Titus
At first, the city of King's Landing seemed very much the same since Titus had left it more than five years ago, but the longer he stayed within its walls, the more unsettled he became.
He did not wander long through the streets, for there was a sinister spirit which haunted them. The smallfolk regarded him with suspicion, but that was no different from how they regarded each other.
There was only one exception. On the second day of his arrival, Titus ambled his way down to a large square named for Viserys I, whose likeness was set in stone in the square's centre. He was examining the statue when a voice called out his name.
Older, wearier-looking, and broader though he was, Titus recognised Orys Trant instantly.
With a laugh, Titus embraced his old friend. "Orys, as I live and breathe! What are you still doing here?"
"I've been living here, you dolt," Orys answered with a grin. "I've been living in Cobbler's Square for five years!"
The two men spent the rest of the day walking through the city, regaling each other with stories of their lives. Titus spoke of his time in exile, travelling with the Stormbreakers, living in Braavos, and finally returning to the Seven Kingdoms.
Orys, in turn, spoke of how he had stayed in King's Landing after the tourney of 189. "There was little else to go, what with you gone, Willem in the Kingsguard, and Maegor... well..." It was with reluctance and disgust that he spoke of Maegor's horrific execution for treason, though he had no idea what Maegor had done.
Titus, who did know, was silent on the matter. He felt sick at the thought of Maegor dying so cruelly, no matter what his crimes might have been. He had been a murderer, but he had also been Titus' friend once.
Orys continued on, speaking of his time in the goldcloaks, but Titus could see how little Orys thought of his own exploits.
"Truthfully, it has been a tedious way to live," Orys declared whilst they sat in a tavern just outside of Flea Bottom. "No boy ever dreams of chasing thieves and murderers and whatnot... no glory in that kind of life. I've made some good coin with this job, true, but I have no wish to die wearing a gold cloak. And times are getting more dangerous. You saw it for yourself, no?"
Titus nodded as he took another bite of biscuits and black sausage. He had not failed to note the significant number of heads which decorated the gatehouse and other parapets of the Red Keep. There were other heads placed across the city, labelled as traitors. Something was afoot, but he was not sure what it was. In addition to the sullen disposition of the smallfolk, Titus did not fail to note more than once a message which was scrawled on walls and buildings alike. "Beware the Thousand Eyes." Once did he behold a message which declared "Long Live the Black Dragon" but it was already being scraped off the stones by two men wearing Targaryen livery.
"What is the Thousand Eyes?" Titus now asked his friend.
Orys shuddered, gesturing for Titus to speak more quietly. Then he leaned forward and whispered into Titus' ear. "Lord Bloodraven. Master of Whisperers."
Titus was about to ask him who Lord Bloodraven was, but then a memory returned to him. A pale young man with white hair and red eyes, standing amongst hundreds of cawing ravens, smirking malevolently.
"Brynden Rivers?" Titus mouthed to Orys.
His friend gave a quick nod. "Name him not, unless you want his eyes upon you."
Titus had not thought of Brynden for years. It had been a willful decision on his part because he could not think of that sullen youth without becoming enraged. It was because of Brynden that he had been made to confess his sins before the king.
"So," Titus remarked slowly, "the petulant boy has turned into a petulant man. How does Daeron possibly tolerate him?"
"Careful," Orys cautioned, his eyes wide with alarm. "You cannot speak like this within the city."
"Why?" Titus remarked, "he has a thousand eyes, not a thousand ears."
His flippant remark only caused Orys to flinch.
"Come now," Titus urged. "Have a drink with me. What harm can that do?"
Orys seemed reluctant, even when Titus insisted on buying him the first round. However, by the time he had drained his horn of ale, he was more receptive to a second.
"Truthfully, there's another reason why I was staying here in the city," Orys whispered eagerly after the fourth round.
"Go on," Titus insisted while stifling a belch.
"There's this lady I've been seeing for the last three months now." He gave a grin. "Only once in a while, if you follow me, she's not one for commitment."
"Is that so?" Titus shook his head, thinking of Aliandra.
"Her name's Shiera," Orys murmured. "She keeps a grand house here in the city, and she's the most beautiful woman that's ever lived, Titus. By the gods! Her mother was from Lys. Silver hair with a golden gloss... blue and green eyes..."
"Not often you see that," Titus mused. He was beginning to wonder if Orys was inventing her.
"She's also one for the mysteries. That's how she says it, heh." Orys gave a hiccup before tipping his horn back. "On some nights of the moon, she gets a fire in those eyes of hers. She could summon the rain and sun to fall alike! And gods... she can make a man feel like he's king..." He was speaking dreamily through a slurred voice.
