Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 26: 'The North's Greatest Threat.'

POV: Of a Squire:

New Castle, White Harbor.

Two weeks after a Lannister left Torrhen's Square....

Lord Wyman Manderly's poor 14-year-old squire, Jerha Ged, was waiting in front of the Lord of White Harbor's personal privy.

Usually, Lord Wyman needed to use the privy, to empty his bowels, at least twice a day. Each time, the wait was at least half an hour...most of the time an hour.

The young squire, had learned to his detriment that, Lord Wyman, did NOT want, at all, to be disturbed during those 'SACRED' moments of the day...but he had to risk it.

"Tock! Tock! My Lord...it's Jerha..." Said, the poor boy.

"Jerha...what happened the last time you disturbed me, when I was at the privy?" Wyman.

"...I cleaned the latrine from top to bottom, my Lord..." replied Jerha remembering the horrible times he had.

"That's right! Hopefully you won't have to do it...urgh...a second time!" Lord Wyman replied.

"But my Lord..." the squire.

"No buts! Go away!!!" Manderly ordered sternly.

Jerna, waited another five minutes of visceral noises and moaning.....dared second time.

"Tock! Tock! My lord, it's still me....it's an important matter, my lord." Said Jerha pulling out every ounce of courage he possessed.

"FOR THE SEVEN HELLS!!! I HOPE SO FOR YOU BOY! OR THAT'S WHERE YOU'LL BE GOING WHEN YOU HAVE TO CLEAN THIS PLACE UP!" Grumbled angrily, Lord Wyman.

After a few creaks, a groan of physical exertion, the crack of the door opened....

"WHAT?!" Said Wyman holding up his breeches with one hand.

"An unexpected emissary, my lord. Lord Leobald Tallhart, requests an audience with you himself! He is waiting in the waiting room, my lord..." Said the squire trying to be, as clear and direct as possible.

"WHAT?! TALLHART??? AND YOU WAITED ALL THIS TIME TO TELL ME?!!!! WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN THAT PUNCTURED SKULL?!!! QUICK HELP ME...ARGHH!!!! HOLD ON TO ME I'M FALLING!!!...HOLD ON TO ME!!!"... "SDRHUSH!! CRACK!!! SQUOSSHH!!!" Lord Wyman, fell backwards stumbling through his breeches. The poor little guy, tried in vain to hold his lord, weighing almost two quintals.

The wooden latrine cracked...broken wood and sewage, splashed everywhere....

" HURRY! HELP ME YOU IMBECILE! USE THOSE HANDS TO PULL ME UP INSTEAD OF COVERING YOUR NOSE!!!"

End POV

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POV: Of a page;

Karhold.

About three days after a latrine split....

Young Eliot Flint, ran with all the strength he had. He had to find his Lord Rickard no matter what.

"MY LORD RICKARD!!! MY LORD, WHERE ARE YOU???" Shouted Eliot.

"AH! Thank the gods! Young Lord Harrion!"

"Eliot what on earth are you shouting about? It's barely past dawn! Do you need a slap on the ears boy?" Reprimanded Harrion still in his night clothes.

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"No time my Lord!!! Where is the Lord your father?!" Eliot.

"Are you out of your mind? You know very well he was supposed to leave at dawn with Eddard, for his first hunt. What's going on?" Harrion.

"OH NO! This is a disaster...A REAL DISASTER! HOW LONG HAS HE BEEN GONE, MY LORD?!!! Shrieked Eliot panicking.

"An hour or so....calm down boy and tell me what's going on!" Said Harrion grasping the shoulders of the page in his father's service with his hands.

"Now, take a deep breath and 'without waking up the whole castle', calmly explain to me why you are looking for my father." Said Harrion trying to be less rude. One day, it would be his turn to rule. He had to learn how to handle critical situations....

"Yes, my Lord....uff...phew...Thank you, my lord! I am calm now." Harrion nodded, satisfied by those words.

"...Lord Helman...Lord Helman Tallhart is at the castle gates, my lord...he requests an audience with your father!" Eliot said, trying to express it clearly, concisely, but above all without showing a state of panic.

"...."

"LORD HELMAN TALLHART??!!! IS HE PRESENTLY IN THE CASTLE??!!! ARRIVED SO SUDDENLY??!!! HURRY UP ELIOT! WAKE UP MY MOTHER AND ALL THE SERVANTS! GET MY HORSE SADDLED! TELL THE KENNEL MASTER TO GET THE BEST HOUNDS READY!!! RUN!!!!!!" Harrion, screamed putting his all into it, nearly fainted from the lung strain.

