Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

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 warm late spring day. Luwin wondered when the white raven would come 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 glass window at the last 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 congratulatory gift for the birth of the new little Stark girl, replaced 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 glass...

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 accept the invitation of the 'unwelcome guests' from the East.

But what could poor Luwin have done? Lord Eddard must have accepted 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 explained 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 relations 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 relations 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 occurred 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 deflate 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 was late, 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 play, 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 Clan Chiefs of the Mountains. Who they are and whose sons they were.

Could you tell me who the previous Clan 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.

More laughter 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 blame-the complaint had some truth to it, and Jon had noticed.

His father had ordered Luwin to instruct the Winterfell bastard on particular 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 Clans, the Moon Clans, and even the Wildlings people...

By the twelfth day, poor Jon was supposed to know every fortress, ruin, village, stream, hill, mountain, forest, stone or sapling known throughout the North, from The Neak down to the Frost Claws...

The first was undoubtedly the most arduous. From what Luwin remembered, there were hundreds of Clans in the Free Folk--all with different cultures and customs. In addition, dozens of other languages and deities were worshipped. Soon the maester would be forced to request copies from the Castle Black 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 order come 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 place is! What is your name?" The maester scolded him.

"... Jon Snow," The penitent child.

"And why is the last 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 too late...

"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 hour later...

"Emm… Hugo Wull aka Big Bucket, son of Thedon Wull aka Huge Bucket." Jon.

"Well, what about his two heirs? Answer that last 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 at last.

"Maester...," "Yes, Jon?" "Are the rumours true? Is it true that wizards are coming 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 distant lands 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 charlatans 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 he comes 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 Clans this year, and since those unexpected guests will be arriving soon, he delegated the task to Lord Benjen.

You will accompany 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 faithful companion in adventure 'Flask'.

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't come 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's last 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 relatively warm evening. The man from the North could afford to conceal himself on the esplanade 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 first lash 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 slash later, 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 flat of the wood,

"the best armour..." he parried the one partially successful slash,

" 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 minutes later.

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 blame. 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 explained an ardent Haymitch blandly, 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 also come 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 a large 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 clans to annex,

forts to restore,

and a North to be revived...

And all this had to be done before Winter came.

---------------------------

End Chapter