Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

Chapter 133: Jokes

POV: Duncan

Barron Hall.

Year 290, first day of the first moon. (Less than half a day before the start of the Wedding).

About half an hour a couple danced...

I paused to admire the light show in front of me from the east tower balcony.

Barrowton bore a slight resemblance to Edoras, the capital of Rohan. There was a breathtaking view from the hilltop fortress of Great Barrow. Not to the levels of Casterly Rock indeed, but still admirable.

Nearly a thousand pavilions adorned with tens of thousands of braziers and flashlights surrounded the new high walls of Barrowton. More than six thousand noble guests from Westeros and Essos.

Only the Keeper of Beauty and Magic was missing to succeed in an epic feat never accomplished in more than three thousand years. The upper echelons of the world's most significant forces were gathered here...

'And to think that less than four years ago, Barrow Hall was the only stone building here.' I thought, realizing that maybe, just maybe, my plans were not so crazy and unfeasible after all...

There were hundreds of new houses and buildings made of brick, stone, and insulated wood, gravel and mud roads replaced by granite street pavers, and soon many iron and glass street lamps that would illuminate them, making them safer at night.

The water and sewer lines were the real pride of Barrowton; House Manderly was working hard. White Harbor would be unable to keep up with all the demands for construction work. The arrival of thousands of refugee Trhalls from the Iron Islands was a blessing for the North. Soon many Northern Houses would have severe labour shortages...

Although security would undoubtedly take a hit, we had to start taking in unemployed emigrants or those seeking better fortunes from the South. King's Landing was home to more than eight hundred thousand inhabitants, and one-third of them were either unemployed or on wages too meager to live decently...The Riverlands and the Vale were the best-supplied sources of potential immigrants to welcome into Westeros. The North could not yet take in the people of The Reach; too many potential means of infiltration from Oldtown.

The Sparrows were unleashing quite a frenzy from Fairmarket all the way to Gulltown, but the creed, for now, was manageable, and the High Sparrow did not seem so inclined to cooperate with the Starry Temple.

The future vast lands of House Blackwood were the most urgent case, but I could not have moved immediately.

First, the New Gift and Brandon's Gift had to be cleansed of the monsters that infested them...

'Euron Greyjoy, Ramsay Snow, and now these vicious attacks of Cannibal Wildlings...

This is not a coincidence.

Someone is moving against the North... But how? Who?

What kind of enemy could reduce Blade Seven and his team like that?

How did the enemy dissipate like fog from the radar of Torrhen's Square and the Spider Queen and manage to leave the North undisturbed?

Would one of Oldtown's elite forces? Would Lord Leyton risk that much?

No... there is no way he could have done it. It can't even be the work of Braavos... Then who?' A voice dragged me away from my troubling thoughts.

"It sounds almost hypnotic, doesn't it?" I turned in the direction of the male voice, finding no one behind me.

"Ah, forgive me... Did I interrupt deep thoughts by any chance?" A childlike figure perched on a Gargoyle statue eight feet above the floor asked.

"Not so deep... I would have drawn my sword, cleaving a blow blindly otherwise." I replied wryly.

"Then I chose the position wisely. Too bad I forgot crossbow and darts; I would have had a chance to remark my good name in the books of history if the opportunity for a duel with the legendary Bloody Snow arose. Ahaha." Said the figure still concealed in the shadows.

"Duncan Tallhart, 'The Hero of the North, the undisputed leader of four glorious battles, the one who prevailed in a duel to the death against the mighty Denys Drumm, defeated by the diabolical cunning of the Imp, the Halfman, son of Tywin of the powerful, wealthy and feared House of Lannister...

Yes, I admit, it would make a good story.

One that would exalt the descendant of Lann 'The Cunning One' as his true heir...

Even I in your place would have given it a try." At that point, Tyrion Lannister appeared just enough to show his face.

I was surprised... the resemblance to a young Peter Dinklage was there. But, of course, he was not identical; his forehead was slightly more prominent, his hair straighter and blonder, one eye was light green and the other much darker. The voice was different, but the words laden with mockery and witty irony were worthy of the character I remembered him to be.

"'Five' battles, and 'Three' duels in the opinion of the poor leader of the Brave Companions and former Prince Victarion Greyjoy..." Tyrion clarified.