End POV.

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POV: A future warrior of the North;

Last Hearth.

One day before a page's eardrums burst....

The young Garoan (13 years old), was staring at the carnage taking place in the banquet hall....

It was not uncommon at Last Hearth, fights were a common occurrence....

Now that his father had died fighting alongside GreatJon, Lord of Last Hearth, he had been granted 'the honor' of serving and growing up alongside the latter.

It was his job, to help the Lord with any task, serving ale mostly...but also: taking care of his weapon and armor, clothing, bandaging and dressing him, dragging him safely to bed after a hangover, serving him food and...delivering important messages to GreatJon himself...

In addition to a warm bed, food, clothes and a (scrappy) paycheck, GreatJon Umber taught the boy, one hour a day every day, to 'fight'... Now it was time to apply all of GreatJon's teachings. He and his Uncle Mors Umber were in the middle of the fight, surrounded by a hundred furious, screaming men. Garoan had tried again and again to shout the message to his Lord...the screaming and confusion was too much. He had to get to the center.

Garoan, stared at a cup less than a foot from him, one of the few still intact. It was filled with what looked like, cheap warm beer. He grabbed the cup and sent its contents down his throat in one go.

He grabbed an ornamental oak shield, with the symbol of a chained giant attached to the wall...and shouted:

"FOR MY LORD! FOR UMBER HOUSE! FOR THE NORTH! UUUAAARRGHH!!!!" The messenger charged toward the center of the storm: of punches, kicks, headbutts, slaps, pushes, bites, eye-fingers, and pitchers and cups thrown.

Ten minutes later...

A Garoan: more battered, bloodied, with a couple of cracked ribs, minus strands of hair and a shield more worn and chipped than before, reached two men.

GreatJon, was currently standing over his Uncle Mors Umber, repeatedly punching him in the face...while Mors was laughing like a madman.

"AHAHA!!! YOU FIGHT LIKE A LADY IN HEAT!!! GO AHEAD HIT BOY!!!" Mors.

"DAMN YOU OLD MAN!!!! I'M GONNA MAKE YOU SPIT OUT THAT DAMN CROW YOU ATE!!!", "SDUGH!", "HARDER!!!", "SDUGH!", "I SAID HARDER KID!!!"... "SDUGH!" "BY THE GODS BRING OUT THE GRIT KID!!!!"

Garoan, with one last effort, leapt towards GreatJon's arm.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING BOY! YOU DARE TO STOP YOUR LORD'S HAND?!" GreatJon shouted, staring at Garoan with a murderous look. Mors, too, was astonished at the young man's unusual gesture.

"MY LORD!!! BLOODY SNOW!!! BLOODY SNOW HAS JUST ENTERED LAST HEARTH!!! HE DEMANDS AN AUDIENCE WITH YOU!!!" Shouted Garoan using all the strength he had to hold back GreatJon's mighty arm.

"EH?! WHAT'S A JOKE MAYBE?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME BOY??!!" Lord Umber.

"NO MY LORD!!! I SWEAR IT! I SWEAR BY MY HONOR AND THE ANCIENT GODS!" Garoan.

GreatJon leapt to his feet, helping Uncle up. Then he jumped onto the large table. The man stood 7 feet tall and 3 1/2 feet wide, the most powerful and massive figure in all of the North, then thundered these words:

"STOP!!!! STOP ALL!!! BY ORDER OF YOUR LORD!!!!"

All the men, stared at GreatJon letting go of the men they were restraining or striking.

"GENTAGLY! THE LEGENDARY BLOODY SNOW IS PAYING US A VISIT!!! THROW AWAY THAT HORSE PISS YOU'RE DRINKING AND GET OUT THE GOOD STUFF!!! TONIGHT WE CELEBRATE!!!!AHAHAAHAHA!!!!" Screamed GreatJon laughing like a maniac.

"YHEEAAAAAARGH!!!!" Shouted a hundred men in unison. They all started hugging and cheering together laughing.

It was at that point that Garoan, fell to the ground and lost consciousness....

End POV;

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POV: A leech expert;

Dreadfort.

Five days before a boy lost consciousness....

Adoamros Kru R'had, was a former nobleman of Volantis. His family had been trafficking in slavery for generations. As the first of 4 children, he was supposed to inherit the family business...He chose to give up the business.

He had always developed a passion in the science of healing. In his youth, he left for the Old City in order to study all medical and related arts. He forged three rings before being forced to go back after the death of his father.

