Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 181: Fat Pigs, Slimy Spiders and Mighty Giants

POV: Cercei Lannister

Royal Bleachers, Great Arena.

Minutes after a former beggar and a former squire sealed a pact...

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A silent figure clad in gold and white approached behind the Queen; it was Ser Meryn Trant. The quiet man, without an eye, tongue, a portion of his nose removed and the skin of his face and scalp horribly scarred, had recently resumed Royal Guard service.

Despite Meryn's occasional grunts of choked sobs of pain, the white sword, seething with pent-up hatred and vengeance, had recovered prodigiously well from the torture he had endured less than two weeks earlier at Barrowton... Every healer or maester who set out to medicate or examine Ser Meryn claimed that there was never a more rapid and wondrous recovery. At first hovering between life and death, the man's severe wounds healed at least ten times faster than usual. A true miracle.

This benefited the Queen's cause, bringing the already loyal Meryn to a much higher level of blind devotion and obedience. It was enough to promise the knight that, sooner or later, Barbrey and Jorah Mormont would pay for such an affront with blood.

By now, the only existential foothold left for the broken knight was revenge against the Queen's enemies. Meryn would have obeyed any order from Cercei without flinching, even if it meant facing certain death.

Cercei rose from the opulent royal throne, promulgating politely:

"My King, Lord and Lady Stak, I require a little leave of absence... With your permission."

"Yes, yes, go ahead and unleash your liquid gold, my Queen. But watch out for latrine thieves! Lord Tywin is wont to put at least two armed men guarding his pit! Aahahah!" Sbrayed Robert with vulgarity. Cersei's hand was tempted to grab the crystal pitcher and slam it down on that big, fat pig nose. But the Queen kept her demeanour.

The Pig-King dared to ridicule her like that, despite her tormenting sacrifice that night... The night before, the Queen had made a thousand efforts to drive the fetid, drunken Stag-Whoremongering insane with pleasure. Even adding that damned aphrodisiac -suggested to him by Pycelle- that reeked of a rotten oyster.

Unhappily, the Queen dosed the powder incorrectly, accidentally overdoing it by half a teaspoon. The Stag rode the Lioness with the energy and impetuosity of a crazed aurochs for more than an hour before releasing the 'first rant'.

Jaws, wrist, belly, hips and buttocks were still sore... The pig seemed to take pleasure only in bringing pain and degradation to his victim. But Cercei, to the last, resisted, gripping the pole and the two inexhaustible rocks tightly and pulling the truth out of the pig by dint of obscene grunts of pleasure... But now, Cercei knew. She knew where the Crown and Casterly Rock had pulled out 'Forty-Five Million Golden Dragons' to replenish Barbrey Mormont's coffers.

The Braavosians had entered the game... Casterly Rock and The Iron Bank were forming a coalition to halt the rise of the North. It was information that repaid the price of her pains...

"Would you like company, my Queen?" Lady Stark asked, offering herself as a lady-in-waiting.

'What is that woman seeking from me? I'm telling her I need the pythal, and she offers to hold my robes and cleanse my virtues?' In the last week, Catelyn Stark had become stickier than resin...

"No, I thank you... You need not be inconvenienced, Lady Catelyn. Ser Meryn will ensure I don't get lost in this vast, labyrinthine Amphitheatre. I will return before the contest begins." The Lady of Winterfell nodded, giving up in the attempt with her built-up friendship smile.

At last, Cercei had the green light. Robert was too concentrated on drinking and reminiscing, between obscene jokes and past acts of manhood, about his youthful adventures with the Lord of Winterfell.

A few steps from the royal cage, the Queen did not hesitate to ask in a low voice:

"Well? Is it done?" Ser Meryn's closed helmet nodded. Cercei investigated deeper. Nothing was to be left to chance in this plan.

"So our friend has accepted the gold...? And he has already 'corrected' the flask?" Meryn shook his head this time, but before Cercei could react, the knight pulled out a small flask containing thick white liquid. It was poppy milk...

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'Ah... Even better.' It was well-known that Ser Gregor gobbled gallons of poppy milk daily because of his excruciating migraines.

