Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 156: Blood of Kings

POV Lady Barbrey

In the Bite, Sisterton Town, a disused manor belonging to House Borell.

Two months before the Never Winter Bank was opened...

"No means 'No', Lady Barbrey...

Understand us, my lady, the Company of the Rose appreciates and welcomes demonstrations of friendship from House Dustin, Tallhart, and every other household in the North. We desire no friction with our kinsmen and brother First Men. Nevertheless, we will no longer fight for the North...

We can, at best, guarantee a 'partial' collaboration with the Never Winter Bank. We will accept any protection assignments and punitive expeditions to safeguard and secure trade between the North and IB." Promulgated Commander Cregan with nods of approval from his Vice-Commander and the two Captains.

"... Could I at least know the 'Why' of this refusal, my lords?

The North has already reached a consolidated agreement with the Ibbenese Council.

IB and New IB will not be without protection, and House Stark is ready to welcome back every drop of its blood and its people at any time.

All officers up to the rank of Vice-Captain will have fertile lands and manors of their own. In addition, every family of every Company member will be guaranteed a home and a subsidiary allowance, in addition to dozens of other benefits already listed many times over...

So, Commander... Why not?" Barbrey asked with polite disappointment.

Vice-Commander Dikard replied after a series of surrendered glances with the Commander.

"It's not just a matter of benefits and sincerity of reconciliation, my lady...

Both myself and Commander Cregan, and hundreds... perhaps thousands of our fellow soldiers share a few drops of Willem and Beris Stark blood."

"A well-known fact, Vice-Commander..." Barbrey spurred him on.

"Well known, of course... But only the highest ranking figures in the Company are aware of the 'Pledge of Willem and Beris'. A promise tied to a Blood Oath...

A sort of 'Curse', if we can call it that." Dikard.

"A curse? ...Do you by any chance allude to the matter of the Northern Crown?" Barbrey.

"Precisely, my lady... It is not just a past rumour, or a burden of honour and pride passed down.

Beris and Willem Stark swore an oath to the King-Who-Bent-the-Knee, and in the presence of the Old Gods, that never again would the branch of their lineage set foot in the North nor fight for a First Man without a Crown. An oath sealed not just by vain words but by magic... Ancient Magic.

The first to experience the consequences of this broken oath was Beris' second son, Elmud Stark... Decades later, many others attempted to return to their homeland.

I will not go into details and harbour sailor tales, Lady Barbrey. Suffice it to say that none of those poor devils survived long enough to leave White Arbor intact and that the entire direct descendant branch of the transgressors withered away in disease and grisly doom at the same time..." Barbrey did not fail to notice the sceptical and confused looks of the two captains on either side of the Commander and his Vice. As if the Vice-Commander had told a cheap fib.

But then Cregan Winter also spoke just as firmly in support of Dikard.

"The members of the Rose Company already risk a great deal in fulfilling the agreements offered to them, my lady.

We do not know precisely what might happen if we shed blood for a House or Northern institution loyal to House Stark... Therefore, for the sake of my brethren and their families, this is and will remain our final offer."

"... What you are telling me is true?

Is this the only obstacle between the Never Winter Bank and the Company of the Rose?" Barbrey asked with a slight tone of scepticism.

Neither she, Bloody Snow, nor The Spider Queen knew anything about this curse...

The scepticism was more than legitimate to her ears.

Cregan Winter disapproved at the subtle accusation she had just made.

"Forgive me. It was not my intention to offend your honour..."

"But?" Cregan.

"But... I have access to an extensive network of spies and 'powerful friends' who are adept at gathering information. I have spent much money, time and favours to prepare for this meeting adequately... for example:

Vice-Commander Dikard, I know you have two beautiful, healthy children aged eight and five, but your eldest son, Eggard, is not really your son." Dikard paled, freezing on the spot. Cregan maintained an unreadable stone face, but the captains did not. The two trusted comrades did not seem aware of such a secret...

"You took the fatherless babe in swaddling clothes under your care, passing him off as your own immediately after the tragic death of your friend-companion Willem. A most thoughtful gesture, my lord...

Captain Shag, I'm afraid Lieutenant Hammot's post-battle trauma has not yet been overcome.

Your younger brother's drinking and gambling problems are still out of control, and his debts have grown out of all proportion in the last three years... Might I suggest you pay particular attention to the little gang called the Six Rings? Those despicable slum loan sharks have a bad reputation in the southeastern district of New Ibbis.

One word, my lord, I could pay off that debt in no time or perpetually weed out some weeds from IB Nor, if you prefer..." Captain Shag was unable to blink or close his mouth...

