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A Golden Path: Foundation 2.3 (ch. 12)
🕑 Added 2025-01-06 15:57:46 +0000 UTCThe reception was more or less in line with what Rickard anticipated upon their arrival. King Aerys had never hidden his disdain for the North, however undeserved his ire was. In fact, that was about the only thing that Rickard found respectable about the king -- he was honest.
At least until he tried to dress himself up like a drowned rat wrapped in silks and given perfumes to mask the stench of rot.
King Aerys was a man of little concern, however. He may still possess the crown, but he had been thoroughly defanged by one of the men that he was bound to meet. That fact was made all the more clear by all the bones and dragon iconography that filled the Red Keep to the brim. To the Targaryens, it was their history. Something to be proud of.
But, to Rickard's eyes, it was a testament to how far the House of the Dragon had fallen. Aegon Targaryen had united the Seven Kingdoms in a single lifetime, yet his dynasty had failed to rule for a mere three hundred years before it began to collapse in on itself.
As the servants led him through the halls, Rickard had to swallow a smirk as his eyes caught sight of something familiar. The gift that Paul had sent to the Targaryen dynasty as an apology for the… trade disruptions.
It was a small statue of three dragons in flight -- one carved from dragonglass, another carved from jade, with a third carved from sapphires. All three interlocked in a masterful display of artistry. They were around the size of his hand, but carved with such detail that they almost looked alive.
It brought him some measure of pride to see, even if Paul Atreides was still at fault for what he suspected came next.
The doors swung open, revealing the most powerful men in the Seven Kingdoms. There were three tables set up in a U formation that faced the door, with the arms of the U having enough chairs for the highest lords and members of the Small Council. The men were having polite conversations amongst themselves, none yet seated as King Aerys had yet to arrive. His presence hardly went unnoticed as all eyes shifted to him.
Tywin Lannister stood, flanked by a young Mace Tyrell and Dorian Martell -- young lords, both of whom had only succeeded their fathers in recent years. The conversation seemed to be a terse one as both of the young men in their early twenties had stiff posture and wore forced polite masks for expressions. Though, that was just as likely due to Tywin's looming presence. The Hand of the King seemed well, if a bit older than the last time they had met for the final Blackfyre Rebellion.
Their eyes met and Tywin offered an ever so slightly inclination of his head, his expression carved from granite for all the emotion it expressed. Rickard returned the gesture before a man approached and Rickard allowed himself a small grin.
“Steffon,” Rickard greeted an old friend.
“Rickard! Look at you, you mangy bastard -- what's that gray in your beard already?” Steffon Baratheon greeted him warmly and Rickard was quietly amused at just how similar his eldest son was to his father. Both in personality and appearance.
Except for one thing. Rickard raised an eyebrow before he made a deliberate look down at Steffon's stomach before looking back up. “Whatever happened to dying before you got too fat for your armor?” He replied blandly, and he could feel the younger of the lords take in a sharp breath.
Steffon barked a laugh, “I stopped wearing it so I can pretend that I still can, if the need ever arose. Good to see you haven't lost that bite of yours, mangy wolf,” He said as they clasped forearms.
“You two get along as well as ever,” Jon Arryn noted, approaching alongside Hoster Tully. The Lord of the Riverlands. Another companion from the war, though one Rickard would hesitate to call a friend.
“Bah -- he grew on me, and distance made the heart fond. I reckon I'll be sick of ‘em by the end of the wedding.”
“That long? I wager I have about a day before the sight of you makes me ill,” Rickard returned as they both shared a laugh.
There was a time when Rickard would have meant the words with the entirety of his heart and soul. He had been young during the Blackfyre Rebellion. Young and eager to prove himself. Full of piss and vinegar, determined to make anyone who doubted him and the North swallow their words along with some of their teeth.
Naturally, he ran head first into Steffon Baratheon. Also young, also eager to prove himself, and determined that there wasn't a problem in the world he couldn't solve with a warhammer. They had fought like cats and dogs, coming to blows no less than three times -- they fought each other more than they did the petty warlords Maleys brought to his banner.
