A Golden Path: Framework 4.2 (ch. 48) (Patreon)

“When is a gift not a gift?” The question made Oberyn raise an eyebrow, seated across the table from Paul Atreides, Lord Paramount of the Triarchy and Warden of the Narrow Sea. It had been a day since their arrival and the bestowal of various honors and awards by King Areys. While they had not been snubbed, no reward could compare to the one Paul unexpectedly received. 

A day was enough time for the dust to settle. For the bafflement and confusion to wear off. Enough time to reassess and make plans accordingly. But, as Oberyn sat across from the newest high lord of the Seven- Eight Kingdoms, it seemed like entirely too little. 

“I suspect you are about to tell me,” Oberyn replied, taking a sip of his wine. His opinion of Paul hadn't changed. He had always been an exceedingly terrifying man. Their duel during the Grand Melee gave that impression -- Paul was the deadliest fighter Oberyn had ever seen, and he cared nothing for combat. It gave him no joy. He took no pride in his prowess. It was simply a skill he had honed for hundreds of hours and mastered for the sake of being practical. 

Oberyn's interactions with Paul over the course of the past year were few. One part was because Paul was always somewhere doing something to facilitate their cause. Another was that Oberyn focused his efforts on who he believed was going to become the Lord Paramount of the Three Daughters. Right up until Aerys made Paul a Lord Paramount, Oberyn had been convinced it would be Eddard Stark. 

So had everyone. 

Paul offered a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes. “When it is a trap,” he concluded. 

At that, Oberyn tilted his head to invite an elaboration. However, he didn't necessarily need one. The words echoed his own thoughts already. 

“I am a young lord of a new house,” Paul continued. “I have no network of alliances. No debts to be called or favors owed. Yet, I have been granted dominion of a kingdom. One which has been sacked thrice over, disjointed by ancient rivalries, and is surrounded by powerful enemies who wish for nothing more than to see the Iron Throne's grip of the Daughters and Stepstones falter.” 

At the very least, Paul had a very accurate view of the state of his kingdom. They had conquered the Stepstones and the Daughters, but conquest and rulership were two very different things. 

“Worse, as the Free Cities were based around trade, they will suffer sharply with the diminished returns as the rest of Essos will not welcome our goods while hostilities remain.” Paul continued, his tone offering nothing about what he thought of that. “Then there is the social change from a slave based society to a free one. In short, under the most ideal circumstances, it will be at least a decade before my kingdom will be in a state that could in any way be described as stable.”

“Thus, for the foreseeable future, I am completely and utterly dependent on the Iron Throne for support. Without it, the kingdom shall shatter,” Paul summarized, and that was similar to his own thoughts.

It was a strangely beautiful solution to an obvious problem. Enough so that Oberyn was convinced it hadn't been Aerys’ idea. If Eddard or Mace or even himself were made Lord Paramount of the Triarchy, it would tip a long-established balance amongst the Great Houses. House Stark would be divided by a continent, but their family would hold two kingdoms. 

By placing Paul on the throne, Aerys put someone not only without support or established connections… but someone who would almost certainly be reviled throughout the kingdoms for his unacceptable ascent to power. His house wasn't even a decade old, and he became a Lord Paramount. For many, that would simply be unacceptable. They would chafe most fiercely. Worse, they would likely pull their support for the war in Essos because they wouldn't want to expand his domain. 

In short, Paul's gift was not a gift. It was a pair of shackles to bind him to the Iron Throne for generations to come. 

“Which is why we are having this conversation,” Oberyn ventured, and Paul offered a thin smile. 

“You were the one who asked to meet me, Prince Oberyn,” Paul replied. Tellingly so. By all logic, Paul was in a highly unenviable position. Yet, he was steady. Perhaps not confident per se, but he was… steady. Willing and able to meet the challenge. 

Oberyn laughed. “That I did,” he admitted. As the Warden of the Narrow Sea, there would be many lining up outside of his door to meet the newest player on the stage. Even if it was just to spit in his face. “If you are seeking support, then Dorne would be a natural starting point, would it not?” 

Paul becoming the Lord Paramount threw many plans into disarray. But there were advantages to be gained. He was young, unmarried, and in an unideal position. 

Under normal circumstances, a marriage between him and Arianne would be ideal. Their children would further bind the Triarchy to Dorne. Something so early in the kingdom's existence would allow Doran to do what he did best. It might take a few generations, but by the end of it, the Triarchy would be more of an extension of Dorne than not. 

However, Doran was holding out hope to betroth Arianne to Viserys. Even if he wasn't, the age gap was too large to be practical. Paul needed to be married within the year and have an heir. Setting aside the danger to his kingdom and the very real possibility of assassination, children would allow him to forge more alliances to solidify his grip on it. 

Oberyn had plenty of daughters, but none of standing to marry Paul. They were bastards. Even if Paul and his kingdom didn't place much stigma to such a thing, the rest of Westeros did. Paul couldn't afford such a marriage even if he wanted to. So, that was a moot point. 

