Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 67: ' Rightful Reason '

Hello everyone, small communication:

I have changed the title of the previous chapter.

I simply found a more suitable one... This chat with Lord Stark will be longer than expected...

Happy Reading!

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POV: Duncan;

On a hill about 300 feet from the camp.

About ten minutes after a knight warned a powerful Northern Lord...

I was at a grassy promontory about 30 feet above the plain.

Around me, I had had my servants carry four lit braziers. The coal and whale oil made that cold early spring night much more bearable.

I was still covered in wool and fur. In my previous life, I was allergic to wool. Even though I knew this new body was not, I had always been wary and reluctant to wear it.

I still remembered the unbearable itching and sneezing that haunted me for days even if I accidentally touched a single tuft.

Now that I had reached Paladin level [3], that instinct was finally extinguished. A Paladin at that level would become immune to any disease. Common or magical.

Finally, the voices had become faint. Those damn Heart Trees were everywhere on the stretch of Tomb Land.

I'd learned to discern the distance between me and a tree when the Ancients tormented me with their Level Up chanting.

I knew that I could even climb up to Level [5], but I didn't want to go through the process yet. Many things were still unclear to me on the subject.

For example:

Would the other Paladins and Clerics level up directly as soon as I did?

Or would they simply be allowed to rise to that level?

Was I the one who decided the limit barrier?

Would the others also have to gain experience? Could they accumulate experience like me? Was I a special case?

What are the differences?

These and many other questions plagued me.

I was faithful to the philosophy of General Sun Tzu taught to me by Seraphinus:

[If you know the enemy and yourself, your victory is certain. If you know yourself but not the enemy, your chances of winning and losing are equal. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.]

I didn't want to grant any more powers to my possible enemy. Especially not now that I was likely to face the paladin of the Drowned God.

If Aeron Greyjoy, Balon's younger brother and cleric of the Drawned God, had access to 3rd level spells, he might have even been able to turn the tide of the sea battle.

Not so much for power but more for show...

I couldn't risk it.

I looked again at the case beside me. A gift for Lord Stark for his 26th birthday, which would be less than a month from now.

A gift very similar to the one given to Domeric.

Master Thobo Mott was truly an artist and a genius in the field. I had only explained the process to him in broad outline and not in detail the first time I told him about the Damascus Steel formula, and he had already managed to guess many of the missing parts himself.

Unfortunately, the Damascus formula was only effective for blades, not armor. The key flexibility that increased the efficiency of a blade was useless for defense-focused plates.

However, Thobo had reassured me that this new method alone had given him many points of inspiration to also improve the defense of any Northern warrior. It was only a matter of time.

Thobo had guaranteed that within two moons at the latest, he would already be able to bring out of the forge a new prototype of steel plates useful for all types of armor made of metal, including studded leather armor.

The revolution in the weapons industry was finally about to begin. It was no coincidence that I had invested so much time and gold to make it possible. Not a single mistake was allowed.

Even the steel of Damascus was reason enough to start a continental war. Perhaps it was even more dangerous than Jon Snow's true identity.

It was almost ironic that the First Men, a people formerly oppressed by the Andals mainly because of their better weapons, would soon have a monopoly on the best steel on the market. Not everything was finished yet.

There were still some key details to discuss with the man who was approaching me.

I had waited for this moment as long as possible. There was no more time. We were going to have to make the most of every single day of this spring and summer.

[True Winter was indeed coming.]

Now that the man was less than 30 feet from me, I noticed that his [8] hovering above him was slightly larger and darker since I last saw him in Torrhen's Square four years ago.

I had created a more accurate estimate between levels based on those small differences.

For the same level:

A number [X]

Small and light green= a recent level up from 1 to 33% experience.

Medium and deep green= 33 to 66% experience accumulated.

Large and dark green= 66% to 99%.

Ned Stark was in the latter bracket. I was certain that four years earlier he was in the middle tier [8].

Certainly, the man was still committed to his training despite his many commitments and duties.

"Lord Stark. Thank you for coming so far.

I thank you, my Lord, for complying with this peculiar and uncomfortable request of mine." I said, bowing like a true vassal of the North.

"Lord Duncan. No trouble or inconvenience to me whatsoever.

It is my pleasure to finally be able to discuss this with you in person. I have yet to thank you properly for your recent actions on Bear Island.

Know, young lord, that I sincerely believe your designation as 'Hero of the North' is well deserved." Lord Stark said with a sincere smile.

"... Thank you, my Lord... Emm forgive me for asking.

