A Golden Path: Framework 4.3 (ch. 49) (Patreon)

“How will Father want us to handle this?” Ned asked the very same question Brandon had been asking himself for the better part of two weeks. Ravens began to fly the moment the announcement was made that House Atreides would join the Great Houses. It was enough time for a raven to leave the capital, make the long journey to Winterfell, Rickard to write a response, before it made the long trip back. The slip of parchment likely had been read a half dozen times before it reached him, regardless of what the wax seal said. 

Brandon unfurled the message, his gaze following the small words. Rickard had fit as much as he possibly could on the slip, trying to control the situation from entire kingdoms away. However, they were the ones in the foul smelling capital, and each day was immeasurably precious. 

Yet, his gaze stilled when he saw what was almost a post script. A last minute addition to an already packed message. 

“I have a daughter,” Brandon announced, sounding the words out as he spoke them. Getting a feel for them. Catelyn certainly hadn't written to inform him how her pregnancy went. 

It was a strange thought. He expected the revelation to hit harder than it did. That he would feel a surge of paternal instincts, transforming him as a person as so many said they experienced. Perhaps it was because the girl was half of Westeros away. Or perhaps he was simply destined to be a shite father, just like his own was. 

Ned, however, brightened so much so that you'd think he was the one who became a father. “Congratulations, Brandon! What is her name?” He asked, making Brandon glance back down as the slip of parchment. 

“Lyarra,” Brandon answered. His daughter was named after their mother. Despite himself, he did feel a stirring of warmth in his heart. A sense of gratitude to Catelyn. When their mother died, the best parts of their father died with her. 

“Congratulations, brother,” Ned repeated, softer this time. “But… I suppose that is the only piece of good news?” He ventured, mistaking Brandon's lack of reaction for something else. However, he wasn't entirely wrong. 

Wordlessly, Brandon slid him the parchment and watched Ned's face. His brow began to furrow the more he read, and by the end, he was outright frowning. His steel gray eyes flickered up to meet Brandon's. “Lyanna is to marry Paul?” 

It was lucky their banner men were in Essos, because Brandon could only imagine how they would react to such news. Or, rather, the reason why Rickard was able to come to such a decision was because their bannermen weren't in a position to revolt. Paul had won many of them over, for the most part. Between the Melee and the Exalted March, they learned to respect him enough that the short history of his House didn't count against him as much as it had. 

Paul being elevated to a Lord Paramount was going to be a bitter drought for them to swallow, but they could choke it down. Unhappily, not without complaint, but they could get it down. 

Rickard was already criticized for paying the South too much attention -- first with Brandon's own marriage, then Ned's, and now Lyanna's? The only Stark their bannermen had a hope to marry was Benjen, and he was still just a boy. The third son, to boot. Their bannermen's envy would be so potent, it could serve as poison. 

“It's one of the best matches Paul could hope to make,” Brandon reasoned. “Either Lyanna, or Cersei Lannister. She's betrothed to Elbert, but…” he trailed off, taking a seat in a chair that groaned under his weight. His time in Tyrosh and Myr… well, he was a bit rounder around the gut than he had when he set sail. Nothing a few hours in the training yard couldn't fix. 

Ned, instead, began to pace. “I doubt Lord Tywin would marry his prized daughter to Paul. Especially if he has to break an engagement to do it.” 

“He could if it puts him in a position to fuck over the king,” Brandon pointed out, bringing him up short. “The Vale isn't a poor kingdom, but once the Narrow Sea is back in order, the Triarchy is going to be a rich kingdom, Ned. Richer than the Reach and Westerlands. And we know exactly what Paul is capable of- only now, he won't be starved for land and resources.” 

Ned winced, but Brandon continued. “Tywin could finance the full reconstruction of the Stepstones and Daughters. He hasn't lifted a finger during the Exalted March, after all.” 

“But Paul has a history with us. Our father,” Ned reasoned. That was true, but… 

“Not much of one,” Brandon replied with a sigh. “He was our vassal for… what? A year?” 

