Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 186: Change of Plans...

*****Hello to all dear readers. Forgive the delay in the release of this chapter. I left at the last minute for the Easter holidays and to isolate myself from the world. I hope you all had a good holiday too. Happy reading!*****

POV: Author

Great Arena, West Faction Preparatory Pavilions.

About two hours after a new Sword was hailed in the legend...

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Jerry was in no mood for celebration. His peers of the same rank had recently finished toasting in the name of the Sword of the West, together with their master riders...

For Squire Berry of House Stillwood there had never been a party nor any occasional pint of ale. His gloomy and very dangerous master, Ser Gregor of House Clegane, was in no mood for celebration... Not that he had ever been in the air in the very long two years Berry had served. Perhaps there was no more dangerous job in the world than his.

The squires of the Riding Mountain did not last long... His father, Ser Jonas Stilwood, kept telling him that being the squire of one of the most respected and feared knights of the Seven Kingdoms was a golden opportunity. But, for Berry, it was a punishment for the seven hells.

He had seen 'Who' and 'What' that monstrous gargantuan creature was... and sure enough, he was neither a man nor a Knight. How many murders had Berry witnessed at Clegane's Keep? How many unprovoked rapes, raids or horrible violence had the villages under the protection of House Clegane suffered in that year alone?

Berry did not consider himself a saint... He, too, had participated in those raids, forcibly possessed young peasant girls and pocketed some silver in those raids. But not because he wanted to but because he was forced to. He was the squire of the Mountain... And if there was a reason why he had survived this burden of certain doom for so long, it was because Berry had been able to read the nature of that monster at once.

If a common servant wished to survive the Master of Clegane's Keep, there were four sacred laws to be observed at all times:

- Make no noise;

- Do not stare at him;

- Do whatever He commanded to do;

- And to get as far away from that being as possible when someone disregarded the first three rules...

For a squire forced to assist his Knight-Master day and night, there were many more rules... many more obligations. And when the day ever came when the monster would deem Berry more of a nuisance than a utility, the boy would end up like the last four of his predecessors, i.e. [Died in Abnormal Circumstances].

It was not an 'if' but only a 'when'. That would have been the end if Berry had not found a way out of that prison and its executioner.

Therefore Berry would have carried out that task to the end. Consequently, he would have poisoned the daily dose of poppy milk that Ser Gregor used to drink, accepted that purse of three hundred gold dragoons, and immediately took that safe conduct to Braavos.

The knighthood, the family name, and that life of terror could all go fuck themselves.

Three hundred gold coins were enough to live decades without problems or obligations in the city where currency was worth more than any other social status... A life of freedom.

Berry continued the strenuous march towards his master's pavilion. Ser Gregor demanded that his helmet and boots be shined and polished before the end of the hour and that his squire find the best wine in that dump of an arena.

The Second Phase of the Great Melee would begin in less than an hour. Unfortunately, it was only a little while before the end of his pains...

"Make way! Hey, you! Move, you idiot!" Shouted Berry to a ragged brat who had suddenly stopped in his tracks with a dry full of soapy water between his legs.

A passing knight from the opposite direction dodged the obstacle of the bucket by lurching forward, only to bump into Berry.

The squire ended up in the dirt and muddy loam with everything he carried.

"No! No, fuck! No!... But do you know what you have done?! These were my lord's boots and helmet! I had just cleaned them, you piece of..." Berry bit his tongue.

That was a knight, and he was a mere squire. Anger and frustration made him lose his mind for a moment.

"You were saying, boy? Go ahead..." The massive man in armour wore no recognisable blazon. He was probably a low-class Hedge Knight, but he was still a dangerous individual who knew his stuff. That hardened look on his face and the scars were proof of that.

"No... nothing, Ser. It was just a mere accident, and I only have myself to blame." Berry bowed his head.

"Umm... That's better. Are you a squire? And is that your lord's equipment?" The man asked in a calmer tone.

"It is milord," Berry replied, maintaining a humble and repentant tone.

"Apologise to your lord for me. Here... let me at least help you gather." Surprisingly, the man helped him lift his wine bag and helmet.

"They're dirty again... You'll have to polish them again, boy." *Ting, Ting* something metallic and silvery was thrown inside the helmet. "That silver deer is for you. For your trouble."

****

About twenty minutes later...

"I apologise for the delay, my lord." Ser Gregor was no lord, but the beast liked the sound of greatness. First, Berry offered the bag of wine with a bow. The Mountain hardly ever drank water, only dark beer, wine and sometimes a bucket of milk.

The giant man sat on a reinforced bench, still half clad in over two hundred pounds of steel and looking furious, grabbed the half-gallon bag, popped the cork, sniffed and began gobbling its contents.

"Red of Arbor, my lord, taken from the reserves of a knight of House Redwine."

"I did not ask." Berry fell silent, lowering his gaze to the ground... Then, after the giant gobbled down half a flask, he asked in a dry, commanding tone:

"... What took you so long?" Berry did not hesitate in answering.