"Nah...those skirmishes don't count. The skirmish with Victarion was more of a little 'Bite and run before the squid catches you' guerrilla action, and Quorik...well, he was already with a boot in the grave since before our blades crossed." I emphasized.

"My uncle and brother warned me that you occasionally sin your immaculate image with an overabundance of humility..." Replicated the ironic dwarf.

"Humility is the best virtue for a warrior

The virtue that most attracts girls into the humble but brave arms of any true hero.

Why should I give up such a virtue?" The dwarf stared at me for a moment before bursting out laughing. I joined him but in a more restrained manner.

"Do me a favour and catch it on the fly." Tyrion threw a half-gallon bag of leather, still nearly complete, and then engaged in an actual daredevil stunt by performing a perfect somersault through the air and landing gracefully on the ground.

"Thank you." The dwarf uncorked the flask rinsing his mouth with a small gulp.

"Blackberry wine?" he asked.

"Depends. Is it part of the wine looted from Ser Desmond Redwine's personal pantries?" I asked in turn.

"Ahah... Word travels fast here in the North.

Lady Barbrey's Chief Attendant assured me it was." I accepted the offered sip.

"Why were you perched there in that uncomfortable position at this late hour?" I asked.

"I don't like to sleep much. Life is so full of stories and possibilities. And personally, I consider it a significant waste to squander some of our short remaining time in sleep.

Sooner or later, we will all welcome the eternal sleep of the Stranger, never having the chance to open our eyes again." Tyrion toasted by raising his flask to the starry sky and then resumed.

"And to answer your question in its entirety, let's just say that I needed an excellent position to try to glean all the secrets of promising and prosperous Barrowton...

Tell me, Bloody Snow in your opinion, has Lord Hoster Tully already guessed that Lady Barbrey is attempting to reproduce Riverrun's flood defence system? And always in your opinion, why is it that within a two-mile radius of the city, there is no scrutiny of any structure prepared to host what will stand as the greatest Tournament in the last two centuries in the history of Westeros?" Asked the Dwarf.

'Impressive... My fears were unfounded after all.' I assessed, nodding in praise.

I had feared that the West's brightest mind was not yet mature and prepared for the complex political challenges and power plays that he would soon have to face.

But it turns out I was wrong.

"Arduous questions for a poor boy who has not yet seen his twelfth name day...

How could I know the ideas and plans of a mind as capable and experienced as Lady Barbrey's?

I am just a inexpert heir to a modest northern knighthood fief, still trying my hand at learning the noble art of government and chivalry, milord." I replied to test the waters a little more.

"True... Forgive me, young lord, it was my fault to put a promising but still 'too young' noble heir in such a thorny position... " Tyrion offered me the wine again, which I gladly accepted. And then, after that unbelievable lyric from both of us, he went on to say:

"However ... said individual, currently wearing perhaps the most peculiar, fine, gleaming, and freshly forged armour these untrained eyes have ever seen.

An armour that I would point out clad in metal with hues eerily similar to a portentous new sword recently posted in my father's solarium has just been welcomed late at night in the fortress of Barrow Hall by Lady Barbrey herself, even getting a private dance from perhaps the most influential, dangerous, and powerful woman in Westeros.

Of the North for sure, at least..."

The dwarf's eye may have been chromatically squinting, but it was undoubtedly more detail-oriented than Blood Raven's... Unfortunately, the faint moonlight and flashlights were not so bright.

"Well, my lord, perhaps said individual wishes to remain cautious and vague in the face of the most derided and underestimated individual in the West...

A noble scion, tainted in the course of his boyhood with acts unbecoming the virtues of an authentic lineage worthy of respect.

A Lannister who, though despised by the powerful and feared Protector of the West and our current irascible Queen, gained the office of 'Shield of Lannisport' by triggering, in the shadows and in just two months, innovations and improvements in the Golden City of the West worthy of praise."

And it was the truth. In that brief interval, Tyrion had already purged Lannisport of all the bad apples and wastrels who held key positions in the city, replacing them with far more capable and hardworking minds. The port customs and city tax collectors had already found a 20 % tax increase in the last moon, and the entire present workforce was continuously operating with tireless efficiency without squandering a single minute or copper coin of the City Lord.

"Nah, I give in. I'm too tired, drunk, and with a sore neck to continue this hostile verbal skirmish... Opl!" Tyrion climbed nimbly onto the flat lace of the walls, sitting comfortably so he could address me at the same height.

