Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods - Chapter 143: Horn Ringing
POV: Duncan
Temporary Arena.
About half an hour after a small battle was won…
The arena was set up in the centre of the finely manicured lawn as a dance floor. The grass was so thin that it looked like a golf course.
Braziers and torches had been arranged in a circle with a sixty-foot radius to mark the temporary arena. Around us, spectators and witnesses almost as far as the eye could see. Tents were dismantled, and longboards were arranged all around to serve as elevations for spectators.
The King arrived in time not so much to serve as the first witness of the reign but more to witness the bloody spectacle.
To my surprise, Master Recallio was a junior acolyte of the Many-Faced Gods, who, along with Oak Green Welk, would serve as judge and voice of the Gods.
Honestly, I had not marked such a scenario in what Barbrey calls the ‘Great Puppeteer’s Agenda’ … not everything could be predicted, and my {Knowledge-Canon-World-Got/Asoiaf} advantage was growing thinner and thinner.
Gelledo Antaryon was one of the many unknowns unknown to me until recently, and now, that strange could change the fate of many.
I didn’t even want to know what Zick had wagered against Tycho Nestoris; only the thought of it unsettled me.
I was pretty confident in being able to crush the Braavosian. However, forcing a drugged and desperate walking dead man to surrender was entirely different from a simple, clean and noble kill…
Nor was I to be swayed too much by his level.
A Warrior and a Duelist were a different kettle of fish. This was Gelledo’s battlefield…
Strange as it was at such a time, one of the thoughts that plagued me most was that I would have to lord over the newlyweds’ wedding night with screams of pain and bloodbaths…
Inside I fervently hoped that the next day, Barbrey would point her finger at the Iron Bank rather than at yours truly.
‘Damn it! All I wanted to do tonight was dance, have fun, and walk with Dacey!!!’ I had planned a beautiful evening… with Seraphinus’ blessing and Master Dywen’s wisdom, maybe, and I say ‘Maybe,’ would have ended with a kiss…
Instead, that asshole there in front of me had ruined everything! This was certainly not the quiet and pleasant evening I had aspired to.
I imagined inwardly what the headlines would read if an imaginary Daily Bugle headed by J. Jonah Jameson existed in Westeros:
{Bloody Snow Strikes Again!}
{The Butcher of Snow-Mill wants another Pound of Flesh!}
{Braavosian Blood Tears Rain on the Widow of Barrowton’s Wedding! }
But at least Cersei had played her part impeccably, and Tywin’s indignant and resentful look at me was very believable in Zick’s opinion.
The High Tower and the Titan would not let a golden opportunity like this pass them by. The best route to such a power stalemate was to incentivize friction between the West and the North.
I glance briefly at Ned, who was currently standing at King Robert’s side.
The Protector seemed to take in the concealed signal.
This unexpected snag could turn into a great opportunity.
An opportunity for an event that, in my heart, I hoped I could put off for a few more days…
Tension was running high. This duel would decide the fate of the North.
My master-at-arms did not seem very supportive in that dark moment.
“Duncan, my boy, forgive me for asking this question at such an inopportune time, but I must ask you…
Have you provoked Lady Catelyn again, by any chance?” Asked The Watcher in a low voice, a tone more curious than accusatory.
“Huh? No! I swear, master!… Why are you asking me that?” I asked in turn.
“All night long, the Lady of Winterfell has been casting glances at you… mmm, let’s see, how would I describe them… Let’s say she secretly roots for Gelledo to forever eradicate your name from history.” Zick.
“Even that much?!” I asked in mild astonishment.
“I’m afraid so… Involuntary facial muscles and murderous glints in the eyes rarely lie. Said between you and me, I would be undecided of who wants you deader at the moment…
The challenge between Gelledo Antaryon, Cersei Lannister and Catelyn Stark is very heated.” Affirmed Zick with a subtle tone of seriousness.
‘And yet, according to my father, Myra and Catelyn were forming a very good bond…’ Inside I hoped that the ‘Queen of the North’s opinion had improved from [“Burn in hell, Demon!”] to a much more acceptable [“I hope you fall off your horse and are paralyzed for life!”].
“Could you tell me the cause, master? I mean, what have I done to deserve such a grudge?” I asked.
“Well, if I had definite answers, I wouldn’t have asked you the question, would I? But … at a guess, I’d say Lady Catelyn doesn’t take kindly to your interest in young Dacey.
It’s not really ‘resentment’ or ‘personal revenge’ but more a firm belief in danger.
During the acclamation, ‘Long live Bloody Snow!’ pff… Ahah…”
“I don’t find anything funny about it, master! Half the Known World wants the bearer of that nickname stone dead!” The old man knew how to throw salt in the wounds.
“I beg your pardon… Ergn, emm… As I was saying, during the acclamation, she scrutinized you as if you were the greatest threat to everything she cared about.
It was the frightened look of a ferocious beast ready to do anything to protect her cubs; therefore, I was assuming that you or one of your own had recently ‘sensitively threatened’ her.” Zick.
‘Seraphinus, help all the poor innocent souls of the North and Trident and me…’ I thought, sighing bitterly.
