A Golden Path: Design 3.11 (ch. 34)

Robert found himself standing on the deck of a ship; his battered body was still tender, but he stopped pissing blood days ago. His equally battered armor had been repaired but slathered in pitch to darken the steel so it wouldn't catch the light as he and hundreds of others rowed towards their destination. 

The city of Lys was a sight to see. It sat on a large island similar in size to the Bloodstone, but whereas the Bloodstone was jagged rock, hills, with a shitty anthill of a mountain, the island of Lys was made of gentle slopes and flatlands. Because of that, Robert could see the sheer size of the city, even if most of it was hidden behind tall white walls. The city of Lys and the island were one and the same. 

Lys was bigger than Kingslanding, almost twice over. If not more. The entirety of the island was covered in the city, and from their approach, he saw no less than three ports. Through them, and the gaps in the walls, he saw the scope of the city that their ragtag army of eight thousand intended to take. Lights shone in the darkness from a million hearths, torches belonging to guards or men who worked through the night. He saw an armada of ships in the waters, merchant vessels one and all.  

The sight did something to him. It wasn't fear but something else. Something between uncertainty and envy. And anger. 

No wonder that the Masters of the East could afford to send endless armies to harry them. Gold must flow through the city like water, and there are few things that a man wouldn't do for a fistful of coin. And he couldn't deny that he was looking forward to delivering a rude awakening to them. To tear away their curtain of safety, to drag them down from their ivory towers and force them to wade in the bloody muck that they thought they were too good for. 

But, overshadowing that feeling was uncertainty. They had about nine thousand men. By the looks of things, there were a million people in Lys. It felt like they were jumping into the stomach of a beast, even if they did manage to take the city. 

Though perhaps ‘if’ was the wrong word to use. 

“What if this doesn't work?” Robert heard someone whisper in a low voice as their padded oars dipped into the ocean again, bringing them closer to their destination. 

“Look at the size of it. How are we meant to take it?” Another agreed with a quiet despair. It was an easy thing to say that you were going to take one of the Daughters. It was a different thing altogether to actually do it. He couldn't blame them for their trepidation or fear. 

However, he couldn't allow it to rule them. “The city is already ours,” Robert uttered with a confidence that he didn't truly feel. “The North's Fangs traveled ahead of us. They're inside the city now, ready to throw open the doors for us.” 

“And if they aren't?” The first knight asked, looking like he wanted to believe but couldn't quite bring himself to. 

As luck would have it, Paul provided an answer for him. 

Wordlessly, Robert pointed forward, making the men follow his gaze and then looked back just in time to see one of Paul's men drop a torch over the wall to signal them where to approach. That earned a few quiet mutters of surprise and a harsh ‘shh’ to compel them to be silent. Too much of the plan relied on the element of surprise. They couldn't risk early detection, or that would be the end of it. 

Still, he mirrored their relief. And their quiet awe. 

Lys wasn't a city built upon the idea of defense first and foremost, but it was still a formidable city. In any other circumstance, he could only imagine the length of the siege that would be needed to take it. The cost in blood of assault after assault to whittle down their resistance. The idea that Paul and his men could circumvent it all by slipping into the city unseen a day before? 

That sent chills down his spine. 

All the same, with a silent prayer to the gods both for success and thanking them that Paul was on their side, their boat reached the shore, and they disembarked. Their armor was painted black, and their chainmail was muffled, but it still felt like they were making entirely too much noise. Robert had grown used to the feeling in his months on the Bloodstone, but it wasn't a feeling that got any easier to bear. 

Yet, there was no sounding of the alarm as they made their way up the beach and to the walls directly where the torch still burned. Once they arrived, three rope ladders were dropped from the walls, and Robert made sure that he was the first one to start climbing. The others followed along, but the process was slow as the walls only seemed to get bigger the closer they got. A hand reached out to him when he reached the top of the walls, and it was only when he was over them that he realized that it was Paul. 

He wore an almost smug smirk that immediately set his mind at ease before he led him to the other side of the wall that overlooked the city. And it was quite a sight. A sea of houses and grand buildings that jutted up, overlooking them all… and at the heart of the city was a palace. 

However, its what he didn't see that captured his attention, and he looked to Paul.

“As far as they are concerned, they aren't at war,” Paul answered his unspoken question. “What would they need for a standing army?” 

A small laugh escaped Robert, but he couldn't tell if it was bitter or amused. The Masters of Lys really thought that they were safe behind the thin pretence that what they suffered in the Stepstones had nothing to do with them. And his dark thoughts must have shown on his face because Paul continued. 