I mean no offense, Lord Stark... but...

Are you sure you're feeling well, my lord?

We could even postpone our chat until tomorrow or the next day if that's all right." He suggested sincerely, noting his cadaverous appearance.

Now that he was near the light of the braziers, I saw the pitiful look on Lord Stark's face. His face begged for mercy and pleaded for a few hours of rest.

"... You are not the first to tell me this, Lord Duncan...

Is my appearance that pitiful?" Ned asked in a slightly embarrassed tone.

"If I'm being honest, my Lord. I have certainly seen you on better days. You do look like a man who needs to sleep for at least two whole days and nights, Lord Stark." I said.

"You're probably not wrong, young Lord... I admit I've been a little overworked over the past week.

But I am confident I can still hold a pleasant chat with one of my loyal vassals. I hope you're not going to bring me the news that is too... ...pressing and burdensome news, Lord Duncan.

Ahah..." Ned tried to blunt some of the natural tension that was building between our gazes.

The protector of the North seemed ready to face a crucial negotiation for the survival of the North...

Well, at least he came to this appointment in the right spirit. I would have felt really bad hitting poor Ned's shoulders too casually. ' I thought as I tried to find a solution to Lord Stark's sorry state.

"... My Lord... I could help you with your condition.

I could help, at least in part, to ease that burden a little, but only if you trust me.

Do I have your word of honor that whatever I do or say in the next hour will remain between us?

I should warn you that some of these... "matters" are not known even to my father. And I honestly don't think he's ready to put up with anymore... "weirdness" from his troubled son." I baited the man in front of me.

I already knew his more than likely response. Ned, as well as being a man of honor, was also a very curious man.

"When you put it that way, Lord Duncan...

Yes, you have my word.

What will be said or happen here in this place will remain between the two of us.

... Proceed." Lord Stark took a step towards me.

I decided to lay out my cards more.

I didn't want the Lord Protector of the North to collapse with a heart attack at my feet after a few low blows.

I put my hands together and grabbed Ned's gloved hand.

[Lay of Hands]... I activated the alternative mode of that healing ability. If I gave up a third of the available divine power, I could also cure a physical condition or disease. I did the same on Dacey as well by canceling her [Dehydration] and [Oxygen Deficiency] conditions.

A faint green glow was generated in my hands and spread through Ned Stark's body.

This was the first shock that disarmed the man. At least the first critical slash was in [Non-Lethal Damage] mode.

Ned was speechless for a good ten seconds.

Then he stammered:

"T-That... That was a... a rat... "

"A healing magic, my Lord. A white magic or blessing if we wanted to be more precise....

An ability bestowed upon me by a Heart-Tree a few months ago." Ned's eyes managed to widen a few more millimeters.

"... So it's true... It wasn't just a rumor.

Are you truly blessed by the Old Gods?" Lord Stark.

"... I would say so, my lord. Though the subject is a little more complex than that...

Are you feeling better, Lord Stark?" I asked noticing that his face had a much rosier complexion and the dark circles were gone.

"... I... Actually I do. My eyes are no longer burning and my shoulders are much less sore... Amazing.

May I ask if you know any other... ...'Blessings'?" Ned.

"Yes, my Lord... I know of others.

But if it's alright with you, I'd rather keep these 'peculiar abilities' for a while longer... Many people are still sceptical about such sensitive topics. Very dangerous and prejudicial misunderstandings are the order of the day on the subject of 'Magic'. Especially in the South, my Lord.

Forgive me for insisting. Do I have your word of honour that no one, not even my father, will find out about this?" I asked for confirmation. Ned Stark wasn't the only one risking a heart attack these days.

"You have my word of honour. I swear it by the Old Gods and the name I bear, Lord Duncan." Said Ned with a tone and a look as sincere and serious as ever.

"Good, my lord. That is enough for me...

I guess we can begin then." Me.

"Of course... So, Lord Duncan, he who is blessed by the Ancients, what do you wish to speak to me about?"

End POV.

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POV: A man full of secrets and responsibilities;

On a hill about 300 feet from the camp.

About a minute after a blessing was cast....

"I'd say let's start with a gift. A gift for you, my Lord.

I hope you'll forgive me for bringing your birthday present forward by a few months.... I think you'll need it before that day arrives." Said the boy picking up a long wooden case.

"Thank you, Lord Duncan... You shouldn't have bothered... I..." Ned was enchanted by the contents of the case.

A bastard sword... the sword he wielded best in a real fight, was in front of him.

