Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 128: The Night Watch & The Humble Customsman

POV: Jeor Mormont

Barrow Hall.

A couple of hours after the last noble guest of The Reach received his welcome...

It was almost dusk, and the darkness of night loomed over the Barrowlands.

The new 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch approached the front door further. The man was escorted by two other trusted members of the brotherhood in black, the first recruiter Yoren and the first attendant Bowen Marsh.

The long waiting line was coming to an end--very soon, after Lord Yohn Royce and his family had paid their respects to the Lord and Lady of Barrotown, it would be his turn.

The Old Bear would see his beloved boy again... It had been almost ten years since their last meeting.

Jeor had to lock himself in his private solarium for an entire day and night when, months ago, he received an invitation to his son Jorah's wedding from Maester Aemon. The newly elected Lord Commander of the Night's Watch could not possibly allow his sworn brethren to see him cry...

The crushing victory at Bear Island, the revenge on House Greyjoy with the siege of Pyke, the iron naval control over all of Ice Bay, his family's newly acquired fame in trade, and now these nuptials... House Mormont would soon become one of the most respected and prosperous Houses in the North.

Many rumours affirmed Barrowton's newly acquired greatness, even almost on par with the Mouth of the North, White Arbor.

The good-for-nothing Old Man had left hovels of slush, pines and rocks to that boy, and, in less than ten years, his Jorah had turned the fortunes of the Isle around...

Jeor could not contemplate the figure of a prouder father. The poor boy, tormented by tragedy and suffering, deserved every good that this infamous world could offer.

"Yonh Royce's brat, William, it seems to me, has been watching us for a while now with sparkling sparks in his eyes. Perhaps I could sing a ditty or two to the boy-who knows, maybe he might join the fraternity someday. What do you think, Lord Commander?" Jeor awoke from his inappropriate emotional memories.

"Yonh Royce's third son-in-law -- go ahead, Yoren, but mind you, I don't want any more tricks or puns like the ones you sang to poor Edd Tollet." The admonition was more than fair.

Poor Edd, recently nicknamed 'Dolorous Edd' by his brethren, had been recruited into the Night's Watch by Yoren during the last expedition to the Valley. The recruiter had affably sung to him about how women could not resist a man in a black uniform, cunningly leaving out the vow of celibacy that the oath imposed.

"Ahaha! If our noble glory-seeking boy ignored his chained master's history lessons, the fault is not mine." Yoren resumed chewing his liquorice stick.

"But if House Tollet did not even have enough coin to afford to buy him a sword. Let alone the service of a maester." Bowen retorted in poor Edd's defence.

"Well, not that I'm not saying I was aware of his unfortunate past, but-" The Lord stopped the debate.

"Enough, you two. This is no time for showmanship. It's our turn." House Royce had entered the manor.

The representative trio climbed the last step up the hill, stepping through the oak main door reinforced in cold-hardened iron plates. Entries more than three feet thick with faded markings of ancient bronze runes in the language of the First Men, which, in the distant past, had prevented access to many armies of the Kings of Winter in the Epic Thousand Years' War.

The future Lord of that ancient manor was standing there, ready to greet him in all his composure deeply inculcated by his father by slapping the back of his head.

Beside it stood his beautiful youngest bride, one of the most feared and respected women in the North, the soon-to-be Ex-Widow-of-Barrowton whose nickname was increasingly being overshadowed by a newer one: 'The Frosty Spice Queen,' Lady Barbrey Dustin.

"Lord Commander and gallant sworn men of the brotherhood, it is an honour and a joy for Barrowhall to welcome members of the Night's Watch. I, Lady Barbrey Dustin and my groom, Jorah Mormont, welcome you, Heroes." First, the host performed a perfect Lady bow. Then, Jeor Mormont elegantly gathered and kissed his daughter-in-law's hand.

"Lady Barbrey, 'Lord Jorah,' the honour is ours alone. The Night's Watch is grateful for the more than appreciated invitation to this glorious and happy event.

In the past, I had the good fortune and honour to fight alongside your grandfather, Lord Wembel Ryswell, one of the finest men I have ever met. And today, I am blessed to receive a greater honour by knowing you, my lady, the one who inherited that man's highest virtues and merits."

At the time of the famous War of the Ninepenny Kings, Wembel Ryswell's name was glorified by King Jaehaerys II himself. Lord Ryswell underscored the story by sacrificing himself on the field while holding back the enemy's heavy cavalry of less than half his men.

Jeor Mormont, Wembel Ryswell and Brynden Tully, 'The Black Fish,' fought in various battles, turning their names into legends.

