FanFiction.Net
Just In
Community
Forum
V
More
A Golden Path by Ideas-Guy
Dune & A Song of Ice and Fire Xover Rated: M, English, Adventure & Drama, Paul A., Eddard S./Ned, Words: 172k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Jun 17, 2024 Updated: Aug 24
882Chapter 14: Foundation 2-5
Nobility could only be maintained for brief amounts of time, Rhaegar witnessed as the festivities continued as he was seated in a place of honor. Music filled the banquet hall, people danced on the floor while others continued to gorge themselves on the seemingly never ending courses. On the very first day of the celebrations, the nobles maintained that aristocratic dignity.
However, it wasn't something that was easy to maintain. Not for most, at least. It was like clenching your fists at all hours of the day - restraining yourself, measuring every word and action, watching the invisible web of alliances, friendships, and grudges that were ever changing amongst your peers. It was exhausting. Rhaegar knew that quite well. He didn't have the same kind of magnanimous charisma that seemed to feed off of interacting with others.
Most days, a celebration like this would be enough to drain most people. A celebration that now extended on for over a week? That was pushing it. However, now that the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms had done thing but indulge themselves for closing in on two weeks?
That visage was slipping everywhere. Men and women showed up drunk to the start of celebrations, as they were still drunk from another party that happened the night before. Or, they arrived hobbled with drinking pains. Which made it that much harder to maintain your dignity and made it harder to avoid giving offense. The pride of the nobility was already a prickly thing, but too loose tongues and sour moods made the palace volatile.
It was unsustainable, Rhaegar witnessed. The nobility could only manage to tolerate each other in small doses, hours at a time over the course of a few days.
"You seem rather deep in thought, my love," his betrothed noted, seated next to him. "You've hardly touched your… quail stuffed pigeon," Aenessa observed, a touch of amusement in her voice.
He offered a thin smile, "Merely realizing that by the time our wedding has arrived, the Seven Kingdoms is likely to shatter to pieces." He saw the rifts forming, both large and small. Some were catastrophic and beyond anyone's hope of repair - Rhaegar could almost feel the radiating anger from Tywin Lannister as he sat at the high table amongst the other lords. The man hadn't stopped seething as he was humiliated by his father, and humiliated further every day since.
Others were less grave. Boys fighting over the same girl, duels happening over insults. Duels to the death were expressly forbidden, but they still happened and those grieving cared little about the legality of the duel. Some simply found their way into the center of controversy due to the excessive rumor mongering, sometimes deservedly so but often due to entirely invented falsehoods.
"I wouldn't be so sure, my love," she said, reaching out and placing a hand on his. "There seem to be as many alliances being made. I suspect you'll break even." She said with a slight smile and, of their own will, Rhaegar's gaze went to the dance floor where an unexpected couple were dancing freely.
Robert Baratheon and Elia Martell. They weren't yet betrothed, but Robert made it known he intended to court her. And, to the surprise of many, Elia was receptive. Even now, as they danced, they both wore soft smiles and bandied words that were lost in the music.
Rhaegar felt a pang of jealousy deep in his heart for his cousin. Not because of the woman, though Elia was beautiful and a clever match. He was jealous that their match was a happy one. No doubt Lord Steffon pushed for it, but they seemed happy.
And that wasn't something Rhaegar had any expectation of being with his own marriage.
"I suppose you're right," Rhaegar allowed, his gaze dancing around as he looked to the others. Such as Paul Atreides as he spoke quietly to Eddard Stark, who stole a glance at Ashara Dayne with a red face. Though, despite his apparent nervousness, he approached the woman with a stiff spine and wooden legs. "Though, I suspect we will have to redraw a few maps."
For this was also one of the few occasions that the Seven Kingdoms interacted on this scale. His ancestors Jaehaerys had begun the integration of the Seven Kingdoms into one unified whole, yet that work was not yet complete.
"That too, can be to our benefit, can it not?" Aenessa asked, and Rhaegar looked into her eyes and he saw… nothing. How easily she called him her love, yet he didn't see an ounce of affection in her gaze. In the weeks since they met, through the long feasts and the stolen private moments, Rhaegar found that he was no closer to her than he was when they first met. He might know more about her - what tea she liked, what flowers she preferred, yet he didn't know her.
Dealing with her… it felt like he was dealing with himself. How many had tried to ingratiate themselves with him? All to seek his friendship so they might benefit when he sat upon the Iron Throne. He understood his own reputation as being aloof and melancholic, which made him hard to approach. And, if they were peers, Rhaegar could understand her cadence quite well. Yet, they weren't.
They were to be husband and wife. King and queen.
And it felt as if there was an unassailable wall between them. Which hardly gave him any reason to trust her.
"I suppose you are right once more," Rhaegar allowed, running a thumb over her knuckles. "In that case, shall we?" He said, asking for a dance.
Aenessa offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "It would be a pleasure, my love." She agreed as they both stood up from the high table, and instantly, he found dozens of eyes looking their way. Some more subtly than others. They walked hand in hand, and because so much attention shifted to them, the many that had eyed Ashara Dayne for a dance missed it when Eddard Stark led her to the dance floor.
Aenessa knew the dances well, despite her short time in Westeros. They moved in perfect synchronization, gliding across the floor so lightly they barely touched it. She wore a gentle smile, her expression relaxed and inviting - making it appeared as if she were a woman gripped by love and expressing the deepest of joys because a dream came true.
Rhaegar found that he was coming to hate that expression. Simply because she was so good at faking it that he couldn't believe anything was real. All of her felt so… curated. As if she molded herself to be the perfect idea of a wife, and Rhaegar found it entirely off putting.
Yet, he would never dare say as much. And, as the dance concluded, he couldn't deny it did have some benefits as both of them were promptly besieged by poltiking nobles who didn't dare approach the high table. In public, she was demure, offering only the occasional remark or observation, and always in support of whatever Rhaegar found himself saying at any given moment.
Then they glided over a very different dance floor. Or, perhaps it would be more correct to call it a battlefield - and, if it wasn't handled with care, it could be just as bloody as a true killing field. Nobles from all over the Seven Kingdoms approached them, including the North. Some trying to ingratiate themselves, others bringing court gossip while others brought their grievances and expectations.
"An unlikely match," Aenessa tittered behind a hand as their gazes shifted.
