Tyana

Gods, what have I done? What have I done?

Whenever she tried to be rational about it, she knew that she'd had little choice. But this did nothing to assuage her terror and panic over what would happen to her if the truth was revealed. She had few allies; her foster father, Lord Estermont, was too far away, and he had no reason to stick his neck out for her. Her own kin at Fawnton were no better than strangers; they would speak up for honour's sake, but not for any love towards her.

She had known full well that any pregnancy would not reveal itself for at least four weeks. The problem was that she had not had the luxury of waiting four weeks, what with Titus swanning about, ready to seize control. And what did men know of pregnancy? He could have claimed that she'd gotten the child through another man and nobody would have stood up for her; even Ser Lomas might have backed down rather than stand alone beside a doomed cause.

But now her position was even more untenable. She had begun the affair with Royce because she couldn't have known, and any delay would only make her situation worse. And yet, no matter what choice she could have made, everything seemed to get worse regardless.

Titus was to blame for much of her problems. He was clearly unfit for the lordship, but that accounted for nothing because of his blood. His father's will, if it ever existed, was gone, and Titus was a friend of the half-blooded prince, set to become a half-Dornish king on the Iron Throne. It turned her stomach to think of what the realm would look like in the hands of such men as that. If only Titus had died instead of Arlan... She had wished that a thousand times, but even if she wished it a thousand times more, that would do her no good.

And then there was Royce. First the fool had fallen in love with her. The nerve of it was galling to her. She was set to become the ruling lady of one of the most powerful houses in the Stormlands, and he was a glorified hedge knight, a bastard guard that Lomas was fool enough to give unearned airs. And yet, she had been too desperate to see the dangers in front of her, so she had allowed him the chance to put his seed in her. Tyana loathed herself for enjoying it as much as she had.

But Gerold was the worst of them. A maester who had betrayed his oaths and his duty, all to make his favourite the Lord of Blackhaven over the legitimate lord growing in her belly. His ultimatum, drenched with hypocrisy, was enough to make her scream when she'd fled his presence that night. She'd gone back to her chambers and wept, raged, screamed into a handful of her wardrobe. She had even begun packing her belongings in the hope that she might flee Blackhaven. Where would I go?

Slowly, she had to admit the truth of her situation; she could not run away. If she did, she would never be allowed to return, for it would prove that damned maester correct. It would be better to stand up against him. I can rely on Ser Lomas for now, and he will sway the others. Maybe Ser Baldric will flip that coin and stand with me in this matter; his wife hates Titus almost as much as I do.

Between her confrontations with Royce and Gerold, and her frantic preparation to flee, Tyana was left too tired to even unpack her things. She collapsed into bed and fell into a troubled sleep.

She had awoken earlier than she'd hoped. A maid and guard stood side by side her bed, insisting that an emergency council meeting was being called. Gods be good; so it begins.

By the time she'd gotten dressed and crossed the floor of the great hall, the others were already sitting around the table. She had been paralyzed with fear when she saw their faces, convinced that Gerold had told them what he'd discovered the night before. It was only when she noticed the maester's absence that her fear gave way to confusion.

"Maester Gerold is dead," Ser Lomas explained, ashen-faced and grim, "Ser Royce has been arrested as a suspect."

It had taken all her effort not to burst out into laughter. The absurdity of it was almost too much for her to comprehend. She had been thrilled to hear of his murder; she knew that it was a wicked thought, and the gods would not look kindly upon it, but at the same time, she wished that she could have seen it herself. The gods will judge you now, and they will not be kind to you either.

All the same, it was alarming news. It was no small thing to kill a maester, much less inside a sept. That spoke of something evil, something truly horrid. She had never imagined that Royce was capable of doing it.

But did he do it? She could not be sure. From what he had said to her, he certainly loathed the maester almost as much as she did. But he was not alone; he had said Ser Lomas shared his feelings for Gerold. Perhaps the old knight saw fit to do this deed on my behalf?

If he did do that, the aging knight did not betray himself. She could not tell if he was more shocked by the murder, or by the fact that one of his former squires stood accused of the crime.

