Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods - Chapter 191: First Men & Andals (I)

POV: Leyton Hightower

Silk Road. On a Resort Estate in Freedom of Use at the Fourth Organization.

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The sun rose above the mountain ranges of the Barrowlands. The hour had come. Leyton gave the order for his slender armed escort to take leave and indulge in the hospitable care offered at the entrance to the mansion. Only Ser Jon Cupps continued to follow him.

“I don’t want any trouble, Ser Jon. Do not give in to any provocation or ‘offer.’ Any disagreements between you and the Companions of the Guardian must remain buried and forgotten throughout our stay. And in the name of The Crone, always remain at least twenty paces away from Baragh No Dua… Do I make myself clear?” Ordered Leyton in a feeble but authoritative tone a few dozen steps away from the leading welcoming group.

The Protector of Oldtown sensed the looks of scorn and hatred from a pair of The Watcher’s hounds, well turned toward the first sworn shield.

It was normal. The Watcher possessed the temperance and understanding to put aside past disagreements, but his ravenous hounds: no.

Although it had not directly been Ser Jon Cupps who had duelled Valtazar, the older members’ former travelling companion, it had still been the hand of one of his Seven Keepers brethren and former Student of Zick, who had delivered the final blow.

By now, nine years had passed since that ‘legitimate’ skirmish of conquest, which took place at Isle of Tears.

“Certainly, my lord… But should it be Master Zick who offers me a match? How should I act?” Rebutted Jon with mitigation and reverence.

“Favorable participation for The Watcher and hospitable -But Closed- neutrality toward anyone else.” Jon nodded silently. They were the last words spoken between them before they came within earshot.

“Lord Leyton, my good friend, welcome to my humble residence. Ser Jon, my dear boy, a warm welcome to you as well. Come now. Approach my esteemed guests; do not be shy and abandon all narrow formality!” The Watcher was the first to step forward with open arms, displaying his immovable joviality and tranquillity, the Guardian of Love forge marks.

Leyton did not fail to notice the ghostly, weathered look on the man’s face, concealed beneath sunny smiles. The Guardian looked a decade older and fresh from a sleepless, feverish night.

‘So my suspicions were well-founded… Your hand is behind that cataclysm. You even had to abuse your longevity in that puerile cover-up attempt.’ The thought was deliberately conveyed in a covert pantomime of glances. Leyton was certain that Zick had grasped the message.

A few seconds of silence later, the undisputed Oldtown Spokesman answered the roll call.

“Honorable Guardian, thank you for your warm hospitality. My retinue and I welcome it in the spirit with which you give it to us.” Promulgated Leyton, bowed with firm respect. Jon accompanied the gesture with impeccable synchrony.

…There were still ‘Magic Words’ missing to make the formula official. No offer of Bread and Salt could match the promised protection.

The Watcher did not hesitate. The Guardian offered his hand, clearly pronouncing:

“In the name of Love, I Zick, his Guardian and Keeper, the Nameless One, son of Dollinger and the Nameless Mother, do consecrate to you, Leyton of the Hightower Dynasty, my full hospitality and protection.” A hint of crimson red sparkled from the thumb of his hand. Leyton accepted the hand without hesitation, offering his blood and pronouncing in turn:

“In the name of Beauty and Magic, I, Leyton of the Hightower Dynasty, son of Othar and Shyrine, welcome your hospitality and protection.” Leyton felt a warm and comfortable veil of protection rest on his shoulders. Now, no one could touch the guest. The icy gazes of Zick’s eleven Companion Shields lowered, showing reverence and servility.

The cold etiquette bearing could be loosened.

“I hope it’s not too early, my dear old friend.” Said Leyton, returning the smile.

“Oh, not at all. My ward is ready to receive you at any time. But first…would you like something warm to drink or eat? These ‘Summer’ mornings in the North are accompanied by icy needles that undermine the warm spirit of an early day! Ha ha ha! Or, would you appreciate a good breakfast in the company of an Expert Master of Jokes…? Come on, Leyton! You look austere and wasted! Put something warm on your stomach, topped with a good laugh! Ha ha!” The Watcher’s boldness was part of his Legend.