"It's their third dance?" Rhaegar noted, seeing Eddard and Ashara still dancing. Unbidden, Rhaegar found himself looking to Arthur, who was still positioned at the high table. His face was largely hidden behind his helmet, but his pale violet eyes seemed to be affixed on the dance floor itself, so it would seem that he had noticed. There were few curses quite like having a beautiful sister, Rhaegar thought to himself, having to swallow a smile.
"She could do better than some savage of the North," one man remarked, his tone sharp with an edge of bitterness. "The second son of a great house or not," he added, speaking just a bit louder, and earning some chuckles and mutters of agreement.
Rhaegar expected it. There were few faster ways to pull yourself up than to pull another down. Just as there was no faster way to make friends than to have a common foe.
Yet, faster didn't always mean good.
"The fuck you say you shite for brains fuckin' piss pot?" Robert Baratheon thundered, his head snapping to the group of nobles that Rhaegar found himself surrounded by with such intensity that it was a wonder he didn't break his own neck. A couple bumped into him on the dance floor as he and Elia suddenly stopped in the middle of the dance. Elia herself seemed faintly alarmed but said nothing as Robert shoved past another couple.
The noble in question locked up, his expression one of utter panic. Honestly, Rhaegar just found it impressive that Robert had managed to hear the remark. So, the noble looked to Rhaegar, expecting to be saved from the thunderous rage.
Rhaegar did give it a moment of thought.
Just a moment though.
A friendship with Robert was simply more beneficial than a favor for… a Stormlander? Rhaegar hadn't realized and, more importantly, neither did Robert.
Robert simply strode forward, grabbing the man by the head before lifting him off of the ground to headbutt him. The sound that rang out reminded Rhaegar of a skull being struck by a mace. Unsurprisingly, the noble crumpled like a sheet of parchment.
"Robert… that was one of your bannermen," Rhaegar felt compelled to point out. And, in response, Robert spat on the unconscious man.
He really was just a breath of fresh air. Rhaegar wasn't even sure if Robert was capable of long term thinking.
And, another time, perhaps cooler heads would have prevailed. Robert hardly needed a reason to start a brawl, but defending his friend's honor was a compelling one for him. The others, however, were they not drunk or hungover, would have had second thoughts about what they did next. Because, what they did next was a man threw a wild punch at Robert that clipped his chin. A weak punch, but Robert was hardly known for his restraint.
Robert struck back and, as the second blow landed, the conflict became a tavern brawl. Robert was immediately swarmed, which caused stormlanders to take note that their future lord was being attacked. Though, Robert seemed almost overjoyed as he proved his prodigious strength by treating grown men like they were boys trying to wrestle down their father.
Rhaegar merely took a step back, pulling his bride away from the growing storm of flying fists. And, even now, his bride didn't express any true emotion. Her expression was one of surprise, sure, yet it didn't match her body language. She clung to his side as if she were seeking protection and comfort, but the action felt too controlled. Panic made the body clumsy, and she didn't.
All the same, he accepted it, "Perhaps it would be best if we stepped out for some fresh air?" He remarked, taking another step back as the brawl seemed to grow.
"Lets," Aenessa replied in a tightly controlled voice. With that, they retreated across the floor and Rhaegar was almost glad for the distraction as they went unnoticed as they headed to the balcony of the ballroom.
Calling it fresh air was an exaggeration, Rhaegar knew. The stench of King's Landing was almost legendary at this point, but it couldn't be compared to what it was now, when the city was overstuffed twice over. He had long since gone nose blind to it, but even to him, someone who was raised in this city, the air was particularly foul.
Yet, it was quieter. There was that, at least.
It seemed like a perfect moment of respite… until Rhaegar saw they weren't alone on the balcony. His heart stilled in his chest as he saw Paul Atreides leaning against the railing, taking a moment to gaze out at the city. At least until the sound drew his attention and he glanced over his shoulder. His posture straightened and he immediately dipped into a respectful bow, "Prince Rhaegar. Lady Aenessa."
"Lord Atreides," Aenessa greeted him with a certain tightness in her voice and, despite herself, her grip tightened on Rhaegar's arm. "We hope we aren't intruding but the festivities have become… a bit too festive for our tastest." And, as if to punctuate her statement, there was the pained shout of a man followed by a chair being smashed.
Paul offered a thin smile, "I can hardly protest. It is your balcony, after all. As for the party itself… one would think they would save it for the melee on the morrow."
One would think so, Rhaegar found himself agreeing as they approached the stone railing that overlooked the gardens and the city beyond. The exhaustion bled away, replaced with an almost seering panic - why now? Why now, of all times? He had been angling to find a private moment with Paul in a way that wouldn't arouse his suspicions like an official summoning would. Why did it have to be now, when he found it with a snake hanging off of his arm?
"When one is as deep in their cups as they, I suspect thoughts of tomorrow never occur to them," Rhaegar said conversationally. "I see it's not a weakness that you shall share in the melee," he observed, noting that Paul was one of the few who was neither drunk nor hungover.
"I fear that I shall need whatever edge I can get to win," Paul replied, his tone humble but that's not what the stories said. Robert was a braggart, but he was a rare breed who'd brag about anyone rather than just his own accomplishment. And he had quite a bit to say about Paul's prowess. "I think that is perhaps something that we both share, my prince. Stacking the deck well beforehand against a foe that seems… almost overwhelming."
Rhaegar couldn't quite hide his reaction - he blinked. His tone didn't change, yet the wording didn't quite fit. The melee would have the best knights of every kingdom participating in an all out fight where one kingdom would stand victorious. There were many knights that would prove fearsome, certainly a challenge to overcome, but… 'a foe.' As in one foe in particular.
"I can't say that I disagree, Lord Atreides," Rhaegar replied after the briefest of replies. It didn't necessarily mean anything. He could be jumping to conclusions. It would be best to not reveal his hand until he was absolutely sure what Paul meant by that. "The contest is promised to be fearsome. But quite rewarding to the victor."
"Indeed, my prince," Paul agreed easily before there was the sound of glass smashing. They looked over to see that the brawl had only grown in the ballroom. "You have my sympathies, Prince Rhaegar. And you, Lady Aenessa. I can only imagine what it be like to bare such a burden. Though, I do imagine it'd be like herding cats. Very angry cats," he added, seeing a man get a wine glass smashed over his head by a man that he hadn't even been fighting.
