Game of Thrones: Paladin of Old Gods

POV: Ser Haymitch Rivers;

Torrhen's Square.

Year 285, 28th day of the first moon. The evening after the announcement of the Warden of the North...

Ser Haymitch was completely drunk... but no more than usual. This was the second week he'd resided in Torrhen's Square. And now, in clothes 'not fit for a Knight', he stood before the door of a room in the castle. A young guard, still slightly bruised, stood in front of the entrance.

"Good evening, Ser Haymitch. Lord Stark, has been expecting you..." Said Jory Cassel, in a somewhat hesitant tone. The man in front of him had mussed hair, his beard was barely trimmed, and Jory's clothes...were certainly considered 'regal' compared to the clothes of a man who had just won 2,000 golden dragons...but Jory tried to restrain himself from advising the knight to take a bath and look for any clothes other than that before he went to talk to his Lord.

"Good evening! Good evening!...Good thing I managed to find the hall...emm...yes...I remember you...emm, Josye?" Haymitch.

"Jory...Jory Cassel, Ser." Corrected the captain, slightly offended, at the female call name just mentioned...

"Ah. Yes!...Jory! Forgive me Captain...I remember buying you a drink a few days ago...but then, I didn't...emm...what was that word?..." Tried to think the Knight taking a step back, trying to keep his balance.

"It doesn't matter, Ser...I remember you weren't so...'bright' that night. Forgive me for asking, Ser Haymitch. Do you think we should postpone the meeting?" Jory asked, not wanting to present the man, for whom he still held some semblance of respect, to Lord Stark in this 'condition'.

"No, no. It's alright...Jory! I don't think Lord Stark, will ever find me in any better 'condition' than this..." Haymitch replied sincerely.

"...I understand." Jory.

"Knock. Knock...Ser Haymitch, my Lord." Announced the Captain, knocking twice.

"Let him in, Jory. Thank you." Ned Stark.

"You're welcome, Ser." Said Jory opening the door and letting 'The Drunk Knight' through.

"Thank you...Captain, Jory Cassel." Haymitch walked in and saw a man, wearing fine clothes made of wool, covered in a 'standardar studded leather armour, worn by almost all Starks soldiers.

"Lord Stark. Thank you for the invitation." Haymitch, managed a decent bow before approaching.

"Thank you, Ser Haymitch, for accepting the meeting. Please take a seat." Young Ned Stark said, showing a chair in front of a desk.

"Thank you, my Lord..." As Haymitch sat down, he couldn't help but notice that Ned Stark didn't seem the least bit upset by his 'pitiful' condition. Eddard Stark, took a seat opposite him soon after.

"My compliments to you, Ser, your performance in the melee was most... impressive." Ned.

"You are kind, my Lord, to use that adjective...Many lords, have personally taken umbrage with me, for my performance: 'cowardly' and 'disloyal'...all except Lord Umber...I didn't think there was anyone in this place who could drink more than me." Haymitch." Haymitch.

"Ahah...it's true, many men, would consider your performance...less than honourable...but many of those same men, have never taken part in a real battle..." Ned took a pause, recalling the 'horrors' of the previous two years...then continued:

"When I fought my first battle in the Vale, I was only 15 years old... The clans of the Vale ambushed Lord Arryn... Robert , me and 1,000 other knights rushed to his aid, and the first thing I thought when the battle began was 'Who will I challenge to a duel?' It was only a minute later that I understood the hard truth of war..." Ned said, with a slightly sad and ironic tone.

"It was the same for me...I was still a squire of just fourteen years old...A skirmish with Lord Bracken's militia...It was a riot of: chaos, blood, shit, severed limbs, and death... but there was no honor in it... My lord... would it offend you if I drank a little? Lately, it's been giving me a headache and a bad mood to remember the past..." Haymitch.

"Do as you please, Ser Haymitch..." Ned.

"Thank you, my lord... You may call me, Haymitch, if it pleases you to do so." Said Haymitch, taking his flask from his belt.

"Thank you, Haymitch...You are free to call me, Ned, if it is all the same to you." Ned.

"Can I offer you some 'liquid courage', Ned? I have to admit, they have some really good stuff here in Torrhen's Square." Haymitch.

"...Yes, why not. Thank you." Ned had half his glass filled with an amber liquid that smelled of 'Whisky', the new drink soon to be sold exclusively by Casa Umber. Ned wasn't crazy about spirits of that strength, but he didn't back down.