"Perhaps," Ser Baldric interjected, "it might be better for Ser Lomas to recuse himself."

Tyana glanced sharply at Ser Baldric; she did not like the sound of it, regardless of whether it made sense or not. She wasn't sure how to react without drawing attention to herself, but there was no need to make a decision.

For Ser Lomas stood up and gripped the edge of the table, looming up over everyone else at the table.

"I will step aside, if that is the wish of the council," Ser Lomas began in a heavy and bitter tone, "but I will not have it said that Ser Royce did not receive a fair trial. He is entitled to his defence as a knight, whatever that entails." His words were delivered almost as a threat. Maybe they are. Certainly, the others were solemn-faced and quick to assure Lomas that he had the right way of it.

As they acquiesced, Tyana descended deeper into her own thoughts. She did not know if Royce was guilty or innocent, but she could not help but remember how dangerous he had sounded the night before. He had lurched drunkenly, grabbed at her and pinned her against the wall. Stale drinks were still on his breath as he'd wavered between whether he loved her or hated her. She had lost control, but then tried to mollify him, terrified of what would happen if someone overheard the wrong thing.

Her terror had increased tenfold when she beheld the smug and triumphant expression of the maester, heard his scornful voice as he tried to command her to give up her child's birthright.

Now the maester was dead, but Royce was still a threat to her, and she could not sleep soundly as long as Royce could reveal his secrets.

Much as it gave her a feeling of unease and shame, she hardened herself to the simple truth which would determine her fate.

Royce must die.

"*" *"*" *"*" *"

No sooner was the council dismissed than she got up and hurried back upstairs, insisting that she must bathe and then pray to the gods. She made a show of sending for Septa Perianne, but the woman simply burst into tears when they approached the sept. Two servants were still busy trying to wash the blood which had dried upon the stone floor.

By the time she went downstairs to break her fast, the great hall was abuzz with the news that Gerold was dead and Royce was under arrest for it. She felt slightly ill as she sat down at the main table. She kept her eyes down to her plate, looking nobody in the face, ignoring the discussion playing out around her.

She knew what she must do, but she was reluctant to take that step. She could not help but think of how Royce had called out her name when they were together, how he had always smiled so shyly when they were finished. She remembered that for all that he was possessive, he was still a good man who had never harmed her.

She turned to Ser Baldric, who sat between herself and his wife, Cassana. She herself was looking paler than usual, and was eating even less than Tyana herself was. If she didn't know better, Tyana would have sworn that Cassana seemed like she'd just been ill. Is she too with child?

Before she could wonder further, she found her voice again. "Ser Baldric?"

The young knight turned, attempting to look cheerful despite the circumstances, "Yes, Lady?"

"If I may, I believe I should speak at the trial. I spoke to Ser Royce last night."

Ser Baldric's good cheer crumbled away, and his eyes widened. When he spoke again, he lowered his tone, "Why did you not say it sooner?"

Because I was too weak to say so. "I'm afraid I was thinking of Gerold too much. I did not recall my memory until after."

Baldric nodded, believing her excuse wholeheartedly. Or at least he is pretending to do it. Is he too stupid or too clever?

"I will speak to the others," Baldric declared, "And we will inform you on when you will be summoned."

"My thanks, Ser." She forced herself to smile at Baldric, and then stood up. "If you will excuse me," she said in a louder voice. She made her way out of the crowded hall.

"Lady Tyana!"

She almost jumped at the summons, and tried to keep herself as composed as possible. "What is it, Ser Lomas?"

The knight stood before Tyana. Even though his hands were clasped behind his back, he still stood fully a head taller than her, and he suddenly seemed very imposing.

"I've just gone to see Ser Royce. He has requested that you speak up for him at the trial as a witness."

Tyana tried not to shudder, but winter seemed to have returned to Blackhaven. "I cannot do that, Ser. I have already been asked to speak against him."

Lomas' eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed dangerously, "You are his only witness, my lady. He seemed quite sure that you would defend him."

"He was mistaken, then." Tyana tried to sound confident, to edge her speech with the air of authority. She had gotten ample experience for that during the councils, but now she felt small, and was possessed of an urge to look away from the knight before her.

