Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

****Happy New Year, dear readers!

I wanted to publish this yesterday, but I couldn't make it in time. I hope the chapter is worth the wait.

Happy Reading!****

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POV: Duncan

Tallhart House competitors marquee, Tournament Arena. About a quarter mile away from the Barrowgate.

Year 290 BC, the eighth day of the first moon.

About a day and a half after the detailed report of a Drunkard. One hour before the start of the Tournament...

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"Is everything clear, Ser Henry? For the sake of Torrhen's Square, House Tallhart and the entire North, will you do as I have requested?" I asked in a tone more pleading than imperative.

"Phew... Yes, yes, General... I will do as commanded. Should I compete against the old man, the scion of House Blackwood, or the Drunken Knight, I will lose and ensure that the defeat is dignified and credible." The boy sighed slightly with an air of resignation, holding back something he wanted to add.

"What is it, Captain? Are you not satisfied with the reward offered to you? Do you desire something other than land and titles?" I asked, trying to spur on the taciturn best archer of House Tallhart, offering him a half-cup of the Summer wine. Henry always liked to drink a half-cup of red before a competition or a battle.

[The Sweet Red of Summer helps to loosen the fingers and heartstrings of a worthy lover of the bow.] He said.

Henry accepted the offer by taking a small sip as he blushed slightly.

"...Here, my Lord... Truly, there would be something... Not that I despise the generous offers of House Tallhart, let me be clear!" So said the young man in his early twenties.

"But...? Come on, Henry! In less than an hour, the Tournament will begin. Spit it out!" I incited.

"Yes, General! Here... Yes, emm, could I exchange the land offering for gold, Sir?" The Captain of the First Legion Archers unit asked.

"Gold...? But those lands would make you much more than the first prize over time. Besides, you were part of the unit of a Hundred Volunteers. You already exchanged your Damascus Steel rewards for gold. From what I know, my father should have rewarded you more than generously..." Henry was certainly not an individual of a thrifty nature. However, it still didn't seem possible that the guy could have already spent eight thousand gold dragons in less than three moons...

"There, yes, in truth: that gold is gone, my Lord... And, currently, I would be down three hundred..." A tremendous and catastrophic assumption crashed through my suppositions.

"With whom...? To whom do you owe that gold, Captain...? Please don't tell me-"

"... Deputy Commander Josua of Jhala, my lord." Now, everything was clear as day. All those mornings, Henry and Josua weren't just training in archery... It was still morning, an hour too immature to drink, but I poured myself a half-cup of red anyway and gobbled it down in one go.

"It's not that I can't win, General! On the contrary, I'm almost at her level! It's just that ... during our little daily competitions ..." Henry blushed, " ... lady Josua has been rather 'perceptive' in raising and lowering the stakes at the appropriate time." There was no need to explain to Henry the dangerous and exorbitant love game he was up against. The boy was totally smitten.

"... You shall have your gold. Is half the first prize a sufficient sum for you, Captain?" Henry sprang to attention, answering promptly:

"Absolutely, Lord General! Much more than enough." The eyes of the smitten archer sprang up with hope and expectation.

'At least for a couple of years, he should hold out, hoping the poor guy gives up first...' I thought to myself. If Josua did not continuously squander her gold with the most sublime and expensive pleasures the world could offer, that woman could have become even richer than the prince of Jhala.

"But... "Caution, Captain. You're aiming your bow too high at a challenging and dangerous target... Those arrows could come back and fall on your head." The young man, with a purple face and puppy love eyes, nodded without even considering my warning...

"Ah, General!" Henry awoke from his love bubble before I took my leave.

"Yes, Henry...?" Me.

"I understand that Lady Josua will be taking part in the upcoming punitive expedition in Brandon's gift and the future expedition beyond the Wall... Could I join as a volunteer in General Peter's unit and yours, my Lord?"

*****

End POV.

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POV: Catelyn Stark

Tournament Arena. About a quarter mile away from the Barrowgate. The pavilion was reserved for noble spectators.

Year 290 BC, the eighth day of the first moon.

About an hour after the discovery of a possibly hazardous love interest...

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Catelyn was seated next to her loving father, the Lord Paramount of the Trident, the Lord of Riverrun and head of her lineage, Hoster Tully.

It had been six long years since Cat last saw her family at Riverrun, and, with her sad admission, the daughter found her father much scarred by time.