"You honour me, Barrowton and House Ryswell. You will be our welcome guests for as long as you wish, my lord."

*****

A couple of minutes of formality and various introductions.

"Brother Yoren will be more than free to perform his duties throughout our domains for as long as he wishes. Only the Old Gods know how necessary it is for strong new valiant arms to serve your good order.

As for you, honourable First Attendant, Bowen Marsh, I am more than certain that our storehouses will overflow with many provisions given the 'sparse' attendance at these festivities. Therefore, it will be more your help than ours to allow you to store in the iceboxes of Castle Black many provisions that would go rotten in our overflowing pantries. I will put you in touch with my Chief Steward Edmund at once." Promulgated Barbrey in a dignified yet charitable manner.

"Thank you, my lady. I promise I will try to cause as little disturbance as possible." Yoren bowed, retreating one step immediately after finishing.

"Thank you, my lady. The Brotherhood in Black will always be grateful for eternity to all the Lords and Ladies of Barrowton." Bowen also withdrew.

Jorah and Jeor had not yet been able to interact verbally even once. And perhaps it was for the best...

He was no longer a father, no longer owned lands, no longer had sisters, only brethren. He was the sword in the darkness, the watcher on the Wall...

Only loving glances communicated what could not be said, and they were more than enough.

"Tell me, my lord, have you encountered adversity on your journey?" Asked the lady gently.

"'Unfortunately,' none, my lady. Thank you for asking. We set out from Castle Black with an armed escort of ninety good Rangers and about ten attendants. We hoped on the way to rout some vile horde of the Wildlings responsible for all those atrocities, but those cowardly rats kept well clear of the fight...

Later, in the New Gift, we gathered on the last stretch following Lord Benjen Stark and the Clan Chiefs on their way to the celebrations." In the past month, the sword brutally passed more than three villages. Daughters kidnapped, sons tortured and roasted in bonfires, and all the remaining indications of the horrific barbarities all pointed to the work of the vilest Cannibal Clans of the Wildlings.

The most obscene spectacle ever in the minds of Mormont and so many of his brethren will be forgotten. The image of dozens of bodies of poor peasants and villagers skinned, boiled, and hacked to pieces, found hanging as decorations near the Weirdwood Tree nearest Castle Black, led to the desertion of two novice Brethren...

Although the Night's Watch had recently restored their forces to just over two thousand in number, it was not enough to patrol all the vast lands of Brandon's Gift, let alone the New Gift.

At least two hundred raiding wildlings must have somehow managed to get past The Wall... Wraiths appearing suddenly at night and dissipating a moment later like fog at first light.

Jeor hoped that his relatively small but well-trained number, armed and ready to fight, might draw in an attempted surprise sortie of the enemy. But such was not the case... The bait had not attracted those beasts against nature.

Whoever led the horde did not seem interested in weakening the Guardians but only in wreaking havoc on the lands, they could not safeguard.

"House Mormont will be glad to help the Brotherhood patrol its lands, Lord Commander." So sentenced without reason, his dastardly son as he gripped Longclaw's hilt more tightly.

"House Mormont has already helped the brotherhood more than enough this year, 'my lord.' The 467 new recruits and the hundreds of scopes and telescopes your House has graciously bestowed upon us are already far more than many other Houses of Westeros have done to contribute to our order..."

House Mormont had recently contributed far more than all the remaining six kingdoms on that continent, blind and deaf to the pleas of the brotherhood in black. Exposing more would have benefited The Wall in the short run but, at the same time, would have set a dangerous precedent.

Every man on The Wall got what he deserved, winning it by his own actions--not by name, not by the wealth and contributions of his Household, but by his own merits. The Lord Commander, most of all, had to shoulder the burden of being a role model...

His son's actions would undoubtedly have detracted from the necessary contributions of other Houses and weakened his leadership position.

That 'blessed gift of the Gods' that idiot Jorah was about to marry leapt to their rescue, saying:

"My beloved spouse merely meant that both House Mormont and Barrowton will be more than happy to recommend gestures of help from our other friendly Houses, my lord warmly.

In fact, if I am not mistaken, it had come to my attention that House Tallhart was looking for a field experience opportunity for a new army unit still in training. Might I suggest that milord discuss possible collaboration with Ser Helman Tallhart?" The underlying message was clear and resounding: [Seeks help from Torrhen's Square.]

'So it is as they say... my boy has found himself a more dangerous companion than Maege.' Thought The Old Bear with relief and endless expectation. There was no need to wonder if the pair felt affection for each other... His Jorah would be in good hands.

"A much-appreciated suggestion, milady. The Brotherhood of the Night's Watch is grateful to you...

