Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Finished reading the chapter. If any of you have an idea on how to improve the B##### on B***** S***. Anything you can think of is welcome...in Italian I could manage but in English...it's hard...very hard.

Thank you all.

Enjoy reading.

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POV: Leobald Tallharth;

Ten miles from Torrhen's Square.

Year 285, 20th day of the fifth moon. About a month after the death of Roose Bolton...

Leobald Tallhart was exhausted. The blisters on his hands were beginning to burn...

The poor man couldn't dig anymore.

"Enough! I need a break!" He said looking at a child beside him covered in dirt.

"No uncle. Not until the lunchtime bell rings." Duncan resumed digging with the shovel.

"My hands are bleeding! Look! See these? They've already exploded!" Replied Leobald, showing his slightly injured palm.

"Same excuse as yesterday. Your hands aren't rough enough, uncle...

You should wield a sword as much as you wield a pen." Duncan replied coldly.

This was Leobald Tallhart's punishment for forgiving his nephew and his sister-in-law Myra...

[To personally help build the road for at least two moons.]

"I already told you! I didn't write it! I only approved it!

And then it was you who told me to find you a singing and music teacher." Leobald.

"I don't want to hear any words, uncle. I just want to hear the sound of the shovel digging the ground..."

End POV.

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POV: Helman Tallhart;

Torrhen's Square.

That night...

Helman's day had been tiring and frustrating. Now that his brother was serving ''punishment'', he had to be the one to keep the master bookkeepers...something he hated doing.

This was a part of his punishment that he had to face in order to gain his wife Myra's forgiveness.

Punishment for sending his seven-year-old son off to fight, in a bloody battle against a militia of mercenaries famous for their cruelty and ruthlessness....

'Surely my idiot brother didn't help!' Helman thought in frustration as he remembered the incident, which had put the icing on the cake.

Helman, had just put his son Benfred and Eddara to bed. It was time to go to sleep....

Five minutes later...

Helman closed the door behind him. His wife Myra was already in bed reading by candlelight.

"I just put the children to bed....

Tonight we finished reading 'Dance of the Dragons'." Tried to say Helman looking for some kind of reaction in front of the indifferent woman.

Myra, nodded with barely perceptible nods...but didn't look for her husband's gaze.

"Phew...Myra please talk to me. This has been going on for a month now." Helman said in a pleading tone.

Myra looked up and then said:

"You are the Master and Protector of Torrhen's Square. If you want me to speak with you, my lord husband, you need only order me to do so." Myra explained in a cold, terse tone.

"I am your husband, not your lord....

I would never order you to do something like that...I..." Helman was interrupted.

"Then, you will wait."

End POV.

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POV: Tywin Lannister.

Casterly Rock.

About a month later...

Tywin was at the head of the banquet table, set up in honour of his brother Kevan's success in breaking up a group of bandits in the Westlands.

"Why is this banquet in your honor then? You didn't even draw your sword. AHAHAHA!" Roared Gerion Lannister, the 'Smiling Lion'.

"Little Brother Gerion, do you by any chance remember that unfortunate incident that happened to you when you led a punitive expedition when you were 15 years old?" Genna Lannister asked casually.

Gerion nearly choked on his wine. Then he jumped up.

"GENNA! You promised me! You swore you wouldn't tell!" Gerion.

"And in fact I told no one...A Lannister always pays his debts." Genna replied, feigning innocence.

Tywin let the jovial diatribe between siblings slide. This was an evening attended only by members of House Lannister.

Even Tywin, at rare times of the year, appreciated moments like this. Full of levity and togetherness and family bonding. When his wife Joanna was still alive, even he laughed occasionally. After Joanna died in childbirth, it was his brother Gerion who took the brunt of her laughter for her...

These last few weeks had been filled with anxiety and worry for the Protector of the West...

All due because of one Kingdom...the North.

House Manderly, had recently started a successful business. Toilet paper'...

A product that was more successful than soap.

His spies told him that House Karstark was producing armour and other leather products of astonishing quality and strength...

And he was currently drinking a glass of whisky... which was sold by House Umber. The latter was having even more success than Manderly and Karstark. All the taverns, inns, villas and castles in Westeros were trying to buy as many barrels as they could... House Umber was probably already pocketing profits on a par with House Redwine.