"Commander, Cregan... A genuinely exemplary past, my lord. Hardly any vices, no weaknesses and no particular attachments... If not one.

You owe much to that old Ibbenese armourer from the mountain of Balish, do you not? I am pleased to inform you that his grandaughter Berina's bronchitis is almost completely cured. Merit to the dedication and hard work of those competent and exacting eight healers and herbalists you hired from every corner of IB and IB Sar..." Cregan's immovable face cracked for the first time after four hours of heated negotiation.

The Commander seemed to want to react somehow, but Barbrey did not give him time, moving on to her latest favourite victim.

"Captain Bale... Ibbenese or Braavosi coins?" All the table's attention was turned overwhelmingly to the last man, who was no longer smiling and helpful.

"... I do not know what you refer to, Lady Barbrey." The stocky, muscular 30-year-old Captain tried to keep his gaze confused and indignant.

"No need for futile defensive rants, my lord. Your contact in Lorath and the 'fisherman' waiting for your light signal two miles from the coast have already sung the most exhaustive songs.

What I missed was, 'What payment method did you choose?'

One's weight in gold in Braavosi or Ibbenese coins? Gold is tough to hide and transport. In the future... well, I don't think there will be a future for you, but in a hypothetical future, my lord, remember... For under-the-table transactions, the first rule is 'Precious Stones, Always'." Barbrey gave vent to her most sanguine and disturbing smile.

"... What is she talking about, Bane?" Asked the Vice-Commander in an aggressive tone.

The Captain sprang to his feet, shoving his comrade to his feet and drawing his sword after he had managed to retreat a few steps. Six armed shadows immediately responded to their lady's call by positioning themselves as her shield.

Captain Bane stepped back to the door, trying in vain to open it... 'Someone' had previously chosen to seal all entrances and exits.

"You have no way out, 'Captain'. I would suggest you drop your weapon to the ground and surrender. I would strongly advise against attempting to escape the tower on foot. And even if you did manage to open that door, you'd still have to face a dozen armed guards ready to greet you before you could throw yourself overboard from the keep."

"Tsz..." After a single moment of uncertainty, the man snapped towards her. Bane seemed to consider taking the noblewoman as a hostage as a more viable choice.

A decidedly stupid choice, but nevertheless built on a tenuous foundation of logic and courage...

In all likelihood, the desperate Captain would have opted for a different choice had he been aware of the capabilities of Lady Barbrey's personal escort.

The twelve best men and women-at-arms of the Barrowlands, selected and strenuously tempered by Blade One and Blade Three, belonged to a death squad recently named 'Queen Corpse'.

However, none of the Queen Corpse members had the opportunity to prove their worth in the field.

Cregan sprang to his feet, grabbing the chair with his left hand and hurling half a quintal of wood and oak towards the traitor. Bane tried to flinch to the side, partially suffering the impact, however, enough to destabilise and stun him for a few moments.

The Commander, unarmed and clad only in leather and two decorative steel shoulder straps, symbolising his rank, anticipated his opponent's deflection by parrying a few feet from him.

The Captain attempted an initial unsteady slash towards the threat; Cregan simply flinched to the side with a fluidity comparable to that of a nobleman intent on not bumping into a passing noblewoman, and grabbed Bane's wrist of arms with his right hand, breaking it with a simple twist...

*Crack!*, "Uaaaargggh!!!" The unfortunate prisoner of the steel grip did not seem to give up, drawing his dagger with his only remaining hand and attempting a lunge at the belly of the massive Northern warrior.

Cregan must have had razor-sharp reflexes. In a simultaneous move, the man released his grip on his arm with his right and grabbed his left armoured hand with his own, catching the base of the dagger an inch before it reached its target.

Bane gasped and grunted in a strenuous effort to plunge the blade into his belly. Vice-Commander Dikard and Captain Shag approached in turn to reinforce their commander, but Cregan raised his free hand, signalling to them that help was not required.

Barbrey was impressed by the warrior's display of valour. The man's visible musculature did not do justice to the immense strength Cregan must have possessed to maintain that upright, immovable stance while countering his equally massive opponent...

"Uaaaargghh!" *Crick, Crack* sickening noises of broken bones pervaded the room along with Bane's agonised shrieks. Cregan's pincer hand was crushing the victim's clenched fist...

Barbrey glanced at Berefa, the second in command of the Queen Corpse, to ask her for an explanation. Berafa leaned close to her ear and whispered:

"The Commander must possess a tremendous grip in his fingers, my lady, but it is not mere brute force. Cregan is pressing into the joint points of his opponent's hand to deprive him of his strength. An impressive demonstration..."