"I fear that… is a rather apt description, Lord Atreides," Rhaegar admitted with some exasperation. "Uniting them for a common goal has its difficulties," he added, testing the waters just a bit.
Only for Aenessa to speak up. "It's quite possible that you'll have your common cause soon enough, my love. The nobility have treated the matter with the Daughters entirely too lightly, I fear."
"Indeed," Paul swiftly agreed. "I do feel some responsibility for the development, as I was one of the responsible for setting the events into motion."
That caught his attention, "You believe that this trade war will escalate then?" Rhaegar saw nothing of it in his dreams.
"Almost certainly," Paul said with a small nod. "The Daughters will have to retaliate in some form, and it only becomes a question of what degree. The issue could be one of survival in their mind for those who live in decadence… mere excess can feel like oppression." Rhaegar found that he didn't disagree with the idea, but his lips thinned. If there was a war coming to the Seven Kingdoms, then surely his dreams would have forewarned him of it?
Or perhaps they had? Had he mistaken what the conflict that was centered around Paul was? Was the looming darkness that plagued his dreams not of the White Walkers, but warning him of disaster from a war with Essos? It seemed unthinkable and Rhaegar's first reaction was the reject the idea outright - there was no way he could be so wrong about so much.
His second reaction was to force himself to consider the idea. The danger of prophecy was in interpreting it. That was a fact he had hammered into his mind and something he reminded himself of every time he wrote down one of his dreams. Yet, the very thought made his stomach twist into knots. The idea that he could be so mistaken sent a shiver down his spine and, worse, he couldn't entirely hide his reaction.
Not from Paul nor from his betrothed.
"I wouldn't overthink it, my love," Aenessa swiftly tried to reassure him. "I have seen both the Daughters and the Seven Kingdoms, and I can say with certainty that should it come to war, the Seven Kingdoms shall triumph. You shall triumph," she said, placing a hand on his and gave it a small squeeze.
"Indeed, my prince," Paul was quick to second. "The lords of Essos are unfamiliar with war. It is why they hire mercenaries to fight for them. Those who fight for coin will quickly see which way the wind is blowing, I suspect, once the conflict between us begins in earnest." The reassurance did little except confirm Paul's confidence that there would be a war.
It wasn't enough to shake his iron certainty of what was to come. But it was enough to plant a seed of doubt. If he had managed to miss something so glaring… then what else had he missed?
"My thanks," Rhaegar replied with an easy confidence that he didn't feel. He plastered on a fake smile. "Your concern is much appreciated. In fact, as I suspect you'll be one of the central figures in this conflict, either a mere trade war or a war in earnest, I would appreciate your perspective." On what, he didn't say, but the request was a reasonable one. An extension on what was already being asked of him as his father looked to the North and its promise to replace their dependency on Essos for fine goods.
Paul offered a respectful bow, "It would be my honor, my Prince."
It was ideal, but it would allow for an opportunity for a more… neutral meeting and it was there that Rhaegar could determine the validity of his dreams.
Yet, it would only be days later that Rhaegar looked back upon this conversation to realize that he had missed something of note. So off kilter by Paul's presence, and the prospect of war…
He completely failed to realize that it should have been impossible for Aenessa to have seen the Three Daughters of Essos.
...
Advanced chapters are currently available on my Pat re on and Subscribe Star!
« First « Prev Ch 14 of 43 Next »
Review
Jump:
Share: Email . Facebook . Twitter
Story: Follow Favorite
Author: Follow Favorite
Contrast: Dark . Light
Font: Small . Medium . Large . XL
Twitter . Help . Sign Up . Cookies . Privacy . Terms of Service
We use cookies. By using our services, you acknowledge that you have read and accept our Cookies & Privacy Policies.
AcceptFanFiction.Net
Just In
Community
Forum
V
More
A Golden Path by Ideas-Guy
Dune & A Song of Ice and Fire Xover Rated: M, English, Adventure & Drama, Paul A., Eddard S./Ned, Words: 172k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Jun 17, 2024 Updated: Aug 24
882Chapter 15: Foundation 2-6
Ned felt so light a stray breeze might carry him off to the clouds from the very moment he opened his eyes. There was a moment where he might have thought that the events of the night prior were but a dream, but given that his arm was completely numb and the parts that weren't were filled with pins and needles, all due to someone using it as a pillow… it confirmed that everything that happened last night was real. All of it.
From mustering up his courage at the behest of Paul to ask for a dance, to the dances themselves, to every laugh and smile during them. Then her gently leading him by the hand away from prying eyes…
"You seem to be in quite the mood, my lord Stark," Ashara Dayne remarked, her dark hair out of place and tussled while her violet eyes shone in the low light of early morning. She was radiant. A visage. Never before had Ned cursed his own inability with words more than now. "Do you always wake with a broad smile on your face?" She questioned, a slight grin tugging at her lips. Her very kissable lips. Kissable wasn't a word that he'd thought he would use to describe lips before, but as he had discovered, it was entirely possible and accurate in some cases. Such as Ashara's.
"If all my mornings began like this, I think I would," Ned admitted and that got the slight grin to transform to a true smile.
"Would you be so lucky," Ashara noted with a teasing tone, thankfully lifting her head off his arm. Though, somewhat worryingly, feeling wasn't returning to it. Very well then - last night had been worth an arm. Two even. Might be worth more, but he only had the two.
"Would I," Ned agreed. Then there was a pause as he truly considered the words. "Perhaps… could I?"
"A declaration of marriage already?" Ashara said, raising a dark eyebrow at him and he felt himself flush. He knew how he appeared. How often had he shaken his head at the folly of others who known a woman for a handful of hours and declared their undying love? They had always told him he just didn't understand, and it was only now that he realized that he hadn't.
"No, not marriage," he said a little too hastily, which made the eyebrow architecture higher, and he realized how that sounded. "No, I mean… I… would like to woo you, Lady Ashara. Would you… wish to be wooed?" Ned asked, feeling like a right fool. All the more so when pearls of laughter escaped Ashara.
"I believe I would be amenable to being wooed, yes," Ashara replied, gesturing to them both. Right. Stupid question. Honestly, he should have asked that beforehand. "If you speak of a proper courtship, however? Are you asking because you mean it, or do you merely wish to make an honest woman out of me?" She questioned, shifting where she laid beside him to better look him in the eyes.