It was an urgent item to add to the ‘Great Puppeteer’s Agenda.’
That woman was the boiling fuse that had confidently approached the ‘Petyr Baelish’ flame, thus starting the War of the Five Kings…
Impulsively capturing Tyrion Lannister without preparing Ned, Riverrun, the North, and the entire Trident for the nefarious consequences of the war was a mistake so great that perhaps not even the bold Queen Restorer of the Militant Creed would have made it.
Thousands of innocents of the Riverlands were battered and slaughtered by the repercussions of war just because a noble mother demanded justice for the legs and attempted murder of her child…
{Family, Duty, Honor} there was no more noble yet catastrophic motto in Westeros…
Essentially, the rest of the World could safely burn as long as the good of the Tully family was not compromised.
If Catelyn Stark continued to pursue the belief of House Tallhart = Aspiring Protector of the North, any move in the immediate future would only throw more gasoline on the fire…
‘But why do I care what Catelyn Stark thinks of me before a mortal duel?!’ Immediately upon thinking this, I noticed a difference… my shoulders, arms, and legs were slightly more relaxed.
As if other minor problems had distracted me from the tension of the huge situation in front of me.
That Cunning Old Eagle had done it on purpose…
Female murmurs and various voices further distracted me.
“Emm…Lord Duncan?” It was Dacey!
“Lady Dacey-you shouldn’t be here. I meant, the duel is about to begin, milady.” Zick and Recallio took two steps away, leaving me and the Goddess in the centre of the World’s attention.
“I-I didn’t mean to disturb you, milord. I just came to wish you good luck and-” Dacey’s face turned purple.
“And to give you this — it didn’t come out right! But … it’s the best I’ve been able to do in the last few months … I … I didn’t know about the new crest of House Tallhart. I’m afraid I didn’t have time-”
“It’s beautiful, Dacey. Thank you-I’ll wear it right away.” I took the embroidered handkerchief depicting a black bear on a brown background surrounded by three sentinel trees and tied it around my wrist.
The embroidery stitches were imprecise, and the figures looked as if they had been drawn by a child, but it was the most beautiful and valuable work of art a duelist could receive before a confrontation…
“Lord-” “Just Duncan for you, milady.”
[“It must not be a common lack of formality… Your Lady must believe that privilege belongs only to her.”] A pearl of Dywen’s maxim.
“Duncan…I wish you luck. I know you can win, but I beg you not to risk your life just for a stupid dance. I don’t wan-”
“It’s not about a silly dance, milady, but ‘ The Dance’.
It will soon be my name-day, and there is no gift in the World I covet more than to dance for the first time with the most beautiful and strongest Warrior in the North.
If I win, will you grant me this gift, Dacey?”
[“Close your praise of your Goddess’ beauty with an intimate but gallant gesture.”] I gently gathered the maiden’s hand, caressing it from below with my fingertips, and kissed the back of her hand with a bow while keeping my gaze always focused on her beautiful honey-amber eyes.
A slight echo of astonishment pervaded the area; that symbolic gesture could be interpreted as a declaration of love in Westeros etiquette.
Dacey stood still and stiff as a statue; her purple face began to change to purplish, the same colour as Joffrey’s when poisoned by the Strangler…
“Milady, are you all right?!” I was ready to fire all the spells and paladin skills in my arsenal in front of all the nobility of the World at any time.
“Puaaff! No… I meant to say YES!… phew… I beg your pardon, milo-… Duncan! Yes, Duncan, I will dance with you!”
End POV.
———————-
POV: The King of the Seven Kingdoms
A few steps away from a pair of duelists.
A few minutes after a dazed and throbbing young lady awkwardly withdrew from the podium…
The inebriated Robert was still slightly angry that he had not yet managed to get his hands in the petticoats of the complacent young Delena Florent. His private carriage had been stopped by his new drinking companion Ser Haymitch… The Knight promised him that he would take it upon himself to ‘entertain’ Delena until his return.
A duel to the death was a better show to end the evening than a good ride. Sure…having both of them would have been the best. But who knew, if the Braavosi had succeeded in the arduous task, maybe even Cersei would have given herself to him without complaints or broken jugs on his head…
Perhaps, willy-nilly, Robert would still have taken his Queen that night and slammed her for duty, teaching her place once and for all…
Even though the show he was about to witness seemed to be the most glorious and exciting in years, Robert was still furious.
He had only been gone one damn hour and, in that brief interval of absence, his wife had almost succeeded in forcing the Crown to a crossroads:
War with the North or War against Braavos!
To have the Hero of the North killed at the wedding of the Witch Dowager of Barrowton was sheer madness…
Should Duncan Tallhart perish, not even a hundred peaceful and friendly Gerion Lannisters could have prevented an imminent bloodbath between Torrhen’s Square and Casterly Rock.
‘May the Seven save us… Damn it, Cersei!!! Wasn’t the double thrashing by Lady Barbrey enough for you?! Now you’ve even provoked the sleeping beast?! Bloody Snow’s roar has awakened even the death of the Barrowlands!’ Grunted the tipsy King looking again at Ned’s worried face.
