Titus
Red Robert Flowers' body lay on a long table made of stone or marble. His corpse was stiff and pale; his eyes were closed and mouth was open. The sight of him filled Titus with disgust, but he did not look away, "What happened to him?"
"Poison," Grand Maester Elial answered briskly, "I have yet to figure out the exact one, but it should not take long."
Whatever the poison had been, it had not been a pretty one. Flowers' face and body were marred by boils and blemishes. Death had put an end to the man's suffering, but Titus could easily imagine how much Robert had suffered before the Stranger took pity on him. He looks almost as bad as Father did...
"Found him sitting bolt upright in bed, screaming blue murder," Elial continued, almost to himself moreso than Titus, "Poor man spent the last hours of his life sobbing. Not the way a knight of the Kingsguard is meant to go. Nor any man, really."
Titus felt himself unable to look at the Grand Maester, nor the dead Lord Commander. His stomach was twisting, and he suddenly had an urge to vomit. But he kept his composure and put on a thoughtful expression.
"So, why are Uthor and Edgar accused?"
"They were overheard talking in the Drunken Duck in Flea Bottom," Elial answered, "A sordid place of ill repute. Several witnesses will confirm their presence, my lord."
Titus did not correct Elial's manner of address, "Is that all? Hearsay from drunken men?"
"You did not let me finish!" Elial replied peevishly, "Anyway, the two were seen looking for Red Robert, asking where he was. They found him, eventually, and were seen leaving his room by a septon."
Gods, how inebriated had they been, to be so utterly foolish? Unless... Titus did not want to think of it. He quietly prayed that the brothers would have a proper explanation for what they were doing.
"Begging your pardon, Lord Titus," Elial added, "But you should know that I will be testifying against them once I find out which poison it is."
Titus looked away, as if his knowledge of the poison could be seen in his eyes.
There had apparently been some disagreement on where to keep Uthor and Edgar Dalt before their trial. The nature of the murder was despicable and treacherous, but the two young knights were also well known, from an established knightly house, the sons of a well-liked and well-connected man. That, in the end, had been the prevailing factor, and so they were kept in dignified captivity.
Titus visited them immediately after his inspection of Flowers' body, questioning them sharply about Grand Maester Elial's testimony.
"We should not have gone," Edgar admitted, having the decency to be ashamed.
Uthor, however, was too proud to make such a concession, "What we should have done was carry out our plan!"
"Plan?" Titus stared at the brothers.
Edgar looked away, "We were drunk... it fell into our heads to see if Robert Flowers was recovered, and we would challenge him to a duel. Otherwise..."
"Otherwise?" Titus repeated, when neither brother continued.
Uthor sighed, "I was of a mind to kill him."
Titus sat down heavily on the couch in their quarters, "Seven hells!"
"It wasn't our idea, not at first," Edgar insisted, "We just... we listened to the wrong advice."
"A wonderful defence," Titus retorted scathingly, imitating their accent, "Please, Your Grace, we are innocent of murdering your Kingsguard! Someone else told us to do it!"
"Well, we didn't do it," Uthor retorted, even as he flushed with anger, "But since we are here anyway, I wish we had."
Titus had no words for that; he was too angry to trust his words.
The three of them sat in silence, brooding on their own thoughts.
It was Edgar who finally broke the silence, "What now?"
Titus gave a long sigh, "I don't know."
"*" * " *" * "* " *"
Things did not improve for Titus when he spoke with the Master of Laws; Steffon Banefort was a bookish young man who looked as though he spent his spare time hiding amongst the bookshelves of the king's library. He claimed that he had not seen the tourney, and had not even known what had happened to Ser Garrison until Titus told him.
That did little to dissuade him from speaking dourly of Edgar and Uthor's fates. "It is a most disagreeable situation," he remarked gravely, poring over a dusty document, "I am afraid to say that the punishment must be dire. Murdering a Lord Commander of the Kingsguard... dear me..."
"They did not do it," Titus tried to insist, but Steffon paid him no heed as he read.
"And since the Dornish belong to us now, they will also be accused of treason. That could mean a sentence of a crow cage, beheading, drawing and quartering, or the Wall, if they were so inclined..."
Titus felt ill enough as he heard the list of punishments. He did not have the heart to share them with Coryanne and Aliandra when he met them in Coryanne's suite later that night, though he was compelled to speak of what the brothers had admitted.
