Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Hello everyone. Here's another chapter for you.

I would like to officially announce, that in the last two days, I have managed to commission a professional Editor and Translator to write the Prologue of this Fan Fiction.

Soon these poorly written drafts will look more like a real Novel.

Oh Mom I can't wait!!! I'm so excited!

I'm finally starting to find stability with my work. I can still only guarantee one chapter a week, but at least I've found peace and serenity in the duties that accrue to all penniless aspiring writers! Ahahaha!

Also. Most importantly. Yesterday I commissioned work on a new custom book cover!!! YEEEEESSSS!!!

In ten days I should be able to create another new page of this FF novel in which there will only be well worked chapters.

Credit for these two little two milestones goes to [moku8],[Patrick Rodriguez],[Sdri], [scared_potatoes] and [AvidReader962].

Thank you guys from the bottom of my heart.

By now I've given up on the project: Just think about writing and say goodbye to work, but at least I'm managing to create something that a year ago I wouldn't have even imagined.

Thanks again.

Now I'm aiming to get Five Chapters revised and translated.

As soon as I can scrape together 400 euros from other media I'll commission those as well.

If you would like to support me in this little endeavor, here is the link to the Ko-Fy.

https://ko-fi.com/duncanrandargotpaladin

Thanks again and happy reading.

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POV: The Kingslayer;

Tent of the war council, royal encampment, Isle of Pyke.

Year 289, 24th day of the fifth moon.

About seven hours before a General showed a letter to a Vice-Commander...

Ser Jaime Lannister was on duty that afternoon. He was to replace Ser Preston shortly. His squire, Merlon Crakehall, the youngest of the three sons of Lord Roland Crakehall, one of his father's most loyal bannermen, had just finished helping him put on his shining gold-enamelled armour. Now it was the turn of his white cloak, the last piece of the puzzle.

"I'm done, Ser Jaime." Said the fourteen-year-old in a humble tone.

"You may go and rest Merlon. I won't need your services until after dinner. Go, find some other squires in a celebratory mood and seek out a sweet maiden of this island in the mood to hear the stories of the brave squire Merlon Crakehall, personal squire to the Kingslayer." Said Jaime in a slightly ironic yet sincere tone.

"Thank you, Ser Jaime." Merlon didn't let himself say it twice. He was fresh from his first battle and was still dying to exchange stories and experiences of war with his peers.

Merlon bowed and prepared to leave the tent.

Before his squire came out, Jaime looked one last time at that information, which only he could see, above the boy's head...

' Before the battle, Merlon was a [4 Class: King]... Now he has risen to [5 Class: Page]. Pff... the same level as Ser Boros Blunt. I have yet to understand how that man managed to become part of the Royal Guard... Anyway, the battle was a good experience for, Merlon.

Yeah, this is no coincidence.

I'm finally getting the hang of this...

'Training and real combat experience help increase that number. ' Jaime thought.

It had now been almost six years since the day Jaime was cursed.

A curse that struck him just days before King's Landing was invaded.

It was the middle of the night, and Jaime was watching the door to the King's bedrooms.

A small, faint white light struck him in the chest.

Countless pieces of information entered his mind.

Unknown information.

One, in particular, shocked him... ''magic''.

When he retreated to the White Sword Tower, the tower belonging to the Kingsguard, he was struck by a panic attack.

Jaime accidentally dropped the fraternity's White Book, which, due to the impact, was slightly damaged at the edges of the leather cover.

Struck by the urgency of that dishonourable act that had stained the honour of all the brothers who had served in the Kingsguard, Jaime immediately sought to remedy the damage. And in that moment of need...the book repaired itself.

He had done it. He had unwittingly performed magic that instantly repaired the small tear formed at the edge.

And, a short time later, he noticed that when he got within thirty feet of any individual, he could glimpse a white number floating a few inches above his head.

In less than a month, he had learned to turn that ability on and off at will.

Jaime never told anyone about his peculiar magical anomalies.

He had never considered himself a cunning, calculating vixen, but even he was well aware that magic was not well regarded in Westeros.

His new nickname ' Kingslayer ' could not possibly be accompanied by the pseudonym ' Dark Wizard '.

Not even Cersei or Tyrion knew anything about it. It was a secret he was not willing to share. Another burden to bear.

Jaime had learned to make good use of one of his two main skills.

Evaluate the fighting ability of every individual except himself.

So far he had not met anyone with a higher number than Ser Barristan. The large, glowing number [10] that floated above the head of the more-than-valuable swordsman was another piece of evidence added to Barristan the Valiant's list.

Jaime had named that value [Level 10, Class= King].