“Two,” Ned corrected before he grimaced even before Brandon made a ‘there you go’ gesture. “Fine. Point, I suppose. So… Lyanna keeps Paul bound to our family. Do you…” He didn't even have it in him to finish. 

“Approve?” He haggard a guess, earning a mute nod. Brandon gave it a moment of thought, genuinely considering it. Lyanna was a wild creature. She craved freedom and the ability to make her own choices. Brandon's first thought was she'd rather bite off her own tongue before she agreed to any marriage. But then Brandon thought of Gertrud. 

His heart clenched at the thought of her. She had her own duties, particularly with Paul as she was one of his house guards, so their time together was drastically reduced. But, the point being- “Once she stops hating the idea out of principle, I think she could be happy with Paul. He lets women fight and ride. And Essos allows more freedoms for women, like trade.” Not that he could ever see Lyanna as the type to count coppers. 

Ned nodded slowly in agreement, “As much complaining it might stir up, it's a good match. One that could help the North.” 

At that, Brandon grimaced at the reminder. He failed thoroughly in hus attempt to gain some kind of leverage over Paul before he was made a vassal. Ned failed to learn anything of substance when he was spying on Paul back on Skagos. Now, Paul had well and truly slipped from underneath their thumb. 

The true issue there was they were still reliant on Paul. He was the one who knew how to make clear glass. He had all sorts of trade goods, which were going to be used to enrich the North. Now? Now, Paul had all of the know-how, a kingdom capable of supporting his various enterprises, with a culture that didn't look down on trade. 

‘He played us.’ That was the feeling Brandon couldn't shake. Right from the very beginning, from the moment they met beyond the Wall when Paul was just another Wildling… it felt like they had been led around by the nose until Paul got exactly what he wanted from them. He had lands and titles, only they weren't the paltry lands on a distant and borderline inhospitable island. He was a Lord Paramount. An equal. 

“I think I should handle this,” Ned spoke up, catching Brandon off guard. His expression carried an edge of apprehension, but that was the only trace of the shy Ned who struggled to speak up for himself. “I have a relationship with him. More than you do, at any rate.” 

“So, he'll twist our arm a bit less if it's a friend asking?” Brandon replied, scratching at his cheek. He was more worried about Paul leading Ned around by the nose, but… 

Ned wasn't the boy he had been. He fought in war, he killed, he saw men die, and he ordered men to their deaths. His expression conveyed his intent and his understanding. That whatever friendship he felt with Paul, this had become a matter of the future of House Stark and the North itself. 

“Don't open with the marriage,” Brandon advised. “Lead up to it. What's important is that Paul doesn't turn off the tap. Father built the future of the North around the industries Paul gave us -- he made promises to our bannermen, welcomed southerners to settle new villages… if that falls through, then the North will be hamstrung for a generation.” 

Ned offered a small but serious nod. “I understand, brother. You can leave it to me,” Ned swore, and Brandon believed him. He didn't want to waste a second because Ned immediately turned to the door of their shared quarters in the Red Keep. Yet, he paused by the door. He glanced over his shoulder with softer eyes, “You're a father.” 

Maybe it just took some time for the news to settle because he started to feel the weight of the word now. “And you're an uncle.” 

Ned gave him an unabashed smile, pleased with the thought before he left. Once the door shut, only then did Brandon let out a sigh as he cast another glance as the message. His daughter and Lyanna's potential marriage were the most important bits of the message, but not the only parts. 

“How am I supposed to secure rewards for the North?” Brandon grumbled, giving the message another read. Memorizing it before he burned it over a nearby candle flame. Paul being made a Lord Paramount was a very unexpected deviation from the plan. A high reward for his efforts, but it wasn’t a reward for the North as a whole, or House Stark. 