The colour of the blade was greyer than normal. The undulating shades of different tones of steel made it hypnotic to the eye. The hilt was crosshatched, the handle lined with fine black leather, and on the pommel was exquisite craftsmanship in what looked like a wolf's head made of platinum.

"This... can't be Valyrian Steel can it?" Ned asked with concern. Even if he really wanted to, he could never accept such a precious gift.

"No, my Lord. Fear not.

Nothing so rare... but it is the same unique fact.

What you see, Lord Stark is Damascus steel. Non-Valyrian steel of the highest quality, my lord.

A masterpiece crafted by Master Thobo Mott. One of the finest blacksmiths alive and still among the living in all of Westeros and Essos, in my humble opinion.

In addition to the Damascus formula, Master Thobo has added his personal touch to the work. He can even change the color of a blade without using any kind of paint. Also... here too there is a hint of 'magic' in the touch if we can call it that.

To cut a long story short, my Lord. This is a sword that is well cared for, may well be passed down to your children and perhaps even your grandchildren.

The edge, the weight, and the balance of the blade are second only to the steel of Valyria. I assure you, my Lord." Ned couldn't stop himself from grasping the offered blade. He thoroughly scrutinized every inch of the masterpiece, gripping it firmly to inspect it even by touch.

Eddard Stark could be considered an expert with swords. He was not only good at handling it but also at recognizing a good blade. He had lost count of the number of hours he spent alone with a blade.

One of his favorite pastimes, which helped him to relieve all the accumulated stress and reflection, was taking care of his sword at the God'wood of Winterfell.

"Stunning... Excellent work. Much better than the steel forged by Mikken at my side.

I don't know how to thank you, Lord Duncan...

Wait a minute. Do you mean this is fresh from the forge?!

Is House Tallhart capable of producing multiple examples of such steel?!?!" Lord Stark asked anxiously, holding his breath.

A wave of concern washed over him like a rushing tide.

"Yes, my Lord... I understand your concerns.

This steel is produced in a safe, well-patrolled location on the border between Tallhart and Dustin lands. Gauntelgrym to be exact. A mountain hollowed out and worked inside to be turned into the greatest forge Westeros has ever seen.

I believe Lady Dustin has already informed you of the Silk Road project, my lord." Duncan.

"She... Yes, she has. But she certainly wasn't that specific!

Lady Dustin in her message only mentioned the name Gauntelgrym... along with Never Winter's and two other names I can't remember now.

What is the name of the Old Gods have you created down there?" Ned.

"She... Emm...

Lady Dustin should have told you in detail, my lord.

I believe she still holds a slight grudge against both of us, Lord Stark.

A short while ago, I fear I offended her considerably... but, forgive my boldness, Lord Stark, you too have done your part." Duncan.

"Me? I don't believe I've caused any offense... Do you mean... Lord William?

Does Lady Dustin still hold a grudge against me for not returning her husband's remains to her?" Ned asked with a wistful tone and a look of contrition.

"Yes, my Lord... Lady Dustin is not filled with joy and gratitude towards House Stark.

Your brother, Brandon, and your father Lord Rickard may they always rest in peace, has done great harm to Lady Dustin's heart and honor...

William's affair not long afterward inevitably severed the relationship between House Dustin and House Stark...

But fear not, my Lord. I have long been engaged in trying to redress and blunt the blades that Lady Dustin was covertly sharpening to exact her, if I may say, ''partially justified'' revenge.

Lord Jorah Mormont is the key to settling that accumulated grudge once and for all.

I would ask you the courtesy of casting, within reason, a wary eye in the future when dealing with Lady Barbrey.

I cannot guarantee that she will always be kind and helpful to you, or your lady wife, but at least she will be to your heirs, my Lord." Explained Lord Duncan calmly.

Ned pondered those words for a moment.

The man could not help thinking back to sad and tragic moments in the past. He had seen Lord William strike a fatal blow to Lord Gerolt Hightower himself, unfortunately, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard took William with him to the grave.

"I understand... I will try to do everything I can.

I've long wanted to try and find a way to make up for the mistakes I made six years ago...

Lady Dustin has her just reasons for holding a grudge against me.

Forgive me, Lord Duncan. As this is a conversation between us, there's something I've long wanted to ask you.

Please be honest about it." Ned.

"... If I can be, I will be, my lord. I swear it." Duncan.

"... Four years ago, in Winterfell... did you...

Did you intentionally provoke my wife, Lord Duncan?