Bane tried to free himself from agony by kicking his attacker, but the statue called Cregan seemed immune to the vain blows. Then the iron warrior, hardened by blood and frost, between Bane's various grunts of pain, said:

"We will exhaustively clarify our affairs later, 'Captain' Bane..." Then, a devastating left hook struck the traitor's temple, causing him to slump lifelessly to the ground.

Cregan adjusted his creased uniform as he approached the table again and, after a polite bow to her and before returning to his seat, said:

"On behalf of myself, my Deputies, and the Rose Companies, we humbly offer our apologies, Lady Barbrey...

Bane will get what he deserves, and I will personally see to it that any other rat-compliance in our ranks is found. I swear it on my honour and the memory of my ancestors." His two deputies still standing, Dickard and Shag, replicated the same gesture in apology.

"No offence and no harm done, my lords. Please be seated and let us resume our discourse where interrupted," Barbrey replied, gallantly accepting the gesture of apology. He then went on to ask:

"I have picked up many rumours regarding the Rose Company's reluctance to return to the land of the First Men kneeling to a Foreign King, 'But' not even a whisper concerning curses and magical pacts... And trust me, my lords, many of my friends have deep knowledge on the subject.

So... I cannot help but ask: If this 'Curse of Ancient Magic' exists, why have neither I nor my allies been able to find a harbour whisper about it?" Barbrey noted with interest that Captain Shag also seemed interested in the answer.

"... A fair question, my lady. Unfortunately, the underlying problem to your doubts is the answer itself." Cregan replied enigmatically.

"Meaning?" Barbrey asked, raising his frown slightly in frustration. Then, finally, Dikard spilt the beans.

"Even if we answered your questions exhaustively, any other individual except myself and Commander Cregan would forget the whole thing in a very short time... Trust me, my lady. Captain Shag here will have heard the answers you seek at least a dozen times." Shag scrutinised Dikard more as if teasing, but the man noticed his superior was serious.

"What are you talking about, Dikard? Oh, come on... Commander Cregan... Wait. Are you serious?!" Shag asked after an exchange of glances with his comrades.

"... See?" Dikard sighed in surrender, turning to Barbrey again.

The demonstration was no stage fiction. Barbrey could recognise men who would not stoop to uttering vain words, and Cregan Winter was the kind of man who would prefer the gallows to the shame of mere lies...

"How long could I remember?" Barbrey.

"Until you are three paces away from us, my lady... You would lose your memories even should you fall asleep on the spot or fall unconscious. Then, when you wake up, you will remember nothing." Cregan patiently explained. The woman did not give up and tried to elaborate.

"Why do you only want two? Why would Beris and Willem make such a magical pact? To which enchanter did they turn? And how can the curse be lifted?" Dikard answered the first question.

"Beris and Willem Stark were the founders of the Company of the Rose, and for nearly three centuries, the secret has been passed down by the two highest commanding officers of the Fellowship... As for why, we have no certain answer, only speculation and hypothesis." It was Cregan's turn to continue.

"Many of our ancestors believed that Beris and Willem chose to seal their oath with magic to suppress their desire to return home sooner than they should have... A choice similar to the one Nymeria made seven centuries earlier when she ordered ships to be burned after finding new land for her people.

Winterfell is not just a pile of stone and wood, Lady Barbrey. Many ancient manors of the First Men were forged from mortar, stone and magic. And Winterfell has a profound connection to the dynasty of the Kings of Winter. The very name of the Household has an Ancient Power dormant within...A power different but equally as fearsome as magic." Cregan was anticipated.

"During the Age of Dawn, the world was inhabited by the Sons of the Gods, magical beings capable of sprouting forests, raising mountains from the earth, plaguing sunlight and stars, and dominating seas. The earth was bathed in the sap of the Divine Blood. A true Golden Age of Magic... Then came the Long Night, and the magic began to abandon the lands of the Gods... Many magical peoples fell generation after generation.

Of the many peoples who tried to resist the world's greatest calamity, those who fought with the most valour and heroism were the descendants of the First Man... Individuals not blessed with the gifts of the Gods. Multitudes of weak, semi-magical beings settled their differences and united under deserving leaders, fighting side by side as one against the common enemy.

The actions of those individuals ignited the spark of the period that is now remembered as the Age of Heroes...

Legend has it that the Three Chosen Guardians of the inheritance of the Great Gods Progenitors rewarded the deserving Heroic races, Not-Blessed-By-Divine Blood, blessing them with a different power...Something that could be passed down generation after generation for eternity through blood and guarded by a Name...{The Dynasty of Kings.}" Barbrey explained, eliciting an almost imperceptible semblance of awe and respect from Cregan Winter's stone gaze.