The North was getting rich quick.

Gerion, Kevan, Genna and Tyrion, never spoke at the table or anywhere else on Casterly Rock of the 'Road'...

A subject of absolute taboo. The builder who reported on the methods of construction to Tywin's council, had over-emphasised the successes and benefits of that road. funded by House Lannister itself.

The builder was still locked in the narrowest cell of Casterly Rock...

'And now that affair too...' Tywin thought instinctively, forcing himself to think of something else.

A few minutes later...

Gerion and Kevan were chatting with relish, reminding each other of old adventures past.

Music wafted through the room...

When at a certain point, Tywin sprang to his feet and roared:

"GUARDS, TAKE THAT BARD INTO CUSTODY AND IMPRISON HIM!"

End POV.

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POV: Ellaria Sand;

Sun Spear.

About a week after a young minstrel begged for her forgiveness....

Ellaria was wrapping her arms around, her friend, her beloved, her companion and reason for living, Oberyn Martell.

She continued to caress his chest gently.

The Prince of Dorne, had just returned from his 'desperate search campaign'. Ellaria was the only one, along with very few other people in all of Dorne, who knew the truth....

Nevertheless, Ellaria had not seen Oberyn for almost a year.

She couldn't wait for the welcoming banquet to end, this way she would have her man to herself. Ellaria had prepared a surprise for her lover, which had required a lot of gold, labour and 'experts in the field'...

Oberyn and Ellaria, were currently lying on huge velvet cushions as they watched, along with the other guests, dancing, performances and singing.

"What are you thinking about my love?" Ellaria.

Oberyn turned his head to seek out the neck of the beautiful Dornish woman.

"Should I be thinking of something other than you?" He said placing gentle kisses on Ellaria Sand's perfumed skin.

"No...you shouldn't...but you were. Mmm..." Ellaria replied with sensual irony moaning occasionally.

"That's why you're by my side...Because I could never hide anything from you." Said Oberyn before kissing Ellaria intensely, who returned the gesture of passion.

A minute of passion (inappropriate in front of noble guests) later...

"Don't you dare distract me ever again....

Now my love, answer my question." Ellaria.

"...Nothing in particular, my beloved. I was just intrigued by the ballad sung a few minutes ago by that bard. That's all." Oberyn.

"You speak of the Northern ballad? There are even better ones...Why did it stick with you?" Ellaria asked curiously.

"Because that 'Bloody Snow', is alive and well, and currently only seven years old." Oberyn.

"You're kidding, right?..." Oberyn smiled amused at Ellaria's question. The latter realised that her beloved was not joking at all.

"Lord Helman Tallhart's son, Duncan Tallhart has been nicknamed 'Bloody Snow'...but that nickname was given to him about two years ago. Rumor has it that he commanded the sixty Tallhart men against the hundred bandits in the battle ''The Snow Mill Massacre''...and now a new venture then his name." Explained Oberyn calmly.

"It will be a set-up. A method of House Tallhart to make that boy ' a more palatable party '..." Ellaria.

"Perhaps...but every good story has a kernel of truth to it, my beloved."

End POV.

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POV: Catelyn Stark.

Winterfell.

Three weeks before a night of fiery passion was consummated...

Catelyn Stark sat beside her lord husband at dinner.

Her belly was swollen, forcing her to wear less elegant and stiff clothing. She was now five months pregnant.

After Ned returned from Torrhen's Square, he held a welcoming banquet to tell the whole castle the good news. It was at that moment that she saw her Ned smile back at her.

It had taken time and effort, the crisis was not yet completely over. Ned began to grant Catelyn small privileges again.

At the moment, she could work with Chief Steward Poole on minor castle duties. Step by step, with perfect and dutiful behaviour, Catelyn was becoming the 'true' lady of Winterfell again...

Of course, she was well aware that in the matter of 'Jon Snow', she would probably have no more say.

Making an extreme effort, Cat, she even took care of the boy from time to time. Small courtesies at first.

Scolding him in the same manner as Robb on manners.

Accompanying him by holding his hand to the nurse who assisted him in times of need.