I still find my wife's accusations unfounded, let me be clear, but I must agree with her on one thing. You are no ordinary boy, Lord Duncan..." Ned stared intently at every millimeter of the latter's face. He wanted to know the truth, whatever the cost.

"I don't know exactly what Lady Catelyn's accusations are, my Lord.... but yes, I have made premeditated provocations against your wife.

Provocations, which I was certain only she would notice.

I wanted Lady Catelyn to make a bold gesture towards me, Lord Stark..." Duncan answered truthfully.

Ned frowned for a single moment. Though he was angry at the answer, he appreciated the truth he had been given.

Had he not confessed it directly, Ned would have dragged this doubt to his grave.

"Why did you do it?" Ned asked in a serious but calm tone.

The boy closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, staring at the half-moon in the starry sky for a few seconds. Ned Stark allowed the boy time to find the right words to his specific question.

"Jon Snow."

Ned was struck on the solar plexus by those two words. For a moment, the keeper of the secret let out a hint of understanding, but he quickly recovered by feigning ignorance and incomprehension.

"What do you mean? What does my son have to do with any of this?" Ned.

"... Little magic tricks are not the only gift I possess, my Lord. The Ancients have shown me more than you, and anyone else here in the North, can conceive or even imagine." Ned held his breath after hearing that answer...

The poor man's heart began to pound. His blood pressure was sky-high. Time seemed to slow down...

A voice stored deep in his heart rushed to his head.

[Promise me, Ned. Promise me.]

The boy continued.

"When I asked the ancients [Who were the greatest threats to the North?] they showed me, several individuals, among them the face of your wife, Lady Catelyn Stark.

... When I delved further, the Old Ones showed me scenes and episodes of Lady Catelyn mistreating an infant. Then scenes of her treating a crying child with contempt...

Then a boy...

That boy was Jon Snow.

I do not believe your wife to be an evil person, my lord. However, I do know that she is guilty of arrogance, prejudice, discrimination, and I know what she would do if any entity in the world threatened her sons and daughters...

Knowing that she was already prejudiced against me and my House, I took the opportunity. The main purpose was to make her shift all her hatred and attention to me, instead of poor Jon.

Forgive me for saying this, my Lord, but your wife has a deep prejudice and contempt for 'bastards'..." He finished explaining the boy.

It all made sense to Ned now.

He couldn't deny those words... He wanted to find a way to defend his wife's honor, but he couldn't. Not after the trials and tribulations, his wife had demonstrated in front of half of Winterfell...

The only thing that heartened poor Ned, was that it seemed that the individual in front of him, still considered Jon his 'bastard son'...

Eddard had to be very careful from here on in. He had to try to steer the topic in another direction and neglect the ' Jon ' issue as much as possible.

''I... I cannot deny what you claim.

However, I deny your ways and choices. There was no need to create all that drama. You could have come..." Ned was interrupted.

"Come to talk to you about it, my lord? And what could I have said to you?

[Please, my Lord, don't ever leave Jon Snow alone in your wife's jaws? The woman hates and will forever hate that innocent. Beware of her.]

No, My Lord.

Words are wind. You should have seen it with your own eyes.

You should have seen how she would always treat that child.

A child who had only you, a Lord with the largest territory in the known world to manage and full of commitments, by his side.

How would you have done it, my Lord? How would you have protected Jon?" The boy asked roughly.

Ned did not know how to answer.

He could only show a look of regret and disappointment in himself.

Ned faltered at that moment. He made a mistake he had promised himself he would not make.

"Why do you care so much about Jon's fate?

You didn't even know him..." Ned regained control and admonished himself sternly within himself. One more misstep and a real tragedy could have occurred.

"It is. I saw it, Lord Stark.

I saw and heard your sister Lyanna in that tower beg you on her deathbed to protect him.

Protect that baby.

The baby with Stark and Targaryen blood in his veins...

Only four people in the world know the truth about Jon.

And I am one of them, Lord Stark. "Ned's legs shook... The man, a veteran of four bloody battles and dozens of deadly confrontations, was afraid.

He could hardly breathe. He was certain it was not Howland Reed who had revealed Jon's identity to him.

'No... He really did see him. Not even Howland knew the details!... ' Ned thought urgently.

''You're wrong... He... He's not... "Ned, with one last effort, managed to utter those last fragile words soaked in lies. Before he was interrupted again...

"He is Aegon.

Aegon of House Targaryen, rightful son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

A rightful heir to the Iron Throne."

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