"Well... The tournament will take place in two stages. That flask must touch the lips of our champion no earlier than the end of the first phase. Take paper and inkwell and inform Ser Amory Lorch not to expose himself to danger in this first skirmish and to leave the honour of the first victory to my brother and his men. Burn the parchment as soon as you have finished." Meryn no longer used speech, but at least, unlike the inept Ser Boros Blunt, the knight could read and write.

"And remember, Ser, our "common friend" and any trace connected to him will have to "disappear" before the end of the race. And you will not have to wear white or gold colours while you take care of the cleaning." The Silent Knight nodded.

Cercei hastened his pace, distancing himself at an appropriate distance from her sworn sword. The Golden Lioness released a flap of an impatient smile.

The queen could hardly wait to return to the stands to witness the first truly delightful spectacle of this wedding.

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End POV.

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POV: Duncan

Great Arena.

With just minutes to go before the start of the match...

This time, it was Jorah Mormont who did the opening honours. Barbrey was to grant her groom space and authority so the nobility would recognise the established position of the man of New Lord and Protector of the Barrowlands.

The surprise prizes had just been announced.

-The third winner would receive a reward of twenty thousand gold dragons plus a set of Elite Quality Damascus Steel weapons.

-To the second winner: forty thousand gold dragons and a weapon in Damascus Steel of His Choice forged by the hands of Grand Maester Tobho Mott.

-To the first place winner: eighty thousand gold dragons 'And' a steel dagger of Valyria. A rare haul snatched from the hands of an elite Agent of Illyrio Mopatis who had the misfortune to cross blades with Blade One...

I hoped this spoils of war might send a message to the cautious and well-hidden Tricked Spider, who had not yet revealed his face.

Illyrio and Varys still had no idea what dark, deep quagmire they were plunging into. In all likelihood, the fat grub and the eunuch spider were unaware that they were part of a web far more extensive and intricate than they could have imagined and that directing it was an insect far more voracious, cunning and manipulative than they.

A common mercenary from Braavos could never have married the unmarried daughter of the Prince of Pentos' cousin without a persuasive whisper reaching the latter's ears. Likewise, an acerbic but promising thief could not have stolen with impunity the secrets of nobles, merchants and 'friends', protected by an invisible but inescapable veil of vigilance, if a Shadow Queen had not wanted to put him to the test...

Twenty years ago, Madame Zishua financed and supported the duo's rise in the shadows, ensuring that the vast network of birds became an instrument of the Fourth Organisation.

'I swear, Fat Pig... Zishua's tool or not, if you don't even sniff this slop, I'll start pulling out the cleaver. And this time, I won't just slice off a few strands of your bacon... Your fragrant emissary had better come out of his hiding hole and pay me homage as soon as possible.' I thought with annoyance as I observed the dagger that belonged to a certain Silk Step displayed in plain sight at the edge of the enclosure.

Varys knew his business; he had done his homework well. The Eunuch Spider had not only secured a solid cover to infiltrate the North, but he must have been able to extract information about The Watcher... Unfortunately, Zick or my agents had not yet been able to flush the Spider out.

Ser Willem Darry was already on his deathbed. Diabetes would have wiped him out in less than a moon.

Given the countless political reversals that had taken place in this tournament, the Titan would not have let the Targaryen Princes slip out from under his nose with ease...

When the protection contract signed between the Sealord and Queen Rhaella expired, the Iron Bank would openly enter the fray for custody of Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen. And Torrhen's Square and the Never Winter Bank could not descend on the Titan's chosen field while a pesky Cheese Merchant was waiting in the shadows looking for the first opportunity to stab us.

I looked at the crowd in the stands and wondered if Varys dared to mingle with the group... No. At first glance, the Watcher would have caught him on his Radar, revealing any trickery or possible disguise... Probably, the Spider was taking advantage of someone else's eyes and whispers to observe.

'Really Clever... Yet, I know you're here somewhere, Spider.' I gave up the attempt and refocused on much more imminent problems.

I took advantage of the excess minutes remaining to give the paraphernalia a final check.

Longsword (blunt) and round shield were well-balanced. For this competition, I opted for a helmet without a visor. So that I could have a better view and a better draft of fresh air.

Mott was a true artist... The Blacksmith had masterfully corrugated, oiled and interlocked every piece of metal in my armour so that the guards on the joints slid freely without obstruction, thus providing superior manoeuvrability and total frictionless movement.