Only the Seven knew “how” that fragile individual had survived this ruthless and uncompromising world before his rise.

“Not for me, thank you. I appreciate fasting before a negotiation.” Replied Leyton politely. The old eagle probably also knew how many drops of lukewarm lemon-flavoured water he had drunk that morning.

It was the very presence of The Watcher that made his stomach or any other digestive orifice occlude…Zick was a tireless miner, armed with Valyria’s steel pickaxe, hunting for Secrets in the Rock. If only his tenebrous Concubine, the mother of Malora, had not created a protective Anti-The Watcher spell to safeguard him… ‘No. Best not to think about it.’

“Ah… I see, I see. Well, too bad. What about you, Jon? Breakfast with your ravenous old Master, looking for food and company? I have some excellent pomegranate juice, olive oil bread, and the best-toasted bacon in Westeros. Come on, my Boy! That was your favourite start-of-the-day meal!” Zick affectionately embraced the armoured Knight. Leyton batted an approving eyelash at his son-in-law.

“It will be my pleasure, Master. With your permission, my lord.” And Leyton replied, soon after, “Go ahead, Ser.” The Protector of Oldtown was escorted by Ramas and Will toward the interior of the Mansion.

About two minutes later.

“This is the room, Lord Hightower. Confidentiality and quiet will be ensured for the duration of the meeting. For security reasons, the doors will be sealed. Inside, you will find a magic bell. Should you or your counterpart wish to end the meeting, ring it twice. For any other problems or needs, only one chime. We will respond to your needs as soon as possible.” Explained Ramas before opening the door in solid Ironwood.

“Thank you, Sir Ramas.” The Dark Man’s steely gaze suggested that a tiny detail was still missing. Leyton sensed at once. The man handed over a brooch concealed under his doublet’s breast and all the enchanted jewels. Then he slipped off the belt containing the stiletto and ‘Vigilance,’ the ancestral long sword made of Valyrian Steel of the Hightower House.

The two men from The Watcher collected each good, carefully placing it in an excellent and durable Weirdwood Trunk near the door. Upon opening the trunk, Leyton caught a glimpse of Red Rain’s case and hilt. His counterpart had also been stripped of any weapons or arcane trinkets that could harm, protect or influence either of them.

The door leaf was opened. The room had no windows; sunlight would be present in this meeting. Among the various candlelights and hearths, something could already be glimpsed. A table and two chairs resting on a leather rug, scrolls of parchment, containers of sealing wax and candles, small tables of pitchers and cups, and, farther back, a figure from behind waiting in front of a lit fireplace.

“Enjoy your stay, Lord Leyton. We wish you a peaceful and fruitful meeting.” The Protector of the Council Andalus entered, granting only a slight nod. The door was closed and sealed seconds later.

The figure just over five feet tall, with steel-white hair of medium length pulled back, wearing a grey leather doublet adorned with fine green stitching and dark brown breeches and boots, did not yet turn to welcome the guest. The 12-year-old boy remained erect, his hands clasped behind and his head bowed to stare at the faint flames dancing in the fireplace.

‘Not a very good start.’ Thought the most powerful and wealthy man in Westeros. The individual who, if he really wanted to, could have forced Great Lords, Kings or Queens to polish his boots with the tip of his tongue. But Leyton absorbed the little insult with the nobility of spirit as he slowly approached beside the young figure, beginning to stare at the hearth in turn.

Now that he was facing the source of origin, the man was intoxicated by a soothing and pleasant fragrance of incense. The air smelled of embers and forest. A smell that generated the remembrance of a man sitting in front of a warm hearth on a starry night in the midst of the fascinating wilderness.

After a few seconds of silence, accompanied by the soothing sound of the crackling of burning logs, the boy spoke.

