Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

[Author's warning:

I strongly advise against reading this chapter for readers under the "Age of Sixteen".

{No Under 16 Age!}

Also turn off your phones or put them on silent mode and... Happy Viewing!]

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POV: The Black Knight

Sacred Gardens of the Goddess, Island of a Thousand Virgins.

A few seconds after The Great Mother asked.

Ser Murdor Wylfghar was the only one worthy of such an honour. He could stand guard over the Great Mother and the Beloved Daughter, even listening to the sacred words of the Astra Wisdom of the Strangers.

How much blood had he shed? And how much more would he shed to ensure that such honour would remain?

His existence had the sole purpose of following the will of the Goddess.

Dragons, Wolves, Lions, and Sorcerers- no lesser creature- were obstacles to the Great Mother. Murdor would gladly exterminate any magical or non-magical army that created the slightest disturbance to his Goddess...

The Beloved Daughter resumed the word after a few moments of reflection.

"Winter, starvation and poverty, Ironborn raiders and Wildlings attacks, these were the best means at our disposal to suppress the North in the long run...

We can no longer rely on the first three now.

Balon and Maron will arrive at the Shadow Tower shortly. Euron is still imprisoned in the dungeons of Casterly Rock and will soon follow the fate of his brother and nephew, Theon is Winterfell's hostage, and we do not know what Victarion's intentions are.

It would take at least one more pawn to oust House Harlaw from the throne and bring the Old Way back to the Iron Islands..." The Beloved Daughter took another precious few seconds to devise a viable plan. The Maiden was almost flaying her nails with her teeth.

"More effective 'applicable' weapons would be needed to attack the North without violating the treaty.

The Titan is no fool--he is just waiting for the opportunity of a mistake by Oldtown to increase his position.

We cannot go to war yet. We do not yet know if The Watcher would openly side with the First Men... the possibility exists.

The Guardian of Love is a fool who would have no qualms about declaring war on the Gods themselves if provoked." Malora began muttering reasoning aloud.

"Instability and Chaos...Supporting the Red Kings behind the scenes?...mmm, no. Roose Bolton is dead, and Lord Domeric seems too tame...Maybe Barbrey Dustin?.... No, there must be Bloody Snow's hand in that marriage...The North is too united now. Tsz, damn Tallharts!

The Queen! Right...Cersei hates Bloody Snow and detests as much as we do the power and influence the people of the North are gaining...

Got it! The Titan and the Lion! We must use the Iron Bank and the Lannisters as pawns, Mother!

It is the best move! Braavos will finance and support Casterly Rock so that the Lion will clash with the Wolf.

If the Titan comes to clash with The Watcher while the West and the North slaughter each other, that would be ideal!"

Said the Beloved Daughter.

"A sound plan, no doubt about it. But not so easy to implement in the short term, Malora. The Guardian of Love is a problematic pawn to move.

First, let's see what play the First Men put on between three moons, and then we'll make a list of the most appropriate pawns to move against them.

Umm, yes, I think a little help is in order here." The enchantress looked up at the starry sky.

"If that's not synchronicity, I wouldn't know what else to call it. Mh, mh, mh... Tonight we have a splendid quarter moon with a red smile! Ser Murdor." Called The Great Mother, and the Black Knight instantly responded by kneeling at her feet.

"Yes, my Mistress... How may I serve you?" A guttural voice answered in a deep, gloomy tone.

"My valiant Knight. I need you to escort the golden sheep of the newly arrived herd from me." The Great Mother replied.

" As you wish, High Priestess." The Knight stood up, preparing to carry out the command.

*****

A few minutes later...

The Black Knight escorted the chosen enchantress nurse in caring for the 'Favorite Tribute'. The witch carried the six-year-old boy in her arms, whispering sweet words in his ear to banish any fear from the creature.

The child wore a grey woollen tunic. He had short brown hair, slightly floppy ears and washed skin that was carefully styled. The creature was still dazed from the coercive sleep upon arrival. No living beings could scream or cry inside the forest of Black-barked Trees.

Many predators guarding the island were trained to respond to loud noises. Some even delighted in hunting down screaming prey.

