' lurking in the darkness of the Known World." The Watcher managed to capture his pupil''s full andplete attention. "Yes... Your suspicions and those of Chai Duq were well-founded." Duncan''s face paled. Zick stopped him with a hand gesture to continue. "First, I wish you to see the full picture... No more secrets. I will tell you everything I know." The Guardian of Love began to uncover Pandora''s box. "Let us begin with what I omitted about the Founder of House Lannister... Legend has it that Pod was the squire of his time''s most fearsome and valiant Green Knight. An unparalleled warrior who had never known defeat, named The Beast. A woman cursed by Beauty, who had never known Love but blessed by Magic... The Beast bartered her oath to the Green order in exchange for an unknown power. A dark power that would not only allow her to break her own curse so she could know the longed-for Love but also bestowed an additional boundless strength that would make her the undisputed Champion and favoured weapon of the High Tower. During hisst venture to safeguard the Known World, Podrick faced his corrupt former mentor in a duel. An almost hopeless battle... Podrick possessed no adequate weapons, skills, magic or experience to prevail, and yet, the Hero fought, giving his all, never yielding to hisst breath... And in the darkest hour, when his downfall seemed imminent, Podrick awakened what we, three guardians of the world, call: ''the First Guardian''s Blessing''. It is said that a thunderous Roar went down from the High Tower, shaking its foundations, audible from Oldtown to the Eye of the Gods. For a short time, Podrick gained uncontestable power to defeat the most feared monster, fulfil his heroic aims and escape unharmed from an rmed city besieged by Andal armies..." Zick ended the chapter to begin a new one, but not before allowing the disciple to ask the first question. "So is this what was happening to Ser Jaime...? Was he also receiving the ''Blessing of the First Guardian''?" "Not exactly...Ser Jaime was unconsciously recalling part of Lann''s Legacy." Zick. "Part of the Legacy?" Asked the confused boy. "For now, let''s just say that the Lion Boy proved himself worthy of holding the sword of Lann and essing the power needed to counter Peremore''s Legacy... Over the millennia, there have already been instances in which some members of House Lannister proved themselves worthy of wielding Brightroar, but never has anyone been able to manifest the same power as Podrick Lann in his day of glory. This is aplex and still undeciphered topic. But what I do know is that the First Guardian of Love did not forge Brightroar for the sole purpose of punishing the corrupt descendants of Peremore... There is a reason that the sword is considered the Supreme Masterpiece of Valyria''s Greatest Forgemaster. The Guardian of Love had long believed some unknown darkness was behind the world''s greatest catastrophes. Valgudryel suspected that such an entity was connected to the arch-enemy of the First Great Guardian. An entity as old as the dawn of time, feared by all the descendants of the gods, whose name has never been uttered or handed down by any mortal creed, voice or writing... Therefore, the Founder of the Targaryen Dynasty gave up all his knowledge, resources, and skills, even sacrificing his immortality, to forge a weapon that could equal, if not surpass, the Lightbringer myth. An artefact that could summon the powers of the Great Lion Guardian... The Guardian of Love designed that work centuries before his departure. He was waiting for a worthy possessor. Someone who would not abuse that boundless power and who would be recognized by destiny--and destiny chose Podrick Lann. But Valgudryel could not let such a powerful artefact fall into the hands of any power-hungry descendant. Peremore''s heirs were already teaching him about his past mistakes. Valgudryel was able to harness and contain the First Guardian''s Blessing within Brightroar, binding it to the blood of the chosen dynasty with strict restrictions. No one, not even the Guardian of Magic and the Guardian of Beauty, knows the arcane constraints of that Artifact, with its already unparalleled basic magical capabilities." The Watcher lit amp of hope after a visible sign of disappointment on the boy''s face. "... ''None'' except the Keepers of Love." Thatmp was lit. "On her deathbed, Rheyna Targaryen, only daughter of Valgudryel and wife of Lann, passed a final prophecy to the Lord of Harmony, her chosen sessor as the next Guardian of Love. Four hundred years ago, the Lord of Armony, before his departure, passed on said words to The Kind Man who, in turn, twenty-six years ago, entrusted me ... {...Skori se Rdui Sadhicr, isse se brzi hen jorrgon, hre zarfices jhor dhar, se Rvgrie Klio jhor gart arl.