In the end, it was a particularly dimwitted wager that nearly got both of them killed that ended up forging a powerful friendship between them that endured to this day.
“It's good that you made it, even if it cost me a wager -- I was sure that you'd be late,” Seffon remarked as the conversations in the room resumed. Rickard kept a broad eye on everyone, noting who spoke with who.
Most interesting was Quellon Greyjoy, who seemed to be having a polite conversation with Qarlton Chelsted, the Master of Coin, despite the lower lord appearing as if he was one mean look away from filling his pants.
“Hm. I nearly was -- the further south we went, the larger the retinue we picked up. Most were completely unprepared for the heat of the South. My daughter was convinced she was going to melt into a puddle,” Rickard remarked, his gaze flickering to Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully.
Both were older men, Jon more so than Hoster. Hoster still possessed the renowned Tully red hair and blue eyes, though, much like Rickard, his hair had begun to gray and lose its luster. The man was on the cusp of being an old man, just a few short years away from it. “I don't suppose I've missed anything of note, have I?”
The question was an innocent one in nature, only revealing what was beneath to those that already knew what he was really asking.
This was a rare opportunity. The Wardens and the Lord Paramounts were gathered up in a way that only happened in war. Only there was no enemy to fight on this occasion.
“There have been some… developments,” Steffon admitted, offering a small shrug as he kept his tone even.
“Talks of marriage,” Hoster offered, and Rickard swallowed his reaction. A reminder that it would be best to marry Brandon to his daughter sooner than later. Breaking a betrothal was no small thing, especially between lords over kingdoms, but it could be done. And Hoster was just power hungry enough to do it if he thought he'd received a better offer.
“There has also been a development with the Small Council. A new Master of Whispers has been appointed,” Jon informed, and that was a development worth hearing about. He subtly inclined his head to the newest member of the Small Council and Rickard was surprised to see it was a beardless youth. No, not-
“A eunuch?” Rickard questioned, and Jon nodded. He saw plenty of unmanned men during his time in Essos. A strange custom that, one that made a shiver race down his spine at the mere thought of it.
“And the future queen’s brother,” Steffon grunted, a frown tugging at his lips. “Rumor is that it was his sister that had it done to ‘em. But, he's as sharp as the crack of a whip. He reached out to me when I was in Volantis since they were already planning to flee. Knew everything about me down to me shoe size.”
Rickards nose crinkled in disgust at the idea of unmanning your own kin to secure your position in the family. He was perfectly happy to take Essosian coin, but he couldn't stomach what they called civilization. But, beyond his immediate disgust, Rickard understood everything else that was said.
Steffon had a direct connection to the new Master of Whispers, who in turn would be related to the Royal Family. It was a relationship that would only last a short time before the new spymaster wisened up. If he hadn't already.
However, before Rickard could reply, the room shifted once more. He immediately felt the tension rise in the room and the cause for it was obvious.
King Aerys had entered the room, flanked by four members of his Kingsguard. The only one that Rickard could recognize by sight was Ser Barristan Selmy, and despite growing older like the rest of them, he still carried himself with a sense of dignity and strength. It made the king look that much more shabby standing next to him.
“My lords,” Aerys began, “be seated. It is such a rare… opportunity for the greatest of us to be gathered. Especially in a time of… celebration.” He offered a thin smile, trying to give the impression of a gentle bearing, but inadvertently flashed his blackened teeth.
He took a seat at the head of the table, no one seated next to him, save for his Kingsguard. On one side of the table, the highest lords of the realm sat, and directly across from them were the members of the Small Council. Rickard took his place, sandwiched between Quellon Greyjoy and Dorian Martell towards the end of the table, with Dorian being at the end. Which was surprising because that was where Rickard expected to sit.
Dorian didn't seem surprised, however, accepting his place without complaint. Towards the head of their half of the table sat Tywin, then Steffon, Mace Tyrell, then Hoster.