"To the harsh and unforgiving reality!" Said Haymitch, offering a toast with a slight smile.

Ned returned the toast with a nod of assent. He raised his cup in response and took a moderate but intense sip.

About a minute of silence later...

"So, 'Lord Stark'...I am here, to receive your offer to enter your service?" Haymitch asked directly, going straight to the heart of the matter.

Ned, who appreciated men who didn't waste time on unnecessary turns of phrase, wanted to return the gesture with honesty.

"Yes. This is the reason for my invitation..." Ned.

"I like you, Ned. Even Lord Helman, whom I consider a man worthy of respect and more than tolerable, would have bundled the reply with at least a dozen sentences of praise, loads of honour, merit, gold and other rewards. Haha." Haymitch.

"Well... Thank you, Haymitch. I've always had a hard time with run-on, complex sentences. Full of double meanings and unspoken words. I appreciate bitter sincerity, more than any 'sweet and intriguing lie'..." Ned took another sip.

"I don't want to appear ungrateful and greedy, but why should I accept? I mean, I don't think you can offer me something I want..." Haymitch.

"Probably...I'd like to try anyway...To do that, I'd need you to help me out...but only if you want to." Ned.

"And how would I give you a hand, Lord Stark?" Haymitch asked in a slightly wry tone.

"I would like you to tell me about your past, Haymitch...If you can do that, perhaps I will be able to understand, 'What is it you seek?'..." Ned asked sincerely, trying to appear as friendly as possible.

Haymitch, hearing that request, lowered his gaze to his empty cup. Thoughts, full of sadness and suffering, swept through him again. Another minute of total silence passed...

"I could do it...but only on two conditions." Haymitch.

"Let's hear it." Ned.

"First, I'd like you or that boy Jory, to get me safely back to my bed after this meeting...I'll definitely need to draw on my 'second' and 'third', reserve of 'liquid courage', to be able to talk about it...and I'm pretty sure I won't really be able to manage to do it alone..." Said Haymitch in a joking but sincere tone.

"You have my word. I will drag you myself, if I am able. The second condition?" Ned fully understood that his request would cause the poor man 'extreme' suffering.

"The second condition is, that in return: you tell me how the fight at the Tower of Joy 'really' went. I don't want to offend you... but I personally crossed swords with Ser Arthur Dayne at the Lannisport tournament, organised by Lord Tywin in honour of the birth of Prince Viserys... And I've also personally seen you fight, both at the 'Battle of the Bells' and at the 'Trident'... I could beat you in a fight, Ned... but even with the most elaborate of tricks, I couldn't bring down that 'monster' born with a sword in his hand... I'd rather you go first. I've always found it 'wiser' to let others charge forward into danger before me..." Haymitch stared deeply into Ned Stark's eyes as he spoke those words.

Ned Stark, was genuinely surprised by that request. He thought for a moment, just for a moment, of disputing the statement... but then he changed his mind. It was his turn to stare at the cup, pensively and sadly.

Another minute of silence passed....

"All right. It's a deal, Haymitch. If you'll excuse me for a moment...I think I'm going to have to bother Jory. To order him to go get something strong for both of us..." Said Ned as he rose from his chair. Haymitch nodded smugly in response and toasted in honour of the choice of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

About thirty minutes later...

"...So that's how it was...All just to defend the honour of Howland Reed? Personally, I'd applaud the man who managed to take 'The Sword of Dawn' by surprise...I've seen dozens of 'Honorable Lords and Knights', slaughter many of poor peasants like that with a rusty blade in their hand..." Said Haymitch taking a sip from his second cup of Dorne Red.

"Aye... I might not have done it for someone else... but I owed and still owe a great deal to that man." Ned replied, finishing his glass.

"I think it's your turn, Ser Haymitch..." Ned.

"My name is Ser Haymitch Rivers, illegitimate son of Lady Lysa Blackwood, Aunt of Tytos Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall... Only Tytos refers to me as 'cousin'. To all others, I am, and always shall be, 'Ser Haymitch the Drunk'... Yes, Lord Stark... even within me there are traces of First Men's blood. ' Started the drunken knight's tale, putting a lot of emphasis on his origins....

About twenty minutes later...