Each number had a different magnitude and brightness. He had managed to give meaning to this difference by creating a personal evaluative hierarchy.

Several combat level was divided into five different classes:

Page;

Squire;

Knight;

Lord;

King;

It was not a precise scale, nor did it take into consideration other factors that could determine the outcome of a fight. It was just created to rank in a crescendo that value that floated over each individual's head.

For example, Robert Baratheon, currently considered the strongest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms, was a [10], but his number seemed to be a faded infant compared to Barristan's.

He was a [10 Class= Page].

Perhaps Robert would still be able to beat the now fifty-year-old knight in a deathmatch, but only because of the difference in age and brute strength.

Though age was beginning to rust the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard's movements, Jaime was still not at his level in melee. They had faced off countless times in sparring with swords in training over those years.

From what he remembered, Ser Arthur was slightly more immature than Barristan in the fluidity and stamina of his slashes, but he was certain that he was the only one who could surpass Barristan's legend in time.

But now, it seemed that another legend was rising in Westeros. One that Ser Jaime was looking forward to meeting for the first time.

The Kingslayer had been unlucky four days ago. While Ser Fury was being showered with honours and glory, the knight without honour slept blissfully in a small cabin on the Royal Galley.

After twelve hours of guard duty, Jaime's well-earned sleep prevented him from witnessing those historic moments when a man of humble beginnings became a Lord.

At least his squire described to him in detail every moment and every word was spoken.

Although Cersei harboured countless prejudices against that Tallhart boy called ''Bloody Snow'', Jaime, unbeknownst to his sister, admired and respected him.

No one could deny that this eleven-year-old boy had defeated Denys Drumm, one of the most feared warriors of the Iron Island, in single combat. Bloody Snow had more than five thousand witnesses on his side, and a hundred of them were his uncle Gerion and the Lannister men in his service.

Years before he had not given a thread of credence to the tales and ballads written in his name, but with each new conquest and glory that Northern boy achieved, those songs sounded stronger and truer.

Though House Tallhart had forged good relations with House Lannister, his sister doubted greatly in that lesser house of the North.

She attributed the same opinion to House Tallhart as she did to House Rayne. That is a house that was growing too fast and rising too high.

Personal grudges rose more and more in Cersei's mind whenever she heard the name Bloody Snow being praised. According to her, that boy was stealing all the glory and attention that was rightfully their ''son'' Joffrey's due.

Jaime understood Cersei's fears to an extent. That boy had been achieving success, fame and honours since the age of five...

Joffrey would have to perform more than one miracle to recover, at least in part, the attention Westeros was giving the heir to House Tallhart.

The events of Bear Island infuriated the lioness of King's Landing out of all proportion. Cersei had smashed and torn numerous and very expensive personal effects in her chambers to appease her wrath.

Jaime had to intervene himself to calm her down, fearing that the pregnancy of the woman he loved might be at risk.

Before leaving, now that his brother Ser Romas Estermont had died of pneumonia, his sister had tried to manipulate him into a night of passion by trying to convince him to do everything possible to spur Ser Barristan and King Robert to make Duncan Tallhart a knight as soon as possible so they could offer him a place among the white cloaks.

In this way, they would have clipped the boy's wings and bound him to the crown until the end of his days.

But Jaime would never do that-he would not use the order of the white cloaks for the political plots of the court.

Not after he had suffered that same fate himself.

The Kingslayer was truly curious to meet and evaluate Bloody Snow himself. And now he finally had the chance to do so...

A council of war would be held shortly, attended by all lords and councillors. The Hero of the North would take part in that event.

A few minutes later...

Swordsword was about to enter the tent when he passed two individuals at the entrance. Lord Eddard Stark and another battered man he couldn't recognize at first but who looked familiar to him.

"Ser Jaime." He greeted the Lord politely.

"Lord Stark... and..." Jaime replied, trying to name the supposed knight.

"Ser Haymitch Rivers, Ser." Haymitch.

"Ah, but of course, I remember now. You were that knight from the Riverlands who made it to the semifinals of the Lannisport tournament melee twelve years ago. Am I right, Ser Haymitch?" Jaime asked with a small tone of praise.

Jaime had connected the dots thanks in part to the help of his skill.

That [Level 9 Class=Knight] white thing floating above Ser Haymitch's head was a piece of good evidence to prove his theory.

"You have a good memory, Ser Jaime. Yes, I came third in that tournament.

Your former brother, Ser Arthur, rang me like a bell in that melee." Haymitch.

"... It was one of the best fights of that event. I remember that fight well, you even managed to disarm Ser Arthur Dayne's left hand. A feat achieved by few, Ser Haymitch." Jaime.