Even giving him little complements when he behaved.

She knew there was no other way to mend the broken trust between the pair. Words were wind...

"Ned...I thought of a name this morning. You know, in case it's a girl." Catelyn said, stroking her husband's hand.

"What?" Ned asked briefly but expressing a calm, sweet and curious tone of voice.

"Sansa...Sansa Stark. Do you like her?" Cat.

Ned remained silent for a few seconds staring into his wife's eyes. Then, giving a small smile he replied:

"If we were to have a daughter, her name would be Sansa Stark." Ned said, gently kissing the hand that held his.

A few minutes later...

"My lord...my lady. Thank you for inviting me and allowing me the honor of playing for you." Said a minstrel with harp in hand, bowing.

Small applause accompanied the bow. Lord Stark and Lady Stark nodded in response to the courtesy shown by the bard.

The servants and courtesans at Winterfell's service were eager to hear the bard sing.

"This evening, I will perform beginning with new ballad." A few murmurs and small cries of excitement from several maidens instantly burst out after hearing that announcement.

The bard began to strum a pleasant melody with his fingers...

About forty minutes later...

The bard sat down after receiving his due dose of applause.

Catelyn Stark was still trying to calm her breathing.

Even Ned had been surprised by the first ballad and had sought out his wife's gaze, to check on the woman's state of mind.

Cat, being attentive to every detail in recent months, managed to resist. She kept a serious but calm gaze.

She overcame the tough test of will she had just been forced to face.

Then a louder-than-normal voice echoed through the room... a voice of a drunken knight.

"BARD! HEY BARD! TAKE IT! A GOLDEN DRAGON IF YOU WILL RECITE FOR US THE BALLAD ON 'BLOODY SNOW'! AHAHAHA!".

End POV.

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POV: Tycho Nestoris;

Braavos.

About 3 weeks after Catelyn Stark was forced to get up from the table due to ''an illness''...

The manager of the Iron Bank, one of the youngest ever, was walking in broad daylight on one of the main streets of Braavos. At his side was young Ronan, the protected trainee of House Tallhart.

Tycho, Ronan and six escorting mercenaries had just returned from a business meeting at the naval port.

Ronan had become Tycho's new personal assistant.

Even the talented Braavosi manager had to admit that this boy Ronan had an unnatural gift for numbers.

He could easily perform complex arithmetic calculations at incredible speed. He also had an incredible memory. There was not a number or a written word that Ronan could not remember...

'One in ten thousand.' Tycho thought again as he looked at the fifteen-year-old at his side.

Although House Tallhart had set up an account especially for Ronan, containing hundreds of golden dragons.

Ronan never made use of it. If he had to spend anything, the boy would only use coins he had earned himself.

Tycho felt respect and esteem for the hardworking and responsible boy.

The Iron Bank paid the boy a fee of one gold coin a month.

Three times what they normally paid for each new young trainee. Ronan alone could do the work of five trainee accountants.

' The Iron Bank will get what they are owed and pay what they are due. ' Tycho thought with a small smile.

''I definitely need to find a way to bring the boy into our ranks.'' Tycho's smile, faded immediately after that other thought.

All the bank executives were alarmed by the abnormal economic growth in the North...

Making estimates and calculations, they had deduced that at that rate, the North would become the richest Kingdom in all of Westeros. Even more than the West... and it would become so within the next ten years at the latest.

What alarmed the Iron Bank the most, was that none of the Great Noble Lords of the North, had an account with the Iron Bank.

And House Tallhart's account was emptying month after month...

The spies they sent or the agents who were tasked with hiring spies on the spot, never returned or managed to bring back anything relevant.

Spying on the lands of the Tallharts was almost certainly a suicidal enterprise, and now even on the lands of House Dustin ''the birds were no longer singing''.

They were going blind, and now that Winter was coming, they would be even more so. No one knew exactly what happened in the North during the harsh winter. Roads were blocked by snow, harbours were almost frozen and ships could not dock. Even crows could succumb during a storm...

As soon as 'The Watcher' leaves the North, we'll have to get rid of that Bloody Snow and the entire Tallhart household if necessary...