What had Paul said? To be earnest with his intentions towards her? Well, the advice had served him better than he could have hoped so far… "I probably sound like a lovesick fool, but last night was a dream. The happiest I've ever been. And it is my hope that I could make you as happy as you've made me for… forever, if possible." He was no poet, but the truth did have its own charm to it.
Her violet eyes searched his face for a moment, as if searching for deception. When she found none, a wide genuine smile found its way onto her face, and it made his stomach do flips within him. "I suppose it's true what they say about you Starks - wolves' blood does run through your veins. I thought I found myself a puppy, but it seems I've found myself a beast."
What did that even mean? "My apologies?"
"Don't be sorry," she said, reaching up to trace his jaw with a finger. "It is a good thing. And I accept your offer of courtship, Lord Stark. Provided that you can convince your father," she added, amusement dancing in her eyes.
Oh. Right. His father.
"He's never spoken of his plans for my marriage," Ned offered, his lips thinning as he stared at the wall in thought. Not that his father would share his plans with him until it was already decided who he was going to marry. "Meaning that I have time to convince him. If… that is what you wish, my lady."
He was just the second son, but he was the second son of one of the highest lords in the Seven Kingdoms. A courtship was something informal, but in respect to both of their lineages, a betrothal would be expected. Following that, they would be married. It was a path, once they stepped foot on, there was no way off it without some consequence. Worse, as it stood, Ashara would suffer the worst of those consequences as her reputation would suffer.
It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. It also wasn't something that Ned could do anything about.
"I'm a noblewoman, Lord Stark. Dorne is far more forgiving of these things - embracing one's passions, but this wasn't something I did lightly." Ashara said, her words firm but reassuring. "I've already made my choice. Whether this was a fond memory or the start of something more… time will tell, but I now know what we both want." The words undid a tension that had been gripping his heart.
"I'll convince my father then," Ned decided, knowing that would be no easy task. It would be one he accomplished, however. Hopefully, he'd have better luck than Brandon. "And… please, call me Ned. All those close to me do."
"Ned," Ashara replied, sounding it out for a moment before she rested her head on his chest. "Then call me Ashara."
A small smile found its way to his face, and it only grew when he started to regain feeling in his arm.
Hopefully, the rest of the day would be as good as it started.
…
They did have to part in the early morning - tongues were already going to wag, but it would be best not to give them more to wag about. While the castle was up at all hours of the day, after such constant celebrations, it was entirely too common to see someone stumbling to and from their rooms either at the dead of night or the crack of dawn. So, Ned hoped that he didn't seem out of place as he returned to his family's quarters.
And it was there that he saw Brandon, who was breaking his fast. Almost immediately, Brandon seemed surprised before he looked delighted with a mouth full of food. Wordlessly, he reached up and tugged at his collar and- oh.
With a red face, Ned pulled up his collar as much as he could manage as he took a seat across from his brother. Perhaps he should wear a scarf? Brandon was hardly helping, chuckling to himself as he finished chewing. A servant approached and Ned gave his usual order of bacon, eggs, and a roll of bread - by then, Brandon had managed to swallow his food. "You've had a nice morning, little brother. I hate to be the one to take the edge off it, but I'd be careful of protective older brothers. In particular, when they're one of the greatest swordsman in the Kingdoms and will be fighting in the Melee."
Ned winced at the reminder. For more than one reason. "Was it that obvious?"
"No. I just guessed, and you told me," Brandon said, and Ned dragged his hands down his face. "You really need to work on keeping a secret. I can't believe Father really tried to turn you into a spy," Bradon said, chuckling with amusement as he sipped from a cup of tea.
"Neither can I," Ned admitted. That still wasn't forgotten by Ned, nor, he suspected, Paul. While Paul wasn't in a position to do any kind of reprisals against House Stark as his house was simply too new - Paul could have gone to the Umbers, Karstarks, or even the Boltons with complaints. A deal would be struck, likely some kind of trade concessions for one of the great houses to act on House Atreides' behalf. Or, that was what his father feared but so far, Paul seemed to honor his word and simply allow the offense to go unanswered.
"Ashara Dayne isn't the type to take anyone into her bed - gods know she could have the pick of the litter if she wanted," Brandon remarked.
"I don't understand it any more than you," Ned admitted.
"Probably had her eye on you beforehand. You dog," Brandon said, grinning as he punched Ned in the shoulder affectionately. "Are looking to bed her or marry her?"
"The latter," Ned said, trying to fight the flush creeping up his neck.
To that, the good cheer slipped from Brandon's face to be replaced with a more serious expression. It actually worried Ned for a moment until his brother spoke, "Well, as someone whose been trying and failing to convince father to let me marry who I like - let me give you some advice," he said with a rueful grin. Ned frowned at the reminder, knowing how Brandon had been fighting against his betrothal for years now. Since it was announced, essentially.
Lady Catelyn was here at the castle, though Brandon hadn't gone to see her to his knowledge.
"You won't convince Father with emotion. You go and tell him how much you love her, and he won't give half a shit," Brandon continued, a note of bitterness creeping into his tone. "You have to convince him that marrying this girl benefits the North and our house more than whatever girl he has been thinking of arranging for you. I'd do it fast - breaking a betrothal is going to make the whole thing more complicated than it needs to be." Brandon muttered, taking a sip of his tea..
"Thank you, Brandon. And… I'm sorry," Ned offered, and he realized he never said as much before. Brandon shouldered his burden as well as he could, saving his complaints for their father, but it was clear how much his betrothal ate at Brandon.
Brandon flashed a little grin that only seemed slightly fake, "No need to thank me, little brother. Just part of the job of being the eldest." With that, he clapped Ned on the shoulder and stood up just as Ned's morning meal arrived. He watched his elder brother leave the room, feeling a little… uncertain. He couldn't quite put a finger on why, but a pool of uncertainty formed in his gut.
Ned knew that he was very different from his brother - and most days, that made him jealous. Where Brandon was extroverted and charming, Ned was reserved and cautious. And where Brandon chased his desires with a blind dedication, Ned would… well, think before he acted. If he acted at all. And it was as he had that thought, he realized why he was so nervous.
Brandon didn't speak like someone who had given up on breaking his betrothal.
That was a very concerning thing as there were only so many ways that the betrothal could realistically be called off. And every single one of them involved a scandal, an insult worthy of a generational feud, or risks that could very well see Brandon disinherited.