"My Uncle tells me you are a lover of jokes and games.....

There is still enough wine left to stun one of us.

Do you feel like entertaining a poor alcoholic dwarf with insomnia disorders like me in a little game?" Proposed Tyrion.

"Lay out the rules of the game," I replied, smiling.

"A joke in turn. If other laughs at the storyteller's joke, he is forced to drink. Victory will determine who at the end of the bag has drunk the most." Tyrion.

"A true aspiring joke master such as myself certainly cannot back down from the challenge above issued... I'm in. The stakes?" I asked.

"My game with my own rules, so I leave the honour of choice to you," Tyrion replied.

"Mmm, all right...

The winner will have the option to refrain from receiving the other's infamous 'name day gift' -- uncles and intermediaries included." Tyrion snapped.

"Wait! That's not fair; your name day is in less than five days! You know how much gold and dedication I spent on-" I interrupted him.

"'Your Game and Your Rules,' my lord. You said it yourself-" the dwarf cashed in on the hit with dignity.

"And... The loser must reveal a secret of the winner's choice. 'Personal secrets' and not concerning business or family politics. Are you in?" I asked.

"... To me, the first round." And the challenge began...

End POV.

-----------------------

POV: The Dwarf of Casterly Rock.

Barrow Hall.

About two hours after a game began...

The wine was almost gone. The challenge was nearing its end, and Tyrion was down a sip against his fierce opponent.

The fight was a draw for the duration of the game. Nevertheless, both opponents laughed and made each other laugh with the sleaziest, dirtiest, and most distressing jokes the Seven Kingdoms had heard.

In his defence, Tyrion was tipsy enough as it was, and the giggle turned out to be easier for him.

But the last mistake he made was unforgivable. Although Bloody Snow still seemed on the verge of exploding, the damn Perdigiorno-writer-of-worldly-jokes managed to hold back on the penultimate one.

The joke referring to the Lannister, the Dornish, and the Stark proved far less ineffective now that the North had become rich and prosperous...

How had he not thought of that!

The Dwarf of Casterly Rock did not give up; there were just two gulps to go. After that, Tyrion had to pull out his best card and seal his lips for his opponent's next song, and the challenge would result in at least a draw.

The personal secret could also go screw itself. Tyrion and his Uncle Gerion absolutely could not afford to throw Duncan Tallhart's 12th name-day gift to the wind. The honour of House Lannister depended on it!

All the nobility of Westeros and Essos absolutely had to attend the unprecedented theatrical spectacle about Bloody Snow's famous exploits at Bear Island.

How much gold had they invested only to find out that Dacey Mormont gave Bloody Snow a humiliating repast before the battle?

The best actors and ballad composers in Essos had been hired by his Uncle during his trip to Pentos.

How many hours of rehearsals and compositions were spent, and how many good ideas were thrown to the wind?

'No. I absolutely cannot lose!" thought the dwarf as he slapped his cheeks to recover from his daze.

The time had come to throw heavy cavalry into the fray.

"It's my turn...

[There was once a dwarf named ... 'Tyblion' who rode day and night on his new mule to reach the best brothel in ... 'Bannisgort' as quickly as possible.

'Tyblion' trotted into the brothel with a bottle, a honeycomb and his new jackass.]." The boy seemed taken aback, as if Tyrion had just used an unfair move.

He was not violating any of the last inserted rules, such as:

{Do not use names of cities, places or families in the Known World.'}

The dwarf continued to strike fiercely and mercilessly at the opening of the boy's defences, interpreting the voices with the best theatrical emphasis he could muster.

"[What can we do for you?" Madame Mistress of the brothel asked.

"Auch!... I need a woman to lay with, for mine has left me." So replied the poor dwarf afflicted with pains.

"Whatever for? And what's with the empty bottle, the honeycomb and the mule?"

"Three days ago, my woman found a genie in a bottle, and he granted her three wishes.

That traitor left me immediately after fulfilling them!

The first was for a house fit for a queen, so the genie gave her this damn honeycomb.

The second wish was that she has the nicest ass in all the land, so he gave her this damn donkey..."

"And what about the third wish?" The brothel matron asked curiously.

"Well... she asked the genie to make my cock hang down past the knee."