"A Hedge Knight who wanted to attack me noticed my lord's blazons on my robe and intentionally decided to shove me to stain your helmet and boots with mud, my lord... A petty and cowardly attack on the noble House Clegane. I had to redo the work you requested twice." Replied the boy.

"Who was that?" Asked the monster yearning for a massacre. Ser Gregor was already wrathful at being unable to fight in that first round. That idiot Jaime Lannister had used his most powerful weapon as a mere standard-bearer page...

"I do not know his name. But he was definitely a Knight about to enter the second round. On his shield was stamped a sunset on a broken hill, my lord. The armour was worn and rusty. Certainly a knight of low caste hunting for easy glory to make a name for himself." Gregor Clegane remained silent. A vein throbbed on the giant's temple, and the giant rubbed it with his fingers to ease the twinge.

It was time! Ser Gregor was about to have a migraine attack!

"Poppy milk, my lord?" Berry had already uncorked and offered the flask, anticipating the giant's wishes. The man grabbed the elixir and drank it all in one gulp.

'It is done...' Now all that was missing was the balance of his fee and escape. Moreover, the Mute Knight assured him that Gregor would die by sunrise. So, Berry had little more than half a day's head start to vanish.

****

About an hour later. Just before the second and final round began...

The barn was empty and dimly lit. Berry arrived at the appointed rally point minutes early, but his employer was there.

"Where's my gold, Ser? And why the wagon? I need a fast horse, not a cart pulled by two nags." The hooded man approached and pointed to a large wooden crate.

"That crate?" The knight nodded. Berry approached slowly and with stiletto ready in hand towards the crate. The knight accompanied him with a lamp to illuminate the dark corner.

The inside of the crate was large enough to carry a grown man. Inside was a layer of straw and sand, pillows, bags for water and provisions, and a large, heavy-looking leather bag.

Berry did not hesitate, grabbed the heavy bag, opened it and basked in the glitter of gold.

"So I'll be boarded in the ship via thi-" A cold, firm bite on the solar plexus broke his voice. The icy blade came out with brutality, tearing through the deadly hole to the mouth of his belly. Berry had no time to look at the wound. The precious pouch had fallen, and the 18-year-old was pushed into the chest.

The agony lasted a few handfuls of minutes. The last seconds of Berry's life were accompanied by the blows of a hammer to drive his coffin's final nails firmly into the ground...

End POV.

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POV: Duncan

Grand Arena.

About half an hour before a crate was loaded onto a wagon to be loaded onto the first ship and left to sink in the deepest waters of Salt Lance...

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There were still minutes to go before the Great Scrum resumed.

Blade 12 had completed its mission. Gregor Clegane had received the temporary panacea for the Blood of Basilisk. Inside that bag of wine had dissolved tranquilisers capable of knocking out a horse. Now one could only pray that the Mad Giant had at least drunk half of that solution to counteract the effects of the Poison. Stealing the poisoned vial would have been more effective, but we did not know if the squire had one or more doses in reserve.

But, at that moment, my worries and anxieties focused on another unexpected problem...

My eyes kept scanning the perimeter of the stands without finding the culprit I longed to electrocute. That traitorous coward was hiding from my gaze.

'I know you are somewhere and can see me. Run and hide all you want, old man. I have already sent a dispatch to Zishua... Be a man and face the consequences of your actions, coward!' So I moved my lip as little as possible to ensure The Watcher caught every word. This time, Zick had really done it.

That hardened fool of a master had lit the matches and set up the first log of wood to fuel and foment the great flame echoing 'The Sword of The West'.

Now I knew what the Master had in mind. I should have expected it... That ageing wayward child had failed to be patient! Through no fault, the Young Lion had anticipated his grand Debut/Return to the Known World, thus uncovering a covered card I had longed to conceal for at least a few years!

'Damn it, Master! On earth was going through your mind?! You pointed the great eye of the High Tower at Jaime! Casterly Rock cannot yet face Oldtown! Now, go straight to Leyton and confess that you have sung me every note and facet of Podrick Lann's ballad! And be sure to also point out to him that your protg is moving heaven and earth in his quest for Brightroar!'

I knew that Zick had not acted on a personal whim... The Watcher must have made contact with Jaime and discerned his innermost desires. The Masster wanted to return the Keeper's Lion's favour for not betraying me that day in Pyke and for fighting for my safety in my hour of need.

If the Keeper of Love wished to act personally in the name of what he loved most, no one, not even Zishua or the other two Guardians, could stop him. Regarding his precious protgs-disciples, the Watcher always returned a favour granted or a wrong done.

Amon Fury and his four comrades were the most recent example.

The Fourth Organisation had mobilised before Torrhen's Square to support the new Lord of Pyke.