Still, Doran would be quite cross with him if he let this opportunity go unseized. Doran had a far keener mind for politics, so it was a shame he was not here instead, but he would trust Oberyn to start the conversation. He could not make alliances through marriage. Instead, he had to offer something else. 

Men. Laborers. People who could build something on those barren rocks called the Stepstones. He needed to do so first, and to make a better offer than the others who could not only offer the same, but the hands of their daughters. 

“That it would, Prince Oberyn,” Paul conceded. “Dorne and the North,” he added a half beat later. Intentionally. That was certainly… something. A reminder that Rickard Stark had an unmarried daughter. Lyanna Stark, if memory served. Too young for his tastes, but by now she would be… sixteen? Or thereabouts. Old enough to be married, and she likely would be a pretty young woman by now. 

“Ah,” Oberyn replied, settling in his chair, realizing the negotiations had begun in earnest. “I do wonder how that will play out. What has happened to your lands in Skagos?” He mused, thinking that Paul’s domain went from one extreme to another. 

“That would be for Lord Rickard to ultimately decide, but the easiest compromise is that I formally relinquish a claim on it in exchange for naming who inherits the lands and title,” Paul answered. That did tie a nice bow on things. Skagos would be on the opposite end of the continent, so it would be difficult to manage from the Narrow Sea. “With my elevation, I can no longer be considered a vassal of the North. However, I do consider Ned to be a friend, and I owe Lord Stark a debt for acknowledging me as a vassal in the first place.”

So it was like that, then?

Oberyn might not have the same head for politics as his brother, but that hardly meant he was incapable. He did suspect there was a core of honesty in the words. From what he saw, Paul and Ned did seem like friends. However, what Paul was doing was using that relationship as leverage. A way to say, ‘I have options.’

“Hm… Vassalship is quite the thing. I doubt there has been anything quite like this since the Andals chased the First Men up the Neck,” Oberyn remarked lightly, pivoting the conversation in the direction he wished it to go. 

“It has been quite the puzzle,” Paul agreed, his tone just as light. He knew exactly what Oberyn meant. “His Grace, King Aerys, has given me quite the gift.” Ah, he was going to make him ask, was it? 

He could be coy. Tease the answers out of him. However, Paul… he was good at the game. Enough so that Oberyn truly wondered if he was as surprised by Aerys’ decision to elevate his house to one of the Great Houses as he seemed to be. But, much like with his wordplay, Paul didn't enjoy the game. 

It was something he was good at. Perhaps great. Yet, to him, it was just another tool to learn and master. 

Being direct was the better path. “A gift you must share, it seems. So many islands simply waiting lords to manage them.” He threw on a lopsided grin, adopting a teasing tone.

That was why, despite how much those outside Paul's door might loathe him for his ascent, they were still lining up. They had sons and brothers who stood to benefit. They could carve out lordships for themselves, establishing cadet branches as needed. It was something unseen to Weateros in a very long time, as even when the Dragons came and the Iron Throne forged, most lords kept their lands and their heads. 

The Stepstones were a prize to be certain. But rulership over one of the Free Cities, even if it was in Paul's name? Hate him or not, there would be no shortage of lords throwing their daughters at Paul with spread legs and hiked up skirts. 

“So I must,” Paul agreed. “I must confess some empathy to King Aerys. It is not an easy decision to make. While many will swear their loyalty to me, one cannot help but suspect dual allegiances.” There was something about how he said that which chilled Oberyn's blood. “It is to be expected, I suppose. Can I truly ask for a vassal to discard the loyalty to their family? And if they would so easily… One does wonder if they would be less trustworthy for it.” 

He wasn't entirely certain what to make of that remark, even when he mulled it over for a long moment. After that moment, he decided to set it aside. “I imagine not," he agreed, though he wasn't quite clear what he was agreeing to beyond a surface level understanding. “But compromises must be made. Particularly for grander rewards. Such as the Bloodstone.” 

Paul didn't react in any way, and that was telling in itself. Before he even sat down, Paul knew Oberyn was here for the Bloodstone. 

It was the largest of the Stepstones, but more than that, it was perfectly positioned. It sat at the mouth of the Sea of Dorne, it served as the first stop along the Dornish pass of the Narrow Sea, and it could serve as a shield for Sunspear. Every ship sailing around Westeros and Dorne would need to pass by the Bloodstone to do so. Of all the Stepstones, it was the most valuable to Dorne. 

“The Bloodstone has weighed on my consciousness more than most. Of the Narrow Sea, it shall serve as one of the hinges,” Paul replied, keeping his tone light. He wanted Oberyn to make an offer. Not unexpected. It forced Oberyn to go high because he knew one bitter truth. 

Dorne was not the only one who desired the Bloodstone. The Stormlands did, though only marginally. The Reach wanted it more. Oldtown was the Reach's largest port, and they would much rather send the trade goods to a port on Bloodstone than Sunspear. 