As a child, Cat remembered Hoster as a tall, broad man, strong and imposing, with blue eyes and flowing brown hair with shiny auburn highlights. A loving Father-Hero who spoiled and pampered her, always treating her as his little Trident princess... As she grew older, the man became more corpulent, his gaze lost some of its past vigours and his hair and beard became shaggier and greyer.

"No, Cat... Lord Walder will get nothing more from me. It is already a miracle that I was able to persuade Lord Jorah and Lady Barbrey to extend their invitation to House Frey after their second act of cowardice and the outrageous toll taken on your Lord Husband's beloved. And you would now have me give your brother, my only son and future Lord Paramount of the Trident, to one of the daughters of that old, slimy, and cowardly usurer?" So spat her father in a low voice before the announcement of the start of the Tournament came.

At the very least, her father welcomed keeping this conversation private. But, of course, it was better if her brother Edmure didn't pick up on the details discussed... In fact, it was better if no one knew besides the narrow people involved.

Catelyn and Hoster Tully enjoyed a good space free of prying eyes and ears in the raised pavilion, purposely set up for the lords of the Trident.

Edmure was talking to his nephew Robb, a few rows down, telling him the story of when he was his uncle Brandon's squire shortly before the outbreak of the rebellion. Cat could not help but reminisce about the incident between her old childhood friend Petyr and her first betrothed Brandon Stark... when Petyr had futilely fought for her out of love, being badly wounded, an inch from death. But now was not the time to let the past cloud her memory. Cat had a duty to fulfil.

"I only ask you to consider the proposal, father. The Freys are the second richest and most influential house in the Trident. They hold a monopoly on the river trade of the Green Fork, are linked with dozens of other influential houses in Westeros, and hold a key military position and strength for the stability and security of our lands... Furthermore, Lord Walder will not live much longer. Eighty-two years is a heavy burden to bear, and his first son and heir, Ser Stevron, is lovable, polite and reasonable. A man, a knight and a future Lord of the Crossing different from the current Lord of the Twins." Sang Catelyn in a soft, persuasive voice, weaving the best ballad she could muster.

"Pff, it's thirty years that Ser Stevron has been impatiently awaiting the call of the gods for his lord father. But not even the Stranger wants to welcome that mouldy opportunist weasel into his ranks. Unfortunately, in my experience, bad weed dies hard. So it is far more likely that Stevron's eldest son, that 'Ryman', will become the next Lord of the Crossing... Did you get a chance to meet him, Cat?" Catelyn lowered her gaze for a moment, then answered:

"Not yet." In truth, the woman had wisely "dodged" the possibility of such an encounter...

"An unpleasant man, dull as a stone, a layabout, a drunkard, violent and an avid prostitute. Two nights ago, Ser Stevron had to cough up fifty gold dragons of ransom to the citadel authorities to get Ser Ryman out of the cells. Apparently, the man refused to pay what was owed to a high brothel courtesan in the city, which he couldn't afford, leaving a simple ink promise of a [Pagherò] written on a handkerchief instead of the coinage... A truly worthy heir to his grandfather." Unfortunately, Cat could not retort to that unpleasant hall voice rambling through all the nobility like the joke of the season.

Her father gently grasped her hand, squeezing it warmly.

"... Why all this concern and interest in House Frey? Confide freely in your father, sweet Cat." Both of the Tullys' blue eyes made contact.

"...Family, Duty, Honour?" It was their secret code. The keywords were to start a conversation of uncomfortable truths that needed to be dealt with and would remain sealed between their lips.

"Family, Duty, Honour." Hoster Tully replied with a faint warm smile.

"I fear for the future of my son and daughters... Soon Winterfell and House Stark will be under attack. The loyalties of my husband's bannermen and the stability of the North are rapidly crumbling with each passing day, but Ned seems to be blind and unwilling to act while the enemies of House Stark grow and continue to weave their plots in the shadows..." Her father did not immediately react; the man kept his face calm, raising only a slight frown. "I will not stand still and helpless when my family is in danger." So added the daughter with a resolute look.

