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A Golden Path: Design 3.4 (ch. 27)
🕑 Added 2025-10-27 15:02:32 +0000 UTC“He's colder now,” Lyanna observed quietly to Ned, her eyes on their brother as they once more set off for home, now with Catelyn Stark and her retinue in tow. “But he doesn't seem as sad as he was before.”
“That's something, at least,” Ned voiced, riding alongside Lyanna, even as she fussed about having to ride as a lady with her legs draped over one side. All the while, he watched Brandon speaking willingly to those he had all but ignored in favor of drinking. Something he hadn't touched a drop off since the duel.
There was a steadiness to Brandon that had been missing since that day. He was no longer a recluse. He wasn't a drunkard. Yet, at the same time, he was different. Brandon had always been quick with a jest and quicker with a laugh -- he was much like Robert in that regard. People naturally gravitate to him because of a natural charm that Ned found he lacked.
But now Brandon listened more than he spoke. He smiled, but they rarely reached his eyes. Conversations that normally would have been about the arse of an ale maid were instead conversations of substance. Some days, Brandon felt like a mummer who was acting like himself rather than the Brandon he had known all his life.
They weren't the only ones who had noticed the change. Brandon's friends ran into the changed Brandon head first, making jests and comments that would have earned a laugh before and now earned stony silence and a look. Their father also noticed the change and Ned would like to say the bridge had been mended between the two, but that would be a lie and a poor one at that. They could have a conversation without shouting but winter itself had more warmth between them.
“He's more like Father now,” Ned remarked, knowing he'd likely earn a black eye if Brandon overheard the remark. But it was the truth. They carried themselves in the same reserved manner these days. Ned was unsure if it would last, but for now, the comparison held true.
Next to him, Lyanna snorted in a very unlady-like fashion. “I was going to say he acts more like you now,” she remarked and he paused, frowning ever so slightly. “That was a compliment, you dunce,” she added for good measure before giving Brandon a considering look as the group of lords he rode with shared a laugh that got a practiced smile out of their brother. “I heard getting married settles you, but I'd sooner believe that Lady Fish had replaced him.”
“Lyanna,” he admonished, giving her a stern look.
“Everyone calls her that,” she protested quickly.
“That doesn't make it right,” Ned stated firmly, knowing that it would do little good. Lady Catelyn's reputation had been tarnished in a way that Ned struggled to think of a solution for. All the more so when every time they made camp, he could hear a bard singing ‘The Fool and the Fish.’ It was a… less than flattering rendering of the duel that was particularly harsh on Petyr Baelish, making him obsessive with the two daughters of a lord who spurned him at every occasion. It might help a little in savaging their reputations, but everyone also knew who the song was referencing to.
As such, Catelyn Stark became ‘Lady Fish’ behind her back. It was petty. It was needlessly hurtful. But, Catelyn, if she was aware of such things, carried herself with dignity. And that was the most she could realistically do.
Lyanna made a show of rolling her eyes, but she didn't disagree and seemed chastised. So, in a lower voice, he continued, “It's a hard thing leaving your home behind, Lyanna. She doesn't need someone making things harder than they already are for her. She could use a friend.”
She seemed to realize that he was speaking from experience. He had done his duty when their father told him he would be fostered in the Eyrie. And, in time, he became grateful for it as it was how he became friends with Robert. At the time, however, Ned had been at war with himself. Fearful of leaving his home behind, afraid that he had done something that made his father send him away… terrified that his father would never call for him to return home.
He had endured similar barbs during his initial days in the Eyrie -- people called him a barbarian behind his back, pinching their noses as he walked by as if he somehow smelled, and other petty bullying that served no purpose other than feeding self importance of those that already had too much of it.
Ned would like to say that the North was better than that, but that would be a bold faced lie.
“Yeah… you're right,” Lyanna conceded with a sigh before she began to urge her horse to slow so she could ride next to the carriage that Catelyn was riding in. It got a small grin out of Ned -- Lyanna was rash and wild, but she had a good heart. He was glad to see it.
The rest of the trip continued with little fan fare, but it was when they reached the Neck that Ned found himself faced with the lands that he would one day hold.