Greatjon and I were the only ones wearing plates of tempered metal significantly lighter than the competition. But what Lord Umber's Damascus Elite armour did not possess, apart from the hammer touch of a Grand Maester, were protective spells.

Mott had consumed the power of three High Mana Stones (3 5th level stones worth about 6,000 golden dragons each) to engrave, activate and keep the runes alive.

The most impressive effect was the dampening of blunt blows. No matter where a mace, morningstar, hammer or whatever blunt weapon struck me (excluding my head), the energy of the impact would be redistributed evenly throughout my armour, transforming a possibly destabilising fractured rib or collapsed lung into an annoying but much more bearable tingling sensation throughout my body.

The only problem with this incredible benefit was the compactness they required of plates so that there was an absolute lack of perspiration.

The sun was high, and its hot rays extinguished the benefits of the cool early summer breeze. It would be a sweat bath for every competitor, clad in padding and full plate armour. With that heat and movement, I'd be wearing a bloody oven.

'Hmm... Carcosa guards the spells from Forgemaster to vary the temperatures as needed... Gauntlgrym definitely needs to get his hands on those runes. Even one or two degrees more or less would make the difference between life and death in North of the Wall and Dorne.'

"Ser Duncan!" An annoyingly recognisable honeyed voice broke my thoughts. Lately, fate delighted in throwing distractions at me whenever my mind sprouted good ideas...

'Oh, no...No, No, No, No, NO...! Noooo!... Sigh, sigh...Great Father...Seraphinus, Metatron, St. Michael, St. Gabriel and any other Heavenly Merciful listening! Please have mercy!' I turned slowly towards the fence, disguised with a polite smile, and replied:

"Lady Linesse... What a pleasure and honour to meet you 'again' on this beautiful morning." At first light, the Hightower maiden had 'coincidentally' intercepted Benfred and me on our way to accompany my brother from Tallhart Manor to the Great Lion's abode...

I cast helping glances at my men. William, Todd, and even 'Peter'...the man I awarded with my blade the knighthood, giving him a name, lands and titles, ignored me.

The snakes disguised as Juror Brothers stood apart like perfect blind strangers, turning away and leaving me completely exposed...

'Filthy Traitors! The North will remember, Cowards!' I composed myself, gritting my teeth concealed and stepped forward.

Lynesse was dazzling, intoxicating, endearingly seductive, and bubbling with innocence from every pore. The two soft, firm breasts were too 'undressed' for the rules of etiquette. The pale skin of her arms and shoulders was utterly bare. Only a thin, too-tight cerulean velvet dress prevented the 'Pious Maiden' (belonging to the family most devoted to the cult of the Seven) from showing herself to the world as mother had made her.

Despite everything, two nights before, I had faced a worse situation than this... During the retreat from one of the usual banquets, held two nights before the winner's celebration, Lynesse caught me and my escort in the act, staging a real Guitti-king theatre to force me to escort her back to the villa...

The Spider Maiden had paid (or seduced) brigands and an armed escort to orchestrate a failed attack at night on the back streets of the Silk Road... The maiden who had escaped danger and was accompanied by a single Hightower guard, visibly bruised and fatigued, rushed into my arms in tears, her dress half torn, reciting the most believable and compelling of monologues ever conceived in dramatic literature while an uncovered pink nipple begged for contact with my body... That girl was Satan's succubus.

"Ser Duncan. Oh, my Knight, I...I did not wish to intrude on your preparations for the contest, Ser, but I bring urgent, ominous news concerning you, Ser. I have only just heard...I had to warn you. Otherwise, I would never have forgiven myself." Intoned the maiden in a veil of concern and thoughtfulness towards me.

Half of the Northern participants at my side fell into the spider's web, drawing their eyes and ears closer in alarm.

"What ominous news, my lady?" I asked with a note of scepticism.

Lynesse paid no heed to my indifference. The maiden looked around, leaned her chest on the wooden beam, and moved another half step closer, all to whisper what seemed to be a forbidden secret to me.

"Ser Lyn Corbrey... It has come to my attention that Ser Lyn boasted in front of many witnesses last night that he could take you down in a duel with his Lady Farlow... And it seems that the bloodthirsty knight of House Corbrey, with the help of other knights of the Vale, wishes to put your name to the test in this contest. You will not only have to watch out for the Lannisters and the Braavosians in this test, Ser... Sigh..." A tear dropped down her cheek... "Sigh, everyone wants to hurt you...! You will be the main target of this slaughterhouse! I beg you, Ser, I implore you, for your sake, at least for this race, to give up and lay down your sword... Come back to me, Ser Duncan." To the Norrey audience at my side melted their hearts and infuriated their spirits.