'The Iron Bank, he will soon lose influence on Westeros if we don't stop him soon.' Tycho's thoughts were interrupted.

He had recently noticed that his assistant, Ronan, was no longer walking at his side.

He looked back with a hint of urgency and found him....

The boy had joined a small crowd that was listening to a bard sing.

Tycho headed curiously towards the crowd with the guards following behind him.

'Something interesting had to be there, if he had managed to break that boy's dutiful duty.' Tycho thought curiously.

By the time the executive managed to reach the boy's side, the song had just ended.

Did I hear the words 'Bloody Snow'? Or am I working too hard? ' With that thought Tycho crinkled his eyes for a moment but then he saw him....

Ronan, ' the ' iron trainee ', ' the unflappable Ronan ', the dutiful, hardworking and always composed boy...was crying.

He was crying while smiling.

End POV.

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POV: An aspiring bard;

Braavos.

Half an hour before a fifteen-year-old boy began to cry....

Young Greed of sixteen, was hungry, tired and dirty.

Only six copper coins remained in his cloth purse.

They were barely enough for a hot meal in a shabby inn.

He had been forced to sleep on the street at night, behind his favourite inn, 'The Singing Cat'.

An inn that offered young bards, a hot meal for every half hour of performance (that didn't make your ears bleed), if you got tips from the audience, you owed half of it to the inn that offered you the stage and the people.

Last night, Greed couldn't find a space to perform. Dozens of professionals showed up and stole his thunder...

All of them, wanted to try and play the new ballad of Westeros.

Some bards even got silver tips...

Greed didn't let it get him down and stayed at the inn trying to learn the song as much as possible. He had even paid for the meal out of his own pocket and had to give up his shelter for the night...

Now he wanted to try performing in the street and try his luck. He was still not very familiar with his lute... but he could sing, had a good voice and had managed to get a free meal every night for over a year.

He put a wooden bowl on the ground and began to perform...

About twenty-five minutes later...

Greed had sung: The Bear and the Maiden Fair, the Dornish Wife, the Rains of Castamere, Hands of Gold and Jenny.

A small crowd of about 30 people had formed.

Greed, he knew well that at most every third spectator would leave him a piece of copper...but he was proud of himself nonetheless.

The laughter and smiles the audience gave him was his real bread. The nourishment that gave him the strength to face each hard, cold day.

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen of the wonderful city of Braavos.

And now, I would like to try my hand for the first time at a new ballad...

Straight from the cold and desolate lands of the North, here is the ballad of 'Bloody Snow'.

Greed prepared to play the chorus. In the intro, he missed a note or two but kept going without stopping.

Then he started to sing...

"In the cold and desolate lands of the North,

there was a boy named Bloody Snow...

Silver eyes and White hair,

of a Castle he was the heir...

A knight' squire

and the vengeance inside blazing like a fire.

With an iron will,

Rode in the village of Snow Mill!"

.....

.....

After three more choruses a 31st spectator joined in...

Greed was about to arrive at the final refrain.

"Captain Tom's heir knows...

That the challenge was accepted by Bloody Snow!

Sparks of steel surrounded the Goat and Boy,

It looked like a legendary clash at the Tower of the Joy.

...

But soon only the sound of silence remained from the show,

Broken by the tone of acclamations for Bloody Snow!"

-----

Greed paused and the crowd began to applaud. The bard bowed and said:

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen for your attention and remember my name is Greed.... Greed the Bard! Thank you, thank you again..."

After another minute of applause and even some handshakes, the crowd dispersed.

Greed checked the bowl...and it was worse than he expected....

There were only seven of the ten copper coins he'd hoped for...but he didn't beat himself up. He was about to pick them up when a figure approached.

Greed looked up... it was a boy...

A clean, well-dressed boy...and his cheeks were wet with tears.

"Yes? Is there something I can do for you?" Greed asked politely.

The boy became disenchanted with the question for a moment.

He reached into his purse and pulled out a shiny coin that glistened for a moment in the sunlight.

"Please Greed the Bard, could you sing me the last ballad again?" The boy asked humbly, handing the coin into the minstrel's hands.

Greed had not heard a word of the request he had just made... he could only stare in disbelief at the shiny gold coin in his hand.