} Zick quoted the prophecy in perfect High Valyrian, with a different timbre and tone of voice. Those words were bound by magic. "Now, you, Duncan Tallhart, are the third individual still living who knows thest words of Rheyna of the Targaryen dynasty." Duncan tranted the sentence into thought, moving only his lips. {"When the Worthy Sessor, in the name of Love, three sacrifices will attempt, the Guardian Lion will roar again."} Zick noddedpliantly. The boy could already juggle fournguages masterfully. Zick was repeatedly tempted to teach Duncan the lostnguage of Dawn, but that would have meant cing the boy on a much more slippery slope, nting between the jaws of Chai Duq and the upper echelons of the Confederacy. "But why are you passing Rheyna''s prophecy on to me? I have already told you. And now more than ever, I''m sure I don''t want to pursue the role of Guardian of Love...!" Replied the boy, a moment after realizing the symbolic burden just entrusted to him. Zick replied with serenity and a smile on his heart. "You may not be the next Guardian of Love, but I still entrust you with the task of choosing the next worthy sessor. When you find a suitable candidate, and he or she is ready, you will, in turn, hand down these words... I have already told you: I have chosen you, Duncan Tallhart." The chills of insecurity and indecision began to melt on the boy''s face, giving way to the warmth of resolve. Duncan nodded. "If Leyton considers Jaime such a threat to start a World War, it means Brightroar is still well and truly sharp and out there waiting to return home. The Artifact was not lost in the ruins of Valyria... Where is House Lannister''s Ancestral Sword, Maester? And who is this ''Sleeping Leviathan''?" Asked his heir with a renewed spirit of adventure and fighting will. "Far be it from me to pollute your resolve, my boy, but ... Well, you''ve asked two problematic questions." **** End part I Chapter 195: I Chose You (II) Chapter 195: I Chose You (II) POV: Author Less than a two-mile drive from Nightfort. Three days before the start of the Barrowton celebrations... **** The wispy wagon train, of which Pitt''s cart was a part, continued at a half-day''s pace without a stop, heading to Castle ck for the usual supply of groceries. This time, there were eight mounted Rangers and five additional brethren of the night, armed with bows and crossbows in the escort. A far too garnished number in Pitt''s opinion, not that he wasining. Rumors of the recent brutal brute attacks in the Gift had also reached his farm. After all, what were they carrying in the aggregate? A few quintals of flour, sacks of apples, peas, carrots, turnips, onions, dried meat, handfuls of jars of honey, a few stalks of ham, and barely three barrels of beer. A haul too paltry and difficult to carry to risk the neck, unless someone was starving. "Hey Old Man. You all right back there? You still sleepy...? You didn''t expire on the carrots, did u?" Pitt asked the man squatting behind the flour sacks as he continued to hold the reins of the wagon, pulled by two elderly geldings. The hooded old man and that bizarre ck sparrow of his, perched there on his hand, had not made a sound for several hours. "... I was not sleeping, Young Pitt." Replied the old man calmly. "Not only are you still breathing, you''re also holding your tongue. Ahah... Hey Old Man! How do u know my name? I don''t feel like we''ve been introduced, eh!" The boy turned around waiting for an answer. "... I deduced it two and a half leagues ago when Mr. Arm, back there, called you loudly to warn you that one of your worn-out canvas sacks was scattering turnips all over the road." "Ah, right! How ranting Old Arm is, eh? But if it hasn''t been for his big hillbilly voice, not even half a stag would the brethren give me for