Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

****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.****

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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 Claw Isle was not to be outdone. The Crown's last 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 not lay his filthy hands on a single ounce of Damascus Steel before every Knight of the Stormlands 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 the last remaining spark of concrete hope.

"Your Grace, Coff... Could I... Phew... Do I even have permission to request the help of your father-in-law, 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-in-law" 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 place. 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 hierarchical ladder. 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 upcoming 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 Stormlands, the Vale and the Crowlands 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 alarming upward competition between House Yronwood, Wyl and Uller. Just hearing that last ["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 this last task assigned to him was. Every second spent struggling in that tragic hour seemed to last 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 eastern lands, 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 become the poorest Kingdom in Westeros...

As for the Stormlands and Crownlands, 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 their lands in the vital early spring harvests... Moreover, leaving the Stormlands without armed men to defend them allowed bandits to thrive in raiding villages and caravans.

On the other hand, Dorne did not contribute a finger or a penny in the last campaign and was even back from the most fertile and profitable season for the Ever-Sun-Kissed-Lands...

Winter was a plague for any other House north of Horn Hill, but for Dorne, winter was tantamount to early autumn in the Crowlands. 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 the last 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 Blacksmith 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 become much more complex... 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 the last sentence several times; it was his personal habitual mantra to clear his mind at critical moments.

After another minute had elapsed, 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 had come 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 platter, 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 legitimate competition for magical resources in the lands of Sothoryus...

The losses would be incalculable. 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 backlash through our thousands of influential backers...

On the other hand, Oldtown is even worse than ours. Lord Leyton cannot compete freely in the Auction. The Andals' anonymity from strength has become 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 planned everything perfectly but plans 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 displayed 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 uncalculated 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 calculating 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 slaughterhouse 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 lost lands, 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 plan but needed to find the right competitors 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 minutes later...

"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 flames in his eyes and a predatory grin plastered 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 incompetence 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 explanation 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 play 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 minute later...

"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

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