A Golden Path: Design 3.12 (ch. 35)

A reminder that I will be taking next week off to celebrate Best of Intentions ending. But, on the 2nd of February, the first chapter of Going Native: Rewritten will go live and four advanced chapters will be posted here!

...

Ned had known from the very beginning that he was giving voice to a thought that many harbored during the council meeting, but that didn't mean that coming to the decision was easy. They were already overreaching with the attack on Lys, and as much as that would foul relationships with Essos in the near future, it was something that could be salvaged. It would take years for relationships to normalize, and he doubted that they would in his life time, but in time of his children? A storm of outrage would level out and become calm seas once again. 

What he proposed was a step beyond that and it was a step into the unknown. There were equal merits to going through with it as there were attempting to enforce reform within Lys as there was simply leaving in the dead of night with what spoils they could carry. What path they took was a declaration of intent of what they planned to accomplish in Essos and that declaration could have wildly different reactions. 

Leaving made the whole ordeal simple and clean, at least relatively speaking. Ravens had flown, informing the Seven Kingdoms that Lys had been taken. In the days following, they would receive word that the sellsail armada would fracture with a portion of it heading to them to retake the city. That would enable the royal fleet to secure the Stepstones on the assumption that they won the battle with the weakened armada, if there was a battle at all as it was entirely possible that the armada wouldn't have the confidence to fight without superiority in numbers. 

By the time the reinforcements arrived, they could be gone. Returned to the Bloodstone to continue the fight in the Stepstones. They would have caused a significant diplomatic incident, but with Prince Rhaegar, they could avoid the worst of the consequences. 

If they stayed, things became more uncertain. To the rest of Essos, it would be an attempt at conquest. The attack in itself ripped away the veneer that the conflict was against pirates and mercenaries, but most of the Free Cities wouldn't care too much. They might even privately support it as it meant a rival city falling. 

That route would see them isolated in Essos. Likely besieged by the reinforcements determined to take back Lys. Something that was especially dangerous given the Stepstones would be effectively uncontested. The royal fleet coming to save them was slim. They would have to put up with sedition within the walls of Lys, who would undoubtedly want their ‘property’ back and their sickening way of life restored. Yet, there were advantages -- hostages, to begin with. It would still be possible to settle the dispute at the negotiation table. 

Lys had fallen quickly and without much of a fight. The other Daughters would understandably be nervous of a similar fate. They would also be uncomfortable with the thought of further escalation, simply because they were a mercantile people, not warriors. They would stomp their feet, they would shake their fist, they would heave and bluster, but swords could be sheathed and an accord struck. 

What he had proposed was different. It was absolutely commitment to an uncharted course. The execution of all masters would ring out across all of Essos like a bell. It would be a direct attack on the foundations of their way of life. It would become a rallying cry across Essos and it would be a sharp escalation in what had been a relatively minor border skirmish. Ned wasn't entirely certain how bad things could get, but he suspected that the past year would look like a pleasant prelude to what was to come. 

Worse, there wasn't the promise of support. The Seven Kingdoms had barely committed to war in the Stepstones, and because of their actions, King Aerys would face a long protracted war against potentially all of the Free Cities. By any measure, it would be simpler and less costly to simply disavow them entirely. To tell the cold truth of it -- that they had acted without the King's blessing. In that case, not only would support fail to appear but it was likely that they would be formally banished from the Seven Kingdoms. 

It was a consequence that had loomed large over the day of deliberation. One that was only slightly mollified by Prince Rhaegar's assurance that his father would never intentionally do anything that would invite the perception of weakness. But that still wasn't a promise of support. 

So, they talked long into the night. Then long into the morning. 

And came noon the next day… they made their decision. 

…

“In the North, there is a tradition that I admire,” Prince Rhaegar said from on top of a stage in the middle of an arena. While it wasn't as vast as the Dragonpit had been, it was still large enough that twenty-five thousand people could be seated comfortably. As Ned was in a viewing box amongst the high lords. “‘He who gives the sentence should swing the sword.’ It removes the distance between words and actions… for if you cannot look a man in the eye as you take his life, then perhaps he does not deserve to die.” 

The Prince hid his ill health under armor and cosmetics as he walked the four cornered stage, speaking to all inside of the stadium. He spoke clearly, loudly, and spoke to the lords under his banner as much as he spoke to the twenty thousand freedmen that sat in the stone seats. Twenty thousand freed slaves that looked upon Prince Rhaegar as if he were a god for what he promised them. 

Ned thought he should be on the stage. After all, it was he who had set this into motion, and thus the responsibility fell to him, but Prince Rhaegar had been quick to deny him by claiming that it was his decision in the end, thus his responsibility. Ned had relented, but he sat uneasy, feeling like he had skirted his duty and was shamed by the relief he felt. 

