Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

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." The last words sounded noticeably forced. Then the Witch pondered for a second over the terms just addressed to her...

"... You had planned 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 access to her mouth.

But to Duncan's considerable surprise, the Witch welcomed 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, according to The Watcher, it was a life-saving tool for the Shadowbinger of unknown identity and, at the very least, a Class [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 placed the half-full steaming cup on the round coffee table, and after the dark red lacquer wooden Mask returned to its original features, the woman spoke in a much more relaxed 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 Occlumancy. You did not erect defences but manifested a living creation of the Will itself... To my knowledge, there is no Occlumancer 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, after coming 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 explain 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..." The last 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 he later decide to accept 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 ... 'accident 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 protégés 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 semblance 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 accepting 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 my land well and the First Men, my Lady. No one will defeat the Dynasty of the Kings of Winter... Not in the North." Having assimilated 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 revelation 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 place of research and sharing without constraint or limitation, where theories, research, scientific evidence and magic reigned supreme above every other law of man. Qyburn would have gladly 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 or later, will devour the other... And do you know which one will prevail in the fight, Ser?" It was a very common 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 classmates 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 Paladin 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 class. 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 become king, he doomed the most magically endowed lineage of the Sons of Fire in all of Valyria.

Rather than accumulating 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 semblance 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 flame of the Dragon God would be forever extinguished." Explained 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 explained 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 place, the Valgudryel Dynasty is not over. There are other sleeping heads waiting to be awakened.

And second, an Alpha Wolf in command 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 succumb 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, flashing her last 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 from coming 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 gladly 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 play...

First Men and Magicians can either strike back at each other blow by blow in an adversarial and unproductive "Lose To Lose" relationship 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

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