Bowen, Yoren, let's get this out of the way. So many other guests are waiting to receive the same welcome." The trio bowed for the last time, heading toward the hall.

Jeor walked past the future lord of Barrowton just after his brethren had their backs to him, distancing themselves from their commander.

"Are you taking care of your grandfather's sword?" the man asked the bright-eyed babe who was still clutching Longclaw's silver bear-shaped pommel tightly.

"Every day, Fa-" Jeor glowered at him, "Every day, Lord Commander."

"Good... And do you also remember the words of the founder of the house that once bore the same name as you?"

"{Here We Stand.}" Jorah uttered with a roar of pride the last three words that, ten years earlier, his father spoke to him before embarking on The Wall.

Jeor nodded coldly without reciprocating the motto he once revered most of all.

No hugs, no inappropriate expressions, no loving words.

Jeor Mormont gritted his teeth... The old scar on his right arm, caused by the foolish recklessness of a naive bear cub-loving boy, began to give him phantom tingles. Tingles that brought back a thousand other nostalgic memories...

'I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the Wall...' the verses of the Oath brought the man back to reason.

The black cape of the 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch blended into the shadows of the corridor. And the man who wore it returned to watch over that night and all the nights to come...

End POV.

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POV: A Humble Chief Customs Officer of Gulltown

Barrow Hall.

Year 289 A.C. Twenty-ninth day of the twelfth moon.

Two days remain before the ceremony...

Petyr Baelish, the talented new Chief Customs Officer of Gulltown, responded to the greeting of the Betrothed of Barrowton, giving them a bow worthy of Kings and Queens.

"It was as welcome an honour as ever expected, Lady Barbrey. Thank you for inviting me to this unmissable event, my lord and lady." Said Petyr with an imperceptible tone of sarcasm but nevertheless expressed in words full of sincerity.

The humble minor lord of the brushwood of rocks and goat droppings in the Fingers of the Valley had not really expected to receive that invitation.

Petyr was ready to ask yet another favour of Lysa by asking her to subtly intercede with her husband Jon Arryn on the pretext of making other trade deals with the Northern lords, but there was no need...

The underestimated and invisible New Player of the Throne wanted to find out who and how he had come up with the idea of inviting a guest whom the vast majority of Westeros would more than gladly spare the trouble of showing up at the lavish events reserved for the Great Lords.

"Lord Baelish... " the lady was interrupted, "My lady, please, even just Baelish will suffice...I hold neither lands nor titles so deserving as to be accompanied by the appellation 'lord.'"

"But you at least possess the humility of a true lord, 'my lord'. Mh! Mh! Mh!" Baelish accepted the minor defeat with dignity by giving his slight assent to the kindness shown.

"You may not be a great Lord of the Vale, my lord, but you have certainly more than deserved the hospitality of Barrow Hall. My accountants and Chief Steward have not missed the figure of the talented young Chief Customs Officer of Gulltown responsible for doubling the trade between the North and the latter in just eight moons.

Truly remarkable...House Dustin, Mormont and all the northern houses are indebted to you, Lord Baelish." And immediately, a legitimate and credible reason for his invitation presented itself...but could that really be the reason?

Petyr chose not to lower his defences too much.

"You honour me with too much credit, Lady Barbrey. The achievements between Gulltown and the Northern Houses have been a fruit plucked through the efforts of all of us humble men of commerce. Your Chief Attendant Edmure is at least as deserving of such flattery as I am." Baelish replied, bowing his head. Then Baelish cast a little bit...

"My Lady... As you said, I am only a humble Customs Officer, so I fear I have not brought gifts worthy of such an event. However... a slightly alarming piece of information has recently reached my ears that I hope will benefit and better prepare House Dustin and House Mormont..." Baelish waited, and the answer he sought came.

"Oh, really? Lord Baelish...you know how to arouse the interest of a poor lady as yielding to court gossip as I am; please don't hold back, my lord, please satisfy our curiosity!" replied Barbrey.

"Well, my lady, as you well know, the royal delegation has just passed through the gates of your beautiful city. Presently the King and Queen are proceeding at a modestly slow pace in response to the warm welcome the populace is bestowing upon them. However, as you mentioned earlier, a' rumour' has reached my ears...

It seems that Queen Cersei was rather annoyed, to the point of bestowing a slight disappointment on the King himself, that you, my noble lady and your betrothed did not directly bring your homage and welcome to the entrance of the city itself...