Lomas did not like it, and he was not concealing his displeasure. Not for the first time did she notice that he was letting his beard grow in, giving him a more imposing face. Beneath the salt-and-pepper hairs, a grimace twisted his jaw.

Panic set in; there was no choice she could make without hurting herself. She either prolonged Royce's life and risked her own, or else she lost the only ally that she had left.

It took all her willpower to attempt a few courteous words of departure and walk away. As soon as she deemed herself to be out of earshot and sight, she broke into a sprint for her chambers, determined to hide her terror from the world. When she retched into her chamber pot, she did not know if it was her pregnancy, her panic, or something else. She did not leave until a guard approached to summon her to Royce's trial.

When it came time to sit before the judges and deliver her testimony, she dared not look Royce in the eye. It was bad enough that she could hear his ragged breathing, his suppressed sobs; to look at him then would have destroyed her resolve, and she was too desperate to allow her weakness to take control.

It was not until his outburst, his words of loathing, that she looked at him out of reflex. He had spoken cruelly, even dangerously to her before, but each time, she had sensed that his words were hurting himself just as much as they hurt her. Not so anymore. This trial had ended whatever affection that he might have nursed for her in his heart... She felt numb as he demanded trial by combat and negotiated a delay until his eye healed.

"*"* "*" *"*"*"*

The council decided that Ser Willam Sawyer would fight Ser Royce in the trial by combat. Ser Baldric had offered himself, as did Ser Baelon Massey, but it was deemed that a man sworn to House Dondarrion should take up the mantle. As Ser Lomas was still recusing himself, it fell to the vassal knights. Sawyer was younger than Ser Lambert and Ser Lyle, and besides Baldric, he was deemed the best warrior.

Tyana could not feel comfort in that, however, for the combat would not begin until Royce's eye had healed. He was at least kept in his cell in the Spare Tower, but there was nothing to stop him from speaking to one of the guards about secrets that he knew. He would have no more reason to protect her, and every reason to hurt her.

For her part, she spent much of her time in the sept, praying fervently to the gods for their favour. I have sinned, and I will answer for those sins when I die, but my child is an innocent. Ser Royce would have my child killed for revenge, and the others would have my child disinherited for spite.

One day passed, than a second, slower than any other days which Tyana had ever known in her life. She felt unable to sleep, and only ate because her condition made her ravenous. She feigned illness to avoid the trouble of sitting on the council.

Admittedly, the death of Maester Gerold meant that the last great opposition to her was removed, at least until Titus returned. She could deal with Ser Baelon Massey, so long as Ser Lomas still supported her. He has no reason to abandon me now; if Royce loses his trial, then who would accuse the gods of injustice?

It was determined on the end of the second day that Royce could see clearly from both eyes, and so he would fight on the following morning after breakfast.

Tyana thought that she might at last sleep fitfully, but if anything, she slept worse than before. Her dreams were wracked with terrible beasts which pursued her, howling and snarling in the shadows. Or maybe they were themselves the shadows, for she could not rightly recall the size and shape of these monsters. No matter how fervently she prayed, how desperately she tried to sleep, the fear would not dissipate.

At some point, when the birds began singing again, she gave up her attempts to slumber, and simply waited for the sun to begin rising. No sooner had the first golden sliver peaked over the eastern horizon than she was getting herself dressed, after another round of retching which left her abdomen so sore that she could not stand up straight.

Her appetite was well whetted by the time she made it to the great hall, and she heaped her plate with bacon, eggs, black bread, raisins, and two oranges. Once again, she kept her head down, refusing to look anyone in the eye. All around her, the residents of Blackhaven were buzzing together, like a hive full of bees. She could not focus on any one conversation, but she could sense the emotions which fuelled them all: fear, anger, anticipation, excitement...

She almost jumped when Ser Lyle Bolt touched her shoulder and told her it was time to assemble in the yard. It was deemed proper that the members of House Dondarrion should bear witness to the justice being carried out in their name, just as the gods themselves would attend and watch over the trial.