Coryanne was slumped on her bed, tears in her eyes, "Those foolish boys... how could they throw their lives away?"
Aliandra sat with her, holding her hand, "It is not over yet, Mother."
Titus stood by, feeling disgusted with himself. He had taken several books of law on the Seven Kingdoms, and was reading them as fast as he could, but nowhere did the books give him any hope. Jena had promised to assist him any way that she could, though he did not know what she could do to assist him.
"What else is there to be done, Titus?" Coryanne implored of him.
Titus wracked his brain for something to say, "I have told them to give me witnesses, men who can testify where they were. But there are others who can place them by Red Robert's bed the night that he was poisoned."
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
Titus paused, turning back to Coryanne and Aliandra. He did not know whether to hide from sight or stay where he was.
His question, unasked, was nevertheless answered by Coryanne. "You are defending my sons in trial," she remarked, before crossing over to the door and opening it.
It was Clifford Straw. He was holding a piece of folded paper in his hand, "Ser Titus, I was told to give you this."
"Told? By whom?" Titus asked.
"I didn't know his face, and he didn't give his name," Clifford answered, shrugging, "he walked away before I could say anything."
Titus unfolded the paper and read it. The letters were written in red, finely scrawled in the Common Tongue.
"The godswood at noon tomorrow. Come alone."
He showed the letter to Coryanne, who read it at a glance. She looked back at him, "Will you go?"
Any sensible man might refuse such a suspicious invitation. It could easily be a trap; the godswood was not often visited by the people of King's Landing, and a man could meet his death there long before he was missed.
All the same, something within Titus felt compelled to go, "Aye, I will. But take note if I do not come back."
"I will go with you," Aliandra insisted, "I can stay close by in case you need assistance. Nobody will suspect me." She patted her thigh, where no doubt a dagger was strapped beneath her bright-coloured clothing.
"A Dornishwoman with a Summer Island accent?" Titus pointed out, "What business would you have at the godswood?"
"It is my first time in King's Landing," Aliandra retorted, "I will collect leaves for souvenirs!"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Titus had to smile at that logic, "Fair enough."
* " * " * " * "
Like most castles in Westeros, the Red Keep contained a godswood. Overlooking the Blackwater Rush, it was an entire acre in size and contained an assortment of cottonwood, elm, and alder.
Aliandra had gone ahead of Titus, so that when he arrived for his meeting, she was wandering from tree to tree, examining them as if she'd never seen their like before. Titus did not look at her as he plunged into the greenery.
The sun was almost blocked entirely as he stepped gingerly over exposed roots among the leaf litter. By some instinct, Titus sensed that he must travel to the heart tree at the centre of the godswood.
Eventually, he found himself standing before it. The face was carved into the mighty tree, seemingly looking straight at him. It gave him an unsettling feeling, so that he turned his face away.
"Do you fear the old gods, Ser?"
Titus turned to face the one who'd spoken, even as he emerged from the shadows to stand beside the heart tree.
It was a boy - lithe, pale, just on the cusp of manhood - who stood before Titus. His clothing was a mixture of greys, black, and red cloth which wavered between crimson and scarlet in hue. A dagger was at his side, and the only armour that he wore was boiled leather dyed black, and on its front was the dragon of House Targaryen. Unlike the red dragon of Targaryen, or the black dragon of Blackfyre, this beast was as pale as the youth who wore it. His hair was as white as an old man's, and his skin was equally pale, except for a large wine-coloured splotch which Titus quickly perceived to be a birthmark, vaguely raven-shaped.
Despite his youth, the lad's face was unsettling to look upon. His features seemed either a crude imitation or a warped alteration of the Valyrian image. Instead of lilac, violet, or indigo, his eyes were red; the mark of an albino. Titus had never liked the notion that a man's appearance defined his character, but even he was forced to admit that this youth had a malevolent - an evil - disposition.
"Thank you for seeing me, Ser," the youth asked quietly, as if he still feared being overheard in the middle of this silent wood.
"You had best make it worth my while, then," Titus answered, wishing that he'd brought his sword, "Who are you?"
"A loyal brother," the boy replied, "I am here on the king's behalf."
Titus frowned, "You're a Targaryen?"
"In a manner of speaking," the youth replied, smiling as if he'd made a joke. Titus could not help but feeling that the joke was at his own expense.
"Would that House Targaryen had sent a man to treat with me," Titus retorted bitterly, "instead of a surly boy."
