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A Golden Path: First Steps 1.7 (ch. 7)
🕑 Added 2024-09-30 15:01:15 +0000 UTCThe issue wasn't settled, Rickard knew, days later as the festival continued on. Enough time for the story to settle, the excitement wearing off, and for the lords to start to think about everything that they heard. Most were content with the story and the perfumed fate of House Crowl. They didn't suspect that he, nor Brandon, had any reason to lie to them. Instead, they basked in what they hoped to be a greater future while taking the measure of Paul to determine if he was of any use to their houses.
The others, the few, grew suspicious. They hid those suspicions, and Rickard knew that they would never dare utter them to his face. Not on the dawn of a new era for the North, when House Stark was stronger than it had been since Tohren Stark bent the knee. They poked and prodded, some more subtly than others, and Rickard knew behind closed doors that they whispered.
They had doubts about the story. About Paul. About the sequence of events. They were the ones, he reasoned, had men at the Wall to tell them of the whispers there. They were the ones that had pieces of a conspiracy, and they were looking at the story that Rickard gave them, and they were double checking to see if the pieces fit.
It was expected. His lords were a stubborn bunch, but they weren't fools. The Boltons, the Karstarks, the Umbers… several of his lords had suspicions. They kept them to themselves, and perhaps, with time, those suspicions would fade. But he would need to give them reasons to forget.
Rickard gazed out at the courtyard, hidden by his elevation, allowing him to gaze upon the people in his home. Ned had grown into a fine man, and he was quick with a sword, as Brandon was learning as they sparred. Ned was cheered on by the heir to the Stormlands, matching the cheering that Brandon received from dozens of others alone. Robert Baratheon. He was as Ned painted him in his letters– a loud boisterous man that wielded a warhammer with one hand that others would struggle to lift with two.
Ned's corner was also filled by his siblings, both of them eager to see Brandon brought low. In a more neutral position was Elbert, the heir to the Eyrie. A man grown, rumored to have a bastard daughter, but an otherwise upstanding young man.
Jon's intentions were obvious enough. In normal circumstances, Rickard would be far more inclined to make a betrothal. Likely to Robert – he was of closer age to Lyanna, and the two could be happy together. The Baratheon would soon learn it, but they shared many interests. Elbert would marry Lysa Tully, the younger sister of Brandon's own betrothed. Through the marriages, the informal alliance that had been stuck during the War of the Ninepenny Kings would be formalized.
The North, the Eyrie, the Stormland, and the Riverlands would stand united through marriage and blood.
Under normal circumstances, that was.
His lords were already sore that they could not marry his heir. Rickard had already intended to smooth over with Ned's marriage, who by that time would be named Lord of the Neck. Benjen’s value as a husband was diminished as a third son, but he was still a Stark. Still a prize, though a lesser one. However, if they lost a chance to marry his daughter?
Those suspicions would become grumbling over cups.
No. It would be best if Lyanna remained unmarried for a time – to keep his vassals on their best behavior in the hopes of receiving the honor of her hand, and until he could prove that his southern ambitions provided results. She was only thirteen. It wouldn't seem out of place for him to wait until she was sixteen.
A long sigh escaped him as his gaze lingered on his daughter, who cheered the loudest when Ned scored a point against his brother, putting him up one. “I suppose I could get married once more,” Rickard muttered under his breath, misliking the idea but it was a prudent thought.
His succession was set, and he had no desire to interfere with it with more children from another wife. Which complicated things because whatever House married into House Stark would want their blood to mix. It was part of the reason he held off, but given the current state of affairs, it would be best to shore up support in the North, if only for a generation, before any issue with the Crown arose.
“An old maid,” Rickard settled on swiftly. One not likely to have more children. The family that married into his house would understand that it was a political position, putting one of their own next to him, and managing his household. It wouldn't be what they wanted, but they'd be fools to pass over such an opportunity. The question was whom he would marry, but that could be settled at a later date.
There was a shuffling of chain links, announcing the maester before Rickard saw him. “A letter, my lord,” he said, passing him a small slip of paper. Rickard's lips thinned when he saw the seal to the crown --a three headed dragon.
Unceremoniously, he unraveled it and read its contents. Though, he hadn't needed to bother. He could have guessed what the letter said and he would have been right on the mark. An inquiry about the glass that had finally been traced to the North, threats and demands for an explanation. He would have performed if the crown remained ignorant for a while longer, but he wasn't surprised that they finally found out.