He had always loved a little slave girl, serving his family...When his brothers learned that he wanted to sell the family business and free all the slaves in their possession, they betrayed him. They captured and hid his beloved and newborn son.

The brothers, not being able, to act directly against Adoamros, chose blackmail. Finally, he was forced to legally surrender all of his family property in exchange for his family. After handing over the papers, he was unable to recover his family. The brothers, held them captive as collateral and bait, to try to remove the threat of the rightful heir once and for all. Escaping, first to Meeren, then Qhart, Braavos, Pentos and even Sothoryus, he finally came to the lands of House Reed, in North Westeros. The Reeds, offered the fugitive hospitality and protection from his pursuers. After two years, in which Adoamros had tried by all means, to find a way to save his wife and son held prisoner, he received a message. He met a maester in the service of another northern family. He said he had been fascinated by his research: on methods of healing through rare animals and insects. He offered him a chance of salvation for his family, in exchange for a very dangerous mission. Adoamros replied that if it meant the salvation and protection of his wife and son, he would gladly give up his life. A pact was made...Adoamros' family was safe in the lands of the Tallhart. He even managed to spend 3 months with his wife and son before fulfilling his part of the bargain. Those months were by far the happiest and most beautiful of his entire existence. He was going to repay that debt, no matter what....

About 2 months later, he was serving in House Bolton.

He was an expert in bloodletting and knew over 200 types of leeches. Some, personally bred by him in the swampy lands of the glue.

Roose Bolton, who loved bloodletting, welcomed the Essos healer into his manor.

Adoamros had met thousands of people over the course of his life and travels. However, never before had he met a person more: cold, calculating, apathetic and cautious than Roose Bolton. The man trusted NO ONE. Not even his wife or his son. Only two men, out of the thousands in his employ, were allowed to shave him and there were some rumors that those men were missing a piece of skin somewhere on their bodies.

Whenever, Adoamros performed a bloodletting with his own leeches, he was thoroughly searched, and the leeches he carried in his glass cases, were first tested on the servants.

"Proceed Adoamros," said Roose Bolton, naked and lying on his bathtub filled with hot water.

"Yes, my Lord." Adoamros.

"What benefit did you say they should provide, this variety of leech?" The 'Leech Lord' asked, staring with pale eyes at the stranger.

"They are supposed to stimulate the blood vessels, my Lord. The effects, after an hour of bloodletting, should be: increased cognitive ability, potential stimulation of the linguine and increase, for a short period, the pulmonary capacity, my Lord." Said Adoamros bowing. He had begun to get used to Roose Bolton's scrutinizing glances. However he always felt a slight tension and fear staring into his icy gaze.

"We shall see." The Leech Lord, nodded his hand, starting the proceedings. He kept his eyes half-closed at all times, not lowering his gaze on the 'healer' for a moment.

"Tock!", "Tock!", "My Lord." Roose Bolton stopped Adoamros' hand with a gesture as he was about to lay the first leech down with a pair of tweezers.

"Come in, Locke." The door opened, and one of Roose Bolton's most trusted men entered the bathing rooms of the Lord of Dreadfort.

"My Lord, an emissary from House Tallhart, named Ramas requests an interview with you." Locke.

"Ramas? Never heard of him...how many men did he bring with him?" Roose.

"Twelve my Lord, the fellow looks dangerous..." Roose Bolton carefully considered his watchdog's words.

"Send them in, and offer them refreshment and hospitality. Have only this Ramas pass through the waiting room. Disarm him, and prepare six men for escort to the interview. I will come in a little while." Said Roose Bolton.

Locke bowed and prepared to carry out his orders.

Many similar visits to various castles in the North were taking place in the same week.

End POV.

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POV: Author;

Torrhen's Square.

One day after Gerion Lannister left the castle....

"This isn't a joke is it?" Helman asked as he looked at his brother Leobald.

"You tell him, Maester Qyburn." Leobald replied as he looked at one of the four people present, in the halls of the restricted council of the Tallhart family.

"It is confirmed, my lord. Lady Berena is expecting. For almost two moons to be exact." Qyburn replied, with a gentle tone and a slight smile on his face.

"I'm going to have a cousin!!!ahahah!" Blurted Duncan as he approached to hug his Uncle.

"We're going to have a party! The biggest one of all! Let all of Torrhen Square celebrate with us!" Helman ordered, still in disbelief at the news.

The reason for so much skepticism, was because of the couple's countless attempts at pregnancy. After three years of failure...they had begun to lose hope. Qyburn had been helping the couple for almost a year now. Between various tonics, physical exercises, medicinal infusions and treatments, eventually Leobald and Berena were successful.