Brynden ignored the insult and gave Titus a mocking bow, "May I congratulate you on your restraint?"
"Restraint?" Titus frowned. Restraint that I haven't put some colour in your face by giving you a black eye or two?
"You kept up a fine performance when you approached the godswood. You walked right past your companion without a single glance."
Titus felt himself grow flushed, "You must be mistaken-"
"-Spare me a mummer's farce, Ser," the youth interrupted as he grinned, "Did you think I would not recognise Aliandra Dalt? I saw her father die too. And I saw how she looked at the brave knight when he plunged into the deep dark forest."
Titus was torn between storming off and putting his fist through the lad's teeth, "I ask again, boy. Who are you?"
"Brynden Rivers," he answered, inclining his head as if they were being introduced at a ball. Even his courtesies feel like mockery.
"Since when do men of House Rivers carry the Targaryen sigil?" Titus asked sarcastically.
His smile remained the same, but the light in his eyes faded, "You had best ask my father, Ser."
Something about that gave Titus pause. He wondered who this lad's father might be, and there was only one answer that seemed plausible.
"Aegon IV?"
The lad nodded, "The very same, but I did not come here to discuss my lineage. I came here because we share enemies."
"And which enemies are those?"
That is what I want to find out," Brynden answered, "I know something of what is going on, but not enough. And one thing I know is that you were not supposed to become involved. Thankfully, my nephew managed to thwart their schemes."
It was a very strange thing to hear this lad of fourteen or fifteen say about Prince Baelor Targaryen, especially in such a dismissive tone.
"Do you doubt Baelor's abilities?" Titus asked, incensed.
"I doubt his capacity to see the dark for the light," Brynden answered, "He holds his head high enough that he can walk by a cesspit and never smell it. No doubt you'd like to think of yourself as such a man too. But thankfully, Baelor's proved himself useful in thwarting his foes, entirely by accident. The treacherous cannot trust, and it baffles them when men prove better than they expect."
"Spoken from experience?" Titus asked, trying to sound as scornful as Brynden.
If anything, Brynden only seemed more amused by Titus, and he did not even deign him the dignity of a retort. Instead, he continued on his topic.
"I know what kind of man you are, Ser. You wished to bring Dorne into the fold, but many don't. And Dorne is giving them all a cause to unite behind. I hear many whispers that they seek to overthrow my brother and his family."
"What has this to do with me?" Titus asked angrily, "It is your family which has put Uthor and Edgar on trial for murder!"
"Yes, it is," Brynden answered nonchalantly, "And quite convenient, no? For who would stand to benefit the most if Dorne had reason to break away from the Iron Throne?"
The question stayed Titus for a moment, as the implications slowly washed over his mind like a wave breaking over a rock.
"What do you want of me?" Titus asked, "I am already sworn to defend them at trial."
"Aye, and my brother promised you assistance as needed, did he not?"
Titus groaned inwardly, "I never thought I would need someone like you."
"All the more reason why you need me, Ser," Brynden taunted, but then he dropped his mocking tone, "Though I will admit, I need someone like you too. I have my resources, and my brother is generous to me, but you are necessary for those young knights' defence. It must be someone whom the Iron Throne and Dorne can equally trust. Who better than a marcher lord with a Dornish foster-father?"
Just like with Bittersteel, there was a malevolent way that Brynden made that last remark, but where Bittersteel had been speculating, Brynden seemed certain, and that troubled Titus even more.
"If you have a charge against me, then make it," Titus snapped.
Brynden ignored the challenge. "When you stood vigil over Ser Garrison, you were joined by my half-brothers and their pet aurochs. Did you not think it strange that they joined you late in the night, mourning a man whom they had no reason to care for?"
Titus did not say anything; he did not wish to give this self-satisfied bastard any more reason to gloat.
"How convenient that they chose such a specific time to visit you, an honourable man whom the Crown would never suspect of foul play."
"What of it?" Titus asked, "All that proves is that they did not murder Red Robert. Everything else is idle speculation."
"Not so idle as you seem to think. You are not so much an idealist as you pretend. You have seen the worst of men, and I doubt your hands are as clean as most would assume."
Titus considered striking this youth across the face. But instead he folded his arms, "What sort of man do you take me for?"
"I take you for a man with secrets," Brynden retorted, "A man whose conscience is burdened with sins, past and future."
"My conscience is clear!"