"Yes... I would have rated it a great achievement as well if only my opponent had not allowed himself to be disarmed on purpose to set a trap for me." Haymitch replied, chuckling. Jaime also allowed himself a small amused memorial laugh.

"Ser Jaime." Eddard Stark interrupted the exchange of banter.

"Yes, Lord Stark?" Jaime and Haymitch fell silent, both focusing their attention on the Protector of the North.

"I would like to take this opportunity to ask for a small audience in private if possible. It should be another half hour before the meeting begins." Stark.

"My Lords, here I take my leave. It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ser Jaime." Haymitch sensed his Lord's message and entered the tent first.

"My pleasure, Ser Haymitch." Jaime responded to the greeting and peered deeply into the gaze of the man who six years earlier advised Robert to send him to the Wall. Since their meeting in Lannisport, this was the third time Eddard Stark had approached him without a trace of contempt in his eyes, paying him the respects a knight deserved.

Again, Jaime saw no trace of deception or malice in the eyes of the Lord of Winterfell. He had no reason to refuse his request.

In truth, he was also quite curious as to what Eddard Stark wanted to discuss with him.

If he wanted to seek sparring, or a more serious confrontation, Jaime would not back down. Jaime was curious to try his hand at confronting a [Level 9, Class: Page].

"Of course, Lord Stark... Lead the way." Jaime.

About a minute later...

"You have a fine sword at your service, my Lord." Said Jaime, interrupting the awkward silence first.

The two men were walking at a slow pace in a partially isolated area of the camp.

"Yes, it is. I consider myself fortunate that I was able to convince Ser Haymitch to serve my household....

Ser Jaime... I wanted to offer my apologies." A surprise slash caught The Kingslayer off guard. But Jaime quickly recovered and answered back:

"I do not believe you have given me any offense, Lord Stark. What are you apologizing for?"

"An offense was given to you, Ser. Six years ago..." Eddard.

The two men paused, looking seriously into each other's eyes. At that point Jaime no longer hid his expression of doubt and perplexity.

'The honorable Ned Stark, apologizing to the Kingslayer? The knight without honor? What game are you playing, Lord Stark?' Jaime thought inwardly.

The Quiet Wolf continued.

'I was hasty and prejudiced against you, Knight.

At the time when I entered the throne room, I did not even attempt to ask you for clarification. Now I think I have partially understood your situation by putting myself in your shoes in that onerous situation with no way out. For that I apologize, Ser Jaime of House Lannister." Eddard.

"... I..." In that instant Jaime did not know how to respond.

He had dozens of snide responses in store, laden with arrogance and irony. Yet, all the words choked in his mouth. The Knight Without Honor was not in the least bit prepared for such an event.

After a few seconds, Jaime braced himself and said:

"Why do you apologize? I killed my King. The one I had sworn to protect with my life... You have no reason to pay me your respects, Stark. I am the Kingslayer, ' the Knight Without Honor'..." Jaime.

"Aye, 'A Knight Without Honor'... That's one way to describe you, Ser.

But another way would be ''The Knight who sacrificed his Honor for the greater good''. In my eyes that description has a very different meaning." Jaime was disarmed for the umpteenth time.

' Does he know? Impossible... Only Tyrion should know the truth! There's no way my brother would go around blabbing it to the four winds.'

He swore me to secrecy... No he didn't. Then how?

I personally killed all the alchemists... Could I have missed any?' Jaime thought of every possibility. He still wasn't sure if Ned Stark was referring to the barrels of Wildfire hidden throughout King's Landing.

"I don't want to take up any more of your time, Ser, and you have no reason to accept my apologies. I merely wished to report to you what I thought best." Ned nodded his head to gesture an apology and take his leave.

The Northern Protector slowly made his way to the council tent. Then a voice stopped him.

"I accept your apology, Lord Stark. What has been being forgotten." Jaime said sincerely. He had no reason to hold any further grudges against the man.

Ned turned and nodded, keeping a serious face but expressing gratitude and relief in his gaze.

Before parting, the two men exchanged a mutual sign of understanding.

End POV.

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POV: Duncan;

War Council Tent.

About twenty minutes after a conversation took place...

Two Baratheon guards granted us the go-ahead to enter the tent.

My father, myself, and Vice-General Peter prepared to enter inside.

A few lords were missing from the roll call, but soon all would arrive. The war council would not begin for another handful of minutes.

And there, in front of me, I saw him. Clear as day, a presence that stood out among all the others. Gold-plated from the tips of his toes to his hair, a white cloak symbolizing his oath to the order of the Kingsguard.

We were less than twenty feet apart facing each other. We both scrutinized each other with a shocked and confused look.