Murdor could make out one or two whispers emitted from those cerulean blue lips.

"Shh... It's okay, honey. Soon you will meet Great Mother...

Your Mother is waiting for you..." Ser Tanton Fossoway's bastard son allowed himself to be lulled by the nurse's sweet words and loving caresses.

The trio reached their destination.

"There... Your Mother is waiting for you." The Witch rested the child on her two feet.

"But ... she is not my Mother... Where is Mother?" mumbled the still groggy child in a moment of lucidity.

"Come, my darling. Come. Don't be afraid, take my hand -- that's it, good, my boy." The High Priestess dismissed the shepherdess of the golden sheep with a glance.

Other acolytes who had arrived moments earlier were busy arranging black candles at the pivotal points of a red runic circle...

"What is your name, my dear?" The High Witch asked.

"P-Peter...Peter Flowers, milady," replied the child after a moment's hesitation.

"Peter... but what a beautiful name. A strong and proud name, like a true Knight.

And tell me, Peter, what is your father's name?" The Witch asked after another caress on the child's rosy cheeks.

Peter seemed to appreciate the compliment and answered more confidently:

"My father is Ser Tanton of House Fossoway, a knight in the service of Lord Mace Tyrell. I, too, will one day be a knight, like my father!"

"Mh! Mh! Mh! Yes, Peter, you will be a strong and proud Knight. I'm convinced of that...

House Fossoway, Huh?

Do you know the history of your Household, Peter?" The Great Mother asked softly, laughing jovially.

The child seemed to blush for a moment from embarrassment. Evidently, no maester had yet instructed him. It was not unusual for a bastard to be left out of the privileges reserved for the pure nobility.

"Well, Peter, the bards tell that House Fossoway is descended from an Ancient Hero of the First Men. A direct descendant of Garth Greenhand...

A Hero of the First Men who was blessed by the line of Kings, my dear... His name was Foss the Archer, a lover of arrows and apples.

Mh! Mh! Mh!

Do you like apples and songs, Peter?" The child's brown eyes lit up.

"Yes, milady. I love songs, and I love both red and green apples!" Peter replied cheerfully.

"But you look at the coincidence..." Two handmaids holding trays filled with silver-plated pitchers and cups stepped forward. "Right here, I have freshly squeezed apple juice. Sweet as honey and fresh as spring dew..."

Ser Murdor's eye noticed the dark blue drop of Night Shadow that was dropped concealed into the bottom of the cup before it was filled with green juice and small ice cubes.

The aroma of candied apples hovered around the carafe, quickly attracting the young nectar-seeking bee.

The fragrant cup almost made the young boy leap forward.

"Ah!... manners first, my little aspiring Knight." So gently admonished The Great Mother.

"Y-yes. Milady, please, may I have some apple juice?" Said little Peter affably.

"We're almost there, Peter... but I should ask you a small favour first.

I would like to listen to a dear friend of mine, Bard.

But this friend of mine only responds to the sweet call of apple- and song-loving children, just like you.

Could you please try to call him for me?

I will give you all the apple juice you want if you do.

Will you help me, Peter?" Asked in a pleading tone The Great Mother.

"I-I-yes, milady. I will help you. Emm...Bard? Bard, where are you?" Peter began to call loudly to the alleged Bardo bringing his hands cupped over his mouth.

"Mh, mh, mh! Oops...I forgot to tell you that this friend Bard only responds to.... 'special calls'.

Why don't you try the words {I, Peter Flowers, wish with all my heart for the Red Smiling Bard to sing in this Quarter Moon?}'" Peter seemed stunned by the wacky request but did not pay too much attention to it. The scent of reward was too intoxicating.

The child tried to repeat the verse once, getting two words wrong and forgetting others. Big Mother was patient and accommodating in helping the child repeat the verse correctly.

"I, Peter Flowers, wish with all my heart for the Red Smiling Bard to sing on this Quarter Moon." Finally, the parishioner of House Fossoway succeeded in the feat.

"Excellent, my dear! Here you are, as promised." The cup was offered again and allowed to be taken.