He yelled this statement aloud, but the godswood seemed to swallow up the sound, so that his wroth was robbed of any power. He was left feeling impotent and foolish.
Brynden smiled at Titus' lost temper, "No doubt, Ser. No doubt. But you should probe further into this story that the brothers told you. If it is treason that they are accused of, then it was treason to speak of such with them in Flea Bottom. Perhaps you should find out who put that little song in their ears?"
Titus ground his teeth at being instructed by this surly youth, but his counsel was sound enough when he heard it. His good sense and cunning mind did nothing to improve Titus' opinion of Brynden Rivers, however. If anything, it only heightened his menacing air, that such a young lad could command such intellect and confidence in his own ability.
"If there is nothing else," Titus said when Brynden seemed to have concluded, "I have tasks to carry out."
"Indeed," Brynden agreed, "if you wish to speak to me again, hang a banner of House Targaryen from your balcony. I will see it, and nobody else will sense anything amiss."
And of course, you'll approach me whenever you wish, Titus thought sourly. He did not give voice to these thoughts, however. Instead he gave a curt nod, and turned to leave this greenery behind him.
"Tell me," Brynden suddenly asked, "Have those brothers offered any reward yet?"
Titus stopped where he was going, but did not deign to turn around and look upon Brynden again, "I need no reward from them."
"Perhaps you will take one from the Iron Throne? A royal decree can make all the difference in a squabble over inheritances, after all."
Titus's hands were balled into fists again, his nails digging into his skin, "You know, I am beginning to think more favourably of your half-brothers."
Brynden's laughter seemed to echo as Titus' voice didn't, following him out of the godswood.
Aliandra approached him immediately, her eyes wide at the sight of his expression, "Titus? What happened?"
She looked so lovely in the bright sunlight. She'd shaved her head, like her mother, in mourning of Ser Garrison, and now her bald head was slick with sweat beneath the warm sun. All over her body, her dark skin was glistening, standing out against the bright reds and oranges of her loose clothing. Not for the first time did Titus notice that she had inherited her mother's figure. All of it made him angrier than before; Brynden's snide glance and his knowing tone were still fresh in his mind.
"I have found myself an ally," Titus explained through gritted teeth, "whether I like it or not."
"* " * " * " *" * " * "
"Think back if you can," Titus urged, "Who told you to go up to the Red Keep and find Ser Robert?"
Uthor frowned and glanced at his brother, "It was two of them, wasn't it?"
Edgar nodded, "Aye, it was two men. Qoren Yronwood was one of them."
Titus sighed. That name did not surprise him: the Yronwoods had ever been fickle and temperamental; they would certainly take offence to a knight of the Kingsguard killing Ser Garrison, by accident or otherwise. He looked at Edgar, "Who was the other?"
"I didn't know his name," Edgar replied, "and he didn't give it either, now that you mention it. I just remember that he had brown hair, brown eyes, and a pug nose."
"He had a black heart sigil," Uthor interjected, "I remember seeing it on his sleeve. A black heart with black wings."
Gods be good. Titus stood up in shock. Maegor Toyne?
"Are you sure?" Titus exclaimed, "Think back, and think well."
"Aye, it was him," Edgar nodded, "That was his sigil."
Titus began to pace in the small room, feeling constrained as his mind raced faster than he could have ever run. What was Maegor thinking? What rank madness possessed him to send the Dalt brothers to their own executions?
Among the various thoughts jumbling and jostling in his head, one managed to rise above the others. "To whom, you mean, and that is Ser Maegor Toyne. We were drinking with him and he mentioned you were still here."
Fireball's words were still echoing as Titus turned back to the bemused and bewildered brothers, "What were you doing with Daemon Blackfyre and Aegor Rivers? All the pot-shops and taverns and brothels in King's Landing and you find yourselves alongside them?"
"Blackfyre? We never saw him," Edgar objected.
"Were you drunk or blind?" Titus shook his head. "I had it that Maegor was drinking with the Black Dragon and his ilk the night that Robert died."
"Who told you that?" Uthor folded his arms, "He was with us all night, until we went off to find Red Robert. That was past the hour of the eel."
Titus frowned. Maegor couldn't have drunk with both parties. Which of them was lying?
Even as he ruminated on this revelation, and the questions which sprang from it, Titus couldn't help but resentfully remember what Brynden Rivers had been saying to him that same day. If he is the most useful ally that I have, then I am in a far deeper cesspit than I could have ever imagined.