"... Continue." Catelyn pondered the words carefully, "I have no proof yet, but I believe a civil war in the North is imminent... And House Tallhart will be the fulcrum of origin of the rebellion that will bleed the entire North and the entire continent, father." As soon as Cat uttered the name of the household, her father paled, muttering in a lower but worried voice:

"House Tallhart...? Phew... May the Seven escape us, Cat... you couldn't make a potentially more dangerous accusation than that. And to think I was inwardly praying that you wouldn't mention the Boltons or the Ryswells. But, still, in the name of the Most Holy Father, House Tallhart...?!" Hoster Tully shook her hand more vigorously, continuing, "please, my child, tell me you have not divulged these 'suppositions' to anyone but me." Catelyn expected a first such reaction.

"No one other than you and Maester Luwin knows of this... Luwin thinks as I do, father. And Ned requires less and less of the services of Winterfell's sworn councillor." Her father sighed with relief as if freed from an evil drape upon his chest. Then Hoster resumed the word:

"House Tallhart is one of the most loyal and influential bannermen in House Stark, Cat... Vassals who have proven their oaths time and time again with actions rather than vain words or promises.

I don't even want to name the many contributions, the close alliances, the countless business ties made with Westeros and Essos, or the heroic deeds performed because I would have to spend the whole day just listing them.

Suffice it to say that, during the rebellion eight years ago, I met and fought at the side of Ser Helman Tallhart in person in no less than two bloody battles. Despite having less than half the military and economic power today, House Tallhart spared little, spilling more blood than necessary to protect your husband and help in the rebellion.

Helman Tallhart is an honest, just and honourable man. One of the few people would choose death over the infamy of the Oathbreaker.

I would gladly trade dozens of bannermen like Walder Frey to have a single sworn ally as good as Ser Helman... Can you tell me what is going on with you and Maester Luwin?" The conversation could have gone better. And Catelyn had yet to throw the heaviest boulder at the poor man.

The daughter braced herself and, keeping her composure and pulling out all the conviction she had, the woman said:

"I do not doubt Ser Helman, father, but he who is manoeuvring him like a puppet, and like him, so many others, including my husband...

The one which enhances and exploits the brightness of his household's splendour to conceal himself in the shadows and extend his roots further into every corner of the continent... His son, Duncan Tallhart." Hoster's eyes widened, becoming more altered than they should have been, "His So-...!? What...! ... No... Phew...Anf... Anf... I need to calm down... I need some air." Her father inhaled deeply at the top of his lungs, closing his eyes and pinching the base of his nose for almost a minute.

Catelyn gave the man, almost in the throes of a panic attack, time to recover, inwardly cursing Her insensitivity. Hurting her loving father was among the last things Cat wanted to achieve...

*Wuoooooooooo!*... *Wuaoooooooo!* two thunderous horn blasts drew widespread attention. It was the signal for the official announcement of the start of the long-awaited Tournament. A distraction that would benefit the Lord of Riverrun's discombobulated mind.

Over two hundred archers had just completed their arrangement in four neat rows.

A hundred poles with waving banners created a riot of colour. Almost every household in Westeros participated in the first competition. Even her brother Edmure wanted to participate, but their father forbade it...

The coveted and generous prizes offered attracted elite among the elite from all over the continent.

Ordinary people, without at least a name or noble title that could qualify them, could not take part in the tournament. However, candidates of noble lineage were so numerous that the tournament organisers were forced to postpone the start date by one day. The time needed to carry out a hasty and private pre-selection.

However 'discreet' Edmure had proved himself in fencing and riding over time, with bow and arrow, he was, to be generous, 'mediocre'.

It would already have been a blessing from the Warrior if the heir of Riverrun had managed to set foot among those 256 chosen candidates...

Catelyn's eye sought out the candidate representing House Tallhart... It was not Bloody Snow, but a young man in his early twenties, ordinary-looking with black hair, dressed in full military gear and uniform adorned in the new colours of House Tallhart. Three white Heart Trees arranged in a triangle, with a crimson red bow in the centre on a silvery-grey background... Even the new banner of House Tallhart shouted the word 'Bloody Snow' from every angle.

'Perhaps one of the captains among the newly knighted archers' units.' So Catelyn thought as she failed to recognise the figure.

Thanking the seven heavens, it seemed that the Old Gods had not blessed the most feared swordsman in the North, even with the noble art of the Bow and Arrow... Catelyn's eye slid over the two figures next to the knight serving the Tallharts. An older brother of the Night's Watch also qualified for the competition... An almost bizarre event. Usually, the Brotherhood in Black did not take part in jousts or tournaments except to try and enlist someone.