His food was placed before him, but all of a sudden, Ned found that he didn't have an appetite.
…
Few things managed to destroy friendships quite like politics, Rickard Stark mused to himself in a quiet moment. There could be no better example than the travesty of what he was witnessing between King Aerys and Tywin Lanister. For decades, Aerys was reliant on the Lannister lord as his Hand, only to grow resentful as it turned out Tywin had a better head for governance. The Defiance at Duskendale, by all accounts, destroyed whatever remained of their friendship.
However, before that, Tywin and Aerys had been fast friends. As close as brothers. There was no one in the world Aerys would have had as his Hand than Tywin, and Tywin labored endlessly to see out his King's vision. It wasn't ever clear when exactly the animosity began to build between them, but it was undeniable now with Tywin's near constant humiliation since the wedding began.
And now, Rickard wondered if he was witnessing the death of another such friendship. Only it was one of his own.
"Because your son battered one of his future bannermen, and started a brawl… I owe you concessions on the trade goods from the North?" Rickard echoed, seated across from Steffon. His friend. Now, Hand of the King.
"A fight that started because he was defending your son's honor," Steffon added, his tone every bit as even as Rickards as they sat alone in the tower belonging to the Hand of the King. Steffon had quickly made it his own, replacing any trace of Tywin's heraldry and personal touch that lingered as he had been Hand for decades.
Steffon was overstepping. They both knew it, but Steffon was doing it anyway. The worst part was that Rickard understood - it was an opportunity to secure a favorable deal, using his newfound influence as Hand, because there would be a small delay in which Paul was able to meet the demand and they'd likely be at war with the Daughters. Prices would shoot to the moon, demand would be at a painful high, and Steffon wanted to get ahead of it.
Because Rickard fully intended to take advantage of that high price and lower it little by little for as long as he could get away with to bleed the South of coin.
"Given that my son didn't even know that his honor needed defending, I can't imagine that Robert was asked," Rickard replied blandly. "My family is not responsible for the actions of yours." Overstepping or not, the deal itself was one he was willing to make. Steffon was Hand of the King, and one of the few longtime allies he had in the Seven Kingdoms. Making that concession was just smart.
The issue wasn't the deal. It was that Steffon was leveraging his position like this. He came to Rickard not as a friend asking for a favor, but making a demand.
"I didn't say he was," Steffon replied evenly, "But you do understand how this… complicates things. Lord Herston is livid. His son's nose has been flattened, and it's killed any hope that he can participate in the melee or joust. To say nothing of the damages done to my son's reputation." Steffon said, as if he was the one being unreasonable.
"Damages to his reputation?" Rickard echoed, a tightness in his voice. "One would think starting a brawl to defend his friend's honor would show the loyalty that the Baratheons are known for. If nothing else, it would seem that his actions raised his esteem in Princess Elia's eyes." That had been something of an unwelcome but expected development. He had hoped that Steffon was willing to delay Robert's marriage until he has the political freedom to marry him to Lyanna, but that had been a longshot.
Now, if he wanted to solidify ties with the Stormlands, he would need to betroth Lyanna with Stannis. Though, admittedly, a second son had far less appeal than the heir. More than that, Stannis already had a reputation - harsh, blunt as a hammer, and was as unending as one. Lyanna would be miserable with him, Rickard knew.
While his children's happiness wasn't the only thing that mattered to him, it did matter.
"Hm. A happy wife leads to a happy life, or so they say," Steffon acknowledged, confirming that they were betrothed and to be married. Uniting the Stormlands and Dorne for the first time in their history. It was a union that would have its difficulties, in particular in the marches at the border. However, it had the potential to be a fruitful one. Especially as the two seemed quite taken with one another according to the spies Rickard had in place. "Is that your answer then? No?"
"I didn't say that," Rickard replied after a half second of thought. "I won't make a deal out of extortion for no wrongdoing on my behalf, but if an old friend makes a request? Of course I would at least consider it," Rickard replied, earning a thin smile from Steffon as the words did ease some tension between them.
It did not eliminate it, however.
"In that case… an old friend is making a request," Steffon said. "The crown is making a substantial investment in the North - tax breaks, infrastructure, and manpower. It's enough to make a lord a bit jealous," he admitted. Is that what caused this rift? That Rickard- the North was getting what it was due without their unspoken alliance?
"I can understand," Rickard replied, keeping the sourness out of his tone. "But a rising tide lifts all boats, as the saying goes. Why wouldn't I ensure that a friend rises the highest?"
It was enough to make Rickard reconsider some things. Steffon becoming Hand was a boon to their plans, but there was a question on if Steffon intended to follow the plan. At least now there was, in Rickards mind.
Because the truth of it was that Steffon wasn't just Rickard's friend.
He was King Aerys.
Their alliance was born on the battlefield, plotting to reign in the House of the Dragon to elevate the Great Houses. The Targaryens proved time and time again that they were equally as likely to be great as they were terrible. They had countless discussions about it. They didn't seek to overthrow the Targaryens - just temper them so that the lows wouldn't be so low. The next step in unifying the Seven Kingdoms, they had called it.
But now… if Steffon decided that House Baratheon had more to gain by simply supporting Aerys than risking such a political maneuver?
In Steffon's shoes, he'd possibly make the same decision. If Steffon had truly made that decision and was now merely stringing Rickard along. The venture was risky. Ideally, it'd be bloodless, but war against the crown was possible. Especially considering how deep in madness Aerys was. Steffon wasn't likely to sell them out, however - that would run into too many questions from the King on how Steffon was so informed on their eventual aims.
No. No, this wouldn't do at all. Friendship or not, Steffon had far less reason to participate in their plans. Too much was at stake for blind trust. After all, they were both rulers of Kingdoms.
Even as they traded words about the concessions in question - reduced tariffs, joint trade ventures, and the such - Rickard felt an undeniable rift open up between them that hadn't been there when he first entered the room. Worse still, Rickard felt like Steffon sensed it as well. Yet, they both joked and laughed as they always had, keeping up appearances if only for the sake that they could be mistaken and the other still considered them a trusted friend.
Yet, Rickard didn't. And he wasn't.
Because, even as they talked like old friends, Rickard planned on how to move forward with their scheme. How they would pull it off without the Stormlands.