"Well, that one's not so bad, eh?"

"Not so bad!? The bastard took her knee as a reference!

It's been three days that this damned third stiffy leg has been lifting me one foot off the ground!

Please, Madame, help me!!!"]"... the dwarf waited patiently and carefully for his opponent's reaction.

"Pff...cough...Pfff... ahaha...Sprrzz...AHAHAHA!!!! AHAHAH!" The boy burst out, bending over from the blows of his big fat laugh.

It took him almost more than a minute to recover.

"Drink!" The boy obeyed with a grunt of regret.

"Good joke, my lord...

Really a nice little story...But, now...phew! It's my turn.

If you even tilt those lips a millimetre or spit the tiniest puff of air out of your damn mouth, victory will be mine!" So rumbled an angry and motivated 12-year-old drunk.

"Come on! Bring it on, Bloody Snow! I'm ready!

You are provoking the son of the Leonine Statue of Casterly Rock!

You'll only hear the buried of Barrowton laugh!" So roared the dwarf of Casterly Rock with equal ferocity.

"[In another world of another age not too dissimilar to this one, two young ladies and two young princesses, all of marriageable age, gathered for dinner at the same table in the presence of the Grand Archmaester of... 'Ancient Town'."] The dwarf interjected.

"Ancient Town, really? That sounds a little too much like Oldtown to me."

"Shhh! Interrupting the narrator is against the rules. And yes, the town is indeed called Ancient Town!"

"It's fine go ahead, my lord. I will not interrupt you again." Replied Tyrion blandly.

"Yes, where was I?... Ah, right:

[Lady... 'Lyanne Stank,' Cer... 'Cersinia Lonnister,' and Princesses... 'Eliat Marwell,' and 'Rhener Targaryes' were forced to try their hand at various tests of virtue and merit to vie for the hand of the prince and successor to the... emm...'Bronze Throne,' Reaghar Targaryes." Tyrion suffered the first bout of giggles, which he nipped in the bud by remaining still and impassive. The most brutal blow was certainly 'Cersinia Lonnister.' His sister would have already cried 'scandal' had she been present.

"[The North, the South, the West and the Crown Lands were in conflict with each other to decide which noble maiden was the most deserving to marry the next King of the... Eight Kingdoms!

But to avoid a war, the same Lords, Princes and Kings decided to let the wisest and most educated man in the...'Citadelly' determines the winner.

All possible betrothed struggled bitterly and fiercely toward the various tests of knowledge, dance, etiquette, politics and potential situations of court scandal and kingdom crisis.

Hatred and rivalry were especially fierce between Lady Cersinia and Princess Rhener... Cersinia never failed to sneer or commit improprieties against the Dragon... with 'Two Heads,' but the princess always managed to accuse with class without falling into the traps set by the very improper Lioness of... 'Camelot Rock'.

The Grand Archmaester... mmm... 'Pyrcell' finally proposed the last challenge before making his final decision.

"Tonight, I would like to propose to you noble ladies and princesses one last challenge.

Each of you must tell a story or anecdote concerning your noble House that ends with a moral worthy of its name. Lady Cersinia, you begin, please."

"With pleasure, Grand Archmaester...

I would like to tell the story of the Rains of Castamure!"]" The narrator was interrupted for a second time.

"Oh, Come on! Really?! Cercinia Lonnister of Camelot Rock quoting The Rains of Castamure?!

You're the one playing dirty here!" The ninth drunk ranted a gasp of injustice.

"Any similarities and coincidences in the references are totally random and legitimate!

One more interruption, my lord, and I will declare this challenge won by a landslide." Tyrion huffed and let the very incorrect song finish, which touched all of poor Lannister's weak points of hilarity.

"So... as I was saying, ["Oops, sorry princess..." Roared Lady Cersinia with a bound, 'carelessly' spilling the cup of wine on Princess Drago's pretty gown. The other ladies laughed at the scene, but Rhener Targaryes remained impassive at the affront she suffered.

"Once upon a time, there was an envious young vassal lord who rebelled against his Lord Lion of Camelot Rock.

The Lord of Castamure felt stronger, younger, bolder and more handsome than the Old Lion of Camelot, and so, he decided to sing his exploits as a fearless Lion hunter to all the lord bannermen of 'my father.'