The child did not think twice about greedily emptying the cup...

After not even a minute, Peter was struck by convulsions. Bluish foam came out of his mouth, and his eyes rolled upward.

The Great Mother grabbed the tiny body and carefully laid it out in the centre of the ritual circle... Two attendants freed the child of his robes, leaving him completely naked on the purple lawn.

"Observe carefully, my beloved. We will begin the training from here...

First Rule of Ancient Primordial Magic:

{There is Power in the Blood of Gods and Kings}" There was no need for a dagger...

The metal fingernail, dark as smoke, soaked in tiny runic patterns, stretched an inch, forming a blade...

The blade dug fiercely linearly from the pommel down to the linguine eviscerating and exsanguinating the poor creature...

The High Priestess' long black hair came to life like a thousand living whips. Each new limb irrigated and distributed every essence of the body to the seven focal points of the circle. Each candle was lit the moment the price was paid.

The scattered blood began to move independently, following linearly the runic paths marked like red snakes seeking prey...

The Great Mother cut her finger with her fingernail and poured a single drop of purplish blood onto each newly lit candle, causing an enormously more significant volume of purple flames.

A wide circle of purplish runes with a diameter of just over three palms was formed, and soon after, seven more runic circles surrounded the first one until it reached a diameter of more than six feet.

The Black Knight was granted the honour of witnessing such a miracle for the second time. It was a summoning spell of the eighth circle, created by the most potent enchantress that continent had ever known...

The Supreme Necromancer started to the sky, welcoming the black clouds that descended down from the sky with open arms.

"{Garundhing Momento Nepturyrhì!}, {Garundhing Momento Nepturyrhì!!}, {GARUNDHING MOMENTO NEPTURYRHÌ!!!}" The third verse in the archaic language seemed to be shouted by a thousand thundering voices in the heavens. Flames swarmed like a flying serpent toward the Red Moon.

The Great Mother's hair clung like curtains and support ropes to lift and support the hovering enchantress in the air.

The moon began to weep crimson fumes that rushed toward the ritual circle forming a small imposing tornado of shadows and suffering cries.

The storm began to thin out. The pearl-white feet of the Great Mother gently touched the ground. The cloud of smoke began to thicken more and more...

Not even bones remained from Peter's body...

A pulsating black heart with bright red-purple veins was located in the circle centre.

The unnatural living beats of the organ roared like war drums.

The Great Mother fearlessly grasped the heart, which tried to attach itself to the new life form with tiny black root-like tendrils even from the first touch. That organ was a parasite yearning for a host to take it in.

"Ser Murdor-you know what to do." The Black Knight did not hesitate an instant, unsheathing Valyria's steel dagger in the blink of an eye.

The Witch-Balia, guardian of the lost soul, did not realize what had happened even after the dagger was drawn from her chest.

Then a gloved hand made its way to her pulsing organ and pulled it out of her chest in seconds.

There was still a glow of life in the dying witch gasping for air.

A body desperate for a new heart and an organ looking for a host to take it in came together...

The woman wriggled on the ground for more than a minute screaming in pain. Fiery red veins were rampant all over her body.

The witch's blond hair fell to the ground as smooth as marble. The female features withered, the mouth unnaturally widened, shattering bones and ligaments limited her. Deer-like antlers sprouted from its head and back, and bloody black bells made of bone hanging from each branch like wet leaves.

The creature was covered only by its scales, yet they gave shape to a peculiarly jester-like robe. Small rhombuses of different shades of red adorned every inch of its figure.

"Rise, Moon Bard, and sing for me." The genderless new creature stood up, obeying its mistress' orders laughing softly to the rhythm of ungainly thundering bells.

A demonic voice sang out from the creature's battered lips.

"Three requests will be granted, and three verses will be sung, Sovereign of Non-Life! Your Moon Bard will sing for you! Oh, oh! what joy! Oh, oh, what sorrow! Hihihhih!

Make your requests ordain." The Bard.

"What are the best instruments to weaken the First Men in the coming summer?" The first request.

"[Not instruments, but Black and Blue Knights!