Already from the first moons of his rule, Lord Amon had been inundated with merchants seeking solid, favourable and prolonged trade deals, financiers from all over ready to invest coffers overflowing with gold, and mercenaries and sailors looking for a new home to put down roots and ready to swear eternal allegiance to the hero of Pyke. Disgruntled at the takeover of the Iron Men's rule by a foreign house, rebellious voices continued to be silenced throughout the island or to 'disappear altogether'. On top of all this, spies reported the arrival of a master-at-arms from the East. A veteran knight of Westeros who crushed and hardened every loyalist in Amon.

Robert Baratheon had left his new bannerman just under ten thousand gold dragoons in the coffers of Pyke, a dozen shabby longships, fifty or so fishing boats, an inaccessible harbour, a castle with half-collapsed walls, and only a hundred or so volunteer swords from the Stormlands to defend manor, coastline and possible rebellion.

Six months later, Pyke's coffers were once again filled with gold and silver, the harbour was cleared of debris and upgraded, the walls rebuilt, the militia increased to over one thousand five hundred trained units (loyal only to House Fury), and Lord Amon's fleet numbered thirty-five brand new merchant corvettes, forty longships, fifteen war galleys and over two hundred fishing boats... This was the power of The Watcher and the guardian organisation hidden in his shadow.

If on a whim or for mere amusement one day Zick woke up with the desire to see nobles and high princes of mighty cities or kingdoms dancing, they would don jester's clothes and dance like dancing bears in the city streets day and night without question...

The Master had given Jaime a little motivational boost to throw him towards his first 'Echo of Warrior Songs'. A technique that, if well used, could isolate a fighter and direct him towards the pinnacle of concentration, thus pushing his mind and body towards their limits.

A dangerous technique that could isolate you from the real world, expose you to any external danger, and take a high toll on physical and mental stress. A martial art suitable for duels but not to be used in the middle of a battlefield.

The Lion had managed to prevail against the Red Viper... It had not been a rigged duel. The Warrior Prince had indeed given everything to win. Oberyn had even used the breathing technique I had synthesised mainly for him to the utmost of his ability.

It wasn't just stubbornness and dedication. Such skill and talent had to be accompanied by a frightening potential hidden within him... Jaime was a true prodigy. Suffice it to say that it took me over two weeks of training to master the Echo of Songs at that level. But even today, I couldn't have dominated it for that long. And Jaime had managed it on the first attempt!.... This was far beyond my expectations. The Young Lion was a notch above his uncle, Tygget.

'A monster... A monster not born from a human womb but from a forge. A being fuelled by the adrenalin and fury of a battlefield.' So I thought with alarm, reasoning out all the possible consequences.

'I must warn you as soon as possible, Zishua. Only that woman can stop Zick!' Indeed, the Watcher would have moved heaven and earth to ensnare Jaime as his disciple... So he had to be prevented.

For the sake of the world, The Watcher could not possibly take Jaime as his pupil! That would have thrown ampoules of wildfire into the halls of Leyton Hightower... Other than 'Nine Demons'. Should a potential threat to the Hightower dynasty be weaned from the world's most dangerous, capable and unpredictable master-at-arms, Oldtown would not hesitate an instant to light the fires of war against the world as a whole to prevent it.

I looked at Jaime, on the opposite side of the arena... As I thought, the swordsman was still visibly exhausted from the effort. Three hours of rest was not enough to recover from such stress. The Lion could not create a second great spectacle for the Red Knight.

'It would be a miracle if Jaime could wield the sword for another ten minutes. He can't do it... What now? What do I do...?' I couldn't be the final challenger. That would have been a cry of scandal... My gaze focused on the only viable alternative.

'In terms of technique and fame, there is no better choice, but will the old knight be able to hold out until the end?' One hundred and six contestants had made it through to the final round. It was to be a long and perilous fight to determine the three winners.

'There is no alternative... It will be Chaos and Massacre.' I had no alternative but to thin the herd as quickly as possible, send the Master's advice to fuck off, and protect my new champion.

"William, Ser Peter, Todd, approach, please." My men answered the call.

"Except for Greatjon, I have a favour to ask of our northern comrades remaining in the race. Spread the word." It would no longer be a team fight. Now the All Against All phase had come...

But I had thirteen other loyal comrades, in good shape and ready to sacrifice.

"What is the message, Lord General?" William asked.

"[Don't fight to win, but to knock out as many competitors as possible... Play dirty and Unleash]." William and Peter looked at each other with a frown of concern.

Asking Theo Knott, the Barbarians of the Clans, the Umber men and The She-Bear to go wild was anything but the hope of an honourable friendly competition for celebrations. Blood would have flowed, someone could have been seriously injured if not killed, and, along with all that, wishes of rancour and vengeance from the remaining factions of Westeros and Essos against the entire faction of the North...

General Peter wanted to reiterate something, but William stopped him. The Vice Commander of the Winter Guardians knew me well. He sensed and recognised well that stillness before the storm. A crimson storm called 'Bloody Snow'...

"As for the three of you... Keep your distance from me and give Ser Barristan Selmy a hand."

*****

End Chapter.

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