A Golden Path: Foundation 2.7 (ch. 16)

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. Areys 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 none 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 Hippo 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, exasperating an issue that didn't need to be so harsh. Because the North was so harsh, the people within it didn't trust new settlements. 

What promise 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 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 that 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. Though, it was a question of if the poison would kill him or just give him the runs. 

The Crown offered to sponsor significant privileges and tax breaks for those that 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 seapts. Setoms. 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. “Marosing 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 chagrin 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 by 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 antsing 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 Caitleyn 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 crowing 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 excessive 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 become 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!”