Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

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 Blackfire... Market value 40.450 gold coins per pound, an exponential 3% for every hundred pounds, plus an additional 5% loss on forging fee commissions... and Blackfire.

Approximate minimum loss 23,065,000 gold coins...' Tycho recalculated 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 glass to the healer's throat by blackmailing him into handing over a vial of Sweet Sleep... The Braavosian escaped the punishment promised by Tycho by committing 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 blamed... 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 blade.

Not even the hard-won settlement with his former pupil could compensate for such a financial disaster...

The information on the causes and the actual location of the forty-one million in lost managed funds paled in comparison to the twenty-three million in assets directly owned by the Council...

Tycho spent a night with paper, ink and numbers to calculate all the possible rosy and profitable improvements to the Glass-Mormont.

Reducing the risk factors of the Braavosi merchant and military fleet, increasing the cargo value for each individual hold, black 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 platter, but simply shifting the blame 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 would compensate for the monstrous loss.

The commercial 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 flashed the warmest smile he could muster at this nefarious dark time in his life.

"Ah, glad to hear it... Might I recommend a refreshing non-alcoholic drink for the nerves?" Offered Ronan, summoning an attendant in charge.

"Gladly," Tycho appreciated Torrhen Square's patented energy mixture of water, honey and lemon.

"If the reason for such discomfort is your private rooms or the villa assigned to you for your stay, please inform me. I will ensure a more comfortable accommodation to your taste." Said the boy, holding out a cup.

"No. Absolutely not, dear Ronan.

I speak for the entire Braavos delegation. Our accommodations are impeccable.

The Iron Bank extends its compliments and thanks to Lady Barbrey Mormont for her sincere hospitality." Gallantry 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.

"Glad 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 plausible. 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-vigilant gaze at the details over the last 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 black decorations...

'Dragon glass? Is that rural decorative mosaic made of Dragon Glass?... And that snowflake?' Small, alarming 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 snowflakes on a black background. Just out of curiosity, is that, by any chance, a new coat of arms? And are those decorative veins platinum 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 place 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... The latest 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 making large 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 black and white snowflake brooch with notebooks in hand, and arranged waiting at the sides, were not mere attendants... They were accounting officers!

In contemplative 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.

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POV: The Managing Director

Never Winter Bank.

A few minutes after an alarming 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 Play...

Barbrey eyed the aggressive, accusing 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 glass that was later 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 to completely dispel your doubts and finally give credence to the truth...

Some of you are still wondering 'What', 'How' and 'Where did this Damascus Steel come 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 welcomes 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 the commercial 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 welcome with warm applause Grandmaster Blacksmith Tobho Mott, the Chief Forgemaster of Gauntlgrym!" The bald man in his early forties entered in plain sight behind him with his small, trusty black-haired apprentice, Gendry Waters, the illegitimate son of Robert Baratheon.

*Clap! Clap! Clap!* 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..." Faint laughter and haughty assent responded to the introduction of the master blacksmith, 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 place 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 blacksmith resumed the word.

"Glad 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 blades my hand has ever had the honour to wield." Barristan replied with jovial sincerity.

"And you are taking excellent care of it, Ser... Glad 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 hilarity 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 blades 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 placed 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 slashes 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 display of skill. A common veteran soldier of distinguished strength could not get more than a palm deep with the same blades."

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, our comrade 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 blade 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 similar strength, and at the time, I could not wholly parry his blows.

According 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 to compensate for the gap of such a large force.

Clegane would be able to break my defence in less than a minute...

To compensate 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 slash but with different weapons."

*******

End Part I.

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