turnips, haha!" the boy was suffering from premature giggling and grammatical deficiency. "An''d your name is what, Old Man? An''d your pet''s? Thuse here are Tripping and Bigtooth, they''ve been pulling wagons for my farm since before I popped out of mom''s belly." He also suffered from loose peasant talk. "Lo you can call me ''L.'' He''s ... ''Root'' and he''s been by my side since long before Tripping and Bigtooth were born." Reciprocated the Old Man. "Mmm, if u say so, L... But how long does a sparrow live, L? One spring and one summer at mosth? Look Tripping here had seen four winters, eh!" The old man, to the boy''s eye, seemed clear-headed, armed with big words on his tongue, but also quite wacky in manner. "You don''t look like someone from the North. Where did youe from, Old Man L? An''d why are you wandering alone on this road? Going to Castle ck to join the Guardians?" Asked Pitt with all serenity. "... I came from the West, after a long journey away from the continent. I was alone because Root and I like ''Confidentiality'' and ''Solitude'' in our travels. And I am not going to Castle ck, nor do I intend to join the Brotherhood of the Night, Young Pitt." L replied, trying in vain to inculcate two key words into the young peasant''s ears. "A no...? An''d where are you headed then? A traveler from Essos visiting to watch The Wall? Thends of the West, eh? But why didn''t u follow the King''s road from the south? It is a straight straight and safe road. On the new North road it is chock full of inns with hearths, feather quilts-not cloth an''d straw-an''d lots of smiles every three leagues! An''d with a few extra coins u also get frothy beer, tasty capon an''d not at all dry and good female. Female of all kinds! Hair blonde, brta, me red, light skinned, tanned, dark, freckled and without, but all smooth smooth an''d very clean! You don''t know what beautiful smells of flowers those ones have! My word, L!" Pitt. "... You are an eager mind for questions and details, Young Pitt." Replied the old man, armed with patience and self-control. "My mom always reminds me of that by smacking and scolding. Always saying, ''Someday they''ll cut your tongue out!'' or ''The curious take it from the Others!'' an''d stuff like that, but I say, what''s the harm in knowing and telling? One is bored to jelly by the tract without talking. I don''t talk to Tripping an''d Bigtooth, those just trot, eat an''d shit, eh! Besides, in North there is neither of so many people. All too worried about the Wildlings around here!" Pitt. "Wise woman your mother but, unfortunately,cking in pulse. In the future, if fate ever chooses to smile on you again, lend her more heed... That said, I follow this road because Ie from the West and not the South. Inded in the vicinity of the Shadow Tower and headed for the Nightfort. Therefore, this is the most direct and fastest route for me, Young Pitt." That boy did not ept coinage. Normally, ''L'', would have offered a precious gem or a pouch of gold for a peaceful and quiet passage, but fate had chosen ''Young Pitt'' who, in return for the required services, desired only talk andpany. "To the Nightfort?! An''d what are u going to do at the Nightfort, L?! The Guardians abandoned it centuries ago the ruin. Only cold, rats, ghosts an''d danger u find there, hear me. Bad, very bad stories go around Nightfort: Symeon Star-Eyes and the Hellshound, Mad Axe, the curse of King Sherrit, the Seventy-nine Sentinels, the Rat Cook! Don''t get me talking about the Rat Cook, then u''ll never eat bacon pie again, L! There''s even one who got crowned Night''s King, even on that story I got goosebumps! Look u might even find cannibal Wildlings in there, L! Chock-full of Wildlings in these two moons. The Guardians have found encampment tracks galore in Stone Gate and Snowy Hill, too! You don''t have the escort down there, L!" Pitt began to narrate, one by one, all the darkest myths concerning the Nightfort, hoping to put the old adventurer off. About an hourter... "... Aye, there it is, the Nightfort, L! After the hill, half a mile walk and u''re there." Pitt. {"Praise and Glory be to the Maiden of Light and the Lion of Night."