"She sounds far too good to be true," Titus declared with a laugh.
"Aye, well, I was advised to keep her a secret. Not sure why, but she never goes out with me." He shook his head, "At first I thought she was a stuck-up bitch, but the way she speaks of it, she has another love who's a jealous fanatic. He might be one of the princes. My bet's on Aerys, they say he loves books and the dark arts, much like my Shiera."
"To your Shiera, then!" Titus declared, standing up on swaying feet and raising his tankard.
The evening wore on in much the same fashion, until Titus lost consciousness. He never did find out what transpired for the greater part of that night, but he awoke in the room of a brothel, sharing it with a handsome young man with golden hair. Orys was nowhere to be seen, which was just as well. Titus staggered back to the Red Keep with a pounding headache, even as he pondered whether he needed to inform Coryanne of what happened.
For the most part after that night, Titus kept to himself within the walls of the Red Keep. There was plenty to keep him busy, for he ordered the Dalt levies to train every day with weapons. To a man, they were too young to have fought in the Dornish Conquest and half of them had never held a sword before. Aliandra had sent several of her household guards to stiffen their ranks, but none of them had fought in a war either.
He had not yet been given a private audience with King Daeron. He seemed to be perpetually preoccupied, as was his son, Baelor. But after his confrontation with Jena, Titus could not help but wonder if there was another reason why the royal family could not see him.
In all the years of his exile, he had imagined a plethora of reactions that Jena might have to his letter, confessing the truth for his exile. He had often wondered whether it had been a good idea to even tell her the truth, but he had reasoned that it was better she learn it from him rather than someone else. Cassana has poisoned her against me, no doubt. I should have told Jena what that bitch did to Maester Gerold.
It was purposeless to fret about such things now, for Jena would not see him and neither would her husband and goodfather, whatever their reasons might be. And so, to stave off the black moods and acerb thoughts which raged inside of him, Titus threw himself into training his troops as often as he could, with the help of Alyn Garner, his squire.
Aliandra had given him the command of the levies shortly after his wedding to Coryanne. It had been a very modest affair, hastily done as a mere formality, with only Aliandra, Garin, and Chayora as witnesses. The captain of a Summer Islands trading ship was found and brought in to officiate the ceremony.
As before, Garin and Chayora were still shy around him, but they had dutifully embraced him and called him "Father" when he'd departed from Sunspear. It had seemed to be a promising reconciliation, but now Titus looked upon those memories with bitterness. He was, it seemed, loved by few and judged by many, and he bore that weight alone.
On the sixth day since his arrival, Titus and his troops were visited by Ser Damrod Martell in the training yard.
"The Crown Prince will inspect us at the hour before supper. He wishes to see our men drilling for himself."
"Good," Titus replied, sounding more confident than he felt about the abilities of his men. "I mean to ask him that my men are supplied with better arms and armour."
"I have already made those inquiries, for your men and mine own." Damrod shrugged. "There is a shortage of steel in this city."
Titus frowned. "Strange. Why would there be a shortage so soon?"
"War is upon us, and you call it strange?" Damrod gave him a smile, perhaps to take the sting out of his scorn.
It only made Titus angry again. "King Daeron is short-sighted indeed if he thinks men without proper steel can do what the Starks could not."
Damrod's smile faded. "If you do not hold that tongue of yours in the prince's presence, a member of the Kingsguard might see fit to cut it out of your mouth."
Titus sighed. He knew what he must do now, but he despised having to retreat and yield once again. "Forgive me, Ser. I lost patience." But Damrod was already walking away from him.
"What's the good word, Ser?" Alyn Garner approached him, sleek with sweat as he held his slender Braavosi sword.
"The Prince wishes to see us dance," Titus grunted. "Put that needle of yours away and save your strength. Tell the others to do the same, the ."
He was unable to shake off his foul mood, even though he knew that this might be his last chance to speak properly with Baelor until they left the capital. Restless and idle until Baelor arrived in four hours, Titus decided to make another venture into the city, taking young Alyn with him.
If he thought that this would ease his ill mood, Titus was much mistaken. Alyn was excited by everything he saw, asking a thousand questions whose answered prompted a thousand more.
"... the Shepherd spoke here, declaring that the dragons were monsters," Titus explained as they approached Cobbler's Square.
"Why was he called the Shepherd?" Alyn asked.
Titus tried to restrain his frustration before speaking again. "Because his followers were sheep. He was the one who sent them by the thousands up to the Dragonpit." He might have said more, but he suddenly noticed what what was happening.
A crowd had formed, murmuring amongst themselves, facing a large stake which had been freshly erected in the middle of the square. A man's head had been set atop the stake. His eyes were being feasted on by a large fat crow who had already torn through the man's tongue.