The timing was good enough, but…
“Summon Brandon and Ned to my solar,” Rickard commanded easily. It would be better if Paul had his roots placed before a true inquiry could begin. As things stood, while Paul had sworn the oaths, the crown could very well interfere in some capacity to get their hands on him. Maester Wyllis bowed his head to him and Rickard waited a moment for the order to be carried out.
During that moment, his gaze drifted to Paul Atredies. He spoke quietly with Lord Manderly, likely discussing a more formal contract with the lord as Whiteharbor was the only port in the North. Lord Manderly was loyal, despite Brandon's mistake in taking advantage of that loyalty without a promise of reward. If he pressed, the Mermaid Lord would tell him the details of the conversation, but it was a dangerous road to trek when he was already meddling in the affairs of his vassals.
No one cared for House Crowl, but if they saw it was the start of something new…
Ned scored a final point against Brandon, and the only one more happy about his victory than Robert was Brandon himself. Rickard allowed himself a small smile before turning away, heading to his solar where his boys would meet with him.
He sat heavily in his chair and allowed himself to feel his exhaustion for only a moment. The days had been taxing and the potential for disaster was high. He wouldn't allow himself to relax until everything was said and done. A moment later, there was a knock at his door before Brandon brazenly entered.
He wore an easy confident smile and a swagger in his step that Rickard recognized. He made a note to himself to inquire where Brandon had been prior to the spar… as well as where Barbara Rysewell was.
Ned followed after, his expression difficult to read. However, he perked up when Rickard favored him a nod, “I saw your duel. Well fought, Ned.”
“Thank you, Father,” Ned replied dutifully, but proudly.
He was asking much of his second son, Rickard knew. He was asking a great deal of all of his children, but Ned most of all it felt like. “The crown has decided to make an inquiry in regards to the glass and other trade goods that have been coming out of the North. I don't expect much to come of it, but time is of the essence. As such… Ned, you'll be heading out with Lord Atreides.” There was an immediate flicker of disappointment in Ned's gaze but he offered a small nod, readily accepting the task.
Jon raised him well, Rickard thought to himself.
Brandon had a more vocal reaction, “she just returned home, father! You can't send him off again!” He argued, a scowl twisting his features.
“It is to safeguard our House,” Rickard replied sternly. It wasn't ideal. And he understood the issue. But, it was necessary. “We failed in every meaningful way to understand the process of how he makes glass. Or anything that his people produce. In the coming years, House Atreides will become one of our richest vassals, rivaled only by house Manderly. With his access to Beyond the Wall? He will be one of our strongest.”
There was no true proof of his suspicions, but he felt it deep in his gut. If ‘Maud'Dib’ did end up a King Beyond the Wall, then despite his small official holdings, his small folk would number in the tens of thousands. His Men-at-Arms in the thousands, putting him on equal footing with his more powerful vassals. Trade, as Rickard learned, would enrich his house like no other. Taxes and tariffs would siphon away some of that wealth, but not enough.
“This is an issue that will outlive me, Brandon. The true consequences for accepting Paul as a vassal will only reveal themselves during your rule – if the good outweighs the bad? Only time will tell,” Rickard stated and the reminder that he wouldn't always be here to steer Brandon on the correct course stole the wind from his sails. “All of us must do what we can to mitigate these problems before they can ever become problems.”
Brandon was less than convinced, even if he was cowed. “What does that have to do with sending Ned to the ass end of the world?”
The answer should have been obvious, Rickard thought. “Think, boy. You already know the answer to that.”
He did, based on his immediate grimace but he didn't want to admit as much, so Rickard said the words for him. “We've failed in nearly every manner to secure leverage over Paul. We failed to find his home in the Frostfangs. We failed to discover his secrets. Unless we do something, that won't change. What we have now may be our final opportunity within this generation to discover House Atreides secrets.”
Ned shifted where he stood, uncomfortable with the intrigue. “If he is such an issue, then why accept him at all?”
“Greed,” Rickard admitted. “Greed and desperation on my part.” He wanted a stronger North. He wanted the North to fully realize its potential. His father, and his father before him – they wanted to one day reclaim their independence from the Iron Throne. They idolized a past that never existed. He wanted the opposite – he wanted the Seven Kingdoms to be bound tighter than ever before, beyond even what Jaehearys managed when his dynasty still had dragons.
Power was a temptation like few others. It corrupted the best and attracted the worst. Rickard knew he was no different.