} Sang the stranger under his breath in an ancient and forgottennguage. "But it has grown almost dark, L! Do u at least have a light and food, L? I have a shlight an''d an extra apple from the Old Arm. Even strips of beef jerky if u want, but soak them first, or your teeth won''t hold them.... Do u want me to escort u there, L? I''ll tow u to the gate if u want, provided there''s still some beams left, but I won''t fit down there... Well, if u shout me loudly loudly for help maybe I''ll get in there an''d help u. But all I have with me is a wooden club for the bandits, an''d no talismans for the ghosts, L!" "..." After a lone traveler walked half a mile... Old L stopped a few steps from the remaining mouldy doorway and waited. The abandoned fortress teemed with life, though the fires were out. Root would soon return to regroup. In the short wait, L peered closely at the ancient remains of those who, in a distant time, belonged to the most feared Fortress of the North. ''How could the Order of Azor Ahai have allowed such degradation?" thought L with disdain. Root reappeared immediately after that thought, gliding from the walls, then hovering near his master''s ear. {"See that unclean vision...? Tsz, my word, ''Root,'' if one of the Five Forts had been neglected like this, I would have had all the descendants of those responsible crucified from Cannibal Sands to the Grey Waste moors... Hmm? I beg your pardon? An ambush...? Are these the exiled Firstmen that Pitt Loosetongue mentioned?"} The pitch-ck bird sang the report of his patrol. {"Mostly Mercenaries disguised as Wildlings. How many are...? What? Are you sure? A spellcaster from the third circle, you say? And what is she doing here? Do you think she''s affiliated with the Confederacy...? A Roguewizard, then...? Maybe a Sellcaster in the service of the Titan. No...?"} The bird dictated every detail of what it had perceived, analyzed and deduced. {"You don''t think she''s from Essos...Now that''s interesting. Well, we just have to ask him, my friend."} The stranger entered the shadows of the ruin without traversing any further. At first nce, the castle appeared bare and deserted. Towers and walls were broken and eroded over time. Its courtyards had be small forests, a twisted weirwood grew through a hole in the kitchen. And more trees grew among what once they would have called ''stables.'' All that remained of the wooden beams was mushroompost. Only an old bell tower, albeit unsteadily, still stood, along with a forge-nest for rodents and a brewery for spiders. L advanced with slow, steady steps toward the centre of the courtyard forest. She bent down, rested a hand on the moss and felt the faint stream of arcane texture that still flowed between the stones. Nostalgic thoughts and buried memories resurfaced. "Stop right there, Old Man." Four figures, some d in grey furs, leather and woollen cloaks and breeches, but all armed with crossbows and hooked bolts, peeked out from among the shadows. Another dozen armed with pikes, axes or swords followed, surrounding him. "Stay on the ground... Yes, good. You have no way out; don''t try to escape, or it will worsen." Intimated the supposed leader of the group. {"No, no, no. I''ll take care of it. You still stay hidden for a while. Just make sure our ferret doesn''t escape us. Let''s not risking out into the open. This continent has eyes and ears everywhere, you know. Besides, my nerves are on edge because of that Pitt guy. I have to let off some steam -- not a bad guy, no. I didn''t say that You are unfair and prejudiced, my friend! I repeat you keep anchoring yourself to futile misunderstandings of the past...! I may have thought it, but I held myself back! Never lifted a fingernail, moved a lip, or chanted any whatsoever. Let my ancestors be my witnesses...! Yes...let''s say so. What?! And why would I do that? Kindness and hospitality, your feathers! It is already magnanimity not to have dissolved his tongue! Tsz... All right! You have won! Yes! Yes, I promise! Will you curb that petnt beak if I do?"