Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 22: ' Frost Blades '

POV Tycho Nestorys;

Torrhen's Square

Two days after Lady Olenna Tyrell's departure...

The representative of the Iron Bank, was waiting for the final preparations to be made for the departure to White Harbor.

The Tallhart family (the male members minus Benfred) were arranged in a line along with some servants and guards to pay their respects.

"Mr Nestoris, the Tallhart family would like to thank the Iron Bank for its excellent services to us. We wish you a safe journey. Please take care of Ronan. We consider him part of this family. It would be a great pain for us if we were to learn that something bad has come to happen to our boy." Said Helman while still maintaining a respectful tone, but clarifying the point on the issue of Tom's son's safety.

"The honour was ours, the 'Iron Bank', wishes the Tallhart family all the best both personally and commercially. Have no fear. Ronan will be our honoured guest until the conclusion of his apprenticeship. If anything were to happen to him, it would be a serious stain on the image of all of Braavos." Tycho said, bowing slightly.

Ronan was, according to Maester Qyburn, a whiz with numbers and all matters relating to economics and finance. Duncan had asked Ronan to go to the Iron Bank to learn as much as he could over the course of three years. The boy agreed without question, not only because he was genuinely interested but because he could become more useful to his House and his Lord.

"Our House, thanks again for the favour the 'Iron Bank' is offering us, and it will not be forgotten. The shipment of soap for Braavos should have arrived in White Harbor by now. I wish you a safe and peaceful journey." Said Helman bowing his head.

"No trouble at all, my Lord. Thanks to you, the 'Iron Bank' has also struck a good deal with House Tyrell. We owe you much. It will be our honour and pleasure. I will give your regards to my staff and superiors, my Lord." Tycho began to make his way to the carriage.

Ronan's two brothers had just finished saying their farewells to the 'future accountant' of House Tallhart. He greeted the Tallhart family and Maester Qyburn last, then hurried after Nestoris.

As they walked towards the carriage, Tycho reassessed his 'would-be accountant' for a moment.

'No...too loyal to House Tallhart. No chance with this guy.' Tycho thought as he remembered the statue of [Tom] and the names in the memorial he had seen in person the day before.

The man had been impressed by the work done to commemorate the fallen in Torrhen's Square's service, and he considered carefully what events it might cause in the future.

Climbing into the carriage, he looked one last time at the 'future possible threat' to the Iron Bank. That child was dangerous and Tycho knew it.

As soon as Tycho's gaze became slightly more intense, a thin man in his fifties emerged behind Duncan's back.

He was staring intently into Tycho's eyes with a serious face.

Tycho winced for a moment within himself and immediately lowered his gaze as he entered the interior of the transport.

''The Watcher...that look...'' thought Tycho trying to calm himself down.

'No, as long as [he] continues to train the boy, it will be Untouchable.....no...House Tallhart will be untouchable...' Tycho thought, dismissing that possibility.

The Iron Bank had gladly agreed to send a consultant not only for business, but also to take the opportunity to finally meet the legendary 'The Watcher' in person and be able to confirm or deny the rumours about 'Bloody Snow'. The Bank occasionally sold information about 'The Watcher' and his organisation. However...they jealously guarded 'one', which they had paid for at a steep price....

'NO ONE was to seek trouble with the direct pupils still in the training of The Watcher'. From their accounts, they had discovered that every (living) acquaintance of the 'madman' who had attempted such a feat, had been traumatised for life.

The House of Black and White might have accepted an assignment for a similar target, but in return for the 'gift', the applicant would have to pay a ridiculously obscene 'price', and there was no guarantee that the 'job' would be completed.

'The threat is growing fast...' thought the Braavosian as he gave a warm smile to Ronan who was sitting opposite him.

A carriage and fifty escorting mounted men began to move.

End POV

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POV: 'The Watcher';

Torrhen's Square.

A few minutes after a carriage and its retinue departed....

"Duncan, Syggha is waiting for you in the training room." Said Zick turning to the boy who was still near the castle gates.

"Yes, Master Zick!" The boy replied, bowing. Duncan walked towards the path of his daily training.

The frail built man walked towards his rooms.

After confirming there was no one around, he said:

"Ramas." Just two seconds after the call, a hooded man emerged from a shadow behind Zick.

"Yes, Master." Ramas.

"I'd like you to do me a favor, ask the others to start intensifying the boy's training." Zick.

"You don't have to ask for favors, Master, you just have to order." Said a rough voice.

"Stop with this 'ordering' and 'commanding' nonsense. How many times do I have to tell you?" Zick asked in an annoyed tone.

"I apologise, Master." Replied the man.

"How is the training of those poor wretches under your care going?" Zick asked curiously.

"A bunch of spoiled brats, Master. Of the 200 selected there are only seven left who didn't cry like babies. I think only about fifty of them will be standing at the end of the first session." Ramas replied in a tone that expressed disgust.