On the other side, however, was the young eldest son of Lord Tytos Blackwood, Brynden... with the unmistakable Ser Haymitch behind him.

'The Bastard of Raventree Hall... Why did that drunkard Haymitch decide to participate? More importantly, is that pervert also an archer?' Cat wondered with a frown of disgust and irritation at the character.

Immediately after the return of the Stark men from the campaign against the Greyjoys, Haymitch had been elevated from a mere knight errant in the guard's service to First Strategic Commander of Winterfell. The drunken bastard was one of her husband's first advisors and a trusted commander of the Stark militia.

Ned listened more to Haymitch's advice than to Maester Luwin's. And not only that, the drunkard was the private master-at-arms of that Jon Snow and his son Robb! Her husband preferred the guidance of that smelly, shameless disgrace Haymitch rather than Ser Rodrick Cassel!

There was something else linking those characters... but at first glance, Cat failed to pick up the clue before her eyes.

The usher of the competition took the floor, thus distracting Catelyn's first thoughts.

"Your Majesties! My Lords! My Ladies! Princes! Triarchs and City Lords... And to all you other good people of every known place!!!" Barbrey Mormont thundered, gaining applause from the stalls and the stands.

Nearly eighty thousand screaming spectators were gathered in the vast seven-acre arched stadium. Even the famous Harrenhall Tournament could only pick so many people in one place...

"Today...!" the cheers and commotion diminished, "TODAY! In this beautiful blue sky, at the gates of the new city of the North, the games for the celebration of the wedding, of the new city, of the new institutions formed, and... Most important of all, for the victory of all fronts of our beloved King Robert!!!" *Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap!*"Yesss!", "Long live the King!", "Glory to Lady Barbrey!" *Clap! Clap!*

"... But before we begin this heated and coveted first competition between our 256 portentous archers! I, my husband, Lord Jorah, and all of House Mormont have a gift to bestow upon you all, honourable contestants!" The screaming audience fell silent... Everyone wanted to know what the new richest and most powerful woman in Westeros wished to bestow.

"As there has been an unexpected show of trust in the Never Winter Bank, to say the least, the prizes for the Tournament will be "modified!" raising them in proportion to the generosity shown by our allies and friends in the North!" This time, several competitors broke the proper formation to join in the applause.

Catelyn frowned slightly.

The prize for the first two winners in archery was already a disproportionate sum. If she remembered correctly, it had to be ten thousand gold dragoons for first place and five thousand for the second... A sum sufficient to make any noble scion hungry for glory and riches rises from the depths of the continent. And now the prize would even be raised?

"But fear not, my dear investors... Your coffers will be safe from this 'unexpected change'... It will be House Mormont who will shoulder the additional largesse!" Promulgated Barbrey addressing the noble stands, causing a small burst of hilarity...

"The prizes up for grabs will no longer be just two, but rather 'Three'... Three generous prizes for the best three archers!" After a short pause, assistants arranged themselves in front of the rows of competitors, opening several chests filled with golden coins and arranging trunks and handles covered in suits of the finest studded leather.

"Fifteen thousand gold dragons for the Third Place Winner! And the finest set of archer's armour, made to measure, of the finest Karstark leather ever devised, lined inside in the softest and most durable silk in creation, fitted with a special kit for any lover of the hunt, and studded with fine Elite-Quality Damascus Steel plates!" The roar of astonishment was definitely more pronounced from the noble stands.

"How much could that single suit of armour be worth, father?" Catelyn asked, trying to soften poor Hoster's anxieties with the moment's distraction.

"That specimen...? I couldn't say for sure. But if I remember correctly, on House Stark's price list, the price was around eight hundred gold dragons for a standard specimen of studded leather with Elite Steel." Catelyn quadrupled that price in her mind.

"...For Second Place: forty thousand gold dragons! "Three" Custom-made Sets, "And" a new product from the North! A very fine Weirdwood Longbow and Golden Heart Tree!" The crates and dummies doubled. After that came the element that trilled the solution to Catelyn's dilemma.