“But, before we begin with the pleasantries… There are urgent matters to discuss. Lord Qarlton, if you would?” Aerys questioned and, tellingingly, his gaze first flickered to Tywin Lannister before he stood up.
“Of course, your grace,” Qarlton said and Rickard was already getting a very clear picture of the situation. Aerys was presenting a strong front to the Wardens and Lord Paramounts. To make it appear as if he were a strong and wise king. “The matter is in regards to the trade disputes with Essos, in particular, the three daughters -- Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr.”
Rickard didn't fail to notice how Qarlton's eyes then skid to him, and he met his gaze with a thin smile that flashed a hint of teeth. “And what is the nature of these disruptions?” Rickard asked directly, posing an open question. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quellon swallow a smile.
He was hardly unaware of the development. Rickard had expected this conversation since he received the summons. He knew exactly what questions would be asked, what demands would be made, and he knew exactly what answers he would give.
“At first it was the typical raising in tariffs on our goods while levying a tax on any goods coming from the Three Daughters to the Seven Kingdoms. Enough to make the lesser nobility and merchants complain, but hardly anything worthy of the Crown's attention. At least until recently, where reports of piracy on our trades ships have increased by an estimate of… three thousand percent.”
That, however, was news to Rickard. As well as several others. Dorian Martel spoke up, “There have been incursions into our seaside villages. Slave raids. When I learned of them, I had men planted in villages to be taken to learn where they were going, as well as who took them.”
“They are taken to Bloodstone, under a captain of the name Salladhor Saan. A well known pirate in the region. One who recently found himself in the employ of Tyrosh,” the Eunuch informed, interlocking his fingers before him.
Dorian met his gaze before nodding, “Exactly so.”
“The Dornishmen aren't the only ones. I've had a few raids along my coast as well,” Steffon admitted, making Mace shift in his chair.
“As have I,” Mace confessed. “I thought they were being a bit ambitious and I had trusted men to see them to the sea. However… from the sounds of things, this is no mere ambitious pirate! This is an act of war!” He thumped the table with a fist, and he was joined by Steffon.
Slave raids were always a longstanding issue, though for the North, it was their western coast that saw the worst of them. From the Ironborn.
Something that wasn't lost on Quellon, as he now openly wore a smile. A sharp and cutting one that silently dared anyone in the room to make the comparison.
“Is that the answer then? War?” Rickard questioned, cocking his head to the side.
Qarlton looked down at the table for a moment, “I expect that these troubles will subsiste once an… agreement can be made with the free cities.” He refused to look in Rickard's direction.
“An agreement with slavers, hm? Allow me to guess -- they want things to go back to the way things were, in which the Seven Kingdoms were dependent on slave labor for luxury goods.” Rickard spoke out loud.
Trade meant little to the men in this room. Like him until recently, they didn't understand its value. They were ignorant of trade's true power. The people in this room, foes and allies alike, ruled over prosperous lands in which a noble family could easily thrive off the land's incomes. Even he, ruler of the poorest of the Seven Kingdoms, enjoyed an income that was measured in millions.
So, instead, he would appeal to their pride.
“That is…” Qarlton began, but trailed off uncertainly. He was unsure of his place, if he could afford to rebuke the Warden of the North, even if he wouldn't be wrong for laying the blame for this situation at his feet.
“I have kept a close eye on Essos,” Rickard began, unbothered by the considering glances that he received. “I am aware of their troubles. The merchants of the Free Cities bemoan the loss of customers in us, and in Bravos. They lash out to bring us to their table so they can save their livelihood of growing rich off the labor of enslaved men, women, and children. Forgive me, my lords, but I can hardly spare concern for the troubles of slavers.”
“I imagine you wouldn't,” Tywin Lannister uttered, meeting his gaze down the table. “When it is the North that stands to benefit from this… disruption.” The words were cold. An utterance of facts rather than a rebuke.