Even still, the thought was too alluring for him to ignore. The North becoming a political entity in the Seven Kingdoms, at long last reaping the benefits of the union of kingdoms. The alliances to the South were a means to an end. And Paul… he brought wealth. He brought trade goods like no other, things that could only be found in the North, which would make the petty lords of the South finally look up rather than quietly forgetting the North existed at all.
“It is my greed, Ned. Brandon. And my fear. The Shield islands of the Reach produce some of the finest wine in the Seven Kingdoms, but the rest of the kingdoms know how to produce wine. The same with tapestries, armor, shoes or wagon wheels. The exact process is a secret… but, any lord could order their small folk to produce wine and they could. That is what we lack with House Atreides. His secrets are his and his alone. And, should we ever come into conflict – either now, or in the time of your great grandchildren – they will have leverage over us.”
Brandon's expression was twisting, unable to refute it but Rickard kept pressing the point home. He had to understand. The decisions they made now were going to ripple out for generations. “I know not why the conflict would happen. House Atreides will make it's wealth trough trade, so perhaps some Stark in the future will offer an insult. Or perhaps House Atreides will become so prosperous that they feel that they can bite their thump at their liege lord. Never outright rebellion, but an increase in tarrifs? Withholding orders? They will have ways to make their disobedience painful for the Lords of the North.”
To say nothing of the fact of their cultivation of the Lands Beyond the Wall.
The deserter's last words rang out in his ears once more. That he was creating a King Beyond the Wall, only he opened the door for him.
“We must learn how he makes glass. Stillsuits. Everything. It is his strongest card to play, my sons. Without it… he becomes a far more manageable vassal and our grip secure. Am I understood?” He asked, looking between them.
Ned offered a stiff, but far more resolute nod. He understood what was at stake.
Brandon nodded as well with far more reluctance, but offered no argument.
It would have to do.
…
“I can't believe you're leaving already,” Lyanna complained, her face buried in his chest as she wrapped her arms around him in the fiercest hug. “Father asks too much of you. You could at least stay for a couple of days. A week. Or a month.”
“I'm sure father feels the same way, Lyanna, but he needs this of me,” Ned replied, dressed once more in his travel clothes with his horse saddled.
“I know. I just wish you could stay,” Lyanna groused, and Ndd chuckled warmly.
“Should the weather hold, I'll be back before you know it. That's a promise,” he reassured his sister, patting her on the back. His heart did ache at the duty he was given. He barely got to see his siblings, and it was years since he last saw them. But, their father was right on the mark.
This was for the good of the family. If upholding ones duty was easy, then it wouldn't be seen as a virtue.
“Have a care -- he won't be goin’ alone!” Robert announced himself, prompting the travel party to glance his way to find him in travel clothes with a wide grin on his face. “I've got it all figured out, Ned. As I see it, the trip to Skagos is just a detour for me to see the Wall. Always wanted to see the ass end of the world- er, pardon my language.” He hastily added, glancing Lyanna’s way.
She snorted dismissively, “give said worse, much less heard it.” That got a grin out of his friend.
That wasn't exactly the issue at hand here. “I'm not sure this is the wisest idea, Robert. Your father would be wroth should anything happen to you.”
“Bah. That's why he has Stannis and Renly. Don't think nothing of it. Not to mention, my father knows me well enough that there's never been a fight that I didn't want to be at the center of,” Robert dismissed every issue out of hand with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. Ned did wince at the mention of a fight. He understood his father's aims, but it would be a lie to say that it set well with him.
The lords of Skagos were distant, but they had still bent the knee. And there was only one way for this conflict to end.
“I still think it's a poor idea, but I'd rather have your warhammer at my side when I need it instead of having you safe in a castle a kingdom away,” Ned admitted.
“That's what I wanted to hear! Now, let's get going before anyone can tell me otherwise. I'm planning to ask for forgiveness rather than permission,” Robert admitted shamelessly. Lyanna favored his friend a grin, his esteem rising in her eyes.
An unnoticed departure, however, wasn't in the cards as the rest of the travel party arrived. Elbert joined Paul, the older man thoroughly unsurprised to find Robert there with Ned. Nor that he was planning to join him and Paul on their journey. Yet, Ned noticed that he was also dressed for travel.
Ned's gaze was on Paul, who seemed at ease despite the early morning and the high company he found himself surrounded by. “Lord Eddard, Lord Robert. And Lady Lyanna,” he greeted them each in turn. “It's nice to meet you all once more without so many prying eyes.” By that, he meant he couldn’t walk two steps without someone taking notice of him. It was understandable, really.
