IdeasGuy
patreon
A Golden Path: Foundation 2.6 (ch. 15)
🕑 Added 2025-03-03 16:00:55 +0000 UTCNed 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.