“It can't be a sack,” Paul echoed a point that Prince Rhaegar had driven home time and time again. “We don't have the numbers to hold the city if the people of Lys want us gone.” 

“Aye, aye,” Robert acknowledged with a nod of his head. “I know. Is your part done?” 

“Nearly,” Paul answered, glancing over his shoulder to see the last of his knights arriving at the top of the walls. “My men have secured important hostages and figures in the city guard. However, we need to crush their resistance.” 

A rallying cry, Robert knew. The guard would react in a blind panic once they realized that enemies were within the walls and there was one natural holdout point that most would drift to -- the palace. Or whatever they had that would pass as a palace. Princes Rhaegar had given them the break down of the merchant city's strange hierarchy of power. 

A council of Guild heads and wealthy merchants. Roughly thirteen in total but that number could rise or fall depending on the fortunes, with some members being voted for by their Guild by those who owned an estate inside of Lys worth a certain amount of coin. It sounded like madness to him, but he couldn't exactly deny that they had built something incredible here. 

But he also suspected that had more to do with slavery than their queer government. 

“And the estates?” Robert asked, the future battle taking shape in his mind now that he could actually look at the city. 

“The key ones have been secured. The remainder will need to be pacified and in rapid succession. They can't learn how few we are until it is too late,” Paul informed and he grunted in agreement. 

Then he clapped Paul on the shoulder, “Then let's get it done.” He decided, gathering his men and heading down the stairs of a watchtower. As they walked down, they stepped over a dozen bodies, their throats slit or killed by a single deadly blow. From the positioning of the corpses, the battle had been short and was over within seconds. 

He wasn't too surprised. He still hadn't shaken that sight back on Skagos, where he witnessed the perfect battle. A plan that worked so perfectly it was as if Paul had given the enemy their battle plan and he set himself up to counter it. Paul himself had more than proved his skill in battle, but he knew that his men-at-arms weren't far off from him. And it was a very cold comfort that Paul only had a hundred such men. Any more than that, and he really could conquer the whole world it felt like. 

They reached the bottom of the watchtower and entered the city, seeing mostly empty dark streets but there were sounds of life echoing out. And then they just… walked. 

It almost felt mad, but there was a compelling logic to it that Robert found hard to dismiss. Lys was a city that was funneling as many mercenaries as it possibly could towards the Stepstones… so mercenaries walking through the streets without a care in the world wouldn't look out of place in the slightest. They were broken up in groups of about a dozen to avoid drawing too much attention, but when Robert walked down the stone streets of Lys, seeing people going about their business despite the late hour, only a few bothered to give them a second glance. 

Those who did were slaves. 

They were easy to mark out. Few wore collars, but all were identifiable by the tattoos etched into their faces, usually around the eye on a cheekbone. Teardrops, hammers, scales, and more. Slaves for all purposes and trades. It made him sick to see. His flesh crawled in a way that he didn't know how to describe. Robert would never describe himself as a devout follower of the Seven, but they were right about one thing -- people weren't property. They couldn't be battered or sold, stripped of all dignity. 

His gaze found one in particular. A woman kneeling in the streets and a man looming overhead, his face clear of any marking, his hands adorned with golden rings, and a rod in them. 

‘Ah, fuck. Sorry, Paul,’ Robert apologized to his friend in his mind, shifting his grip on his hammer and marching forward with a purpose. The others sensed what was about to happen and they put up a token resistance that only drew the slavers gaze to him. There was a suspicion in his eyes as he barked something at them in Valyrian, but Robert couldn't speak the language. 

It didn't really matter anyway. He didn't have anything to say. 

It started to dawn on the slaver that something was wrong on my when it was entirely too late to actually do something about it. With little lead up, Robert swung his hammer and it moved in a blur, taking the slaver's head off by reducing it to red mist and bone shards that splashed over the cobblestone road. And, for a moment, those watching on held their breath. 

Luckily, there was a plan for something like this, so Robert thrust his hammer into the air and repeated words he didn't understand, but Rhaegar told him meant, “Death to the masters! Break the chains!” 

It was at exactly that moment that an alarm bell began to ring. At first, Robert thought it was because of him, but it sounded too far away. When he realized that, a smile tugged at his lips, "Someone else blew our cover first? That's a relief.” It meant he wouldn't get yelled at. Or scolded. Or get one of those disappointed looks from Ned that said ‘I know that you know better.’ 