"I see you are well-informed, my lady... Yes, the North is sprinkled with the Blood of the Kings of our forefathers, and, like a perpetual, unquenchable beacon on the horizon, the homeland will always attempt to call forth its own blood. Sooner or later, a Stark of Winterfell will feel the pressing need to return to his home... That is one of the reasons my Great-Grand-Father chose to replace his name with Winter." Cregan.

"I understand, my lord. But who aided your ancestors in this blood ritual? And why allow only two descendants to know the truth behind it?" Barbrey.

"... We do not know precisely why. My predecessor believed that there were truths that could not be divulged... Personally, I believe that Beris and Willem did not want the enemies of their Household to think that the First Men had been weakened by such a split... At the time, thousands of families from all over the North chose to follow the rebellious Starks to Essos. Had supposedly adverse forces to the First Men known that those swords could never return to aid House Stark, perhaps the North would have suffered...

As for the Sorcerer who sealed the ritual, we do not know his name. All we know is that he was an Ancient and Mighty Priest of the Old Gods and that the pact was sealed at the time on the Isle of a Thousand Faces." Cregan concluded.

Barbrey's eyes widened with visible irritation... Once again, she felt deeply mocked.

The woman, who had been tricked repeatedly by the same diabolical individual in recent years, pinched her nose, asking her eyes and sighing.

'No... Think clearly, Barbrey. This is simply a mere coincidence... He couldn't have known... No one could!' after trying unsuccessfully to calm her thoughts, Barbrey blurted out laughing:

"Tsz... Pff... Mh, Mh, Mh... Damn you, boy."

"My Lady... ? Who are you talking about? What boy?" Dikard asked, confused.

"Oh, no one, Vice Commander... I was just reminded of a scene passed a few moons ago...

So, If I understand correctly, everything I have previously offered you would be futile until, in the eyes of the Old Gods, a Stark sits once more upon the Northern Throne. Am I right?" The two commanders-in-chief scrutinised each other briefly as they tried to interpret the strange tone and look given by the Widow of Barrowton.

"Correct, my lady." Vice-Commander Dikard replied.

"Mh! Mh! Mh!... Ahah... Ahahaha!" The three men, for a moment, did not know how to react to that bizarre and unexpected outburst of hilarity.

After a few seconds, Cregan was on the verge of getting up and truncating once and for all that inappropriate guffawing farce.

"Oh, forgive my manners, my lords...

It's just that we could have saved time, misunderstandings and energy if only we had started the negotiations from this 'important detail'.

I also have one last offer to make to you..." Barbrey resumed his usual severe and respectful look, and the officers of the Rose Company chose to take the bait one last time.

"... You have our attention, my lady," said the Commander in a still wary and cold tone. The man probably still wasn't sure if Barbrey was teasing them...

'Oh, the proposal will come very soon, Commander. You have my word. Nevertheless, I must ask you, gallant gendarmes, to postpone this meeting." Barbrey rose, and Dikard sprang to his feet, warning, "Wait, my lady! If you turn away from us now-" the man anticipated. "Fear not, my lords... I doubt I shall forget this pleasant conversation."

"You will, my lady. The fact that you do not heed our warnings alone proves your lack of seriousness towards our words!" Roared Cregan, rising in turn.

Barbrey scrutinised the two men for a moment and, bowing her head in apology, said:

"It was not my intention to make you allude to that, Commander... I have only faith in my convictions." Barbrey turned back to the one man still too incredulous to speak. "Captain Shag." The man awoke from his thoughts. "Y-yes, my lady?"

"I need your cooperation for a small demonstration test, my lord... Could you please move more than three paces away from your superiors? By at least five paces to be on the safer side." Barbrey asked.

After a few moments of uncertainty and an approving nod from Cregan, the man nodded as he stood up.

One step... two... three... four... and then came the fifth.

"Do you remember anything about magical pacts and curses, Captain?" Barbrey asked with a friendly smile.

"I... I remember, my lady... The curse of Beris and Willem Stark, the power of the Dynasty of Kings... I remember everything." Cregan Stark's impassive face crumbled after a visible shock.

"...This is not possible!" thundered Dikard, equally shocked.

"And yet it is, Vice Commander...

My lords, it has been a long night. With your permission, I here take my leave for the night. If it is not a problem for you to wait, I would postpone this profitable interview until the day after tomorrow.

Just enough time to send and receive a few ravens..." Barbrey's footsteps echoed in the room, and immediately past the boundary distance from the two commanders, the woman turned, concluding with:

"I require the approval of a Council and a King."

******

End Chapter.

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