Part of the grounds formed a small slope, and so the servants had laid out several chairs on the high ground in order for the nobility to watch with a measure of comfort. By the time Tyana was seated, dozens of others had joined them to form a wide circle around the chosen ground where the duel would take place.

Ser Willam Sawyer stood to attention on one end of the circle. He had eschewed plate armour, for Ser Royce did not have such luxuries, and the judges were adamant that it be a fair fight. Instead, he was dressed in mail, a leather breastplate overtop, a helm which covered his head and most of his neck, gauntlets, and thick boots of leather which had strips of metal sewn into it for extra protection.

The crowd erupted into whispers when Ser Lambert Penny escorted Ser Royce to the circle. He was fully dressed in mail and leather, just like his opponent, though the quality was not the same. He carried sword and shield, and his helm hid his face from the crowd. What must he be thinking? To walk across those grounds, past everyone whom you'd known since you were a babe, fighting one of them in the hope that you'll kill him... does he feel afraid? Anguished? Reluctant?

It took her a second to realise that he was carrying his sword in his left hand. She had not known that he was left handed. Or is he simply able to use both hands equally?

As was customary, Septon Victor was brought out to give a prayer, but the wind was picking up, and the old man's feeble voice was snuffed away as if it were a candle-flame. Because nobody could tell when he was finished, they waited for the septon to shuffle out of the circle of his own accord.

Royce and Sawyer stepped forward, towards each other, their swords and shields raised. Royce's shield was borrowed from the Dondarrion armoury, and so was still bedecked with the Dondarrion sigil. Tyana could still take not of the irony, even as she trembled with apprehension.

She could not tell which of the men swung first, for they both took a run at each other almost simultaneously. Charging until their shields met with a crash, they grappled with each other in quarters too close for their long swords.

Men and women were shouting, but they might as well have been squawking birds for all Tyana cared. She leaned forward and stared wide-eyed as Royce was knocked backwards. He held up his shield just in time to take the next of Sawyer's downward swings. One of his boots lashed out to kick Sawyer in the knee. He winced and reeled backward as Royce scrambled to his feet.

Both combatants kept their distance as they caught their breath and recovered their strength. They circled each other warily, first in one direction, and then the other. All around them, a double ring of Dondarrion guards kept the crowd at bay.

Beside Tyana, Ser Baldric was standing to get a better view of the duel. Cassana remained seated, however, a cold expression on her face. If she had any interest in the trial's outcome, she did not reveal it. Tyana attempted a similar expression, but she was wracked with suspicion that her fear was plain for any to see. She held both hands up to her mouth, as if she was contemplating some weighty problem. At least nobody could see her mouth quivering that way.

Royce made a rush for Sawyer, lunging rather than swinging. The point glanced off Sawyer's shield, and he stepped back from Royce's onslaught.

Emboldened, Royce stepped forward, shield first so that he could discourage any counterattack. Tyana bit her lip as Sawyer yielded more ground to Royce, side-stepping to avoid more of Royce's lunges.

He is wearing him out. She breathed a sigh of relief; of course this was part of Sawyer's plan.

But it was almost as if Royce figured that out at the same time as Tyana did, for he too stepped back, waiting for Sawyer to make a move. He even leaned on his sword, as if he were impatient with Sawyer's diffidence. That inspired laughter from dozens of attendants. Ser Lyle's face flushed with anger at the stunt, but he said nothing aloud.

Sawyer's pride had been pricked; he advanced on Royce in a sudden rush, so that Royce hastily lifted up his blade again. Metal clashed on wood as Sawyer's sword swing was deflected by Royce's shield.

So it went for an untold number of days, or so it felt to Tyana. She had not known what to expect, but she found herself growing bored. The crowd, too, went silent as they beheld the duel.

At one point, Royce gave a loud grunt before he charged forward again, rapidly closing the gap between himself and his opponent. Why is he doing that? He already proved that he cannot use his sword in those quarters.

Sawyer counter-charged, aiming his shield to bang against Royce's, giving a loud shout through his helm as he did so. Once again, the two men grappled and pushed against each other, with neither of them having a clear advantage. For a moment, however, Royce faltered, and then Tyana saw that his sword was no longer in his left hand. His left side was exposed to Sawyer's right. The older knight's sword swung up, ready to descend. A cry escaped her lips, but she did not fully know what she meant to convey.