"Starting tomorrow, I will personally help you train those boys." Zick.

"But, Master, you-" Ramas stopped the words as soon as Zick sought his gaze.

"Yes master, I will go and warn the others and make those 'whiny little girls' understand the meaning of the word 'privilege'." Said Ramas bowing and disappearing a few moments later.

Zick sighed, he had long since given up on that boy's attitude. He was the only one, whom he had never managed to make smile at least once. He was definitely the person who had suffered the most out of all of Zick's students. Only the words 'Sadness' and 'Tragedy' could represent that man's past...

Zick resumed his walk thinking about the past and the future.

'I'm finally about to find 'that peace'...and there's already someone trying to take it away from me....again.' Zick thought.

End POV

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POV: Helman Tallhart;

In a wood three miles away from Torrhen's Square;

About 9 months after the thoughts of a worried Master...

Helman was staring at the array of men and women who had made proper preparations to receive their Lord.

He already knew the exact number, '139'. Individuals he could no longer recognise. Some of them he had never met directly, but many he had.

Helman had originally known personally about seventy of the original two hundred candidates selected for this training programme.

Now he no longer knew who or where those people were.

*Snock!* Ramas snapped his fingers once.

"GREETINGS, LORD HELMAN! 'FROST BLADES' ARE IN THE SERVICE OF THE GREAT HOUSE OF TALLHART, MY LORD!" Shouted in unison the 'Frost Blades'. Helman was visibly startled by the reactivity and synchronicity of the group.

"...What...How....What have they become?" Finally Helman could find the right words.

" 'Useful Tools'....well ...at least most of them." Ramas replied.

"Duncan....my son....him." Helman tried to say, thinking of his poor child.

"No, he's going through a different 'program'...and anyway I think he would have made it out in one piece." Ramas.

"What do you mean by 'I think'? But more importantly...by 'one piece'?!" The man asked, widening his eyes.

"Some have failed the 'final test'...." Ramas answered sincerely without fear of repercussions.

"What test? What happened? How many?" Helman panicked for a moment. He thought back to those poor people who had come before him on their knees a few months ago, begging and pleading for a different assignment....'any other assignment'. All 34 retreatants had also sworn on their lives that they would never, ever mention 'NOTHING' about that period of their lives to a soul.

Helman was beginning to think that maybe...he didn't want to hear Ramas' answer to his earlier questions.

"Twenty-two candidates, fell in the field, two voluntarily joined the 'Night's Watch' and three attempted to take advantage of the 'trial' to try to escape to Essos in search of fortune....the latter were dealt with." Helman lost a beat hearing that answer. He was about to reply something but Ramas anticipated him.

"They knew the risks, and the possible consequences of the attempted 'betrayal'." Said Ramas shushing Lord Helman.

"Besides, you told me there was 'urgency' and 'necessity' for them to be ready within a year. The Master and I had to squeeze them in a bit..." Said Ramas, thus justifying once and for all any unnecessary discussions about his 'methods'.

Helman remained silent for a good minute. Feelings of guilt and sadness were beginning to grow within him.

*Snock!* *Snock!* Ramas snapped his fingers twice in a row.

The 139 individuals divided, in a swift and orderly fashion, into four groups of different numbers.

"Those 14, will be the shields and shadows of each member of the Tallhart family. Those 41 will be in charge of setting up spy cells in the various territories you deem appropriate. Those 77 will be in charge of protecting key points in your territory. Finally, those 7 will be the ones best suited to train future recruits. Each of those groups has already established a hierarchy of command.... You're welcome." Ramas went on his way without waiting for Lord Helman Tallhart's reply....

Helman didn't really know how to act. After a few minutes, a man, in his early thirties, muscular and stone-faced, emerged from the orderly group of '77's and approached Helman, kneeling at his feet.

"My Lord, I ask permission to give an urgent report." Said the man.

"On your feet, soldier. What is your name?" Helman.

"Blade 81, my lord." Replied the man. As if the answer was a certainty from birth.

"Blade 81?!.....What is your real name, soldier?" Helman asked shocked at the first answer.

"... Bernard, my Lord. I had the honour and privilege of fighting alongside you in the last war, my Lord." Blade 81 replied, slightly annoyed at the pronunciation of 'that name'.

"Bernard....on behalf of House Tallhart, I apologise to you and all your comrades for the hell you have had to go through over the last year! And I thank you for your service in the war and for your future service and sacrifices that you will have to make." Replied Helman in an authoritative and sorry tone.

"We are not worthy of such words, my Lord! We will only ever be 'Frost Blades' in the service of the noble House Tallhart!" Blade 81 replied.

"... What did you mean to refer to me, Bernard?" Helman asked, trying to hide his discomfort.

"During our 'final test', some of us detected a and potential threat, my Lord. I ask your permission and authority to nip the probable threat in the bud." Blade 81 replied.

