Titus

Even after seeing the Titan of Braavos, the deserts of Dorne, and the Red Keep, nothing in Titus' life could have prepared him for the sight of the Wall.

The vast monstrosity seemed to touch the sky itself, and Titus' neck hurt when he tried to look at the top of it. When the sun broke through the clouds, he was half-blind from the reflective glare upon the ice.

The Wall stretched across the entirety of the North's border, but it came to an end here, at the Bay of Seals. Below it stood Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, the easternmost castle of the Night's Watch. Its task was twofold; its garrison not only held the Wall against encroachments by wildlings, but also patrolled the waters of the bay with their fleet. Unfortunately, the castle's harbour was too modest to accommodate the entirety of the flotilla. Many ships were forced to be pulled up on the shore instead, or remain anchored whilst those aboard were taken ashore on rafts.

Titus shivered as he pulled a heavy cloak about his shoulders. The Bay of Seals was a desolate place; even at the height of summer, it was as cold as any winter in the Dornish Marches. The sea was restless, alternating between the colours green and grey. The beach was pebbled, and the ground beyond it was hard and rocky.

Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had stood for thousands of years. As per the tradition of the Night's Watch, it was only protected by the Wall to its north. Keeps and towers of stone and timber stretched out across an area the size of Blackhaven. The Night's Watch kept a modest fleet of ships, but they seemed like toy boats compared to the galleys and transports which had sailed from King's Landing.

Titus was fortunate; his ship had been permitted a place along the docks. With Doom at his side and his goldenheart bow in hand for balance, Titus trod carefully down the wooden plank.

A servant in Targaryen livery soon approached him. "The prince requests your presence, Ser. And Damrod Martell's too."

"I'm afraid it will just be me. Damrod is refusing to leave his cabin," Titus answered. The last time he'd seen Damrod, the Dornishman had been almost as green as the sea over which they stood.

With his squire trailing behind, Titus walked past the other ships to the end of the dock, where Baelor Targaryen was overseeing his fleet's arrival. He had not seen Baelor since their rest in White Harbour, and as before, he only had a moment to exchange a single nod before he gave his attention to duty once more.

Several dozen men had come down from the castle on the higher ground. Most of them were dressed in the traditional black of the Night's Watch, but Titus could see a difference in quality. Several men were dressed in black leathers and sable, but others had to make do with roughspun wool.

Aside from the black brothers, there was also a small delegation of men whose clothing was decorated with sigils which Titus did not recognise. They were led by a man who was as tall as Daemon Blackfyre and twice as broad. While Daemon was widely known to be comely, this northman seemed half-beast, with a bushy brown beard covering his face and a wild look in his eyes. His red tunic was stained and patched in various places, and Titus could only just make out the figure of a man with chains on his arms and legs.

The foremost black brother, meanwhile, was almost half the size of the giant beside him. He alone amongst the Night's Watch men wore a cloak which was made of black bearskin. One of his eyes was missing, and his beard was scraggly on one side of his jaw, where a hideous scar marked where he'd suffered a grievous wound to the jaw. His mouth was set in a deep frown, and when he spoke, his voice rasped like a whetstone was being dragged across a sword's edge.

"I am Ser Mavis Holt, Commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Welcome to the Wall, Your Grace."

A welcome well suited to the man and the land alike. Titus watched as Holt gave a short bow to the Crown Prince, which Baelor acknowledged with a nod and smile.

"I thank you for your hospitality," Baelor answered courteously, "and I assure you that we will not draw from the personal stores of the Night's Watch. We have brought our own supplies."

Ser Mavis could not stop himself from looking relieved at this news. Truthfully, Titus could not blame the man for that; even after several ships had been lost at sea, the first contingent was over twelve thousand men strong, and that tally did not account for the sailors of the ships which had accompanied them.

The giant chose this moment to step forward and give a bow; he would have head-butted Baelor if the Crown Prince had not stepped backward in the nick of time.