He was foreign nobility with an interesting tale and the first new vassal in a thousand years. The North didn’t change easy, and many were resistant to it.
“Just call me Robert,” Robert decided easily before looking to Elbert, who readily offered an explanation.
“Lord Arryn charged me to look after you in a bout of foolishness if I failed to prevent it,” the man offered with a tired shrug of his shoulders. That got a bark of laughter from Robert, and their foster father really did know him too well. “Though, this is a special bit of foolishness, even for you.” The words were said with a sigh and a lack of heat, but even if there was any true ire, Robert would have just laughed it off.
Lyanna stepped back, taking an immediate interest in Paul. “You're the one that sent me the music box, aren't you?”
Paul's eyes danced with a mirth, as if he had a joke that only he understood. “I am, Lady Lyanna. I do hope you enjoyed the gift.”
“It's beautiful,” Lyanna immediately gushed. “I've heard of clockwork contraptions before, but I've never thought they could make music. Might I know what the song was?”
“I'm afraid that it lacks a proper name, my lady. Or, rather, the name of it and its composer have been lost to time. Yet, the song has endured for thousands of years,” Paul answered and Ned wasn't entirely sure what they were speaking about. What he did know was that he wasn't particularly comfortable with the admiration that shone in Lyanna’s eyes. She seemed enraptured.
She also seemed genuinely heartbroken by the news, “That's terrible!”
“Perhaps. But, as a musician, I could imagine no greater honor than to have a sonnet endure the test of time. To remain unchanged for more than ten thousand years and still move hearts to any who listen in a far off future.” Paul replied, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
“Better to be remembered in a song than composing one,” Robert dismissed, not much interested in the conversation.
Lyanna ignored him, “Do you have any more songs from your homeland? I would love to hear them.”
To that, Paul offered a small bow, “I know a few, my Lady. Once my lands are settled, I shall endeavor for you to hear them.” Lyanna took that as a promise and ran with it, smiling brightly.
“Then I shall leave you to it, my lords,” she replied, offering a polite curtsy now that she had gotten what she wanted. Though, she didn't depart without another quick hug. He watched her go for a moment, wishing that he could stay, but he shoved the feelings to the side and turned to the task at hand.
Meaning Paul Atredies. “My father said that you had a way for us to reach Skagos?”
“I do. My retinue beyond the Wall has secured a ship for us. Heading north towards the Wall… provided at all goes as planned, the round trip shouldn’t take you any more than two months, Lord Eddard.” Paul said and Ned nodded slowly. It sounded faster than traveling back to Whiteharbor and sailing around the coast.
“And when it doesn’t?” Elbert questioned, taking a seat ontop of his own horse once the servants were done saddling it.
“I don’t foresee it being an issue. House Crowl is a small one, boasting a force of two hundred men and only if they put spears in the hands of boys. Lord Hjalti suffered dearly during the winter -- he lost his sons to the cold, along with a few fingers. A poor sign as far as his people are concerned, so it is unlikely that we shall be facing the full might of their house.” Paul answered and he seemed rather well informed.
Then again, the lands were of his choosing and he decided to know his enemy. It still sat ill with him, if Ned was being honest. It felt like pouncing on a man at his weakest who had done him no wrong.
As Paul spoke, the four of them all got on top of their horses, joined only by a small contingent of guards. The entire party numbered less than twenty men. But, it was Elbert who responded, “And what numbers can your own house boast, Lord Atreides?”
It was a gentle rub. One that Paul was well used to, Ned suspected, as a newly risen house. If he took offense to the remark, his expression didn’t show it. “Three hundred, Lord Arryn. Quite a fall from grace from the two hundred thousand my house could once call upon, but I’ve personally taken a liking to quality over quantity.” Elbert inclined his head to Paul, accepting the answer for what it was.
“I will admit, the outcome is likely predetermined, but I won't so easily dismiss diplomacy. If an accord can be struck with House Crowl, I would sleep easier knowing we made the attempt,” Ned decided. Violence was easy. He was not a charming man, and words didn't easily come to him, but that didn't mean he misunderstood their value. Even as his father's command hung over his head.
To that, Paul offered a thin smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Of course, my lord.”