Robert dared not confer with the rich and malignant Witch of Barrowton. Not after the grisly spectacle that befell Ser Meryn Trant-better death than such an end.
It seemed that something was still keeping the deformed, burned and maimed Royal Guard alive.
Until yesterday, the Maester of Barrowton gave the Knight up for dead. Still, that very morning, Ser Barristan informed him that in a single night, some of the most severe burns seemed to have miraculously healed at an astonishing rate.
For Cersei and her ‘friends’ supporters, it was the work of the Warrior and Father who deployed their blessings toward the anointed Knight of the Seven as a sword of belief unjustly brutalized by barbarian worshippers of evil gods. To Robert, it was an evil spell cast by the Barrowton Witch to lengthen poor Meryn’s agonies…
But this was no time to think about the nefarious fate of a single knight… If the Crown had not extinguished the fire set here and now, thousands of knights would have suffered a fate similar to Meryn Trant.
The Protector of the North would have had to make an excellent effort to extinguish the fire of a possible rebellion set by his loving Queen.
At least that rancorous fox of a father-in-law had tried to stem the damage before the catastrophe…
Robert had studied Helman Tallhart’s militia well during the siege of Pyke. The Lannister troops could not have stood up to the Tallhart armed column. Now it was clear how that demon had routed Denys Drumm at Bear Island.
Discipline, equipment, training-not even House Tarly’s forces would hold their own against the Tallhart army, and Robert had recently authorized Torrhen’s Square to increase its militia to six thousand.
Ser Barristan also agreed with him. One thousand Tallhart men could have routed two thousand units of any other militia in Westeros…
Not to mention House Mormont. Barrowton’s troops were not that far off the level of Torrhen’s Square, and Bear Island possessed the bloodiest and fiercest warriors in the North.
Even if he and Ned had opted for neutrality in an eventual conflict between northern lineages and Casterly Rock, his father-in-law would have had to chew huge mouthfuls of lumps of blood and gold to face those two individual lineages.
And had the conflict flared up beyond that, in all likelihood, the West would have lost in an all-out war against the North…
No, the war absolutely had to be avoided!
Bloody Snow had to prevail in that confrontation, and if possible, he had to do so without donating belligerent pretexts to the Sealord of Braavos.
‘But in case of defeat? What to do?…
Propose a reparative marriage between Joffrey and Dacey Mormont, perhaps? Grant my daughter to Benfred Tallhart?’
“Your Majesty…” Ned broke Robert’s nefarious predictions.
“Tell me, ‘Lord Stark’.” Robert was archly dismissive of the formalities with his friend, but too many ears and tensions surrounded the duo. Ned leaned in close for confidentiality and whispered:
“To completely smooth out the frictions of my bishops, after the duel, it would be best to ‘reward’ the North in advance…” The king understood what the Lord of Winterfell was referring to. Robert whispered in turn, “You don’t seem so upset about the duel, Ned-if the boy were to perish-” Ned anticipated him ” It would be war, I know… but it won’t happen.” Robert knew his brother-in-arms better than anyone else; he did not detect the slightest trace of doubt in Ned’s gaze and tone. The king nodded, thinking to himself.
‘Fuck it… Jon will take care of it to keep the Creed and the High Septon at bay.
Better to face a hundred thousand ranting Septons and unarmed believers than thirty thousand swords of the North.’ The time had come to repay the 1,500,000 favours Winterfell had granted to the Crown’s coffers.
The drunken king only hoped to remember the exact words at the decisive moment…
****
Three minutes later…
“I, Robert of House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, proclaim myself as the first witness to the duel of honour between Duncan of House Tallhart and Gelledo of House Antaryon!
Since neither men nor Kings can decide which of the two rightfully deserves the honour of the First Dance with Dacey of House Mormont, the Old and New Gods will decide!
I appoint as judges of the Trial By Combat the priest of the Old Gods, Welk Oak Green, and the believing acolyte of the Many-Faced Gods, Recallio Sodal!
May the Gods guide the hand of the righteous!” The two duelists respectively drew their swords, approaching a distance of ten feet between them. They raised their swords and bowed to him and the judges. After that, they swiftly took their positions.
Robert was now supposed to back away, but the corner of his eye caught a somewhat puzzling detail coming from Bloody Snow’s thin stock.
‘Is that Valyrian Steel?!’
Whispers of unfamiliar new Valyrian blades purchased by the northern lords continued to reach the Small Council’s ears.
Varys’s little birds perjured themselves that all of Bloody Snow’s militia at Bear Island wielded Valyrian steel weapons against Danys Drumm’s Ironmen… More than three hundred soldiers armed with Valyrian steel?!…This could not be valid information.
‘No, it could not be the wine’s fault. Greatjon Umber’s broadsword, Ned’s suspected sword…and now that!’
Although jugs of wine, praise, and pleading failed to loosen the owners’ tongues about the origin of the new weapons, both Ned and the Lord of Last Hearth had repeatedly perjured themselves to him that their new swords were not Valyrian blades.
*Woowuu!*
There was no more time for theories of the return of a second secret Valyrian Empire, the horn blast had already been cast, and the duel began…
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End Chapter.