"I am Fynan Umber, brother to Lord Jon Umber. I am here on his behalf to advise you." He spoke haltingly, as if he were speaking a language that was foreign to him, which he'd only practiced intermittently. Or perhaps he was simply tongue-tied in the presence of Baelor Breakspear.

The Crown Prince thanked Umber for his service and beckoned several men forward, including Titus.

"I have the honour of introducing my trusted commanders. Lord Medgar Tully, Lord Everard Royce, Lord Gaiman Celtigar, Lord Isengrim Velaryon, Lord Hector Stokeworth, and Ser Titus Dondarrion."

Mavis nodded towards them, and began organising the accommodations with Baelor. Titus stood by and listened silently; once he received word on where his units were to stay, Titus went back to his ship.

The Dalt bannermen were suffering even worse than he was; before this expedition, none of them had even travelled to the Sea of Dorne. Now they were at the other end of Westeros, beholding ice for the first time in their lives.

One man approached Titus as he returned down the length of the docks. He was Ser Jebril Dalt, a distant cousin of Garrison who had served as a household knight in Lemonwood for twenty years. Although he acknowledged Titus' experience in warfare, as well as his marriage to Coryanne, it was clear to Titus that he resented having to be second-in-command. Now, however, his bravado was gone as his teeth chattered beneath his closed lips.

"We will be staying in the Wolf's Tower," Titus instructed him. "And where is Damrod?"

"He's s-s-still s-s-seasick, S-ser," Jebril answered, unable to stop himself from stammering.

"Bully for him," Titus murmured, looking away from Jebril to avoid laughing at his predicament. "I will meet you in the tower."

He turned back to Alyn, who was faring no better than the Dornish. "G-gods! How is it so bloody c-c-cold? How can any man live here?!"

Titus smiled. "The wildlings live even further than this. They live on the other side of that." He pointed towards the Wall. "Do you want to go up and see for yourself?"

It was clear enough that only Alyn's reverence for Titus kept him from erupting in a furious, curse-laden refusal. Titus laughed at his expression and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Bring our things to the Wolf's Tower and warm yourself."

"T-thank you, Ser!" Alyn needed no second bidding, running so fast up the gangplank that Titus expected him to slip and fall into the icy water.

"Titus?"

It was Baelor again. Titus turned and gave him another brief bow.

"No need for that, Titus," the Crown Prince urged, "I wish to have words with you."

Titus could not help but feel nervous as he followed Baelor away from the shore, up the mild slope, until they stood on a plateau not far from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. They turned and beheld the frenzy of activity below them.

"I have not had a moment to remake our acquaintance," Baelor began haltingly. "I trust that you are in good health?"

"As well as can be expected, Your Grace," Titus answered, feeling warier than ever.

"How did you fare in Essos?"

What does he expect from me? Stories? A ballad? "My exile was endured. But would you tell me of my sister? She did not deign to speak with me."

"I am aware," Baelor answered in a mild tone. "Jena is not one for speaking with her kin, it seems."

But did she tell you the reason why? "Is she well, at least?"

Baelor hesitated, then gave a half-hearted shrug. "She has been struggling. Valarr, our eldest... he is a lively child, but we have not..." Baelor opened his mouth to continue, then thought better of it and shook his head.

Titus thought of Jena's swollen belly. "I hope that she and this child remain safe."

Baelor stiffly nodded his thanks. "In any case, I would have you sit on my war council."

It was an honour, to be held so accountable, but Titus felt a bitter taste in his mouth which had nothing to do with the cold, clean air of the North. Baelor was being courteous, but any affection between them seemed to be gone.

"If I may ask," Titus spoke impulsively, "am I to sit on your council as a commander, or as your goodbrother?"

Baelor gave him a level look. "You are my kinsman, Titus, and I do not overlook that. You are also a veteran of war. Most of these men have grown up in a peaceful realm, and they know little of what awaits them."

That was true enough, as far as Titus could see. He felt a perverse mixture of pride at being brought into Baelor's circle, apprehension over the trials ahead, and a queer, resentful sense of being used without being liked.

For the present, the army was concerned with other tasks. The nobles and landed knights were given guest rooms in the various towers and keeps of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, whilst a village of tents were set up around the castle.

