Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

POV: Duncan

Dance Floor.

A minute after Sam the Slayer secretly sneaked off in search of two Northern children...

'Easy, Duncan-you've been practising. You're an accomplished dancer, and you're going to look great. Look steady, touch graceful, follow the rhythm and keep your thoughts pure.' I was already late, 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 the last 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 class sessions.

'What are those jokers doing? Are they betting?!' Baragh, Josua, Recallio, Dywen, Narbo, Leng, Cohollo, Galladon, 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 old layabout! But didn't you have to play 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 alarming 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 and ladies 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, milady. And I have no knight's honours anointed by the Seven." I responded politely to the blatant polite falsehood.

"Yet, it has come 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, milady, I still would not have deserved the title of 'Youngest Knight'... "I replied.

"What do you mean, milord? Daemon Blackfire 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 Blackfire, 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 moons later, 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, milady. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Even in the South, your virtues are well known, Lord Duncan Tallhart. However ... no southern lady 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 glances from other noble maidens seeking the same primacy.

"I must beg your pardon, milady. 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...

Alas, with the sword, I admit I manage, but in dancing, I am just plain 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 my lady...

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, milady?" 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 blatantly 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 semblance 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, milady, 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 this lady. You will have to wait your turn." The nobleman of twenty-two cast a defiant glance.

I did not need the scintillating [Level 8; Class 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 Palace for alleged heinous crimes.

From what Blade 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's company, now I would surely have put good money on Master Recallio, a hardened and in his prime [Level 9, Knight Class].

"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 claim the honour of the first dance by mere primacy over time.

Titles and merits trump all other privileges, except by the will of the lady 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 without compensation, 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, the latter was entitled to declare 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. The last law 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 succeeded 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 clarify my doubts?" Then, the music began to stop.

The Protector of the North started to approach, thus attracting everyone's public attention.

A large circle of noble onlookers crowded around me and Gelledo, who did not know how to respond to the legitimate slap lashing 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 declare, here and now, your lack 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 welcome 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 the company 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 declared Gelledo.

"And justice in Braavos means claiming 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 but laced 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 place 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 occurred here, my lord. And I am not alone in witnessing it. Lady Tanda Stokeworth, Lord Ulmer Bywaters and his daughter Lanna, Lady Shella 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 noble ladies and a lord witness?" Ned asked.

"Well, the noble host of Braavos was intent on first politely and gallantly asking young Lady Mormont for a dance. The girl did not even have the opportunity to choose whether to accept 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 young lady, 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 of lack 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, accused 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 first coming.

The latest 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; Howland Reed and his wife began whispering to them the latest events.

Chai Dug, accompanied 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; Class: Page] of Carcosa's best Eldritch Knight was always eerie to behold. Sure, it paled compared to the monstrous [Level 14; Class: 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; Class: King],

Lord Leyton Hightower, Great Wizard and current most powerful weapon in Oldtown, [Level 12; Class: 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 similar to Paladins and equally deadly to spellcasters.

According 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 accept 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 friendly lands 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 thalamus, 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's lascivious and dishonourable appetites recently seen in the company 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 similar 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 Island 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 declaring 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 wife come from?' And 'how come 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 thalamus 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, accompanied by a second anomaly.

Myra's feeble [Level 2; Class: Page] mutated into an oversized [Level 2; Class: Squire] a millimetre away from breaking through the [Knight] class.

"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 blatant 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 accepting this duel, milord?"

*****

End Chapter

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