“Stone pine wood. It is a rare and little-known tree that needs cold and specific mineral nutrients… It grows only among the Frost Claw Mountains. Farmers are trying to get a few specimens planted and sprouting among these mountain ranges. If they are successful, a good trade will flourish.”

“… Yes, it could. I would gladly purchase a few batches. Incense and aromatic woods are commonly used for religious rituals. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever used them as firewood… But it’s still a market that will take time and quiet to grow.” Leyton added.

“True, it will take Time and Peace…” Finally, Bloody Snow gave him a glance.

“Forgive my lack of manners. Welcome, Lord Leyton. It’s a pleasure and an honour for me to make your acquaintance.” He promulgated the boy formally, paying a reverent bow.

“The honour and pleasure are equally reciprocated, ser Duncan. Thank you for accepting my offer of a meeting.” The Lord of Oldtown returned the bow. Exchanging due etiquettes, the boy looked around uncertainly, then asked:

“Would you care for a little break from the ceremony of negotiation, my Lord…? I propose holding our ‘political discussion’ near the hearth. From what I hear, you possess a remarkable memory. We shouldn’t need maps. Lord Eddard Stark has swiftly infected me with his passion for the hearth… Mmm, we should also move chairs and tables, and, alas, we should be our own servants.” Bloody Snow made his proposal with the same joviality of an ordinary 12-year-old, carefree and exalted about the future.

“I don’t see why not, Ser.” Puffed the man with an interested half grin.

Beyond what was said about the Old Man of Oldtown, Leyton was not exactly a genius, born with a golden spoon and an army of servants at his mercy. In his youth, the man endured all the drudgery of any page and squire of humble origins. Apprising himself of serving meals and linens, grooming horses, cleaning stables and pits, rewriting tomes, polishing weapons and floors, and servicing every tedious and tiresome request of Lords, Knights, High Priests and Maesters.

The man could still feel the callus formed on his hands and knees at the age of ten, when his father, Othar, forced him, as punishment for failing to show proper respect to his knight-bearer, to wash, dry and polish, with a mere rusty bucket, a broken brush and a filthy rag, every inch of the altar of the Starry Temple.

Work had never been a problem.

After barely a minute, the two factions were seated and lined up facing each other.

It was the First Men faction that opened the dancing.

“I have been inundated up to my waist with love letters and continually harassed day and night by requests for ‘unexpected visits’… And now, the same fate awaits my brother Benfred. You hurled against your daughter like a boulder of siege. What is the price to make Lynesse desist?”

“Lynesse, too, is distressed over the fate of her beloved brother, Garth… Your ‘aggressive’ response toward her love, Ser, has traumatized my poor daughter. It is normal for a fragile-minded maiden to seek consolation and protection from less bloodthirsty and golden-hearted parties.” Leyton replied after tasting his cup of squeezed orange juice.

“From the rumours that have reached me, Ser Garth is recovering excellently from injuries in the melee. The knight of Oldtown is eager for an opportunity for revenge in the jousting… so? What is the price for turning Lynesse away from every House Tallhart member?” Retorted and asked the ruler of Torrhen’s Square.

“A marriage proposal with Oldtown’s most resplendent and graceful maiden would completely smooth out any ‘possible’ annoyance. If the heirs of Torrhen’s Square do not favour such a union, perhaps the heir of Winterfell, Robb Stark, will be.” Leyton smiled.

“A price too exorbitant. I would simply be better off offering her twice what you offered.” Bloody Snow retorted with a hint of sarcasm and irritation.

Lynesse had performed her duty to perfection. Leyton knew that his daughter had no chance of winning the heart of a member of House Tallhart. Her father wanted to get the interested party’s attention by forcing him into a negotiation. The fact that he sat on the negotiating table before ‘open’ hostilities was an achievement.

“An exclusive right to the sale -indefinitely- of the Mormont glass, from the South of the Neck to the Salt Coast, would greatly help to stitch up the wound of disappointment in my poor Lynesse’s heart and help her father to accumulate a just Dowry to find her a replacement candidate.” Proposed Leyton.