Luckily… there was another who was perfect for the role. And Rickard never had to fear that he would betray them to the king.
It seemed like it was time to speak to Tywin Lannister about a few common enemies they might have.
...
Advanced chapters are currently available on my Pat re on and Subscribe Star!
« First « Prev Ch 15 of 43 Next »
Review
Jump:
Share: Email . Facebook . Twitter
Story: Follow Favorite
Author: Follow Favorite
Contrast: Dark . Light
Font: Small . Medium . Large . XL
Twitter . Help . Sign Up . Cookies . Privacy . Terms of Service
We use cookies. By using our services, you acknowledge that you have read and accept our Cookies & Privacy Policies.
AcceptFanFiction.Net
Just In
Community
Forum
V
More
A Golden Path by Ideas-Guy
Dune & A Song of Ice and Fire Xover Rated: M, English, Adventure & Drama, Paul A., Eddard S./Ned, Words: 172k+, Favs: 2k+, Follows: 2k+, Published: Jun 17, 2024 Updated: Aug 24
882Chapter 16: Foundation 2-7
Tywin Lannister was a man who wielded power as a cudgel rather than one who wielded it with a deft hand, Rickard knew. In truth, it wasn't that surprising that the friendship between him and the king soured as time went by. It was almost predictable in a way, as Tywin's upbringing left deep scars that he unwittingly put on display for all to see.
The Rains of Castamere. To most, it was a startling reminder of something that was nearly unheard of in the Seven Kingdoms' long history. The utter annihilation of two houses and the brutal efficiency with which it was delivered. Tywin intended it to be a declaration of intent - that he was not to be trifled with and his word was law.
Only the song left out everything leading up to the rebellion. The years of humiliation and weak leadership that came from Tywin's father. It was those years that made Tywin. Shaped him like clay into the man he would become. That experience leaked into everything that he did, knowingly or not. It was there in his years as Hand of the King - how he discussed policy, how he used threats rather than soft words. Something that Rickard felt first hand as it was clear that those letters of rebuke didn't all come from King Aerys.
In hindsight, it wasn't all that surprising that the friendship between Tywin and Aerys had soured. It was almost inevitable, really. Tywin was a man who needed to be taken seriously, and he validated that need by being at the forefront of all serious politics. Aerys was a vain, selfish man whose ambitions outstripped his ability, but they did not outstrip Tywins. So, even as Aerys relied on his Hand, the humiliation seeped into it and polluted their friendship until there was nothing but spite and hate left.
Rickard understood the man that he was going to be dealing with. If he understood him, then he could anticipate his actions - Tywin hadn't suffered such humiliation since he had been a boy, only this was worse. This humiliation came after years of believing that no one would ever dare laugh at him or House Lannister.
Meaning that the iron was hot, and it needed to be struck swiftly and decisively.
"Such a meeting won't go unnoticed," John Arryn voiced, seated across from Rickard. Even here, in his own quarters, Jon didn't raise his voice above a whisper. "Aerys may be mad, but the people around him aren't fools, least of all Steffon. Tywin is being watched. Closely. In particular, by the brother of our future queen."
The eunuch had a talent for spycraft, as Steffon had informed him, and while the seat to the Master of Whispers was officially empty… unofficially, it was filled by Lucerys Valis. Who his spies were was something of a question, but in a place like King's Landing, you couldn't throw a stone without hitting someone who was a spy for someone else.
"Of course he is," Hoster Tully replied, his voice just as low as he was seated next to Rickard. "But what does that change? Steffon won't act, not when it's his own neck on the line." There was a pang of sorrow in Rickard's chest, but he pushed it to the side and focused on the reality of the situation. They could no longer rely on Steffon when the time came, so they must turn to another potential ally.
"I will make the approach as I have pre-existing business to discuss with him to serve as a cover," Rickard stated, making both men nod. "The Ironborn have long plagued both of our shores, and the Westerlands are a natural trade route through to the Reach by sea. The spies will watch, but the meeting will not be seen as strange in itself."
Jon inclined his head, "Very well. I am open to Tywin joining our alliance. However, he shall not join for free. The man is sharp, and spite is not enough to motivate him."
Rickard wasn't so sure about that but held his tongue while Hoster spoke. "I have a second daughter, Lisa, who Jaime can wed." He offered quickly and Rickard swallowed a reaction to how easily he sold his daughter. That aside, it wasn't a poor match. Though, it did give Rickard a quiet concern.
It would make Hoster and the Riverlands the centerpiece to the alliance.
They were allies, but that did not mean in everything. Once their plans were enacted, either through diplomacy or by the point of a blade, a Great Council would rule alongside the King. Having the Tully's married into both the Westerlands and the North could pose its own issues down the road.
"Elbert Arryn, my nephew and heir, is also unmarried," Jon noted, likely thinking along the same lines. "As is Cersei Lannister." There was a notable age difference between the two of nearly ten years, but there had been marriages with larger gaps.
"As are my second son and daughter," Rickard finished. Which put him in the best position to negotiate - a son for Cersei or a daughter for Jamie. That being said, Tywin would want his daughter to marry better than a second son, and Elbert was heir to the Eyrie. A match between him and Cersei seemed far more likely. A match between Lyanna and Jaime was possible, but it was also something he was wary of, even if the thought appealed.
The same reasons he didn't confirm the betrothal between Lyanna and Robert was still valid. The North did not handle change well, and a great many things would be changing in the coming years. Having his daughter's hand be free made for an excellent prize to keep them in line. She'd batter him black and blue if she ever heard him say as much, but it was the truth.
"The Lion will be spoiled for choice," Hoster noted with a soft snort.
"Aye, he will be," Rickard admitted. Knowing what he did about Tywin, whatever betrothal brokered would be dependent on who could offer him the best deal. And that was a rave that Rickard was sorely tempted to stay out of. After all, having his children unmarried could have its own advantages when the dust settled. There would be more room to maneuver.
"There are other things we can offer beyond marriages," Jon noted, looking to Rickard. "I understand that the Crown has been… generous with its offer of support in your industries." Rickard didn't react to the question, though he wished to. He fought off a frown and instead nodded.
"Aye, it has," Rickard agreed. One part because of Steffon and one part because Aerys was infuriated by Essos. However, that wasn't what Jon was asking about. Not truly. As it was, Brandon and Catelyn hadn't been married, meaning that there was still time to break the betrothal. And, much like a fish on a hook, Brandon was thrashing about to escape - something that wasn't going unnoticed by any parties involved. But Jon didn't care about that.