"What threat? Has someone discovered the method of producing paper, fertiliser or other methods?!" Helman asked urgently.

"No, my Lord. The 'threat' concerns information about your son, young Lord Duncan, my lord. It seems that during the time of the Fallen Ceremony, which took place about a year ago, a little girl from a nearby village spied on the young Lord as he prayed to the 'Old Gods'. The rumours started to spread to other villages as well. Currently also in two villages belonging to House Cerwyn and Glover. We know for certain that at least 1200 targets are aware of this information. We ask your permission to intervene, now that the current situation is still manageable." Blade 81 replied.

"WHAT???! NO! 'Absolutely' NO!!! You do not have my permission!!! I repeat, You-Have-Not-My-Permission!!! THIS IS AN ORDER, BLADE 81!!!" Shouted Helman, panicking over the current foiled massacre that might have occurred.

End POV

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POV 'a little girl from a village';

Torrhen Lake Village.

About 4 months before a Lord shouted out an order.

Dalia re-entered her little house at the call of her mother Laret.

"Here I am, mother!" Dalia said, stopping her run. Her mouth was already watering at the smell of her mother's chicken soup.

"Did you wash your dirty hands? Remember what Tallhart's house says...'Always wash your hands well before eating'. Su goes to get the bar of soap and the basin.

"Phew....yes mommy..." Little Dalia (7 years old) got up against her will to go and obey her mother's order.

A few minutes later....

Laret and Dalia were eating when they heard a noise at the door.

*Tock!* *Tock!* "Laret! It's Jorin, can I talk to you?"

"One moment! I'm coming!" Laret started towards the door at her neighbour's call. A few seconds later she opened the door.

"Yes, Jorin? What can I do for you?" Laret asked the old farmer.

"Sorry to disturb you at this hour, Laret....I'd like to ask you a favour. In fact, I'd like to ask a favour of little Dalia..." The old man asked with some discomfort and shame.

"If it's about that story again, I'm sorry but no! I already told you, Jorin, my daughter doesn't really know what she heard. I don't want this story to come up any more than necessary. It could create problems that we don't want here!" Said Laret in a firm tone.

"Please, Laret! We all know that the rumours about the 'Old Gods' turned out to be true! I mean look at those fields....everyone who started praying is getting incredible crops..." Jorin.

"I've already explained it to you! It's thanks to House Tallhart for the new 'fertilizers' and tools to plow the field! That 'prayer' has nothing to do with it!!!" Larat replied for the hundredth time.

" Pff, come on! It can't be down to a bit of dung and some tools, Laret...and I'm not alone in thinking so. Lord Helman's son is blessed by the gods! Everyone knows about the 'Snow Mill Massacre'. How could a five year old have done what he did according to you?" Jorin.

Laret put her hands in her hair in frustration. After sighing she said:

"But you're not going to tell anyone else...you're not going to say that we're the ones who told you." Said Laret throwing in the towel.

"Yes, yes, of course! I won't tell anyone else I swear!" Jorin replied quickly.

"Dalia, can you come here for a moment please?" Called Laret.

"Yes, mum!" The girl came a few seconds later.

"Old Jorin would like you to repeat that prayer again...do you still remember it?" Laret.

"Of course, mama. I and my other friends go to the woods every day to pray!" Dalia as soon as she finished answering realised the mistake she had just made.

"You and I are going to have to have a nice talk later, young lady..." Said Laret looking at the little girl with a serious look.

"...Aey, mama" Dalia lowered her head feigning displeasure and remorse.

"Now, tell to Jorin that strange prayer." Said Laret trying to cheer up her daughter.

"YES!...The young lord had bowed at the foot of the Heart Tree and said...

{'Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!'}

{'Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!'}

{'Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!'}

{Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!'}

{Seraphine, in te influat fidei vis. Gratias agimus tibi propter divina officia tua, fili et Magni Patris servi!'}

......

Little Dahlia continued to sing the nursery rhyme without stopping. She even sang it as if it were a catchy song.

After a few minutes Jorat stopped the little girl....

"Yes! Yes! Now I remember it, thank you, Dalia! Thank you!" The child stopped.

"Do you know how many times he repeated that? Do you know the numbers?" Jorat asked, hoping the little girl could count.

The little girl shook her head.

"And do you happen to know how long the young lord prayed for?" Jorat.

"A long, long time! 'Sooo loong!' It seemed so long!" Said the little girl innocently.

****

End Chapter.

Author's note: [The English translation of the prayer would be 'Seraphinus, may faith flow through you. I thank you for your divine services, son and servant of the Great Father!'.

I would also like you to consider the fact that in the eyes of the peasants, the nobles of Westeros are considered 'stars' where every word is law. Especially the little girl was a big fan of the Hero of the North 'Bloody Snow'.]

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