“… Exclusive from Arbor to the mouth of the Mander.” Countered ser Duncan.

“Not enough. From Arbor to Sharp Point.” The Lord of Oldtown.

“Exclusive sales on the whole of the Reach, plus a partnership service between Mormont Keep and Oldtown for trade on the Red Mountain route and the route to Sun Lance… Take it or leave it.” The man’s decades-old instincts suggested he take.

“Deal.” The Green Knight relaxed his haggard face and snorted an ovation of relief. “Oh, glory to the Ancients. And this problem is solved, too.” Leyton did not know whether to laugh or be offended by the inappropriate outburst.

The man took the initiative to begin more thorny matters.

“Truly a fine show you and Lady Barbrey put on, Ser… You fooled us well. All the best minds in Braavos and Oldtown were betting on a probable conspiracy of House Dustin and Tallhart against Winterfell. The opening of a Bank in the North was beyond the most mystical prediction. Using your ‘Damascus Steel’ to lure and bind a good chunk of the pockets of Westeros and Essos, then… A true masterstroke.” Bloody Snow greeted the statement as a compliment.

“Of course, it was a bold move on the part of the North… The Titan does not look kindly on a possible archrival, but more importantly, President Ultherro will not allow a woman to cast a stain on the Iron Bank. I hope Lady Barbrey is prepared for the incumbent storm that her institution will encounter. I do not think I need to remind you of what happened at the Rogare Bank… Am I right?” The boy’s relaxed face did not waver. Duncan Tallhart comfortably took his time to reply.

“Funny that House Hightower itself should mention the events of Rogar Bank and the concern for a female leader… Right after its fall, wasn’t it Oldtown that sprouted a Bank using the ashes of Rogar Bank as fertiliser? And if I am not mistaken, was it not Lord Lyonel Hightower’s stepmother, Lady Samantha Talry, who set up and ran the whole shebang? Did Oldtown give the Titan a good stab in the arm at that time? And how long did the conflict of interest last before he opted for a plea bargain and closed the institution? Forty years…? The Andalus Council laundered quite a lot of money, publicly elevating the Hightower House as the second richest in Westeros. And all because of one Woman…” Leyton humbly cashed in on the modest accusation of hypocrisy, seizing the tide to his advantage.

“If I may ask, how long have you been planning? And it was you who planned all this? I mean, the wedding, the return of the Green and Red Knights, the inauguration and the big tournament?” The man was dying to slip that pebble off his boot.

“About six years. The idea was mine, but for its realisation, much of the credit goes to Barbrey. Keeping it a secret was certainly the thorniest and most exhausting burden of the whole project. As for ‘The Return of the Green and Red Knights’, it was more of an unforeseen consequence… We were hoping to leave that cherry for last.”

At first glance, the boy seemed to have too loose a tongue, a possible opening that could have been exploited. But after a moment’s careful thought, Leyton deduced that any information revealed was now irrelevant. Presumably, with a little more effort and a pinch of logic, Oldtown could have grasped it for itself quickly. It had been a mere gesture of courtesy and nothing more.

“I see… Thank you for dispelling this little curiosity of mine, Ser.” The Old Man of Oldtown.

“My turn, my lord.” There was an ambush behind the apparent ‘Gesture of Nobility’. A tribute to be paid that, if unpaid, would have labelled Leyton a ‘Discourteous Counterpart’.

“Question away. If I can, I will answer just as clearly.” The die had been cast.

“I know something of the previous Lord Protector of the Andalus High Council, your Great Uncle Wallace Hightower. You learned under him, serving as his squire and assistant for nearly a decade, but I also learned that Lord Wallace had an eye for another nephew. The former Lord Commander of the Royal Guard, your uncle, Ser Gerold Hightower…” It was a sore point for the man discussing the White Bull.

Although he was his uncle by kinship, the trifling age difference between the two and the many affectionate bonds shared during their youth classified Gerold more as an older brother. The only brother Leyton ever had.