} The entire conversation between L and Rootsted less than two breaths, emitted by the unfortunate target inches from oblivion. "You have detached yourself from the caravan, Old Man. Are you scouting on behalf of the Night''s Watch? Tell us all you know about the caravan and the escort. How many of them are there? How many horses? What kind of weapons do they have? Are there any other gunmen hiding among the group...?" The sinewy leader pointed the edge of the short sword toward L''s throat. "...Answer these questions, and I promise your death will be quick and painless. Omit anything, and we will boil your hands and feet. And we will force you to eat your own flesh." The old man calmly stood up, heedless of the threat, and turned to the youngest member of the dirty dozen, ignoring the captain altogether. "Marou from Lorath, right? A courtesy, Young Marou. Call the Maiden who is trying to mess with the ck Gate and bring her to me, and also call back all your fellow ''Wildlings'' I have no time to waste." The 18-year-old mercenary''s eyes widened, and his face paled. "How do you know his name? Hey! I''m talking to you, Old Man!" The captainshed a backhand into the old man''s face, hitting him. "Urghh...!" The man groaned as if his hand had impacted a marble b. L''s face did not move an inch. In the process, Marou dropped the pike and sprinted suddenly toward the gate entrance. "Where the fuck are you going, Marou! You dare to disobey me...?! Marou!!!" The bashful and enraged captain turned to two other minions behind him. "Misk, Pollet, stop him! The Witch does not want to be disturbed! Bring that cowardly deserter to me at once...! Misk? What are you waiting for?" Something was wrong. None of the men moved or uttered a breath. All looked like quivering statues with eyes marked with terror. "They will move when I say so. Their shadow belongs to me..." What did that mean? The captain of the mercenaries, hired by an Anonymous and Most Generous Benefactor, looked down at the ground. A thread of darknessced his shadow, paralyzing himpletely. The eyes of the gloomy individual made contact with his own... An unconquerable, dark and indescribable presence entered his head, viting every memory, thought or secret stored in his memories. "You seem like a fairly robust young man, and you also have a fair amount of Sarnor blood in your veins. Yes, you will make an egregious servant... How well can you stand the pain, Captain Sudhir, son of Elmud?" **** A few minutester... "You are more useless than rats in this ruin..." The enchantress invoked a yellowish, foul-smelling puddle that swallowed young Marou. The being who had dared to disturb her in her work. "No! No! Mercy, mydy!!! Noooo! Arghhh!" The acidic substance melted and devoured the messenger''s legs and torso. The remaining twenty-two men, summoned by Marou and gathered at the courtyard entrance, watched in silence the gruesome end of theirrade-in-arms. No one moved a finger. No one dared oppose the blood magic. "Go -- and bring me the ''alive'' visitor. I don''t think one death is enough to exin to you ''What Fate befalls those who dare to disturb my work''." The men sprinted in unison toward the courtyard entrance. The Witch followed them at a slow pace. A few stepster, the enchantress sensed an anomaly--a cacophony of screams, pleas, and despair flooded the ess corridor. And, a few handfuls of secondster, all was silent. The Witch paused, deciding beforehand to raise her guard, arming herself with protective spells and advancing with a minor dose of bravado. Upon reaching the courtyard, bewilderment, disbelief, and immeasurable terror overwhelmed the servant of the Great Mother. ''Power! Abysmal power! I must flee!'' Synna was a talented and powerful enchantress with nearly a century of experience in the path of the arcane and a veteran of a hundred battles. That experience cried out for her to get away as quickly and as far away as possible. She still did not know who or what was present in that courtyard, but nothing except the presence of Great Mother herself could have shuddered at her like that. The Witch''s fingers snapped toward the bracelet, crushing the stone. The stone dissolved, and an emergency teleportation circle tried to activate, but, at that exact instant, some kind of evil ck canary snapped from the ground, mingling with the runes. The canary burst into a ck ze, polluting and interrupting the circle. Brimming with authority, confidence and boundless power, a calm voice came from the circle''s centre. "Good reflexes and a discreet trinket -- space magic impervious to abjuration, ingenious. Long ago, another ferret escaped us with the same trick... Well done, ''Root''." It all happened too quickly to be metabolized. "I can close the circle without plot sycophancy with these additionalmbs. Heartfelt thanks for the tribute, Young...though. Not a bad mental barrier. I can''t even get to know your name. We''ll returnter to ''Who are you?'' and ''Who created that defensive mental array for you?''