He cared that Steffon had unofficially stepped away from their cause and now was wondering if Rickard would have a similar change of heart due to the Crown's generosity.
It was a fair concern. Reasonable, really. So Rickard tried to not take offense because, the truth was, the Crown was generous. There were many points that were being refined as the talks continued, but there were many things that the North sorely needed.
Population and food.
The North was vast but it was empty. There was no shortage of farmland to be found, but it was always difficult to utilize it due to the sparse population. The cause for it was winter - winter in the North was harsh and long, where a string of bad harvests could lead to the starvation of entire villages. But it was a problem that fed into itself, exacerbating an issue that didn't need to be so punishing. Because the North was so harsh, the people within it didn't trust new settlements.
What promise was that a new farm could produce enough food for a family when the farm they tilled had managed to sustain a family for generations? What promise was that a new fishing village would have schools of fish jumping into nets when the fishermen there already knew the spots that could guarantee a full haul? The Starks and their liege lords could offer what benefits all they like, but it was the smallfolk who would be wagering their lives.
The result was people stuck to the land that they knew, even when it failed them.
"What he offers is generous. The North will be stronger for it. When the time comes," Rickard said, holding Jon's gaze.
The offer was also a poisoned chalice, Rickard knew. It was just a question of whether the poison would kill him or give him the runs.
The Crown offered to sponsor significant privileges and tax breaks for those who would migrate to the North, who would then develop lands that would have key roles in future industries, such as mining. Rickard intended to develop the lands strategically across the North to create a web of towns and villages that the South enjoyed. As when a village was starving, there could be another but a day's walk away who could have grain that they could spare. In the North, in summer, that journey could take as much as three days. In winter? Weeks.
The danger there was that they were worshipers of the Seven who are One. With the migrants came demands for Septs. Septons. Conversions. The removal of Weirwood trees. Perhaps not all at once, but they would happen eventually. Naturally, the worshipers of the Old Gods wouldn't accept such demands and they would resent the southerners who came to their lands and told them how to worship.
In exchange for the opportunity to develop the North, he was accepting religious unrest. It was only a question of severity and how he could curtail the worst of it. That, and criticism from his vassals for accepting a tide of Southerners.
It would be difficult. There were hard days ahead, Rickard knew, but it would all be worth it. Meeting Paul Atredies had changed everything. Everything he had ever hoped for the North was at his fingertips. The Crown was all but giving Rickard what he thought he would have to spend the rest of his life fighting to receive
The Crown wanted him to develop his western coast - a port that would facilitate trade for the Westerlands and the Reach. And the Iron Islands too, if that could be believed. A secondary port meant ships. A fleet. Something that the North had lacked for generations. Not to mention the natural development that would happen as Southern and Braavosi ships made their way up his eastern coast to reach Skagos. If he could just convince that restoring Moat Cailin was imperative, then Rickard would have everything he could ever have wanted for the North.
So… yes. He understood what Jon's concerns were. He understood that he was taking great risks by committing to the course.
And yet his greed surprised them both because he still wanted more.
…
Of course, while men made plans, the gods laughed.
"I wish to marry her. Ashara Dayne," his second son informed him, half cornering Rickard in their quarters as they prepared for the event that would dominate the day. The Melee. Which he intended to use as a cover to speak to Tywin, as the event itself would likely last the better part of eight hours, if not longer.
Ned stood across from his - his shoulders squared, his chin lifted, and he met Rickard's heavy stare without flinching. When he spoke, it was calm but firm. "The match can benefit House Stark, and House Dayne alike. There are things that could only be harvested in Dorne, and a marriage would give us a natural ally in the region." He began, and Rickard had to swallow a smile.
Rickard hadn't let such information slip about what industries would need to be offloaded throughout the Seven Kingdoms simply because the North's weather was unsuited. There were several potential industries that Paul had marked for Dorne - from harvesting sea slugs for their pigments to farming pearls. House Dayne was noted to be a potential ally in the venture as Starfall was well suited to be cultivated. Meaning that Paul had aided Ned in trying to convince him.
Rickard would never be able to bring himself to trust Paul, but it was something of a relief that he was fostering connections with Ned. He was unsure how true the friendship was, but it was a promising sign that Paul intended to stay in the North.
"You barely know the girl," Rickard replied evenly, not giving a hint what he thought of the match. "Acting a love-struck fool about a girl is something I'd expect from your brother, not you, Ned." The match wasn't a poor one. There could be better ones out there, however. He'd rather Ned marry Cersei Lannister if he could arrange it.
"I know how it sounds, Father. Believe me," Ned replied, sounding properly chagrined about it. Well, at least his wits hadn't been chased out by a pretty face. Ashara Dayne was a beautiful woman by any measure, with some calling her the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. "It is my intention to court her for the duration of the tourney. What I'm asking is that you consider the merits of the marriage."
Ned had been coached. Possibly by Paul. Possibly by Brandon. Possibly both.
"I… have done everything you have ever asked of me, Father." Ned continued, his lips thinning. "No matter how unsuited to it I might be." Meaning the spying. That had turned out about as well as Rickard had anticipated, though he was relieved that Paul had refused to use the information as a weapon. Not out of forgiveness and understanding, Rickard suspected, but because it would alienate his liege lord too early.
Ned was a poor spy, but he had learned more than he realized.
"What you ask is no small thing, Ned," Rickard said, his voice stern but not unkind. "I have plans for you, and marriage is a very powerful tool."
"I understand that," Ned said, and unlike his older brother, Rickard suspected that he did. Ned was always a dutiful son. Reliable. He had none of the wildness that plagued his brother. "But I'm asking anyway."
It wasn't a bad match. The prospect of a Lannister bride was tempting, but the possibility was slim to begin with. What's more, if memory served, Ashara had served as Elia Martell's handmaiden, who was Robert's betrothed. That was a connection that could be useful - how, Rickard wasn't sure as of yet, but it could be. Regardless of the uncertainty of the friendship that existed between Rickard and Steffon, Ned and Robert were still fast friends. And, potentially, so could their wives.
"I'll consider it," Rickard decided, intending to mean it. And to follow it up with a reminder that he would still look for other matches in the meantime and he would choose the one that benefited the North the most. But then a rare smile blossomed on Ned's face as if Rickard had just promised him the moon.