Alyn gave a shout of alarm at the sight, but Titus did not care. The head was that of Orys Trant. With a shout of fury, Titus strode towards the stake, drawing Doom from his sheath.
The crow continued to feast with impunity, until a single swing from Doom took its head off. The body flopped to the ground, its wings flapping wildly as entrails seeped from the crow's torso.
"Brynden! Come out and answer for this!" Titus screamed, looking around at the horrified smallfolk. "Where are you?" He turned this way and that, as if Brynden or one of his agents might be present.
"Ser," Alyn cried out. "We must go."
Titus gave no heed to his squire. With Doom in his hand, he raced back towards the Red Keep.
Alyn called out his name several times, but Titus was too angry to care. He continued to stride onwards, until another voice called to him.
"Welcome home, Titus! Welcome home!"
He was older, but that was all that had changed. He was still lean, still pale but for his birthmark, still garbed in a mix of grey and black, still white-haired and red-eyed, still wearing that sadistic leer on his self-satisfied face. The pale dragon on his tunic was pale as ever. He also carried a large bow which seemed to be made of weirwood.
Titus strode forward. "Why? Why did you kill him?"
"He was speaking treason," Brynden answered blithely. He might as well have been answering a query about the weather.
"Liar!" Titus pointed his sword towards Brynden. The crow's blood still dripped from the edge.
Brynden shrugged. "What else would you call mocking the king's master of whispers? I was informed that he mocked the seat, saying he had a thousand ears instead of a thousand eyes. Let no man think that he can speak so lightly within the king's realm."
Titus was speechless for a moment. Shock gave way to rage, rage gave way to shame, shame gave way to guilt, and guilt turned back to rage, all in the time that it took for Brynden to scornfully turn his back on Titus to leave.
The words left Titus' mouth before he could think, and his voice rose to a scream.
"You motherless murdering bastard!"
His insult seemed to echo off the stone walls. Those who stood by were gasping, or hastily turning away to disappear from view. Alyn Garner was transfixed, frozen with indecision, or perhaps fear.
Brynden Rivers had halted mid-stride, and slowly turned back to stare at Titus.
"Bastard be I, Ser, you speak truly" Brynden called out in a voice that was as cheerful as it was dangerous. "And I will not deny the charge of murder from you, no more than the raven would deny the crow's charge of blackness. But you are mistaken on the third count, for my mother still lives in Raventree Hall."
"Then I will know where to send your miserable head!" Titus stepped forward, even as several voices cried out in alarm.
Brynden's smile widened. "Is it my nameday, Ser? A threat against the Master of Whisperers from you? And such a lovely sword, too. What price did you pay to get that Valyrian steel in Essos? A cheap price indeed if you are so willing to give it to me."
Beneath his fury, Titus registered the words which Brynden spoke so lightly, and he felt his resolve faltering. This was no longer the surly boy who had been content to mock him to his face. Now he was a man grown, wielding power of his own.
"Take it now, if you can," Titus shouted as brazenly as he could.
Brynden threw back his head and laughed. "Such a brave man, too. No doubt you deem yourself mighty, Ser. War has certainly given you a harder face by the look of those scars. But this is not Essos. You would do well to remember that."
"Bold words from a man who fights his enemies from the shadows," Titus snarled. "You killed Orys for pleasure, is that it?"
"Nay, Titus. It was no pleasure to learn what he was doing with my Shiera. But he served to send a message, in more ways than one," Brynden retorted.
Gods be good. I might have known. Titus could only imagine what a man like Brynden would have done to Orys in the darkness of a dungeon, just as he had mutilated and tortured Maegor Toyne all those years before. Orys tried to warn me, and I condemned him to death instead.
Brynden was not finished, however. "Mayhaps when this tantrum subsides, you will agree that the message was effective. Now you had best return to your barracks, Ser. Save your strength for battles which you stand a chance of winning."
His scorn made Titus want to stride forward and cut him down where he stood. But even as he moved to do just that, he noticed for the first time that two men stood by Brynden with bows and arrows in their hands. They were hard-looking men who were dressed in black, bearing the same pale dragon as Bloodraven. They also carried weirwood bows, but they had arrows nocked, aimed for his heart and head.
Something within Titus forced him to lower his sword and step back. Disgusted with himself for having once again been outmaneuvered by his old enemy, Titus turned away and walked back to the Red Keep. "A thousand curses upon you, Bloodraven! One for each of your eyes!"
Brynden's contemptuous laughter echoed behind him, filling him with yet more impotent rage. "Go on, crow! A black sword, black clothes, and a black heart. Go fly north and curse in vain!"