"...When I got home, that was the first thing I saw...two naked bodies, hanging and charred...the leader of that gang, he didn't attack the village for gold, resources or women...He just wanted revenge on me...I didn't know that was just a branch of his group...It took time...three months to be precise. Me and twenty other Raventree soldiers found the nest. Well, leaving aside the details, Ned, it's safe to say there's an absolute certainty that the Seven will not welcome me into their paradise when my time comes. My squire, Berry...he voluntarily left for the Wall to join the Night's Watch after only three days back home...I think I'll catch up with him sooner or later...maybe get myself transferred to another castle...I don't want to keep traumatizing the poor guy. I think you know the rest from that point on..." Said a Haymitch.

Ned stared at the man in front of him with eyes full of sadness and pain...

"Yes... Lord Helman has already told me about it... I would like to express my sincere condolences to you... no man should have to go through what you have gone through..." Said an equally tipsy Ned.

"I've seen your two sons...Protect them Ned...Try to prepare them as best you can and get them through this hell as late as possible..." Said Haymitch, with as much sincerity as he had.

"That's what I promise myself, every time I pick them up or see them smile...That's why I want you by my side...I want them to learn from the best...possibly without them knowing your story...Not until they're adults at least..." Ned.

Twenty minutes of negotiating and drinking later...

"Wait, wait...So you're telling me, that I might as well slap your Heir on the ear when needed? The future Protector of the North? Without anyone in Winterfell or anywhere else cutting off my hand in response?" Haymitch stood and moved his arms, splattering the floor with wine. Luckily for him, the sixth cup, which would have, without a shadow of a doubt, brought him into a state of 'ethyl coma', emptied onto the floor...

"If it will help... yes you can do it. But I'm not promising anything in case Robb loses the hearing in that ear forever..." Ned replied with a slight smile, amused by the antics of the man who reminded him, for the most part, of Robert.

"And may I also praise the achievements and efforts of your bastard?!? And what will she say, Lady Catelyn Stark?!?!? She won't try to cut my throat in my sleep, will she?"

Ned, having abandoned the little bit of dignity, which every Lord Protector should always show to his fellow man, put his hands in his hair massaging his tired eyes with his palms.

"So everyone already knows?" Ned asked, in a desperate tone.

"Mmm not really...Your drunk soldier who told me about it, tried to both beg, bribe and threaten me, the morning after he could remember what happened the night before...Let's pretend I don't know, for the poor guy's sake." Haymitch.

"My wife, she won't be a problem. I swear. She will have no authority or decision over Jon's growth...You may act as you see fit." Ned.

"Mmm...To recap our agreement: In the event that I no longer care to serve the ancient and mighty, noble, House Stark, I shall be free to leave my service whenever I wish, betrayals, backstabbing and such excluded of course...I shall be able to warm myself within your walls in a room of my own. Drinks and refreshments will be provided on an 'absolutely' perpetual and unlimited basis by House Stark. My sharp tongue shall be free to move as it sees fit, save for royal visits and the like... I shall even be able to squawk, in my spare time, in the brothel of Winterfell town... And in return, I shall: Safeguard and protect Winterfell with my life. Protect the current and future Starks progeny.

Train your children in the art of 'surviving in a battle' and occasionally, protect and escort your butt, of undisputed nobility, into dangerous places? That is the deal you are proposing to me, Lord Eddard Stark?" Haymitch asked in an almost shrill voice.

"....I would say so...that is the deal, Ser Haymitch..." Ned replied, beginning to have difficulty following the drunken, Haymitch's impetuous movements.

Haymitch stopped and wobbled over to the northern protector. He bowed... more like a jester than a knight....

"So, I, Ser Haymitch Rivers, known as 'The Drunk'...will be at your service, Lord Eddard of House Stark.....Now if you don't mind, you'll have to keep your end of the bargain...Sduffh...." Haymitch, passed out lifeless on the ground....

End POV.

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

POV: Duncan;

Torrhen's Square.

About two weeks before Eddard Stark and Jory Cassel, were forced to drag a helpless man into his bed...

"Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, Ser Haymitch." I said to the blond haired man, who by a twist of fate, bore a slight resemblance to the actor, Woody Harrelson.

"Well...the word 'accepted', doesn't sound right boy...more 'dragged' and 'bribed with alcoholic beverages', would be more appropriate." Replied the man taking a sip of Taylish.

"But what is it? How did you produce it?" Haymish asked with sincere curiosity.