Moat Cailin loomed in the distance, an ancient fortress that sat in the only natural causeway into the North. The Neck was a swamp -- if an army did march through it, then they'd lose half their men to disease, sickness, and venomous insects and animals. The other half would be slaughtered by the crannogmen, who had guarded the North for thousands of years. On the other side was the Fever River, which gave way to the marsh that Moat Cailin was located within.
Which left Moat Cailin as the true entrance of the North. And it was in a state of terrible decay.
It was built around a large hill that was surrounded by tall walls, marked by watch towers at even lengths. The keep was visible from above the walls, and he saw two large towers connected by a bridge, but both towers were crumbling. A thick moss and grim clung to the castle like a wet blanket, while most clung to the ground despite it being well into the afternoon by the time that they arrived.
The fortress had been long abandoned, even before Ageon's conquest. It was built to keep the Andals out of the North, to protect the last lands of the First Men and the Old Gods. It repelled many an invasion, but as the Andals settled in the South and squabbles with one another, the need for the keep fell and the result was what he saw before him -- a neglected castle that no one had dwelled in for a thousand years.
Their party stopped at the ancient fortress and Ned found himself exploring it. Most, when passing through, only passed through the keep. The only place that looked like anyone had seen was the road connecting the south gate to the north. The rest of it?
He found nothing but rotted furniture and cobwebs so thick that they practically filled houses and blocked off streets. All the more so the closer you got to the keep, which Ned found barred with a rusted iron gate.
“Looking for a way inside?” Ned nearly flinched at the sound of Paul's voice, but caught himself and glanced over to see the lord looking up at the rusted gate. “Hoping to inspect your holdings?”
He had. “If the outside is any indication, I don't have high hopes for the interior,” he admitted.
“Dissapointed?” Paul questioned, casting him a glance and Ned considered the question for a moment.
He shook his head, “No. Not exactly. I never dreamed of having lands and a castle of my own. Even a small keep was beyond my hopes, much less an keep such as Moat Cailin. Now, I just worry… it is unworthy in its current state for Ashara.”
Paul made a sound of amusement, and a flush crept up the back of Ned's neck. It was a strange thing. He honestly expected more resistance to his marriage with Ashara -- the lords already protested Brandon's marriage with a southerner, and he expected worse with his own. But, because Ashara was beautiful, he was commended for landing such an appealing wife. They called him lucky and fortunate, and he was, but he suspected they thought that for very different reasons.
“It will be,” Paul assured him, speaking as if it were a foregone conclusion. Such a thing used to set his teeth on edge, but now it soothed his nerves. “Just with a little work. By the time we return from the Stepstones, the restoration would be complete. And then you can focus on building.”
The Stepstones. Another matter that loomed over him. Enough so that he sought a distraction from it, “Do you know a way inside?”
“I've never been here before. Why would you assume that I know of a way?” Paul asked, raising an eyebrow and Ned offered a smile.
“Because you do,” Ned said, feeling confident in his guess. Confidence that was rewarded because Paul inclined his head to him and made a gesture to follow. Ned, if he was being perfectly honest, expected something like a secret passage or something.
Instead, he arrived at where one of the towers had collapsed onto a building, and inadvertently made a rough bridge up into the keeps walls.
“Follow where I step,” Paul commanded easily, moving up the pile of stone and rotten timber with a surefootedness that Ned envied. He did as commanded, watching each step carefully and following Paul up until the reached the inner wall of the keep.
“How long do you think it's been since someone was inside?” He questioned, looking at the courtyard. It wasn't that different from Winterfell, but whereas Winterfell had been the seat of power for the Kings of Winter, Moat Cailin was a fortress first and foremost. It was built with the expectation it would serve as the entrance to the North and face countless invasions from the Andals. Aesthetics and grandeur weren't the guiding principle.
Ned liked that. It was honest. Direct. It was a fortress before it was a home, and one grand enough that it could house the whole force of the North if needed.
“I'm sure there has been a curious traveler or two who ventured close, but I imagine none went inside,” Paul replied, pointing at the rusted shut door to the keep. “Most would assume that any treasures to be found inside would be long gone, so it's not worth the risk of going inside.”