With that, they were off. Ned couldn't stop himself from glancing over his shoulder at Winterfell one last time and his heart was lightened when he saw his family waving him off. Brandon looked utterly exhausted and he might be asleep on his feet, but he joined the others waving him off. He rode a little easier as they took to the road and the many hours of travel ahead.
The journey marked the first time he had much interaction with the newest vassal of the North. And, as the days started to go by, the more he saw that Lord Manderly was right to warn him.
Paul Atredies was almost impossible to read. He was infallibly polite. He could easily carry a conversation, yet he seemed to have mastered the art of saying words without saying anything at all. It was well into a week of their journey and it felt like Ned understood the man no better than he had at the start.
Yet it wasn't as if he dodged questions, and even after a week, Robert was still no less interested in hearing of far off lands, so he asked many.
“The fief of Arrakis was a seat of power that exchanged hands over time,” Paul answered Robert's latest inquiry. “The closest comparison would be to the Westerlands -- it was a rich land in spice, and any who owned it would become incredibly wealthy. With the founding of the empire, a rule was quickly established. The Great Houses were reluctant to allow the emperor control over the fief of Arrakis, and as part of the bargain to have them swear fealty, the Emperor agreed that his dynasty would not claim ownership. Yet, at the very same time, any lord of Arrakis would be able to one day challenge the emperor.”
Ned heard the words, but he had difficulty understanding. It was simply too… different.
“There was a flow of things. For two centuries at a time, each of the Great Houses would be able to reap the profits with the Emperor bequeathing Arrakis to the next Great House that had found his favor. At least, in theory. In practice the exchanges were always… messy.” There was an edge to his voice there as they trotted along the path.
“Aye, sounds like it,” Robert replied. “Seems like a foolish thing to me. Are spices really that valuable to upend an entire bloody empire?”
Paul chuckled, “He who controls spice controls the empire. Or, so it is said.”
“Is that why you've focused on mercantile pursuits?” Elbert questioned and while Robert pestered with questions about everything and anything, Elbert's questions were probing. By Ned's estimation, the history of House Atreides didn't interest him much but the future of it certainly did.
Paul offered a small nod, “It is. I will confess, I don't really understand Westeros’ attitude towards mercantilism.” He admitted, “But perhaps that is my own perspective clouding my judgment. Spice was paramount to the empire. Shortages were disastrous, leading to countless deaths. Westeros, in comparison, lacks a trade good that could single handedly destabilize the Seven Kingdoms.”
The very idea sounded mad, and that was exactly what Ned meant. Every answer that Paul gave left Ned with a dozen more questions.
Elbert hummed, “That would inflate your estimation of the practice.” Unlike Ned, the answer seemed to satisfy Elbert. The Heir of the Eyrie was right on the mark. House Atreides would have a long hill to climb. The house may be ancient, but they were new to the North and their merchant practices wouldn't make them many allies at court.
Yet his father was utterly convinced of the future power of House Atreides, which was enough for Ned.
The conversation continued on, bouncing from point to point, topic to topic. The chatter was used to fill the time as they marched onward to their destination. On lucky days, they stopped at a village to rest in a straw bed but most saw them sleeping on the hard ground.
If the vastness of the North hadn't been impressed upon Robert and Elbert before, it certainly was now. But, as the days went by, they eventually reached their destination. But a stones throw from the Wall, though it was impossible to tell with a heavy mist that had come from the Shivering Sea. The fog was so thick that Ned could hardly see his traveling companions next to him as they stood at the edge of the shore.
“The fog will disguise our arrival. House Crowl is of the opinion that they can plead ignorance. A raven being lost happens all the time, after all. And any ship that arrives tragically was dashed against the rocks.” Paul said, peering into the fog, sounding certain of it.
Ned stood next to him, “We might if we sail in this weather.” The Shivering Sea was well named, even in summer it wouldn't be uncommon for icebergs to be floating. In this fog, with no visibility? If their ship capsized, they'd be dead in minutes from the cold.
“It is a risk, my lord. Simply less so than waiting for a clear day when they can see us,” Paul replied, his voice even.
Ned's lips thinned, “You think they'd be brazen enough to attack us openly?”
“Desperation makes fools of everyone, my lord. And nothing makes people more desperate than the thought of power being taken from them,” Paul uttered, his voice weary from what sounded like experience. “Most would choose to part with their head before they part with their power. House Crowl is already the weakest of the Skagos lords. Acknowledging the order of your father would weaken him further. It's quite likely he hopes that he can inspire the other Skagos lords into rebellion. A quiet one where they simply ignore the mainland.”