“In the eyes of the Seven Who Are One, slavery is a scourge upon man. It has no place in a civilized society. It is an evil that cannot be reasoned with. That cannot be tolerated,” he continued, walking the length of the stage. “So I shall do neither! It is an evil that must be expunged! An evil that must be scoured from this land and all others! It is this endeavor that I pledge myself to! That I invite all to pledge themselves to, both here, the Seven Kingdoms, and even in Essos!” 

It was a deliberate declaration, one designed to tip the King's hand. It would be a rallying cry that would sweep across the Seven Kingdoms, and even if the king refrained from offering dedicated support, then they would still receive something from ardent followers of the faith. But, the hope was that the rally cry would ring out loud enough that the king would feel compelled to support the endeavor. 

It felt like a dangerous road to tread, but a necessary one if they wanted to finish what they started. 

As Prince Rhaegar spoke, men were marched onto the sands and dragged up the stairs, and the crowd roared at the sight of them. The men tried to fight back, thrashing in their captors’ grip to avoid an inescapable fate. Yet, all the same, they were dragged into place with a noose tightened around their necks. Because, in the end, they were not nobility and entitled to a clean death such as beheading. Yet, they were leaders of the city, and because of that, the ropes around their necks were made of silk. 

“Let this be a message to all the masters! To all those bound by chains! Liberation is inevitable! There will be no retreat! There will be no compromises!” Princess Rhaegar continued, delivering another crafted declaration. Simply put, they were all aware of the reaction that such actions would provoke and it was decided that they would use it. 

Because the slaves of Essos outnumbered their masters a hundred to one and if they had a chance at victory, then relying on the liberated slaves was too important to leave to chance. As much as it would provoke the masters, the hope was that it would inspire the slaves just as much. 

Princess Rhaegar had planned to say more, but they had underestimated the fervor of the crowd. They began to chant and stomp their feet with such passion that Ned wondered if the building would shake apart. Ned watched the prince as he approached a lever located in the center of the four sided stage, and he saw him still for the briefest of seconds before he pulled it back. A trace of hesitation but nothing that stopped him, committing them all to the course. 

In response, the stools that all of the men had been forced to stand on were suddenly ripped out from underneath them as they dropped sharply. There were eighteen men who were being hung, and only one of them had a quick death because of his girth. The others went slower, their bodies jerking and shaking, their feet kicking out for something to stand on, all the while their faces darkened. 

The crowd roared, many jumping from their seats to throw their hands up with nothing short of jubilation. It was the first taste of blood for the evening… 

But there were many masters in Lys.

…

“My damned son! How dare he do this to me?!” Steffon heard King Aerys roar as he approached down the hall, followed by the sound of something smashing against the wall. Ser Barristan the Bold stood vigil outside of the door, and whatever servants had attended the king were smart enough to make themselves scarce when the king's mood soured. 

As he neared there was a louder crash, likely a table being flipped over followed by a string of curses potent enough to strip paint. Steffon looked to Ser Barristan, who offered him a faint nod before stepping out of the way of the door to let him approach. 

‘He used to be my friend,’ Steffon reminded himself as he knocked at the door. Steffon couldn't pinpoint when exactly he stopped considering the king a friend, only that if there had been any love left in his heart for him by the time he became Hand, then it was gone now. “Your Grace, it's your Hand.” 

“Enter! Enter, damn you!” Areys commanded, and the king had a vase ready for the door to swing open because as soon as it did, Arey's hurled it with his paltry strength. Glass shattered on the wall next to him, and Steffon tried not to flinch. “Why didn't you warn me? Why didn't you tell me of his intentions, hmm? Did you plan this? You?” 

There were so many things that the accusation could be applied to, it was a genuine wonder that the accusation came about the one he was innocent of. “My king… even if I would have condoned this foolishness in the first place, please know that I wouldn't have my son and heir as part of this… mess.” 

As he said the words, he looked around the room. Chairs were smashed into kindling, cups, pitchers, and vases in pieces, curtains ripped from the wall- 

His thoughts came to a screeching halt when his gaze landed on a woman huddled in the corner of the room, her face bloodless but otherwise free of harm. Areys didn't know she was there, tucked just out of sight from where the mad king stood, because if he did… 

He tore his gaze away from hers, which were full of a pleading desperation to be rescued and focused back on Areys, whose tongue flickered out, kicking his chapped lips as he tore into the logic with the sense of the mad. But he found the reasoning satisfactory, “Yes… yes, that makes sense. They're boys, I suppose. Like we were. More ambition than brains, never knowing our limits. What we were capable of…” 

Areys almost sounded wistful. Like he was speaking of his son being caught with his trousers around his ankles with a serving girl and not dragging the Seven Kingdoms into a war with Essos. Then his expression pinched, twisting as if he had bitten into something sour. “But not my son. Too clever for idle fantasies. No, this is an attack on me. He seeks to humiliate me. To make me look like an empty h-headed fool before all the lords of the kingdoms, wondering why I didn't tell them that we were going to war!” 