My eyes were turned inches from his head and it was the same for him.

'What?!!! Jaime Lannister is a fucking PALADIN! WHITE!!! Why is the colour silvery-white?!!! No, that can't be a coincidence! Could it be the Paladin of the Foreign God?!!! But then it means that my little cousin... Elminster... No! NO! Calm Duncan! Easy... Let's not jump to conclusions. You still don't have enough elements to shoot theories here and there!' An explosion of thoughts swept over me almost paralyzing me. The man opposite seemed to be going through a similar experience. But we both remained silent, hiding any rash impulse.

About three years ago, late at night, just after my cousin was born, an explosion of energy manifested in Torrhen's Square. I immediately looked out to see what was going on. Fortunately, during that time when I rigidly refused to level off, I could hardly get to sleep inside the family manor.

I saw a gargantuan column of white light invest the northern part of the fortress. It was centred in the area of my Uncle's quarters...

No one noticed the anomaly, only me. I rushed in any way, alarming my uncles...

The newborn continued to sleep blissfully in his furry crib next to Leobald and Berena's bed. There was only one small difference. The number [0] floating above Elminster's head changed colour. It had gone from ordinary green to a bright silvery-white.

From that night on I had my cousin carefully monitored every day by the best Frost Blades serving my family.

Qyburn was instructed to notify me as soon as possible of any abnormalities the child showed. But in three years, nothing happened. Elminster lived as serene and carefree as an infant...

That unique characteristic colour was the same as Ser Jaime's. That big, bright, and white [9] was the same shade as my cousin. My cousin and Ser Jaime were bound by the same divine power...

The Kingslayer was deserving of his reputation as a valiant swordsman. That number seemed even slightly larger than Victarion's. He was certainly a breath away from breaking through the barrier to break to Level [10]. He would most likely be able to prevail against Denys Drumm as well...

But he still had to be at Level [0] as a Paladin. The first characteristic circle had not yet formed.

Assuming that the path and abilities of each chosen one were similar to mine, Ser Jaime must have been able to at most use a Cantrip and identify the levels of the individuals.

The second assumption was practically certain. Not surprisingly, his gaze would be directed about a foot from my eyes.

That was the face of a person who had just witnessed an unexplained anomaly.

"Duncan!" My father's voice broke my thoughts.

Helman had one knee on the ground and was sending me a clear message of alarmism.

I had been dumbfounded like a fool for almost half a minute. Half the stares in that tent were on me. I had not yet shown my greetings and respects to the King!

"MY KING! I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, for my disreputable behaviour!" I said quickly as I knelt in front of King Robert.

"AHAHAH! Never mind, Hero of the North... Say, were you dazzled by the Kingslayer's shining armour! Ahahahah!" Said Robert acclimating the slightly tense spirits in an instant. Many lords and knights laughed at the King's joke.

But not me or Ser Jaime.

"That's right, Your Majesty... This is the first time I've had the honour of meeting Ser Jaime Lannister. One of the finest swords in the Seven Kingdoms. It is an honour, Ser." I said, addressing a greeting to Jaime.

The knight also awoke from his paralyzed condition.

"My honour, young lord..." Jaime.

"Now that the formalities are done and all asses have been licked as etiquette dictates, give me your ideas on how to further humiliate the Squid King! Ahahaha! Kingslayer, Bloody Snow! I want you by my side!" Robert.

"Yes, your grace." We both replied.

About two hours later...

King Robert took stock of the situation.

"Well then, the plan of attack is decided. Lord Duncan, Ser Jaime and all the volunteers will take care of the bridges inside. Lord Stark and I will lead the main force. The Umber units, Glover, Bolling, Tarth, Tudbury and Mallister, will be led by Lord Jason Mallister. You will be in charge of the rear guard and defence of the camp. Stannis will be in charge of the defence of the harbour.

All that remains is to decide which units will assault the fortress first. It will be the most difficult task to sustain...

Any volunteers?"

End POV.

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POV: Ser Jaime Lannister;

Allied Camp.

About five hours later the King dismissed all the Lords and advisors...

Jaime was both parts relieved and worried about all the information he had managed to retrieve from that council.

His father and Uncle, leading an army of ten thousand men and one hundred ships, had successfully subdued Great Wyk, the last bastion supporting House Greyjoy in this rebellion. House Farwynd, Goodbrother, and Merlyn had surrendered almost immediately. House Sparr had struggled until Lannister forces captured Lord Sparr's fortress and port. Ser Barristan was already on his way to Pyke after a small conflict at Blacktyde Island.

All that remained was the fortress of Pyke to end the Rebellion.