'The bows! That's what the Ranger, the Blackwood and Haymitch had in common! All three archers have bows similar if not identical to that!' Thought the woman urgently as she carefully observed the white instrument wielded by the three men. Although the boy's bow, Brynden Blackwood, differed a little in colour and shape, the bows of the Night's Watch and Ser Haymitch were identical to that of the prize. Catelyn still had an awful feeling.

"Ser Brynden Blackwood has a peculiar bow with him, very similar to the prize..." She pointed out, seeking her father's opinion.

"...Has your husband said anything to you yet?" Her father asked, momentarily setting aside the cruet of wildfire, called 'Bloody Snow', thrown at him.

"Tell me what?" Catelyn asked urgently.

"Winterfell is still negotiating with Riverrun, Raventree Hall, the Night's Watch and the Crown over the vassalage of House Blackwood. Ned is not as helpless as you think, Cat. Lord Stark wants to bring the former House of the North back into his ranks, offering House Tully a lucrative and generous ransom. We discussed it last night during the private banquet King Robert requested." This time it was Catelyn who was swept away by a landslide. So, unbeknownst to her, last night, her husband was negotiating for the future of the North and the Trident!

"Father! You cannot give up such a loyal and trustworthy vassal as Lord Tytos Blackwood! The Blackwoods are among the lineages with the strongest and best-trained militia in the Trident. The lands of the rivers-" Cat was interrupted.

"The Riverlands and my people will benefit greatly from this agreement, Cat. It has been centuries since House Tully has been helpless and impotent in the continuing bloody skirmishes between the Blackwoods and the Brackens... Putting a thousand leagues between two houses in eternal conflict could be the ultimate solution to this thousand-year feud. Besides, many believers of the Old Gods in the Blackwood lands are beginning to be harassed by the fierce supporters of that High Sparrow... I want to solve the problem before it gets bloody.

Raventree Castle, half the militia and smallfolk loyal to the Blackwoods would remain with us, mostly all the families believing in the Cult of Seven. In addition, Lord Tytos is prepared to surrender almost all his landed possessions at an almost bargain price, putting a stop even to that pesky Bracken/Blackwood land diatribe. And Lord Stark is prepared to pay a ransom in Damascus Steel for the respective weight of each member of House Blackwood, as well as granting us numerous trade advantages on products exported from the North."

'You mean on the products of House Tallhart!' roared Catelyn inwardly, holding back that thought.

Something suggested to her that behind that revolutionary political manoeuvre was the hand of that Demon.

"Giving up their ancient home like that? But what castle or lands would House Stark grant to the Blackwoods?" It would be Moat Cailin with the associated Northern lands of the Neck. For too long, those lands had remained unguarded... 'But if so, why put the Night's Watch in the way?' The answer came.

"The lands of the New Gift... Lord Commander Mormont will relinquish half of the Brotherhood's lands in Black. I believe the future manor of House Blackwood may become the disused manor of Queencrowns." Hoster replied, shocking Cat.

'The lands of the new Gift...? But of course, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch is Jeor Mormont, Lord Jorah's father and Dacey's uncle... So there is certainly the hand of Duncan Tallhart and Barbrey Mormont behind this arrangement!' Cat reasoned with deep concern.

"And what would the bow have to do with it?" Catelyn asked, maintaining her demeanour with extreme effort.

An unreasonable and still unmotivated part of her wanted to shout at her father: [Disagree, father! Don't do it, please! You are giving the enemy what he desires!]

"Last night, we witnessed an impressive demonstration. That bow is the key incentive that convinced Lord Tytos to accept. It appears to be a weapon of even better performance and quality than the infamous Golden Tree Heart of the Summer Isles. House Blackwood would have a monopoly on production and trade on such a product... But, of course, I would ensure that Riverrun and my bannermen have the proper privileges in that market before accepting." Catelyn's face seethed. The woman had no arrows in her bow to rebut such a deal that was advantageous on all fronts.

Catelyn glanced at the Drunken Knight, the bastard cousin of Lord Tytos Blackwood. At first, it was only a suspicion, but now Catelyn was certain.

'You too are a dirty pawn of the bastard, Bastard!' Cat cursed every damned impure name born outside the nuptial thalamus.

Naively, the Tully of Winterfell thought she had moved ahead of her opponent. And yet, before the Silver Trout had managed to secure the loyalty of the Blue Towers, the Blood Demon had already wrested the Black Raven from her grasp...

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End Part II

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