“Of course, I would hope to lighten your burden,” Oberyn replied. “But I do wonder how I could best do so.”

“Who holds the Bloodstone matters but less than what is built upon it,” Paul replied. That was an… unexpected stance. It was a type of short term thinking Oberyn wouldn't have expected. It either spoke to his desperation. Or it spoke to his confidence that he would be able to ensure the loyalty of whoever held the island in the decades to centuries to come. “Alas, for all of its size, it is a rather barren island. No wood to speak of and the stone is subpar. Importing quality materials will be quite expensive, particularly for the designs I have for the island.” 

“Oho? I don't suppose I could see these plans? You are a master of combat. I'm quite curious if that talent extends to designing cities as well,” Oberyn replied with only a touch of flattery. He was curious, just not for the reasons he said. 

Designing a city was no small endeavor. It took rigorous investigation -- the land needed to be surveyed a dozen times over to determine the most ideal spot. Land would then need to be partitioned into plots for small folk labors, noble estates, and access to the sea in Bloddstone's case. Then there was the proximity to lesser settlements, such as farms or quarries, as well as considering the local materials to determine what could be feasibility built. 

It wasn't easy. It wasn't done without care. As such, it was a long drawn out process that could take months. Years, even. 

Yet, what Paul presented wasn't a hastily drawn map of the Bloodstone as he unfurled two pieces of parchment. One was a meticulously detailed map of the bloodstone marked were keeps and the city would be located. The other was every bit as detailed, yet it was of a city that didn't yet exist. And it was no small city. 

Perhaps it wasn't as grand as the Free Cities, but it was on par with Sunspear or Lannisport. Large enough to house hundreds of thousands of people. Perhaps half a million. Its dock was expansive, the harbor guarded by an extensive sea wall and a harbor chain. In short, it was a city fit to serve as a capital for one of the kingdoms. 

Oberyn felt his smile grow brittle. “You do not dream small, my friend,” he acknowledged. 

He wasn't certain how exactly, but Paul always planned for this city to be built on the Bloodstone. The circumstances of how he intended for it to be built changed depending on the context. It was possible that Paul believed Eddard would be elevated to Lord Paramount of the Triarchy. Perhaps the city would be the keep he intended to rule over instead of that desolate place in Skagos. 

Or, depending on how much foresight he gave Paul… Then it was always his intention to become Lord Paramount of the Triarchy. Perhaps a deal had been cut with the Iron Throne, though the timeline for it was somewhat uncertain. And if he did cut a deal with Aerys, then why would Aerys have Paul support the North so thoroughly? Unless Aerys hated his son and heir that much? 

The specifics changed, but Oberyn had to assume the worst. Meaning Paul, despite being such a new player, was an exceptionally dangerous one. As skillful as his brother, but one who was willing to act before the fruits of his efforts rotted on the branch. 

“In my position, I'm afraid I cannot afford not to,” Paul replied. 

Dorne could afford it, but it would be costly. Extremely so. Enough to ruin their finances for a generation. “Alas, Dorne is similarly lacking woodlands.” Stone, they had. But to build the entire city of it? That would be even more ruinous than if they imported the wood. 

Paul smiled in a way that told Oberyn he walked into a trap. “The North does. I'm certain Lord Rickard would be willing to facilitate a deal between Drone and the North. Especially when Ned's marriage to Ashara is fast approaching.” He really was opening the door and shoving Oberyn through it, wasn't he? 

Oberyn was under no delusion what this conversation was. Paul was using Dorne to foot the bill and to extract a favor from the North. There were other options to purchase a city's worth of lumber. Better options, even. The Stormlands would be a natural starting point as Dorne and the Stormlands had joined with the marriage between Robert and Elia. Instead, Paul was directing to the North, granting them a contract for lumber that would grant them a fortune over the course of years. 

What Paul intended to use that favor for?

Oberyn had an idea. A dangerous one. 

“Then it sounds like I had best speak to Lord Rickard. As well as my brother,” Oberyn remarked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. 

“You would have my gratitude, Prince Oberyn. And, of course, I would see this debt of lifting my burden repaid," Paul said, as if he hadn't exported Dorne out of… what would likely be hundreds of thousands of gold dragons over the course of a decade. 

Oberyn laughed. “I'm relieved to hear it. However, that is a conversation I suspect is better left in the hands of my brother, Lord Atreides.” No, it was a conversation that was absolutely better left in his hands. Doran was not a man of violence, but if he heard Oberyn made such a deal without his express approval, he would be sorely tempted to become one. 

“I understand perfectly, Prince Oberyn.” He said the words like he expected them all along. “Please forgive my impudence, but I will ask that you make haste. Time is of the essence, and I find I have precious little of it before the King compels me to make a decision. One way or another.” 

Oberyn couldn’t quite contain his laugh as he stood up from the chair, taking his leave. “My friend, an apology means you would not do something again if given the chance.” 

At that, Paul’s smile widened into a deadly thing. “Then you have my gratitude for your understanding.”