Steffon would give Prince Rhaegar this -- he knew how to get a message across. Over the course of three days, every master and slave peddler in Lys was rounded up and hung. Most of their bodies reportedly dangling from the walls of Lys, and there were enough that that almost had to start a second row. 

Word hadn't yet spread of the event, but it would. Already, it was the talk of the city. Steffon imagined that it would be the same of Old Town and Sunspear as well. Within a week, perhaps two, every lord in the Seven Kingdoms would know, the words carried forth by ravens. The same would be true in Essos. By the end of the month, odds were that even the lowest of smallfolk would know. 

But they didn't yet. And that left them a window of opportunity on how to handle this mess. 

‘Damn it, Robert,’ Steffon thought to himself. If his son wasn't attached to this mess, he would recommend disavowing the lot of them and leaving it at that. Lest costly, less messy, and it wouldn't drag them into a mess that would last a generation at the very least. But, his fool of an heir had done more than attach his name to the mess. He was one of the lead instigators. So, to protect his son, he needed to protect Rickard's boy and Prince Rhaegar. 

“It is clear that this is a ploy by the Prince to increase his own standing,” Steffon began, not believing a word that he said. He could only guess at what Prince Rhaegar was thinking, but it didn't really matter. Areys hated his son. Hated him in ways that made Steffon's guts twist into knots, and it shamed him to feed into it, but that paranoia was a lever to move the king. “He seeks to force your hand and bring himself glory by covering the fact that he alone escaped in the dead of night. To avoid being named a coward, he drags the Seven Kingdoms into war.” 

That much, Steffon reasoned, was likely true. And Steffon couldn't see Arey's vindication, his mad paranoia being confirmed, so he continued, “But there is a possibility to co-opt this wave of support.” 

Areys wavered, his gaze sharpening in thought. Steffon knew that his reasoning wasn't weighed in cost or lives. What Prince Rhaegar had done committed them to a generational conflict. The only thing on the King's mind was his son -- how to weaken him. How to humiliate him. And if he thought that he coukd pull the rug out from Prince Rhaegar, just to see him fall? 

Steffon knew what Areys’ answer would be even before he spoke. “Yes… that will teach the boy… ha! Hung by his own arrogance! I like it!” He laughed, and it was a wretched and harsh sound. But then he sobered, “Take care of the preparations.” 

Steffon bowed his head to hide how his jaw clenched. With a dismissive gesture, it was left to him to coordinate a war that the Seven Kingdoms hadn't seen since the Ninepenny kings, and it was a great deal larger in scope. It was a war that they would have to win. Anything less would be disastrous for the Seven Kingdoms. However, it was one part a relief. 

He couldn't imagine conducting a war with Areys actively being involved. 

Raising his head, he was about to coax the king out of the room, giving the girl the chance to escape, but before the words could leave his lips, there was a knock on the door. “My king,” the voice began, “I am here as you commanded.” 

“Enter,” Areys’ voice nearly cracked from his excitement as the door swung open, revealing the most recent favored advisor to the king. The same old man that had accompanied the Valis family to Westeros. His name was Malrik, no family name to speak of but he was kept in close confidence of both Lucerys and Aenessa. And, now, the King's. 

He was a frail looking man that made it difficult to gauge his years with a long white beard and a mane of salt and pepper hair. He wore simple robes, almost as if he were some form of Stepton, his talon like hands were clasped over the head of a cane. Yet, there was an intensity in his gaze that almost made him seem young. 

“You're dismissed, Steffon,” Areys said, punctuating the words with a wave of his hand. Steffon closed his eyes and swallowed his rage. 

“By your leave, Your Grace,” he uttered stiffly. It was little wonder Tywin turned out as he did. He couldn't imagine dealing with this for twenty years. 

He turned around to leave the room, avoiding the pleading gaze of the girl within and there was nothing that he could do but offer a prayer to the Seven as he left the room. A prayer that went unheard by the gods because the very moment that the door closed behind him, the girl began screaming as she was discovered. 

For the briefest of seconds, he thought about turning on his heel and marching into the room. Breaking that cane over Malrik’s head and just squeezing the life out of the king. It would cost him everything, but Steffon thought it might be worth it, at least in the moment. He only realized how tightly his hands were clenched into fists when he unclenched them. 

His gaze flickered to Ser Barristan, who stared at him like he could hear every thought he just had. And, perhaps, had thought them himself at some point. But whenever that point had been, Ser Barristan had made his choice and served in silence, standing unflinching even as the girl’s voice reached a fever pitch, begging for help. 

Steffon walked away, the necklace of hands around his neck feeling like a noose.