It began to dawn on the slaves in the streets what was going on, and while some decided to cut and run, others decided to take up the call that was echoed by his knights. Reaching down a hand to the slave woman, he saw dull incomprehension in her gaze when she looked at it, then to his face, then back down at his hand like she couldn't understand what just happened. Then, tentatively, as if wary of a trick, she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet.  

“I'd find a place to lay low until this is over,” he told her in common, having no idea if she understood or not, but he moved on in any case. He shouldered his hammer, whistling a tune as chaos took the streets, keeping a keen eye out for the city guard for any mounted resistance. 

There was some. Household guards that mustered up at the sound of an alarm, but as he and his knights cut deeper into the city, he found that most of the resistance was already being overwhelmed by slaves that heard the call and just… went with it. Robert had his doubts about the plan in the days leading up to their commitment to attack Lys. 

The attack counted on causing a slave uprising to help mask their few numbers and take key positions that they didn't have the men to spare. But he hadn't expected it to be so… easy. We're things really so terrible that they could hear ‘let's rebel’ and immediately join the rebellion? Or… 

Robert cast a glance over to Paul, who strode forward with a sense of purpose, ten of his men following in step behind him. And he wondered how much of the rebellion was stoked by his hand. 

Ah, well. He was hardly going to get angry because of how well the plan was going, especially when that same plan let them cut through the city towards the palace and it was there that Robert encountered the first true resistance in Lys. The palace had no walls to speak of except for the formation of unsullied, who had their spears raised, ready to repel any attack. 

An attack that was stalled by Paul stepped forward and started speaking Valyrian. Robert only understood a few words, mostly being ‘Master’ and ‘death.’ He wasn’t sure what Paul was trying to accomplish with a few words, but the answer became clear enough when he gave a signal, and men were dragged into the space between them and the unsullied. 

Men and women who wore fine jewelry and silks were unceremoniously dragged forward by their hair or clothes and forced to their knees. Robert didn’t need to speak the language to understand what was happening, but he watched on in silence as Paul spoke to the Unsullied, and whatever he said was echoed by the captives. 

There was a lingering pause after the message was given and Robert had no idea what they were going to do. But what he didn’t expect was for the Unsullied to rise their spears, taking a relaxed posture, before stepping out of their way. 

“Seven hells,” Robert muttered under his breath. That was it, wasn’t it?

Lys, one of the famed Three Daughters, fell with a whimper in a single night. And if that didn’t get those pricks in the Seven Kingdoms moving to take this fight seriously… then nothing would. 

…

The palace of Lys was overindulgence made manifest. Fine marble, mosaics on the floor that weren’t covered in fine carpets made of richly dyed cotton or wool, and paintings hanging from the walls alongside tapestries. There were glass vases and pitchers, ones made of solid gold and bejeweled with precious stones. The air carried a scent of perfumes and incense that lingered, even overpowering the scent of blood that clung to them. 

The attack had gone on long into the night and into the early morning with the revolt sweeping across Lys, the last holdouts being marked and besieged, and in the meantime… the high nobility were already toasting to their success. 

A plan to loot was already underway among the rich merchants and ‘oligarchs’ quarters. It was being done in a controlled method with estate by estate being looted down to the last grain of wheat before doing the same to the neighboring estate. The richest would be nice, and the men deserved the spoils, but Robert had greater concerns. And once they were all gathered up, he voiced them. 

“What now?” Robert asked a question open-ended for anyone to answer, but his gaze was on Prince Rhaegar, who looked far better but was still weak from his injury. They met in a parlor with an open balcony that allowed them to look out at the city and the new empty harbors as the merchant vessels had either cut and run or were seized during the night. Smoke rose from where the former slaves indulged their freedom a touch too much and set the homes of their masters alight. 

And when he smelled burnt hair back when he was walking the streets, he knew that the freemen didn’t always take their former masters out of the estates before setting them on fire. 

“We are in the process of taking the city,” Rhaegar started, speaking to the assembled Lords as he sat behind an ornate desk. “A freeman militia can be organized, comprised of the Unsullied or warriors from the fighting pits, and anyone else who would fight to preserve their newfound freedom.” 

Robert nodded to that, along with a few others. The numbers would be sorely needed when it came time for a counterattack. They had chosen Lys as their target because it was far removed from the others -- Myr was located on Mainland Essos, while Tyrosh, located within the Stepstones, was within easy reinforcement range. Lys, however, was further removed and isolated. 

“As for the good masters of Lys, I find myself of two minds. I invite any who would speak on the matter to make their opinion known,” Prince Rhaegar spoke, sounding like he had an idea of what he wanted to do but was counting on someone else to voice the idea so he could support it. 