The North demanded strength. It demanded sacrifice. But Rickard knew his children were his greatest weakness.
"Thank you, Father. You won't regret this. I swear it," Ned swore, and Rickard swallowed a sigh as he reached out, placing a hand on Ned's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. He would need to approach House Dayne soon. Rumors were already floating around about the two, so it would be best to address them before anyone accused Ned of dishonoring her.
"I know you won't," Rickard told him, offering a small nod before a pounding came at the door.
"Hurry!" Lyanna protested from the other side. "We're going to be late!"
To that, they shared a look as they left the room to see what Lyanna was pacing about. Rickard raised an eyebrow. "It's hardly like they'll run out of room."
"They could start without us! They'd hardly keep the king waiting," Lyanna complained, all but dragging them forward out of their quarters. In the hall, Rickard saw Brandon.
"Father, Ned," he greeted them easily, throwing a smile their way. "Wish me luck?"
Rickard saw the marks on Bradon's neck, telling him that he already had someone wishing him luck. Someone who wasn't Catelyn Tully. A remark was on the tip of Richard's tongue, but he swallowed it down and instead offered a nod. "Be careful out there, son. The melee is always dangerous, but this one… There is far more to win than a prize. And we have more enemies here than we do in the North."
Brandon returned his nod before he was embraced by his siblings. They wished him well before they went their separate ways, despite having the same destination.
There had been a question of where such an event could take place in King's Landing, but as it so happened, it already had an arena prepared.
The Dragonpit.
A ruin from when the Targaryens still had their dragons, which was destroyed in the aftermath of the Dance. It was a massive building, a colosseum that could seat as many as eighty thousand people - making it a natural choice for events like a tourney or the crowning of a king. The dome that had covered the stadium collapsed, and for more than a hundred years, the ruin was left unrepaired as there were no more dragons to dwell within it.
As soon as Steffon found a bride and they committed to this extravagant wedding, they began to restore the Dragonpit.
It would house both the melee and the joust. Unlike most tourneys, the one that people were most excited for was the melee because of what it promised to be.
As they moved through the city, escorted by guards who made way for everyone in the Red Keep, Rickard could admit that the Dragonpit at least cut an impressive sight. It was a grandiose building that almost seemed out of place in King's Landing. The entrance revealed that the ground had been smoothed, and the ruined stone was disposed of - sunlight streamed through the open ceiling, but shade was cast by tapestries that denoted each of the Great Houses.
They took their seats in the private viewing box on their side beneath the banner of House Stark. Soon after, the men who would represent the North came streaming in alongside the other Houses.
The reason the melee was less popular than the joust was because it was harder to bet on. Great fighters found themselves teamed up against, or betrayed, or were simply unlucky. But this promised to be something different. Something new. There would be no individual winner, but a victorious kingdom.
Eight hundred men would soon battle in the arena. One hundred men for each of the Kingdoms, including the Riverlands. Of those one hundred men, they were allowed twenty mounted knights.
Despite his reservations, Rickard found himself interested in the outcome. This was going to be a historic melee. Whoever some wastrel got drunk in a tavern and asked who had the best warriors, this melee would be used as proof for whichever kingdom won. The men who fought in the tourney would be able to boast about it until they're dying day.
Rickard had no expectations, but he hoped that the wind would blow the North's way. It was an opportunity he would like to seize, just not one he expected to.
"There he is," Lyanna muttered before standing up and swiftly making her way down to where the Northmen were gathered. Brandon sat on Frost, his preferred horse, wearing a set of plate armor that Rickard had commissioned for the wedding. Unlike the other Kingdoms, Brandon's armor was unadorned. Simple gray steel. It was a set of armor for war, not pageantry.
Rickard thought she intended to offer her brother a favor for protection, but he watched as she called out to another. His lips thinned when he saw Paul Atreides step forward. He couldn't hear what was said between them, but he could guess when Paul lifted an arm while Lyanna had to lean down to tie a slip of silk around Paul's wrist.
"That girl…" Rickard muttered darkly, watching his bannermen watch the act. Paul wasn't well-liked as it was - he was new, and he was proving to be the richest of his vassals. They didn't dislike him in particular, though, but that was slowly changing as they watched his daughter grant Paul her favor.
She truly didn't understand the target that she just put on Paul's back.
Lyanna was keenly aware of his gaze, though she didn't let that diminish her as she made her way back with rose-tinted cheeks and a slight smile tugging at her lips. She just made sure not to meet his gaze, as if his disapproval wasn't real if she didn't see it. Then, without saying a word, she simply sat back down and pretended the whole thing never happened.
His children were going to be the death of him.
Deciding to table the conversation for another time, he instead turned his attention to the crowd that was now filling the stadium. All of them family of those who were fighting, nobility, or particularly rich merchants. Even with a stadium that could seat so many, they couldn't house a fraction of those who wished to witness the melee. They all hurried along while the men on the field made their last adjustments to their arms, armor, and plans.
Once the arena was full to the point of burst, only then did a voice ring out from the royal box. An announcer who was certainly going to lose his voice by how loudly he had to yell to be heard.
And the kicker was?
Rickard couldn't hear a word that he was saying over the general excitement of the crowd.
Instead, he turned his attention to the King - Aerys sat at the helm of the royal box, and he looked… Diminished. The act was beginning to wear thin, Rickard suspected. He was flanked by his own wife, as well as the bride of Prince Rhaegar, who rode at the front of his contingent of men. He wore dark armor and a helm in the shape of a dragon, while rubies were encrusted into his armor in the shape of his heraldry.
A frown tugged at his lips when he saw Steffon was in the royal box as well. However, it was soon wiped away as the crowd's cheering reached a fever pitch.
Then, distantly, he heard the words that they all had been waiting for.
"Let the games begin!"
...
Advanced chapters are currently available on my Pat re on and Subscribe Star!
« First « Prev Ch 16 of 43 Next »
Review
Jump:
Share: Email . Facebook . Twitter
Story: Follow Favorite
Author: Follow Favorite
Contrast: Dark . Light
Font: Small . Medium . Large . XL
Twitter . Help . Sign Up . Cookies . Privacy . Terms of Service
We use cookies. By using our services, you acknowledge that you have read and accept our Cookies & Privacy Policies.
Accept