They were in a position to ask for more. They took the Stepstones. They took the Daughters and settled the Disputed Lands. They had a claim to the lion’s share of rewards. But when those rewards were coming, they hadn’t been revealed. Aerys retreated into whatever dark corner of the castle he inhabited. Brandon hadn’t seen the king since the first day, which was as much a problem as it was a relief. 

Paul was a factor there. In terms of land, he was the one who decided who got what. Which was why there was a line outside of his door, and Prince Oberyn seemed so pleased with himself by wrangling someone belonging to Dorne as owner of the Bloodstone. It would only cost him millions of golden dragons and years of hard labor building a city upon it. 

“Gertrud,” Brandon muttered, his gaze lingering on the ashes before he brushed them away. Perhaps he was only fooling himself. Convincing himself there was a reason to do something he already wanted to do. However, Gertrud was part of Paul’s household guard. They spent a year together, first in Tyrosh and then Myr. 

He was…

“This is a bad idea,” he reasoned, standing up and making his way to the door. There was no guarantee she would be willing to spy on her liege lord for him. But maybe, with the right approach… maybe she could be a thumb on the scale. A whisper in Paul’s ear reminding him of who got his foot through the door. Or maybe an advanced warning in case Paul’s eyes wandered to another kingdom. 

It was a bad idea. A terrible one. Every step of the way, Brandon told himself as much. Reminded him that it was entirely possible that Paul had planned for this. That he knew Gertrud was exactly his type of woman -- smart as a whip, tongue sharper than a blade, and she didn’t shy away from letting her thoughts and will be known. Even if she had to throw a few hands to get the message across. 

It was entirely possible that Paul accounted for it all, planted Gertrud in his path, so he’d go and make a fool of himself trusting her. So she could spy on him instead of the other way around. After Paul had somehow conned the king into granting him an entire kingdom, war-torn as it was, Brandon wouldn’t put any kind of manipulation beyond Paul’s abilities. Not anymore. 

Yet, it was almost as if he couldn't help himself. He drifted towards her like a sheet caught in the wind. It wasn't enough to know how objectively terrible of an idea it might be. Brandon found that he simply couldn't help himself. 

Yet, it wasn't Gertrud who he stumbled across first on his way to the courtyard, where he would undoubtedly find her. It was someone else entirely, whose presence was announced with the sound of a necklace of interlaced hands. 

“Lord Brandon,” Steffon Baratheon, Hand of the King, greeted him with a smile and a roll of parchment in his hands. He was joined by another familiar face -- one Brandon had taken an effort in avoiding. Successfully, until now. 

“Gate-Breaker,” Lucerys Valis greeted him with a sweeping bow that felt sarcastic. “A pleasure to more formally make your acquaintance.” Brandon hadn’t known what to make of Lucerys upon first seeing him. He knew of eunuchs, but it was only when he traveled to Essos that he learned anything about them beyond that they were men lacking their manhood. 

The womanly softness of Lucerys told Brandon that he had been cut before he ever became a man. His body never underwent the change that turned boys into men. It was a despicable practice, but that in itself told Brandon something. 

Lucerys was of noble blood. One of the Volantian families whose history dated back to the fall of the Valyrian Empire. Yet, Lucerys was made a eunuch before he became a man. From what Brandon saw of Tyrosh and Myr, those who suffered such a fate were often taken as concubines by petty lordlings or wealthy merchants playing at nobility. Or, he was cut to remove him from inheriting something within the Black Walls of Volantis. 

Either were possible. Even both. Valerian were sister fuckers. What was buggering a eunuch son or nephew or grandson? 

It would be enough for him to turn his gaze up at, but something else stood out to him about Lucerys Valis. About the Valis family as a whole. Or, rather, the lack of something. 

Where was the response from Volantis? Where was the lambasting one of the ancient and noble lineages who had built their society on the backs of slaves marrying into the Royal Family of Westeros, and barely a few years later, called an Exalted March upon Essos to end slavery? Instead, even as Volantis decried them and shook their fists from afar, they were strangely silent on the Valis family. 