“Paul Atreides, was it? The newest vassal of House Stark,” the Eunuch remarked from across the table.
This was where things got… difficult. “Aye, you are correct.”
He was keenly aware of everyone in this room. Not a single one of them spared the North an ounce of thought. They were all too keen to forget about the northern half of the Seven Kingdoms. Because they worshiped the Old Gods. Because their lands were vast and sparsely populated. Because they were too poor of a kingdom with too little to offer. And yet, now, it was the North that they had to turn to, for it was the North that had the finest trade goods that not only matched the quality of what could be found in Essos, but surpassed them.
And now he had to fight tooth and nail to ensure that power remained in the North, and only the North.
“House Atreides has assured me that it is up to meeting the task of supplying the Seven Kingdoms with luxury goods while we deal with the Daughters. And we must deal with the Daughters -- our peoples have been attacked and enslaved. This requires an answer.” The best move he could make would be to attempt to shift the target of the conversation.
It wouldn't work. Eventually, he would be approached and pressed by others, but in more private meetings he wouldn't have to worry about refusing not only the King, but all the high lords of the Kingdoms at once.
Unexpectedly, he received support from Quellon Greyjoy. “The Stepstones are key to the Narrow Sea. So long as Essos controls them, this will always be a problem. Officially speaking, the Stepstones are inhabited by pirates, slavers, and degenerates of the worst sort. I say we deal with these loathsome pirates at the source. Might even get a thank you from the Daughters for it.”
“That is…” Qarlton muttered before trailing off, the man displaying a severe lack of a spine in Rickards' eyes. The idea was sound, though it would be no small affair. But, it would be a reasonable response. The Three Daughters wanted to hide their actions behind a curtain, which would make it difficult for them to act openly against the Seven Kingdoms. Rickard imagined there would be a sharp increase in these raids and of piracy in general, but as it was, they needed Westeros far more than Westeros needed the Daughters.
There were some goods that they would have to purchase from Bravos, at least for now. Just as Rickard had seen this problem coming, so had Paul Atreides and the answers he had given Rickard during their talks on the way to King's Landing… they had been revealing. And promising.
“A hasty measure,” Tywin uttered, his tone even. “First, let us repay these merchants in kind. Lord Stark,” Tywin said, turning to him once more. “How certain are you that the North can provide an… alternative source for our imports from Essos?”
“I have a list prepared for all that the North is prepared for already, and what will take time for production to ramp up.” Rickard answered, reaching into his coat to take out a piece of folded parchment that he handed to a servant. He made to bring the list to Tywin, only for King Aerys to raise a hand, and the list was brought to him.
Rickard waited as the room went silent as the King read the list. After a long minute, his violet gaze glanced up from it and beneath the table, Rickard clenched a fist.
This was an important moment. Not just for House Stark, but for the future of the North. This trade war with Essos opened the door to making the North a powerhouse for luxury and common goods. It would vastly increase their incomes and it would make the North of consequence.
However, none of the rulers of the other six kingdoms would be so content to allow the North to rise in prominence. Not when it could be their kingdom that benefited instead. Yet, the North had two natural advantages. They had House Atreides, which already had the production capacity to fulfill demand. They also had the advantage of being perceived as one of the weaker great houses.
If this production went to the Reach? The Westerlands? Or even the Stormlands? That would further empower an already powerful house. The increased income wouldn't matter as much to an already rich house, but it would be a matter of prestige. Influence.
And the king, as paranoid as he was rumored to be, would be all too keenly aware of that fact as he cast a suspicious glance to Tywin, who merely met it evenly. “Arrangements in regards to the North's production can be arranged for a later meeting,” Aerys decided, and Rickard wasn't entirely sure if that was a good thing or not.
There were some things that Rickard was willing to part with. Industries, as Paul called them, that were ill suited for the North due to climate or population. Rickard was loath to part with them even then, but the fact of the matter was, the North stood to gain far more by exchanging the information on how to establish these industries for favors. Concessions. Things that the North needed to have a proper seat at the table rather than a passing consideration.