However, no one spoke for a long moment. Robert himself didn’t have anything to say. The slaves were being freed. Most of the masters would lose their wealth, slavers would lose their markets. He wasn’t sure what the outcome would look like, but he was reasonably certain that the masters wouldn’t have a good time of it and that was enough for him. 

Then, surprisingly, it was Ned who spoke first, “My Prince, I think it depends on what the Crown’s long-term intentions for Lys would be. It is one thing to take a city, but another to hold it.”

Rhaegar inclined his head to Ned, his expression serious but gave nothing away. “That is too true, Lord Stark. We took Lys to accomplish our short-term goals. I’m sure, as we speak, a portion of the mercenary armada is breaking off to sail towards us.” The tension in the room swelled at the reminder. They made a gamble. “We could leave Lys. Slink into the night with what spoils we can carry. In any case, we have accomplished our objective.”

There was another beat of silence before Prince Rhaegar broke it, “Or, we could stay.”

The silver-haired prince looked around the room, taking their measure and gauging their thoughts. Robert was a bit free with his and offered a shrug, and he would swear that Rhaegar’s lips twitched into something that was almost a smile. Then he continued, “I do not know what my father would intend for Lys, as it is he who has the final say in its fate. However, I do know this -- the people of Lys have no hope of keeping their freedom if we leave.”

He was right on the mark there. They could leave behind what militia they managed to organize, but Robert expected that to crumble the moment they sailed away. The only reason why they were having this conversation now was because they didn’t know what they would be working with in the aftermath of taking Lys. They expected losses, but the assault was practically bloodless so their strength wasn’t diminished. 

Meaning that they could stay. They could fight. And, maybe, they could hold out for relief. 

Surprising Robert again, it was Ned who stepped forward. “May I speak freely, my prince?”

Rhaegar nodded, “Please, Lord Stark. I encourage it.”

Ned always struggled being the center of attention. Or, at least, that had been true back in the Eyrie. Now, his gaze was steady and he didn’t flush red when he realized that people were actually listening to him when he spoke. “The reason why your ancestor, Ageon Targaryen, managed to conquer the Seven Kingdoms wasn’t because of the dragons,” Ned began, immediately capturing everyone's attention, “it was because life didn’t change.”

Prince Rhaegar offered a deliberately curious look, prompting Ned to continue. “To the people of the Seven Kingdoms -- the small folk, the knights, and the noble houses… nothing changed for them. Their taxes didn’t rise. There were no new customs that they had to follow. Their everyday life suffered no changes at all. The only thing that did change was for the Great Houses, and as far as everyone else was concerned, their liege lord simply gained a liege lord.”

Robert had no idea where Ned was going with this, but Prince Rhaegar seemed to. “And that will not be the case here,” he acknowledged, and Robert felt a shift in the room that he couldn’t quite place the reason for. 

Ned shook his head, his expression grim. “No, it cannot. Slavery is outlawed in the Seven Kingdoms and is an abomination in the eyes of the Old Gods and New. The slaves must be freed. The masters of this city will hate us for it. Our ways of life are completely incompatible, and if they remain in power to any degree, then we will face rebellion and sedition for generations to come.” 

A few seemed to understand where Ned was going, and their expressions ranged from looking like they bit into a lemon to thoughtful consideration. 

“For this reason,” Ned continued with deliberate slowness, “it is my recommendation… that we kill them all.” 

Robert felt like he had been sucker punched -- not because he disagreed. He didn’t. What Ned said was just pure sense. The masters were going to hate them for freeing their slaves, and they would get pissy and cause problems for them down the road because of it in the hopes that they could have their slaves back one day. That much was obvious. Killing them all might be a bit harsh, but he could see the reasoning easily enough. 

The former slaves, meanwhile, would gladly support them because they gave them their freedom. Most of them wouldn’t be able to fill the administrative role of running the city, but a few of them would be. The waters would be choppy, but once they got past that, Robert figured it would be smooth sailing. 

It was a choice between a bitter ally that was looking for an opportunity to plant a dagger in their back at the first chance and an enthusiastic if somewhat incompetent one? The choice was an easy one to make. 

It was just that it was Ned who was saying it. 

There was a very loud silence as the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms mulled over the proposition and it was Prince Rhaegar who spoke first. 

“It would send a clear message,” he began in a low, almost conspiratorial whisper. “We are here for a greater cause than wealth. We are here to put an end to the scourge of slavery.” 

“It would earn us the support of Braavos,” another added, and Robert felt the mood of the room shift ever so slightly as they found their way forward. The path that they were going to walk. 

And it was a road that only went one way.