Eastwatch-by-the-Sea's main keep held a common hall. It was a massive building, constructed in the days when the Night's Watch had numbered in the tens of thousands. Now, there were fewer than four thousand black brothers left, with fifteen hundred of them at the Wall's easternmost end.

While most of the men had their dinner in the common hall, Baelor held a war council in the Royal Tower, an ancient but well-kept tower of stone which had been constructed to host kings, though Titus doubted that any king had set foot in it since Torrhen Stark had knelt to Aegon the Conqueror. A future king is suitable enough for its purposes, of course.

Attended by his squire, Titus sat between and a recovered Damrod Martell at a round table. If his interaction with Baelor had left him displeased, then his fellow war counsellors made him feel especially unwanted. He had once been an erstwhile marcher lord, a former diplomat who had helped to bring Dorne into the fold. Now, he was a landless knight and former exile sitting amongst some of the most powerful men of the Seven Kingdoms. Somewhere in the common hall, Baelon Massey was sitting with his house's levies, and Titus wished he could sit with his old friend instead of these pompous men.

Baelor sat between Fynan Umber and Lord Commander Mavis Holt, with his two Kingsguard knights standing over him. Before him was a large map of the North, along with a smaller, cruder one of Skagos. There was little detail, far as Titus could see, but he was not surprised. He doubted many mapmakers would wish to chart out an island of cannibals. He and the other lords were standing up so they could look at the map for themselves.

"Most of the island is covered in mountains," Fynan explained, even as he jabbed at different parts of the map. "The Skaggs have used it to their advantage at every turn. They put up lights to lure ships onto rocks, they pelt our ships with arrows and stones if they get too close to the cliffs, all sorts of cowardly tactics."

Titus glanced at Damrod Martell; the northman was describing tactics which the Dornish had used to hold off invaders for centuries before Daeron II's rule. If Damrod was offended, he gave no sign of it.

Fynan continued, pointing to a large bay on the north-west side of Skagos. "The best landing for ships is here, but the Skaggs expect it. The place is riddled with holes and tunnels which lead into the mountains. They come out, strike, and pull back. If we climb the mountains after them, they ambush us. If we go inland and stay on the low ground, they ride out with those steeds of theirs." He turned and spat on the floor in disgust.

"Do they have strength at sea?" Lord Velaryon asked.

"Not since Brandon Stonebreaker," Lord Commander Holt answered, with no small measure of pride. "He forbade them any right to sail, and they've been on their island ever since." He must have some Stark blood in him, or else

"And they will know it better than any other," Baelor mused. He sounded thoughtful, but Titus got the sense that he seemed worried.

"Might you tell us, Ser," Titus interjected, "What sort of attacks did Lord Stark use against these Skaggs?"

Immediately, Titus felt hostility towards him. Flashes of eyes, tightening of mouths, they were all bracing themselves.

"I'm no Ser," Fynan Umber answered gruffly. "And Lord Stark sent all his men against the bay."

Titus nodded; he'd expected that. "Are there no other safe landings?"

The big northman hesitated, a frown building on his face, "Mayhaps."

"Mayhaps?" Titus repeated, smiling. "Did he not send ships to scout the island? This map is woefully unsuitable for an invasion."

"Sail around it yourself if you wish to make another one," Umber answered irritably. "We have few ships, and the sea is treacherous. Skagos is a big island, and there are many ways for a ship to sink. Even the fishing boats take a risk."

Titus shrugged. "I am no sailor myself, but we brought many such men who live at sea." He turned to Lord Velaryon and gave a nod of his head. He had thought it a cheerful compliment, but Lord Velaryon's swarthy face was impassive.

The pause was louder than any noise could have made. Titus felt his insides twisting from embarrassment at this snub. The worst of it was when he saw Umber give a small smirk.

It was Baelor who broke the silence, addressing Lord Velaryon, "Would it be possible to send ships around the island?"