This would be a battle that would be held behind closed doors for the duration of their stay, Rickard knew. And it was going to be a battle that he would have few allies in, but it was a battle he must win all the same.
King Aerys set the list down on the table before interlocking his thin and boney fingers. “I have heard your thoughts and concerns,” he uttered, and Rickard noticed how Tywin's lips thinned. He wasn't happy about something. “Having heard both, I believe the path forward is a compromise of ideas. First, we shall sever trade with the Three Daughters. Completely and utterly, for the audacious arrogance to make demands of us. Of me.” The room shifted ever so slightly as Aerys let the mask slip, giving a hint of his real nature when he wasn't pretending to be a competent king.
“At the same time, we shall send an expeditionary force into the Stepstones to deal with these… pirates,” he continued, his gaze flickering across the room and he smiled when he saw general approval. He seemed to bask in it, yet his smile took a wicked edge.
Rickard didn't care. That was the best possible news he could have heard, and anything that after wasn't nearly as important. It took all that he had to not sag in his chair in pure relief.
“We stand at the cusp of a new era,” King Aerys continued. “My son will be wed to a bride of pure Valerian descent. We once more look to Essos for what could be the greatest military conquest since my ancestor conquered the Seven Kingdoms themselves. And as we enter this new era for the kingdoms… I believe that it is best to see those who have granted me diligent service be rewarded. Steffon, my friend, please stand.”
Steffon wasn't entirely surprised to be called upon and Aerys offered a mockery of a gentle smile. “My friend. You have labored long and hard in a task that I knew would be no small matter. For two years, you were separated from your family and lands. Yet, you did not return home until you were successful.”
“I am yours to command, my king,” Steffon said, bowing his head to their king. The air in the room grew tense once more, everyone sensing that something was about to happen, but Rickard never would have guessed what.
“You are. Ever loyal and dutiful. Which is why I name you Hand of the King, effective immediately,” King Aerys said, his smile taking a vindictive glee as Tywin stood up so abruptly that his chair was knocked over. Immediately, the members of the Kingsguard went for their swords and, for a moment, no one breathed.
King Aerys had just humiliated the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms before the highest lords of the Kingdoms and the Small Council in what seemed to be an impulse, because everyone, including Steffon, was shocked by the decision.
The silence that followed was deafening as everyone waited for Tywin's response. Anticipating that he wouldn't take the humiliating dismissal well, and Rickard knew that he wouldn't. In some form, in some way, he would have his revenge. After all, Tywin Lannister was the man who slaughtered entire families because they laughed at him.
Instead of lashing out, Tywin Lannister silently reached up and took off the necklace of interlocked hands and slammed it into Steffon's chest. The two exchanged a heavy glance, and though Rickard knew the two were old friends, he also knew that theirs was a friendship that had been thoroughly strained by their King, and it would seem that this may be the last straw.
Steffon accepted the necklace and Tywin began to turn away, to leave the room, but just as he took a step, Aerys pounced.
“I did not give you permission to leave, Lannister,” Aerys said, uttering the name like it was a curse. “It would hardly do, I think. This is such a rare opportunity for all the highest lords in Westeros to share a table and meeting. And we have so much to discuss.”
Tywin's expression didn't so much as twitch but there was a fury burning in his eyes as the chair was righted and it too was granted to Steffon, with Tywin taking his place a seat down from the king. Steffon took the seat, appearing at ease but any who knew him well would see that he was uncertain. Unsure. And all too aware how deep Tywin's animosity ran against those that wronged him.
One thing was clear to Rickard as he settled into his seat, all too aware of the lingering tension in the room.
This royal wedding would be anything but boring.
Comments
Velleity
Well shit... They better talk that out, hopefully Tywin's reason will beat his pride... But we all know which he value's more... Oh dear...
Dawn Whitbeck
JESUS CHRIST I NEVER EXPECTED THAT PLOT TWIST 😲