I don't know if the rumours are true, but from what is said in the ports of Gulltown, Queen Cersei Lannister is haughty above all talk. I hope these rumours are only the result of common prevalent slurs. Otherwise... I fear that the welcome, carefully prepared by you for our majesties, may be ill-appreciated." Baelish utterly defensively and vacantly elided the whisper his spy delivered to him less than a few minutes earlier.

From how Lady Barbrey would react, Petyr would know whether she was really deserving of the reputation as a shrewd Northern player that his sources suspected she was...

The First Rule of the Great Game was to figure out 'Who' really were the players and the pawns on the chessboard.

The Second Rule of the Great Game was to determine who among the discovered players was the prey and the predator. And if in a short time the prey could not be found-then, it meant that the prey was you.

'Pawn, Prey or Predator?" wondered Petyr instantly within himself. By now, that question had become a routine toward anyone he met in person for the first time.

Barbrey put her hand on her chest with an astonished, anxiety-filled expression. The woman exchanged a worried glance with Lord Jorah Mormont, who remained steadfast and neutral to the woman's visual prompts.

"Lord Baelish, I-I do not know how to repay this kindness of yours. I I had no idea that thank you. Thank you so much, my lord." The act seemed convincing enough.

"You're welcome, my lady, please... There is no need to attach too much importance to a 'likely' false rumour. I'm afraid I can't guarantee that, on this little piece of information..."

'Let it be a possible pawn?" thought Baelish with discreet hints of doubt.

Was it really possible that all the information gathered was actually an exaggeration?

"No, milord. It is only fair that the gesture of courtesy be returned.

Let's see-ah, of course. What better way to repay a valuable piece of information than with one that will pique your interest!

But, milord, please. Just between us." She pleaded with embarrassment.

"Of course, milady. You have my word of honour." Elegantly replied the intrigued young player.

The Barrowton Widow's face lit up with renewed confidence toward her promising new friend.

"I don't know if you're aware of it, but it seems that the Crown is desperate for sources of gold," whispered the woman naively as if she were revealing a lovers' gossip among ladies.

It was no secret; all the houses in the land of the Crown knew about it. But then the lady continued to speak...

"It seems that Lord Gyles Rosby, the current Master of Coin, had requested a loan of over one million two hundred thousand gold dragons from the Iron Bank, but that 'mysteriously' the King's emissaries withdrew the loan negotiations soon after Pyke's fall...

It is not yet clear exactly how and where Robert managed to make up for such an exorbitant gap in the pockets of the realm. Still, a mysterious, well-drained, and armed Prince Stannis naval contingent inexplicably docked in White Arbor two moons ago.

I wonder if the Crown may have found a possible backer right here in the North? Why did the Grand Royal Fleet fragment into smaller contingents on the way back? And why set sail on a new moon night? To conceal a large cargo that could not be jeopardized on a single voyage?" Petyr was disarmed. He was not aware of any of this invaluable information!

But the time for amazement had not yet come; the song was not over...

"Of course, this Lord Gyles doesn't seem quite suited to handle the King's ravenous appetites. Rumour has it that the Queen is spurring Robert to organize an event for Prince Joffrey's fifth name-day with prizes and festivities bigger than my wedding. But how will the Crown afford such pageantry when it already burned through the nine million eight hundred and thirty-seven thousand gold dragons found in the royal coffers of Aerys barely six years ago?

The Small Council could really use a new Master of Coinage...

A younger, enterprising man with a brilliant mind who has sound new ideas, business wit, and above all, who does not harass the other council members with a cough with every word spoken... mmm... Ah! A man like you, my lord! Yes! You would be perfect for that position!" Young Petyr's blood froze...

"Of course, it must be said that you should still show a little more accomplishment for that position; after all, you are still invisible in the eyes of the Vale and the Kingdom... mmm...

Might I advise you to nurture your warm childhood relations with Lady Lysa Arryn? Caution, my lord, try not to get too close to Lady Catelyn during your stay in Barrowton. It has come to my attention that Lysa has paid some minor knights and squires in the Vale, seeking the favour of the Wife of the Hand of the King, to keep an eye on you...

She seems to harbor an inexplicable jealousy toward her sister, but I'm afraid I don't know why. Mh, Mh, Mh!"

Petyr's eyes could no longer hold a candle to that look! The gaze of the Abominable Witch who, in a short, terrifying, and well-researched song, had just prophesied his past, present, and future plans! The pressure was too much...

The still shocked, young promising customs officer sought solace in the impassive figure at the monster's side.

The clear message of Jorah Mormont's silent expression was:

[Why are you looking at me, you fool? You were the one who teased the Beast.]

'Predator! She is definitely a Predator! And a big, ravenous one at that!'

*****

End Chapter.

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