The cry was still leaving her throat when she saw that Royce had not dropped his sword; it was in his right hand, behind his shield. As his left hand shot up to grab Sawyer's wrist and arrest his killing blow, he moved his right arm so that the point his sword, sticking out from behind the shield, disappeared into one of the eyeholes of Sawyer's helm.

Sawyer began to scream in such shrill agony that Tyana wanted to vomit. She turned away, hand clasped to her mouth, listening to the crowd going wild. She could not hear the rest of the duel play out, but she knew it was over when the guards thumped their spears and shields together for silence.

When she nerved herself to look again, she saw Sawyer sprawled out in the grass. Blood was seeping from his helm to form a dark pool around his head. Royce had not only left his sword sticking through the helm, but he had wrested Sawyer's own sword and used it to hack at Sawyer's neck beneath the helm. Tyana could not tell if he was beheaded, but she did not want to know either.

Purple-faced, Ser Lyle stood up, but he did not have the nerve to speak. Cheers erupted from Royce's supporters in the crowd, while others stood in shocked silence.

For his part, Royce staggered wearily towards the slope and removed his helm. Tyana could see a wolfish grin splitting his face in two.

"Well, Ser? Have the gods made their will known?" Royce's voice was as mocking as it was triumphant.

Ser Lyle sighed heavily and bowed his head. "Ser Royce of Blackhaven, we find you innocent."

More cheers sounded in answer to this declaration. Ser Lyle turned away, but Royce held up his hand to halt the noise.

"You're mistaken, Ser!"

Ser Lyle turned back, "Mistaken?"

Royce spat on the ground before his feet, "I will not be of Blackhaven any longer. I have had my bellyful of this cesspit, and I'll not stay here a day longer!"

He went to where Sawyer lay, yanking his sword out of the dead man's skull. With his blade still bloodied, Royce turned to the crowd, "Priss! Elwood! My belongings, please!"

Tyana's gaze was fixed on Royce, trembling with terror that he had survived. The gods are punishing me... they mock me by sparing him...

When Royce turned back to the slope, their eyes met. His easy leer was diminished, or so it seemed to Tyana. When he stepped forward, she saw that his expression was more bestial, teeth bared like one of the monsters in her dreams, and she was seized with a mad urge to get up and flee from him.

Instead, she was rooted to her chair as he pointed a finger at her and shouted as loud as he could, "I am still alive, you lying whore! I am still alive!"

Tyana's eyes filled with hot tears, blurring the sight of dozens of faces staring at her.

"You tried to have me killed!" Royce was relentless, and nobody had the heart to challenge him any longer.

Tyana had no voice left; she simply sat and tried to match his gaze, but she felt utterly alone and afraid.

"For all I know," Royce mused to nobody and everybody at the same time, "she was the one who cut that maester's throat! Mayhaps she can be put on trial and Lomas can fight for her instead of me! Or would he recuse himself a second time?"

"Royce!"

Tyana glanced to where Ser Lomas strode into the circle, without arms or armour.

When Royce turned to him, there was no friendliness, "Damn you too, Ser. You abandoned me!"

Lomas lowered his head, "I had no choice."

Royce strode forward and spat at Lomas's feet, "Of course you had a choice, old man! And you made it!" He seemed utterly beyond control, and Tyana wondered fleetingly if he might still be slain.

It was not to be; Elwood and Priss hurried back with several packs. Royce slung them over his shoulders and turned back to Royce, "I would have a horse. You owe me that much, Ser."

Lomas nodded, saying nothing. He didn't even look Royce in the eye as the younger man strode off to the stable.

"A plague on House Dondarrion, and all its folk!" Royce shouted exultantly, "One day I will see it expunged and cast into the mud from whence it first crawled!"

Tyana stood up and walked away as if she were't weeping openly. She could feel a hundred eyes upon her, and she could only imagine what these folk were wondering as they regarded her. Reflexively, she put both hands on her belly, feeling no pain in her lip as it bled from the cuts which her teeth had made.