The Crimson Snow Knight strength to the First Men shall bestow, and he shall fear Three Night Blue Knight that you will feed!

The balance of creation always an honest balance shall need!] Ehehehe! Hihiihihi!" The creature seemed amused by the evasive and contradictory verse it had just uttered. Snow veins consumed the host's red body with more voracity finishing it. Tiny patches of skin shattered from the cheeks showing the white bone.

"Tsz... " The Great Mother was accustomed to such bravado of such unclean creatures. It was not easy to request cooperation from the Demons of the Seven Hells.

"Who are the Three Night Blue Knights?" The second request was posed.

"[An Abominable Kraken that soon an Abominable Raven will become! Raven Eye and Blue Blood in his veins, he shall the one!

The Blackest Snow, the Red Skinned Man, shall most forgot!

But which by Blue Blood it by right has not!

A Black Mountain that red rivers dissipated in the mouth shall bleed! And that of a new Night Blue spring he shall need!]

Ehehehe! Hihihihih!" The second verse was chanted, and the Demon's body deteriorated.

"Last request, my Sovereign!" Taunted the Demon, who seemed to delight in the suffering he had experienced. The Bard now appeared more like a melted red candle about to go out.

The High Priestess thought about it for a moment and then asked:

"The Crimson Snow Knight, Bloody Snow, what are his goals for the Known World in the first and last step to come?"

"Ehehehe! Clever my Queen is! Two verses for the price of one she has requested! Oh! Oh! Then shall the Moon Bard two verses sing! Hihihih!

[The Great Painter puppets in the shape of Titan, Lighthouse and Sorcerer he will draw!

A Great Picture of Gold, Steel and Blood will grow!]

Ehehehe! Hihihih!

…

[A Great Pyromancer more fireworks will want for his art!

A Great light show he will start!

In a Dying Heath, Frosty and Dark, a Green, Red, Silver and Golden Fire he shall light!

And In the Darkest Hour, a Great Bright Artifice he shall give life!

Sparks of Love, Beauty, Magic and Hope to heaven he will promise…

BUT SPARKS PROMISED IN SUCH A DANGEROUS FIRE COULD ARISE!!!]

EHEHEHEH! HIHIHIH!!!" Immediately after emitting the last laugh of mockery, the prophet of the deep dissipated into a putrid mush of steaming black flesh.

Ser Murdor froze in astonishment...

His Sovereign's gaze sputtered with hatred and terror.

Never in nearly two centuries had he seen the Great Mother frightened.

"Malora!" thundered urgently The High Priestess.

"Yes, Mother!" The Beloved Daughter sprang to the Sovereign's feet.

No other servant emitted the slightest sound at such a dull and rare moment.

"The Night Blue Knights. The first verse referred to the repudiated pupil of the Three-Eyed Raven, Euron Greyjoy.

But the Dark Snow and the Black Mountain?

In your opinion, who might these individuals be?"

"Here... 'The Black Mountain' s almost certainly refers to Ser Gregor Clegane, also known as 'The Riding Mountain,' but the second verse..." The Beloved Daughter squatted on her knees, twisting her hair. It was her modus operandi to reason to the best of her ability.

"The Bastard of Roose Bolton! It has to be him! About nine years ago, Maester Wolkan wrote about a report of a miller with an infant visiting Dreadfort! The Lord Bloodsucker favoured the woman's requests for help. Wolkan's suspicion arose that the infant might be a bastard... Unfortunately, we still do not know the name, Mother..." The Beloved Daughter.

"Leave us! And cancel the banquet! I want every adept on the island to pray and make sacrifices day and night 'To The One True Goddess'!" The witch adepts promptly obeyed the orders.

"Report to me any information you have gathered about that Duncan Tallhart. His origins, his appearance, his exploits, the people he met, what he ate, when and where he was seen sleeping, I want to know everything! Don't leave out any detail!!" The Great Mother.

"W-Whatever you wish, Mother." The Beloved Daughter.

The High Priestess turned her furious gaze toward the Black Knight.

"You too, Ser Murdor, take your leave and retire to prayer until further notice."

*****

End Chapter.

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