He didn't like it, but he couldn't deny the truth in his words. For better or worse, deserved or not, House Crowl had a motive to ensure that they didn't return home.
Before he could reply, a light cut through the heavy fog. Ned immediate narrowed his eyes, watching as a ship cut through the fog like a knife. It was a type of ship, though Ned had never seen its like before. It sat low in the water, with three separate masts despite its relative small size that were currently all tied up. From where he stood, the figurehead at the front of the ship was a statue of a hooded woman clasping a dagger in her hands.
“Ugh… not another boat,” Robert groused while Ned was… befuddled. That was a ship. He expected more primitive boats, canoes even, when it came time to sail to Skagos.
Ned swallowed his questions and instead turned to Robert as a small boat was lowered into the sea from the ship with a man rowing it towards them. “Did you think we were going to swim?”
“I would have preferred it,” He replied grumpily even as they walked down to the stony beach.
The man in the boat threw back his hood to reveal a stern-looking man with a dark beard. “You are where you said you'd be! I thought I'd be stuck sailing up and down the coast,” he greeted them, his friendly demeanor not really matching his bearing. He barely paid any attention to Ned and the others, his eyes only on Paul.
Loyalty. A fierce one.
“The others are already on the island,” the man continued as Paul led them into the boat. “By the time we arrive, the Crowl should be ready to meet us.”
That made Ned still, “You’ve reached out to House Crowl?” He questioned, sitting heavily across from Paul as a frown tugged at his lips. When? For the past few weeks, they had been traveling together and unless Paul had met with one of his people in the dead of night? Was he to believe that he had set the orders in motion weeks ago? When? When he was at Winterfell? Before? “And sent men? How many?”
“My entire retinue -- three hundred men, fifty warriors,” Paul answered easily, ignoring how the boat listed when Robert sat down heavily in the small boat. “A necessary precaution, I assure you. If I hadn’t sent my people ahead of us before House Crowl was aware of our arrival, they would have greeted us on the beaches of Skagos. A defeat there would be all but certain as most of my retinue would have perished.”
Ned didn’t disagree, but that wasn’t his issue. “You forget yourself, Lord Atredies. I understand that until recently, you’ve only had to answer to yourself but as of now, you are a vassal to House Stark. My father charged me with overseeing the transition of land -- you should have consulted me before you took such actions.” Ned stated, meeting the lord’s bright blue eyes evenly.
Conflict, Ned foresaw, was likely inevitable. The actions Paul took were tactically sound. History has proved a thousand times that there are fewer times when an army is more vulnerable than when it was disembarking, especially when there were only a handful of beaches to disembark on. Meaning that they would have been greeted by arrows rather than words.
At the same time, House Crowl would only see that House Atredies, and House Stark, had sent a small army to their lands. Their response was predictable. They would marshal their forces and fight.
The conflict was likely inevitable. There was a chance for peace, however slight. Now? That chance was gone like smoke in the wind.
Paul held his gaze for a moment before inclining his head to him, “You have my apologies, Lord Eddard. You are correct on that account -- I should have consulted you, or informed you of the orders I gave, as I made them before my oaths. I ask for your forgiveness.” The words sounded sincere to Ned’s ears. Yet, at the same time…
Ned got the feeling that the next couple of weeks of his life would be a unique challenge like no other.
Comments
Pearl of the Orient
“You forget yourself, Lord Atredies. I know this is for dramatic tension. But an actual medieval Lord would not have spoken so brazenly. House Stark are not absolute monarchs, this is on the line of overstepping the feudal contract between liege and vassal. Unless the plan is for Ned to ensure a rebellion. If it is Fremen assassins will slaughter House Stark inside Winterfell along with their most loyal vassals while agents provocateur cause problems to prod their more ambitious vassals.
Pearl of the Orient
“We must learn how he makes glass. Stillsuits. Everything. It is his strongest card to play, my sons. Without it… he becomes a far more manageable vassal and our grip secure. Am I understood?” He asked, looking between them. Rickard is ambitious and stupid all at once. The Glass Guild of Myr has a stranglehold on glass that not even the Magisters of Myr could challenge. For thousands of years. What makes Rickard think his untrained, unsuited to subterfuge of a son can do what the slavers of Essos and their infinite coffers and slave armies and their infinitely more competent spies could not? He's an idiot if he thinks glass and stillsuits are the only advantages the Fremen have.