“… What in particular would you like to know about Gerold?” Leyton asked, inhaling cold air to cool emotional reminiscences.

“Did ser Gerold have a role in the Politics of the Council? Was it Lord Wallace who ordered your uncle to wear the white cloak so he could approach the Council of King Aegon V?” Bloody Snow asked.

“Absolutely not! Lord Wallace doted on his nephew. However, Gerold was not eligible to become heir, but, on the other hand, my uncle excelled in many other fields, such as swordplay, military wit and leadership. He could still conquer a key position for the family, even rising to the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Sons of Light. He was hard-headed but fair, loyal to the core. A true knight bound by honour and oath. At only sixteen years of age, he earned his spurs. It was Ser Duncan the High himself who invested him with the knighthood… When Gerold saw a faint glimpse of the true entity hidden behind his House, he abandoned the city, choosing the Dragon and the Realm over his family!” Leyton’s tongue paused briefly to swallow the bitter pillow of sadness and regret.

“My uncle never participated in the ‘Affairs of the Council’. He joined the Kingsguard primarily to keep an eye on the Grand Maester and secretly protect the Royal Family from the threat of Oldtown… Gerold did not betray the vow of silence imposed on him by the leader of House Hightower, but he still served House Targaryen honestly and loyally, until his last breath.” Concluded the Lord of Oldtown in a firm tone. Leyton would not accept any shame or discussion of the honour of the White Bull. The honour for which, decades ago, Leyton lost a Brother.

“I will ask no more about it… Thank you for your sincerity, Lord Leyton.” The boy seemed to recognise and respect the boundaries not to be crossed.

After a few seconds of respite, Bloody Snow dug more towards the heart of the encounter.

“Zick tells me you have a ‘sincere’ Proposal for Peace… What peace could the people who have whispered, conspired, led and forced The First Men to kill each other for millennia, while even now they plan a possible ‘Purge’ offer?”

“The Andals are not the first nor the last people acting to attempt to expand their domains,” Leyton replied, justifying himself.

“The end is always that. It cannot be denied, of course. But the ‘ways’ to that end define the man. Andals, First Men, Magicians, Ghiscarians, Summer Island Men, Ironmen, Rhoynars, Valiryans, Dothraky… We are all peoples of Man. We were all spawned from the same seed.” Duncan.

“And of the various ‘Ways’ used over the millennia by the Magicians and Valyrians to hunt and segregate a nomadic people forced into exile from the meanders of Essos to the Hills of Andalos? Does history even remember that?” Leyton retorted.

“But you had found a homeland in the Andalos Hills. Rhoynars and Valyrians were ready to recognise the Andal Kingdom, drawing up treaties demarcating borders…. You had good, fertile lands a peace agreement protected by the Three Guardians, yet you chose to draw your swords to the West. The First Men have never waged war against the Andals. The invasion into the lands of Westeros, the cataclysmic prelude to the Second Great War, the extermination of the Life Singers, the Great Purge of the Druids and Green Knights, the persecution of the Believers in the Old Gods… the Andals started that cycle of conflict, hatred and suffering.” Bloody Snow.

“You forget that the Andals did ‘half the work’ in exterminating the Life Singers. The First Men cut down the forests and impregnated the rivers with the blood of Sons of the Forest and Giants… Later, you chose peace, union and harmony, true, but not without a heavy toll of ‘Conflict’, ‘Hate’, and ‘Suffering’. After settlement, paid for with Steel and Blood, the Andals sealed millennia-long truces with marriages and treaties. Actions not so dissimilar to those of the First Men…” The Old Man of Oldtown.

Bloody Snow took a second’s respite. The boy filled his cup with water and offered a second one to his counterpart. Leyton accepted.

Having cooled his throat, the First Men’s representative retook the floor.

“You are a very skilled fencer, my lord. You force me back further and further into the corner of hypocrisy. But, for now, let us put aside the Coming of the Andals and move on to more… recent generations.”

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End Part I

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