There was a vague sense of excitement. He had no expectation that they would find any treasure, but that hardly mattered. They were exploring an ancient keep, even if the castle would soon belong to him, it still had a sense of adventure. And, as they walked along the wall, they approached a door that had fallen off the hinge centuries ago and into the keep itself, which only seemed to be inhabited by spiders, Ned found himself wondering what it would look like restored.
Which led him to thinking about what Paul said.
“Are you worried about the Stepstones?” He asked, using an ancient broom handle to clear the equally ancient spider webs. “Robert was excited.”
Robert was among the various lords that were chosen to spearhead the attacks on the Stepstones against the pirates that lived there. The effort was being led by Prince Rhaegar, who led some five thousand men into the Stepstones. Before they left King's Landing, Robert had been flushed with joy at the prospect of getting involved with a real battle.
They were likely already underway if they hadn't arrived already.
Yet, Father was convinced that the attack would end in failure. Or expand into a larger conflict against the Free Cities. Father almost seemed to be counting on it, as the plan was to wait for the conflict to stall before sending Northern reinforcements. Only a few knew the plan, Paul among them.
“Are you worried for him?” Paul questioned and Ned offered an uncertain shrug as they walked the ancient grim covered halls. The air felt stale and carried the scent of mold once they pushed past a door that crumbled under them pushing it open.
“He's a great fighter, and he's surrounded by loyal knights who will do their duty to protect him. I just fear that Robert will be too… enthusiastic about a battle and make their duty more difficult than it needs to be.” That was the most diplomatic way that he could say it.
Paul heard what went unsaid, though. “He's eager, but he's good enough to not abandon caution entirely. Though, I suspect what he will encounter on the Stepstones will source him to the war.” He replied as they walked the halls that were covered in a thick layer of dust. Enough so that Ned pulled up his tunic to cover his mouth and nose. “The asymmetrical warfare of the islands will be a far cry from the defined battle lines of a traditional battlefield that he expects.”
Upon learning he would be sent to the Stepstones in a year's time, he had taken to reading the accounts of Prince Daemon's conquest of the stepstones from before the Dance of Dragons. What he learned was that even with dragons, the war had been a long and bloody affair.
“It feels like the Seven Kingdoms are plundering into the same mistakes,” Ned remarked as they walked. Prince Daemon and House Velaryon had been the only forces at war with the Stepstones. They had some nominal support from hedge knights acting as mercenaries to increase their numbers, but in large part, they took the Stepstones on their own with two dragons. Yet, the dragons were of little good given that the islands were a network of caves that the pirates hid within, protecting them from the dragonfire.
Each island was a siege and a quagmire, so every island taken was purchased with catastrophic losses that a small army couldn't afford.
“That's because they are,” Paul replied with zero sympathy for those who would learn that lesson the hard way. They walked through the halls, and Ned peered into the rooms they passed -- either because the doors had fallen off or boards had split allowing a glimpse inside.
What he saw was destruction. Rooms ransacked, likely from looters generations ago.
“The first attack will stall out quickly. Your father intends to answer the call to arms when Prince Rhaegar asks for aid with a significant force. Which will be under your command,” Paul reminded.
That earned a grimace from Ned, “It should be Brandon.” He was the heir. That glory belonged to him. While the North was quick to dismiss Southern affairs, he knew that many were itching to once more go south and join the fight. It was a rare opportunity to prove oneself to one's fellows, and as heir to the North, Brandon needed that opportunity more than he did. Especially after… recent events.
“It should,” Paul agreed, speaking of it as fact. “But he won’t because your father lost his trust in him.” Ned worked his jaw, a rebuke on his tongue but he swallowed it down. Paul had no place saying such things. He was a vassal and he was speaking of his liege lord’s household. Yet, it wasn’t idle gossip. Paul was saying the words because he needed to hear them. Because they were true. “He’ll likely regain it in time, but not before it comes time to go to war.”
Paul pushed open a door, and with the squealing of hinges, the hall was revealed. They looked down at it from the second floor, seeing smashed tables and chairs, all save for a throne that sat elevated near what had once been the high table. It was made of weirwood -- Ned recognized the pale wood of the same pallor as a bloodless corpse. The craftsmanship was beautiful, even if seeing it made his skin crawl.