..." The hooded Sorcerer shed a hand. A myriad of muddy ck tendrils sprouted from the ground. Each summoned arm crawled toward its prey. "Before I devote attention to you, I''m afraid I must fulfil a promise. Be my guest for the demonstration, Young One," announced the Sorcerer. The Witch was petrified; she knew that attempting to escape or react would be futile. The enchantress could do nothing but watch the macabre spectacle before her. The yard had be a ughterhouse of ughtered pigs, ready for ughter. Captain Sudhir was the sole survivor, kneeling and immobilized by tendrils of Shadow that harpooned his flesh to anchor him in the centre of a supposed ritual circle. Thirty-seven floating bodies slowly arranged themselves in a spiral shape as Sudhir, his mouth gagged by a tendril of Shadow, futilely tried to plead for mercy. There were no somatic or verbal gestures. A single drop of blood dripped from his finger, soaking Sudhir''s forehead. "Rise, Feed, Grow and Erect to me, Servant of Shadows." Promulgated the Sorcerer in themon tongue. The tendrils began to suck the lifeblood from the thirty-two captured flies, draining them to such an extent that their bodies turned to dust. In the guise of amorphous pockets of ck slime, the collected nourishment travelled down the spiral toward its chosen target--Sudhir. "This is the time for shouting and despair, Young Captain." And the captain shouted... The shadow slime entered from every orifice slowly soaked the flesh and ate the bones while keeping the host alive and conscious of the process. Two minutester. A ck figure with humanoid features but amorphous bipedal goat legs, feathered arms, long fingers with ws as long as knives, a torso d in scales and a hideous face in the likeness of a boar bowed to its lord. "In the name of Shadow, you will safeguard Pitt of vige Orewall, son of Dador and Luna. None shall see thee, none shall know thee. As long as your sap endures, your protg''s enemies will perish, his sincere friends will prosper, and his descendants will continue to pass on his name." The shadowy creature bowed its head and thunderbolt in a trail of Shadow toward the lost valleys of the North. "Happy now, rsurix?" Asked the Sorcerer to a wall of shadows. A harmonious chant burst from the walls in response. ''rsurix...? Root of the Night?! Thought the witch with rm. All the spellcasters knew the name of that creature and the name of the Master it served. "... We were down to introductions, Young Enchantress." The Mighty Sorcerer stood before her in less than the blink of an eye. The witch attempted to release every protective spell, prepared in advance, against the most nefarious threats. Sprays and whips of acid crashed down upon the menace. The Sorcerer activated no defensive array. Smoke rose from his body as his skin and robes melted away. But the attack did not affect the body itself, only a kind of covering. The wizard''s disguise was literally ayer of skin and flesh... The Sorcerer stroked his exposed skin, smooth as jade stone. The rest of the disguise dissolved, evaporating along with the acid. The body was bare except for the ten rings that adorned each finger of the hand. Then, ck wings emerged from the ground, embracing their Master and giving him a sumptuous robe of Shadow. A ck figure in the shape of a Phoenix covered the entire courtyard floor, watching over everything. "Conjurer of Water, for what purpose do you attack me...? Do you know who I am?" Asked the immacte figure, brimming with Antiquity, Power and Sovereignty. The witch nodded, trembling. It was not death she feared, far from it. Death was a deliverance to be blessed in the presence of that individual... "So... Say my name." The witch stammered in response to themand imposed on her. "T-The... The Great Archwizard Lo Tho the Bloody, Son of Night, M-Monarch of the Shadow, Keeper of the Five Forts and Protector of the East... The Guardian of Magic." **** End Part II The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!