"No way! We're behind schedule. I know you brother. You'd be able to do three days of partying. We just emptied the cellars and warehouses to accommodate the Lannisters. Something small and discreet will suffice." Leobald replied as he continued to hug his nephew.

"Nonsense! Maester Qyburn, warn Paul after the meeting. Within three days I want a memorable party to be set up. Let the whole North talk about it!...In fact, let's invite all the great houses of the North! Top priority to the Hornwood House." Said Helman pondering what was best to do.

"No brother every day is precious! WINTER IS COMING!" Said Leobald in a slightly furious tone.

"Father, may I suggest a middle ground?" Said Duncan interposing himself between the two men's argument.

"....let's hear it." Said both Helman and Leobald simultaneously.

"We should take advantage of this gift from the gods, father. We should still go and speak to all the lords of the North. Let us celebrate and squander money...but for the benefit of Torrhen's Square and the entire North. We could still start our campaign of visiting the various lords, but instead of sealing the trade agreement...invite them in person to the party. That way, we would show everyone the respect they are due. We would pay a surprise visit to all the great families..." Duncan caught his breath for a moment and his Uncle continued for him.

"If we postponed the feast in two months or so...we might have time to invite all the families of the North to our table...We'd seal all the due agreements there, and we might even bring forward the road project. Even Lord Stark would come. If we whispered the idea of the 'roads throughout the North' project, when we made the proposal to Ned Stark it would be impossible for him to refuse....Genius!" Said Leobald, smiling.

"...we'll do it this way. Who's going to visit who?" Helman.

"We should visit the most important Houses in person...Manderly, Hornwood, Umber, Karstark and Stark. The Starks last, so we can tell them that the whole North will be there." Duncan.

"We'll take advantage of the trip to reach the barrier and have our 300 recruits trained by the Night's Watch Rangers." Helman.

"You forget the Boltons nephew...I thought you were unmatched in history! Ahahahah." Said Leobald.

"I haven't forgotten...I won't let any of my family into Dreadfort ...not if Roose Bolton is the Lord in charge." Said Duncan showing a hint of anger and ruthlessness.

"What do you mean son? Roose Bolton is certainly a creepy guy but he's a Northman...he wouldn't dare violate the laws of hospitality." Said Helman...Leobald did not intervene and silently appraised.

"No father, you are mistaken...Roose Bolton would be capable of this and more...but he would take the proper precautions so that no finger would be pointed at him. Like in the Battle of the Trident..." Said Duncan.

Helman's eyes widened and he began to think seriously...but he couldn't find a reason to give any credence to those words.

"Explain yourself, nephew." Said Leobald showing a hard, unforgiving look. The man had a couple of guesses...but they were only guesses.

Duncan grabbed a sheet of paper and some wooden checkers.

"During the battle, our legion consisted of men: Boltons, Mormonts, Dustins, and Tallharts. Respectively: 2,500 men, 400, 800 and 1,300 against Ser Barristan's 8,000..." Everyone nodded following the explanation.

"Roose Bolton implemented a good strategy of decoying and encircling the enemy head.....however he used the 'wrong' men in the 'wrong' places...but it was a calculated mistake. He knew very well that the Mormonts and Tallharts were the fiercest and best prepared units...and knowing this anyway he used us as an expendable vanguard. Barristan would have been able to break through the center sooner if the Bolton units had been part of it. Half of Roose Bolton's army, was made up of peasants who could barely use a pike. Why not use those peasants instead of men well trained to fight? I assure you the answer is not 'Because he cared about those innocents, forced to fight instead of plowing the fields'...." Duncan paused to give his father and Uncle time to absorb the information.

"...THAT BASTARD!!! IN FACT HIS LOSSES AMOUNTED TO LESS THAN 300 MEN!!! HE USED US AS A SHIELD!!!!" Shrieked Helman furiously.

"...He won the battle, showing himself as a 'conquering hero of the North' taking few losses and at the same time, weakened the other Northern Houses....and no one could have blamed him...he could justify that move in many ways..." Leobald maintained more control and continued the reasoning behind his nephew's explanation.

"Probably, Tom and hundreds of other Tallhart men would still be alive if the general of the legion had been someone else." Said Duncan in a vindictive tone.

"Roose Bolton...is surely one of the most dangerous people in the North. If he had wealth and military power on par with the Lannisters or the Tyrells...he would be the greatest threat in Westeros and Essos."