The most stupid and painful Rebellion that Westeros history has ever seen.

The only victory the King of Salt and Stone achieved was at Lannispost.

Jaime would stake his sword, armour, and cloak that his father would gnash his teeth at for years over this monumental disgrace to House Lannister's good name. The more Balon and House Greyjoy were humiliated by coming off as pathetic in the eyes of the world, the more visible the stain on the feared and respected Jaime's House would be.

They could blame no one for this but House Greyjoy, who had attacked House Lannister in secret like the cowardly marauders they were.

But now was not the time to think about that.

He had an important meeting that he absolutely could not miss...

He had only two swords with him: his trusty longsword that was an inch longer than average and a training sword.

He had asked Ser Mandon Moore for the favour of filling in for him for a couple of hours on his watch.

A few minutes later, Jaime arrived at the agreed-upon spot. Two Lannister and Tallhart men-at-arms had just finished setting up braziers, drinks, and various provisions.

"Ser Jaime." A teenage voice caught the Knight's attention.

"Lord Duncan... You're early as well." Jaime replied.

The barely twenty-three-year-old man peered intently at the individual who stood less than fifteen feet from him.

Slightly wavy white hair, green eyes with peculiar silver streaks, a build and height more like a thirteen-year-old than a boy his age, and most peculiar of all, a large bright green number [9] surrounded by five circles made up of runes of the same colour.

Jaime wasn't sure whether to classify that Level as Lord or King Class...

It seemed to be a slightly brighter and larger number than Ser Mandon Moore's (Level 8), but slightly less conspicuous than Ser Barristan's [10] King Class. But of one thing he was certain, that boy was capable of routing at least four of the remaining six Kingsguards with ease.

"Yeah, I can hardly ever be on time. So it's better to be early than late." Duncan.

Jaime noted to his delight that the boy had also brought his Sword. The legendary Red Rain. The only known sword of Valyria with a distinctive crimson hue on the blade.

Ever since he was a child, Jaime had always wanted a sword of Valyrian Steel. The only one he was able to see at the age of eleven was Lady Forlon, a beautiful longsword belonging to House Corbray of the Vale.

Lord Corbray even granted Jaime the honour of wielding her for a brief moment. It was one of the most exciting moments of his childhood.

"Jason, Nimmund, thank you. You may now leave us alone." Said the boy turning to his two men.

Jaime gave a similar signal to the men loyal to House Lannister.

"Yes, my Lords.", "My Lords." The four men walked away soon after, obeying orders.

"Is that your sword, Ser? May I?" The boy asked offering his first extending his arm.

"Of course. Thank you, my Lord." As agreed, the duo exchanged weapons respectively.

The boy unsheathed the steel forged by Lannisport's finest forge first.

Ser Jaime waited before unsheathing Red Rain. He wanted to enjoy that moment calmly and without haste. Only by peering at the sheath could he tell that the bastard sword was at least an inch and a half shorter than average.

"A very good steel... The blade seems slightly longer than average.

Mmm... an inch?" Duncan.

"An inch and a quarter." Jaime.

"Does it have a name?" Duncan.

"Golden Claw." Jaime.

"A fine name... The gold pommel seems to create a very slight imbalance of weight between hilt and blade. Is it done on purpose?" The boy.

"Yes, it is. The slight excess weight of the pommel promotes a more stable and smooth rotation of the blade. At the expense of clean slashes of course." The swordsman.

Bloody Snow tried the effect himself by slicing the air a couple of times with each hand. The Kingslayer noticed to his surprise that the boy seemed to be ambidextrous. A very peculiar trait for a swordsman.

Less than a minute later the boy unsheathed Golden Claw.

"An excellent sword indeed, Ser Jaime. While in excellent condition, the slightly worn leather handle shows your perseverance in training with it." He praised the boy.

"A sword is one more joint in the arm of any valiant swordsman. It was the second teaching of my master of arms." Jaime.

"And what was the first?" Duncan.

"Eyes on the joint of your opponent's arm." Jaime.

The boy laughed in delight as soon as he heard the first rule.

"You're welcome, Ser. Treat her as your own." Duncan.

"Mind your words, boy. My father has been desperately seeking a sword of Valyria for our House for decades. Also, my sister the queen has been trying to convince her husband to wrest it from your hands and give it to me." Jaime replied in a slightly ironic but truthful tone.

"Ahaha! Yes, I've heard that. But I don't think you'd stoop that low to get her." Duncan.

"You think so? And what makes you think that?" Jaime.

"The Hero of King's Landing unfairly stealing the sword from another young would-be Hero? The notes of this song would sound out of tune, Ser."