Paul made a noise of faint surprise in the back of his throat, tilting his head at the chair, “Perhaps I misspoke. Not all of the treasures of this place have been carried off,” he observed as they walked down a set of stairs to the lower hall.
Ned looked around the hall, finding that it was less a welcoming hall and more a place of battle. The second floor of the hall was a place for archers; the angle of it was a natural chokepoint. Everything about the castle was designed to make the enemy bleed for every step forward they took. Ned tried to imagine taking such a place, and it was little wonder that armies a hundred thousand strong had broken themselves on the fortress for generations.
It also brought his attention to a subject that he was trying not to think about. “Asymmetrical warfare. That is what we will face in the Stepstones?” Ned asked, walking the hall and towards the wierwood chair.
“There won’t be any battle lines. Instead, it will be a constant game of cat and mouse. A series of ambushes across the island as they attempt to destroy our logistics. The Seven Kingdoms will possess a naval advantage initially, but that will change. The Free Cities will sponsor other pirates to harry our ships that carry reinforcements and supplies, and eventually, support from the Seven Kingdoms will dwindle as the invasion proves to be less glorious than they imagined.” Paul rattled off, stopping at the base of the stairs and watching as Ned climbed them up to the chair.
His hair stood on end when he brushed a hand over it, and he pulled it back to see that there wasn’t any dust on his fingers. Odd, but his mind was preoccupied.
“It sounds dishonorable,” Ned observed.
“They’re pirates, my lord,” Paul answered, and that was fair enough. “They can be met with honor and dignity, but they will repay it with poison and treachery. In the end, they want to win more than they care how they win.”
A soft sigh escaped Ned as he considered that. A type of war that was unfamiliar to them, and against a treacherous foe who held many advantages. “When you speak like that, it makes our defeat sound certain.”
“Not certain. Just likely,” Paul admitted with a small shrug of his shoulders, as if it were someone else's problem. “On the assumption that our current methodology for warfare is unchanged to face this foe.”
“I won’t be poisoning wells and threatening children like them just for a victory,” Ned warned sternly, sensing where the conversation was going.
Paul wasn’t offended at the tone, and nodded as if he expected nothing less. “You won’t have to, my lord. You can counter their tactics without resorting to their lows. It just requires an… awareness of such things and a change in perspective when it comes to how to conduct a battle. Do that, and the battle shall be won before the pirates realize they have been defeated.”
Ned stood near the chair for a long moment, casting a look down the hall before he slowly moved to sit in it. A chill raced down his spine as he did so, and he gazed out at the hall, imagining what it would look like in a few years' time. He imagined what his lands would look like.
He never thought he would be a lord. In truth, Ned wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be one. He could have been happy with a quiet position in Winterfell, serving as Brandon’s right hand in all things. It wouldn’t have been an easy life, but it would have been a good life. But now, he was to be wed to a beautiful woman that for all the prestige his blood gave him, he felt unworthy of.
He looked upon the castle that was neglected and the lands around it abandoned for centuries, and he knew that they needed to be… more. It wasn’t enough to merely drag them back up to a tolerable standard. He wanted Ashara to arrive at Moat Cailin and feel pride knowing that their children would rule over the lands for generations to come.
Ambition wasn’t something Ned would say he ever felt before, but a spark of it flickered to life in his chest.
“Paul?” Ned said, clenching his jaw as he thought on the years to come and what they would mean for his family -- both his father and sibling, as well as his betrothed and the children they would have. A weight settled heavily on his shoulders, but his back was strong enough to carry it. “I’ll be relying on you and you’re expertise.”
Paul offered a theatrical bow, “I am yours to command, my lord. By this time next year… you shall know all that I do in conducting such a war.”
Comments
Ben Salzano
The phrase is “bald-faced lie” as in “undisguised.” (The newspaper story is folk etymology of the eggcorn.)
SPJaymo117
Just a small typo I think. “Though, I suspect what he will encounter on the Stepstones will source him to the war.” I assume ‘source’ is meant to be ‘sour’?