Barge of Clan Norrey, beating his biped axe upon his chest, thundered a "Fear not, Maiden of the South! No steel maiden of the Valley shall approach the Hero of the North! Not even their spittle will touch our Bloody Snow!"

"Aye!" "Well said, Barge!" "We'll kick those Villans' asses!" other beguiled men of the Clans and House Umber joined the chorus of support. Only the men of House Tallhart, Greatjon and Maege Mormont, "The She-Bear", remained silent...

In particular, Dacey's mother seemed on the verge of jumping the fence and lowering her bat on the brazen little girl (half-naked), shamelessly attempting to seduce her daughter's betrothed.

"...Thank you for your warning, Lady Lynesse. As you can see, I have good swords and shields ready to defend myself. Now, please, my lady, return to the stands to your father and allay all your other concerns." I replied dryly and coldly.

"Did you hear Ser Duncan, a little girl of the High Tower...?! Go back to your frivolous southern gossip and leave the serious matters to the Warriors of the North!" Grumbled the She-Bear. Lynesse paid no attention to the Lady of Mormont Keep's intimidation.

"So you will throw yourself into danger, Ser...? But... Please, at least accept this lucky charm I made for you." Lynesse slipped a green handkerchief from the neckline of her bra. The embroidered cloth was soaked in 'Sins of Lys', the new Tyrell fragrance sold as wine in the higher-end brothels of Essos and Westeros.

"...I already have a lucky charm. And fortune has always smiled upon me since the day 'My Lady' gave it to me." I hardened my tone of voice. I had had enough of these provocations.

The Hightower girl was far from stupid... That Spider disguised as Innocent-Girl-Swamp was weaving a definite web. Lynesse exploited the political/economic relations between The Reach and the North, daring far more than was allowed in the noble costume. And, now that Queen Cercei was on the hunt for any pretext to seek vengeance against House Tallhart and Mormont, the girl was practically begging for the irascible Dacey to attack her, breaking the sacred laws of hospitality first. Lady Maege had to handcuff her daughter to her wrist to prevent Dacey from committing folly.

"...Oh...I understand, Ser..." First, the smooth, pale face grew sad, but my eye caught an imperceptible mischievous grin of pure amusement.

*Uaawuuuunnn* A horn blast came to my aid...

"Factions, deploy! Stay behind the line! At Lord Jorah's signal, the first round will begin!" Signalled Ser Ted of Bear Cave, the first guard of Barrowton and current match judge for the tournament's second round.

I used the general distraction to roar covertly, "Now, go away, my lady."

"So I shall, Ser... Fortunately for me, I have another true young gentleman of House Tallhart who has chivalrously offered to keep me company and offer me his friendly support in this contest too violent and frightening for the eyes of a frail Southern maiden...Mh, Mh."

The evil witch was talking about Benfred! Hence the early morning ambush! Lynesse wasn't looking for me... 'You manipulative little bitch...' Before I could retort, Lynesse Hightower turned to promulgate out:

"I wish you good fortune for the following battles, Bloody Snow."

I thought Leyton would remain patient, ponderous and staid in this Great Gathering... I was wrong. The Old Man of Oldtown was already unleashing his hounds.

The Watcher had anticipated the meeting between First Men and Andals. The Guardian of Love wasn't worried about any accidents from outside elements but me.

'No one touches My Family!' I clenched my jaw with such force that it came close to splintering a few molars.

I regained my composure a few seconds later and turned all my pent-up anger into hydrogen fuel in reserve, ready to fire a rocket to the moon at the first spark.

I turned to my right arm.

"Change of plan, William... If House Hightower seeks a fight, than it shall have it."

"But, Lord General... What about the Mountain?" Asked the Deputy Commander of the Winter Guardians with an alarmed whisper.

I turned my gaze to a Greatjon Umber ravenous for action, eager to shatter bones with his giant two-handed broadsword and put his new full armour in Damascus Elite to the test...

"We will put our trust in our Armoured Giant."

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End Chapter.