"That remains to be seen, Your Grace," Velaryon answered with alacrity. "I cannot guarantee how the waters will treat our ships, but we shall make our best efforts to provide a full reconnaissance."

Titus leaned back as far as the wooden chair allowed, wishing he could leave these pompous fools. I saw more fighting in two years than all of them have done in their whole lives, and they see fit to look down their noses at me.

Baelor continued. "Until we have a more thorough understanding of the terrain, I will not send our forces charging into unknown dangers."

The rest of the council was focused on mundane details, but they were too important for Titus to ignore, no matter how much he sulked. He was already wishing that he'd stayed in Lemonwood with Coryanne. To the seven hells with this rebellion. Let the Stoneborn keep their island if they wanted it so much. I could be lying in a hammock with Coryanne, I could be trying to know my son and daughter...

When the meeting was resolved, food was brought to the men by black-liveried servants. Titus was unused to the North's idea of cooking, but it was palatable enough. One dish which intrigued him turned out to be roast mammoth.

All the same, Titus' mind was elsewhere, even as he was deliberately snubbed from conversation by the other lords. Umber went along with their example, while Holt kept to himself in general, being a close-mouthed man. Only Baelor addressed him, either out of duty or pity. Either way, it only added to Titus' foul mood.

"We should never have come." Titus grumbled as he and Alyn went to their assigned quarters in the Wolf's Tower.

"They needed men who c-could fight, no?" Alyn asked, confused as he shivered under his fur cloak. "I thought that the k-king wanted-"

"The king be damned," Titus snapped, "I could be resting in Lemonwood right now."

"I don't understand, S-ser," Alyn spoke again. "You volunteered for this, no?"

Such was Titus' wroth that for a brief instant, he felt an urge to strike Alyn. "Aye," Titus remarked through gritted teeth. "I did."

Alyn said no more as they reached the tower's entrance. Abruptly, Titus had a change of mind and turned to Alyn. "Get inside and warm up. I'm going for a walk."

"Yes, Ser," Alyn murmured, looking away from Titus. He did not look Titus in the eye as he hurried indoors.

He is afraid of me... Shame washed over Titus as he turned away and stomped towards the Wall. He had a mind to look out at the world from its top.

There was a cage at the foot of the wall, attached to a winch. Several black brothers lounged around it, speaking together as mist left their mouths. All of them ceased immediately as Titus approached.

"I would like to see the top of the Wall, sirrahs," Titus spoke, trying not to sound too brusque.

The men regarded him warily, but none opposed him.

"As you wish, Ser," one remarked coldly, opening the cage door for him.

"I would like to accompany Ser Titus."

Titus turned to see Baelor Targaryen, followed by his two white-cloaked bodyguards.

With one of the black brothers getting into the cage alongside them, Titus stood beside Baelor, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. He had little wish to speak with his goodbrother, nor did he know why Baelor wished to see him again. For his part, the Crown Prince stayed silent, possibly because of the black brother's presence.

When the winch had done its work, their guide opened the cage door again and bowed them out onto the top of the Wall. "Best take those as well," he suggested, pointing to the pile of thick furs lying in a corner of the cage.

There was no snow, but the air was so cold that Titus immediately garbed himself in the furs. Wrinkling his nose at the cold and the stink of his new garb, the marcher knight stepped out of the cage and stepped onto the Wall.

The wind howled around him as he beheld the gaunt catapults and cranes which dotted the Wall's top. Titus reckoned that ten knights could have easily ridden side by side along the Wall and left room to spare. This is a structure which will never fall.

It took all of Titus' nerve to stand at the edge of the Wall and look out, but the view took his breath away.

To the north was a windswept plain which gave way to a vast forest. The Bay of Seals continued to toss and turn to the northeast. Snow was scattered the ground and clung to the trees. No matter how far he looked or how closely he peered, though, Titus could see no sign of bird, beast, or man.

He sensed someone standing beside him. "As long as I live, I will never understand how this Wall was built."

Titus glanced at Baelor, "That makes two of us." Without waiting for Baelor to respond, he turned and walked to the other side and gazed southwards.