The hunter and all the fools enchanted by his persuasive songs were almost all mauled and lacerated alive by the firm, experienced and more cunning Great Lion Lord of the Rock. But despite this ... many friends surviving Their Lord's first vicious punitive attack decided to resist in a last desperate struggle against the fierce Lions.

Only 'My Father' did not use fangs and claws this time, but simply 'Roared'..." Cersinia noticed the pale faces of Lyanne and young Eliat, awed by the famous story that terrorized the entire continent. But to her chagrin, Cersinia also detected that Princess Dragon still did not seem in the least threatened by her tale... The haughty and fearless Lioness concluded by saying:

'My Father' roared to them The Rains of Castamure! And all the rebels trembled at the story of their young hunter-hero's bitter end, bowing to their Sovereign Lion and never daring to challenge him a second time!

The Moral: Sometimes a mere Roar is more powerful than an army of a hundred thousand swords!" Concluded the Lioness of Camelot Rock with a verse as proud and proud as her name.

Silence pervaded the entire table... until... *Clap! Clap!* Grand Archmaester Pyrcelle began to clap.

"Well done! Very well done, my Lady Cersinia. Excellent proof." Cersinia prepared to sit down, deliberately stepping on the robe of the impassive Princess Dragon.

"Princess Rhener, please, it is your turn." Rhener stood up, but part of her beautiful dress tore off, eliciting thunderous laughter from the Lioness and the other opposing noble ladies. Rhener remained impassive at the affront she suffered and quietly began to chant:

"Once upon a time, there was a Lion King who ruled fiercely over all the lower creatures in creation. Wolves, Sun-kissed Men, eagles, trout, horses, sheep and many more... all bowed to the great proud mighty Lion of the High Rock.

But the Lion, not satisfied with that, decided he wanted to oust the throne from the only creature in that vast and ancient land who had dared not bow to him.

An Ancient Giant and Pacific Dragon who continued to rest on the top of the world's highest Mountain, not caring about the plaintive roars of King Lion of the Rock or any other animal in creation...

The Furious, Offended, Belligerent, and Fearless Lion thus decided to face the Ancient, Gigantic, and Peaceful Dragon King of the Mountain in a duel. The being that had been sleeping undisturbed for millennia now...

The Dragon, awakened by the roar of roars and the sound of soft claws screeching on its Ancient and Giant Adamantine Scales, simply snorted, and with a mere sneeze, a cascade of flames completely incinerated the poor Furious, Offended, Belligerent, and Fearless Lion King of the Rock, and went back to sleep undisturbed...

However, The Lion King had Three Lion Prince Cubs...and said princes now Kings of the Rock, having spent years training to claim righteous vengeance for their poor father, charged in unison toward the Mountain.

The Ancient, Giant, and Peaceful Dragon King incinerated all Three with another feeble sneeze and went back to sleep...

But these Three Lions had, in turn, Three Puppy Princes each, and all Nine New Rock Kings, firm in their numbers and prolonged training, charged toward the Mountain seeking revenge for their fathers and grandfather.

The Ancient, Giant, and Pacific Dragon King incinerated all nine with yet another feeble sneeze and went back to sleep...

However... These Nine Furious, Offended, Belligerent, and Fearless Lions had, in turn, Three Puppy Princes each-" the princess was interrupted by Maester Pyrcelle.

"Forgive me, princess, but all of us here have already guessed the continuation of this story. Could you please get straight to the moral?"]" Bloody Snow paused for a moment to grab a flashlight and use it as a prop while continuing:

"[Princess Dragon suddenly grabbed the lit glass lamp filled with boiling wax and, with an *Etchi!*, shattered it in the face of the shocked Lady Cersinia!

The maiden cried out in a mixture of despair, pain, tears, blood and steaming skin..."]

Bloody Snow threw the flashlight to the ground and grabbed Tyrion's leather lapel amicably, lifting it in midair.

"[Then the now helpless, blind, and wounded lioness was tugged and lifted by the collar by two iron hands. Princess Dragon used her as a warning to the other shocked contestants for the podium of future Queen of the Eight Kingdoms...

So the Dragon, shaking the maiden-lioness like a rag doll, thundered:

"You must 'Never' try to fuck with the 'Ancient-Gigantic-And-Peaceful-DRAGON QUEEN'!!"]"

****

End Chapter.

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