"A liqueur made from Whisky, cream flavoured with mint, Ser." I replied briefly.

"Am I supposed to know what Whisky is?...Never heard of it." Haymitch.

"You'll have a cask of that too, Ser." Me.

"All right kid, you've got my attention. I warn you, I've already turned down your father's offer, twice...and some say after two, comes three." Haymitch.

As the knight spoke, I could not look him in the eye. My gaze continued to stare at the clear, bright and definite number [9] floating inches above his head....

Ser Haymitch's fame and deeds were, without a doubt, verified and justified in my eyes...

"I will not ask you to enter my service or that of my family, Ser." I replied.

"Then what can it do for you, Ser Haymitch 'The Drunken', or great legend of the North, 'Bloody Snow'... Could I also know how you were raised? I could start a trade that would rival Astaport and his 'Unsullied', if I knew the secret behind Torrhen's Square." Ser Haymitch asked ironically but with sincere curiosity.

"I am glad, that my masters, Will and Shygga, have made a good impression on you, Ser...You are free to ask me any questions you wish. I will try to answer clearly and truthfully... as much as I can, at least..." I said.

"Yes... I have to admit that 'Syggha' definitely left her 'mark'... only one woman before has managed to hit me in 'that way', in 'that place'..." Haymitch.

"Yes... Mistress Syggha... You are quite sensitive to insults directed at yourself or your master..." I replied, feeling a cold shiver in my lower back... Then I continued...

"I'd like to propose an assignment to you, Ser Haymitch... or rather... suggest a possible assignment, which I think would suit you best..." I said.

"...And how do you know it will be the most suitable? I don't think you know me, boy... Between knowing what a man is looking for and knowing the 'voices' that tell his story, there's a huge difference, Duncan of House Tallhart..." Said Ser Haymitch, in a harsher and more serious tone than his usual jovial and light-hearted one.

"You're right, Ser, the difference is gargantuan...but I know a lot about you and I could be wrong of course...but I think I've found you a 'purpose' in life." I said, careful to calibrate my language. The subject matter was very, very sensitive.

"....Not interested. Thank you for the hospitality, food and alcohol young Lord." Haymitch rose from his chair heading for the door.

"A child, barely two years old, needs you, Ser, and you are the only one who can help him." I replied quickly, getting straight to the point.

Haymitch, stopped and sought my gaze again.

His eyes were as sharp as ever.

"...."

"Time for another cup and everything will be clearer to you, I promise." I said, filling another glass.

"Alright... but I'll lead the conversation... you won't get away with your silver tongue, 'flattering bard'... you'll answer my questions directly, without turning around..." Haymitch proposed.

"Agreed, Ser." He agreed and Haymitch, returned to his seat.

"What makes you think I would be interested in helping this child?" Haymitch immediately took off.

"Your story, Ser, mostly because of what you've done in your life and who you really are." I replied.

"Too vague... Explain yourself in detail." Haymitch.

"You are, Ser Haymitch Rivers, illegitimate son of Lady Lysa Blackwood, sister of Lord Brynden Blackwood and cousin of the current Lord of Raventree, Tytos Blackwood. You were nicknamed Ser Haymitch 'The Drunk' when you were invested with the title of Knight at the age of 14 by your Uncle himself. For your merits in your first battle against House Bracken, which broke out over a dispute over the ownership of a mill. They only gave you that name because you drank a whole sack of mead before entering the fray... but I don't know how reliable that last piece of information is...

Over the next twelve years, you distinguished yourself countless times with heroic deeds, occasionally even participating in tournaments. It can be said that you contributed greatly to the safety of the people who inhabited the Blackwood lands, breaking up entire groups of bandits. It is even said that you managed to prevail in a 7-on-1 fight... You married a young woman, Sedine, of humble origins, employed by the Blackwood family, and together they went to live in a village, called 'Honey Forge'. After only one year, a son was born...but I couldn't find out his name, I'm afraid... All I know is that you lived together with your family in peace, for the following two years, before the 'Rebellion' began...With your permission, Ser, I would like to skip the part about the respective two years that follow..." I paused as I saw the expression of astonishment and distress increasing more and more, on the poor man's face.

"...Jonas...my son's name was Jonas...it was my father's name...and yes, you have my permission to skip 'that part'...I would not want to tear apart this 'luxurious' and prestigious room." Haymitch replied in a slightly wry tone but with bright eyes.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Ser..." I said in a low voice trying to express, my most sincere condolences.