Likewise, there were no calls for aid within Volantis itself, who would almost certainly be ostracized. Isolated. Likely condemned. Yet, it never came up that they could potentially have an in inside of Volantis or the Prince's family in-law were in need of a helping hand. 

There were pieces of a story that just didn't quite fit. A picture Brandon might be inclined to poke at, if it wasn't for a simple fact. 

Lucerys Valis was King Aerys’ spymaster. 

“... Good evening to you both, lord Hand. Lord Valis,” Brandon returned after the briefest of moments of hesitation. 

“If wouldn't mind giving me a moment of your time,” Steffon started, holding up the rolls of parchment. “There was something I wished to discuss with you, and it seems our paths crossed sooner than I expected.” 

An ambush. That's what this felt like. Brandon was only uncertain if it was a planned one or an opportune one. “Of course, Lord Baratheon,” Brandon agreed for lack of a better choice. He could hardly refuse. 

However, what he didn't expect was for Steffon to start unrolling the parchment to lay it out upon the railing overlooking a garden. That seemed unwise. Particularly when he saw the parchment was a map. 

“This,” Steffon began, “is the map that Lord Atreides has proposed for the division of lands within the Triarchy.” He informed, glancing sharply at Brandon. He was looking for a reaction. 

If Brandon had to guess, Steffon wanted to know if Paul had informed him of the division beforehand. He hadn't, but it wouldn't do to confirm that, so he spared the map a glance, trying to memorize as much as he could, before nodding as if to confirm it was the division he had been informed of. 

The division was even, if to could call it that. Some would lay claim to an entire island, while others would be forced to share ownership with one of them in particular claiming to be an overlord. In the margins and spaces between islands, names were scribbled in small writing. He couldn’t read most of it, at least not with a quick glance, but he was certain he saw ‘Dorne’ written in a space on the Bloodstone. And Redwyne near the Gray Gallows, but he didn’t know which island. 

It looked different from the divisions Brandon had envisioned. Fairer. The islands had been surveyed for resources, which would give the lords income, and Brandon had intended to keep the lords poor. Vassals with too much money had the ability to finance problems. The Tyrells could attest to that. 

“I see?” Brandon prompted, looking to Steffon instead of the map. As if he had no reason to find it of particular interest. 

Something Steffon seemed disappointed by, even if he hid it well. “Ah, well, it’s rather embarrassing to come out and ask like this, but we were hoping you would have an idea of who Paul is eying for stewardship of the Daughters?”

He made a gesture to the map again, giving Brandon cause to look at it. This time he saw details he had missed. Such as the ‘?’ near many names. It was then that Brandoned realized what this was. He nearly laughed, but he choked it down in favor of shaking his head. 

“I know he intends to treat Tyrosh as his capital,” Brandon offered, pointing to the island centered in the Narrow Sea. That, however, was exceedingly obvious and told them nothing. Myr was on the mainland of Essos, thus exposed. Lys was too far away from the rest of the Steptsones and the Disputed Lands. He might as well have told them that the sky was blue. 

“As for Myr and Lys? He’s strongly considering a few names. My brother among them, but Ned can’t accept on account he’s likely to inherit Moat Cailin.” The truth was, Brandon had absolutely no idea who Paul intended to populate his kingdom with. More than that, Brandon hadn’t even been aware that Paul got to decide who it would be populated with. 

“I see,” Steffon said, offering a thin smile that hoped for a great deal more than that but one that also expected what he received. “My thanks for answering, Lord Brandon,” he said, rolling up the parchment and continuing on his way with Lucerys a half step behind him. 

Brandon watched them go for a moment before he turned to continue walking the opposite direction. It was only when he was sure he wouldn’t be overheard that he allowed himself a small deprecating laugh. 

“You’re really playing us all for fools, aren’t you?” Brandon muttered to no one in particular, his heart squeezing in his chest when Gertrud came into view. And then his stomach felt like it was full of butterflies when she caught sight of him and smiled. 

For better or worse… Brandon had plenty of experience being a fool.