The bay and the plain stretched for as far as Titus could see. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea seemed so small, as did the army camp and the fleet. He thought of leaning down and picking up the small ships as if they were toys and he was a giant. He laughed nervously while he gazed beyond them, towards the horizon. He saw little sign of settlements, apart from a few scattered buildings. Are they ruins? Are they still lived in?

"Titus."

Sighing, he turned and faced his goodbrother, who had approached him so that they stood four paces apart.

"I apologise on behalf of the others."

"They can apologise themselves, and I might pardon them," Titus answered sardonically.

The two Kingsguard knights glowered at his disrespect, but Titus did not care.

If Baelor was irritated, he did not show it. Instead, he sighed and spread his arms outwards, palms toward Titus. "What would you have me do, Titus?"

"Let us speak plainly," Titus answered, "Did Jena share my letter with you?"

"She did," Baelor answered reluctantly, "she has always confided in me."

Jena once thanked me for my help in getting these two married, Titus thought darkly. There's gratitude for you.

"Did you really think that there would be no ill will?" Baelor asked him after a pause. "What you did was-"

"I did what I thought was right," Titus interrupted. "I thought she might have understood, at least. We both grew up with the same father, or so I thought."

Baelor said nothing, but Titus could see that his jaw was clenched.

"What do those lords know about my reason for exile?"

"Nothing," Baelor responded. "That is why I apologised. Their disdain for you concerns only your rank, nothing more. I have never agreed with those parameters when judging a man. I seek to look at his character instead."

A sudden thought occurred to Titus, and he gave voice to it. "What did you think when Jena told you what I'd done?"

"I already knew," Baelor answered. "Father was the first one to tell me what you did."

Titus stopped; he hadn't considered that.

"And since you wish for us to speak plainly," Baelor continued in a voice colder than the wind, "I thought you were fortunate to have such an easy punishment."

Angry and resentful as he felt, Titus could not help but feel a sliver of fear as he gazed at the Crown Prince's stoic expression.

"My father was quicker to forgive you than I might have been. Given what his father was, I can understand his sympathy, and also what happened with his cousin..." Baelor stopped and frowned, more to himself than Titus. "In any case," he resumed, "I tried to understand for my father's sake, but I never blamed Jena for her feelings toward you."

For some reason, this admission hit him harder than anything other outrage he had endured since returning to King's Landing. "I suppose I should return to Essos when this Skagos matter is resolved?"

"You do me wrong, Ser," Baelor replied. "Your sentence was decreed and completed. I am not a vengeful man, and nor is my wife. Jena may forgive you, or she may not, but neither of us will punish you a second time, unless you give us a reason. Now, if your self-pity is spent, I will take my leave of you."

Titus's stomach had become a pit, swallowing up all his righteous anger and burning indignation. He had thought Baelor a friend once, if such could ever be claimed of a Targaryen. He had never heard Baelor speak so contemptuously before, and hot tears of shame pricked at his eyes. What sort of man does he think I am? Have I become such a monster?

"Baelor?"

The Crown Prince turned and looked back at Titus.

He did not wish to say it; he had hoped that there would have been a better time to say it, but he knew that if he did not say it now, he might not have the chance again. "There is one more thing I would have of you."

Baelor waited wordlessly.

"I have two children in Dorne, born out of wedlock. I would have them legitimised, whether I live or die here in the North."

Baelor paused, and gave a nod, "I will send word to my father. Whence should he send the decree?"

"Lemonwood," Titus answered. "They are both in Lemonwood."

"My congratulations, Ser," Baelor answered, and though he did not smile, he spoke the words sincerely, "Shall I send word to your sister with the news?"

Gods. He has never seemed more like his father... "If you think she wishes to know," Titus managed to answer.

Baelor nodded, and walked into the cage, along with his guards. He gave Titus a look which seemed to ask him if he wanted to join them, but Titus shook his head and turned away as the winch began to lower the cage.

He sat beside a lit beacon, basking in its warmth as tears threatened to freeze on his face. Although he was standing on top of the world, Titus had never felt so low in all his life.