"...Tell me about this child. Who is he? Why does he need help? And why can't someone else in your employ do it?" Haymitch asked, trying to focus his attention on a different subject.

"Jon Snow... illegitimate son of Lord Eddard Stark."

Fifteen minutes of explanation later...

"If you really did what you did to Lady Stark...the boy should be safe from here on out...There are many 'Bastards' in the world who fare much worse...I speak from personal experience." Haymitch.

"Lady Stark's 'punitive' situation will not last forever...I already know that she is expecting...and that she is waiting for her 'Lord husband' to return to announce the happy news. Lord Stark is a hardened and honorable man...but family, is his greatest strength...and weakness." I explained back.

"So you already have a spy in Winterfell...but that doesn't answer my question, 'Bloody Snow'...Why him?...but more importantly. Why me?..." Haymitch.

"For many reasons, Ser Haymitch...disregarding your own merits and the hundreds of lives you've saved...I'd say: Because you're a 'Bastard' too and you know what that boy will go through...Because you're not looking for fame, glory or riches...but 'something else' you think no one can give you in this world...Because you need a new home, a new purpose and some well-deserved peace...Because I'm sure deep down, you and Ned Stark will get along just fine..." I replied.

"...And what exactly do you think I'm 'looking for'? " Ser Haymitch asked in a wry tone.

"Redemption." As soon as he said the word, Haymitch's eyes widened... I had hit the nail on the head. I explained that short answer better.

"Based on your actions, Ser. I asked myself, 'Why not commit suicide?'...'Why continue to live like that?'...and the only answer I could come up with is that you, Ser, are trying to find a way to redeem yourself from all the heinous actions you have committed throughout your life. You're clinging to a faint hope that you're forced to believe in for your own sake... That one day, when you've saved enough innocent lives and helped enough souls, you'll see your family again... Correct me if I'm wrong, Ser Haymitch." I asked the unarmed and helpless man...

"..." Haymitch, replied with absolute silence.

"Personally, I believe that possibility exists, Ser Haymitch." I asserted in a confident tone.

"...And how can you believe that? You're quite cynical and realistic, boy...you wouldn't have me believe you're a 'Pious Believer of the Seven'? "It was only now that I noticed that Haymitch hadn't had a drop of alcohol in the last ten minutes.

"Because, at least for the most part, I know what awaits us on the 'other side'... I've seen it." I said with conviction.

Haymitch used every second and every ability of intuition to figure out if I was lying or not...

"Are you truly blessed by the gods?" Haymitch asked.

"Will the conversation and events in this room remain between you and me?" I asked in reply.

Haymitch nodded with a look that expressed the phrase 'I swear on my life.'...

I took a small dam tree twig in my breast pocket and briefly sang the chant of 'Druidcraft'... The twig took the form of a ring...

"A gift for you, Ser." I said handing the wooden ring less than a foot away from the man.

Haymitch took the ring and scrutinised it carefully. Probably to see if it was real or a result of the side effects of alcohol...

A minute of silence passed...

"Why Jon Snow? What makes you think I might have a chance at redemption if I help that very boy?" Haymitch asked, choosing not to elaborate on the 'strangeness' he had just witnessed.

"Because that boy's fate will decide the fate of many...I've seen it...He, more than anyone, will need a guide, a friend he can count on, who can teach him everything a 'bastard' needs to learn to make his way in this harsh and unforgiving world." I said.

"...You're giving me a hint that this child...'isn't just a bastard', aren't you?" Haymitch asked wittily.

"If I were to answer that question, Ser... I would significantly increase the possibility that a terrible tragedy would befall us all... thus causing the death and suffering of tens of thousands of other children who have been born or will yet be born... So, Ser Haymitch, I ask you here...'DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW WHO THAT BOY IS?'..." I asked, showing part of the 'real me'.

Haymitch froze hard... He kept staring at me with a look that expressed fear, confusion and anxiety...

After a few seconds he answered...

"No... I don't want to know."

"Good... So I guess we agree... Right?" I asked while continuing to keep my 'will', active.

"...I will protect that boy...You have my word, Duncan of House Tallhart." Haymitch replied, making a small bow with his head.

"To recap, Ser...Who is Jon Snow?" I asked for one last confirmation.

"...Only a Bastard."