Clifford
He could no longer stomach the sight of severed heads on spikes; too many of them were there because of him.
You don't know how many other spies he has, he told himself daily, any one of them might have given the same names. But it made no difference. He saw their faces in his sleep, so that he often awoke drenched in sweat or shedding tears.
Harry knew what was going on, and he was distressed, but Clifford could not possibly tell him the truth. There was no way he would understand, no way he would ever forgive, even if he understood that Clifford had done it to save Harry's life.
He had wild fantasies of killing Bloodraven in a variety of ways: hanging him by his genitals with a chain, binding him and letting him be eaten alive by rats, burying him up to his neck and leaving him to starve, giving him over to the families of those whom he'd ordered executed. But soon he tired of these fantasies, for he knew full well that he would never have that opportunity.
The city was growing restless. The people were terrified of whose heads would appear next, and everyone mistrusted each other. Bloodraven's reign of terror, rather than suppress the Blackfyre support, was increasing the Black Dragon's appeal among the smallfolk. Worse was his insistence on sending two armies north to help the Starks suppress a rebellion. There was little love for the North in King's Landing; northmen were seen as tree-worshipping savages little better than the wildlings they fought against. If it had not been for Daeron's grandiose plans to celebrate the new year, Clifford would not have been surprised if there had been riots or demonstrations.
As it was, the city's population was increasingly divided; support for Daeron was flaunted, partly to avoid persecution and punishment. Whispers in favour of Daemon Blackfyre persisted in the shadows, but Bloodraven was forever busy, eager to wipe out as many of Daemon's supporters as he could.
Now, it was four days before the celebrations were set to begin, and Clifford was tired of being kept so busy. He had doubled the number of patrols which went from the King's Gate into the city. He also doubled the number of guards at the gate itself, for many were coming to the capital.
There was very little news from the fighting in the North; not even the rumour mongers had much to work with when they gathered in pot shops and bawdy houses. It was known that the first contingent, led by Prince Baelor, had stopped at Rook's Rest, then Gulltown, then White Harbour. Baelor had taken losses along the way, losing ships to bad weather and stormy seas, but most of his troops had survived, and he'd purchased a great amount of fresh supplies at every port. From White Harbour, he had arrived at the eastern end of the Wall, but there was nothing else known of what happened after that. Even the king himself was said to be fretting at the lack of news.
The second contingent had gathered and sailed away
Supporters of House Targaryen were agitated and uncertain, whilst the Blackfyre supporters were curious and excited. If anything happened to Baelor Breakspear, it would be a bitter blow to the royal family. Aerys was a weak and feeble man, Rhaegel was at best a halfwit and at worst, a victim of the Targaryen madness. Maekar was said to be promising, and determined to escape his eldest brother's shadow, but he was only sixteen, and as yet untested.
Harrold was already at their home, packing two bags excitedly.
"What's all this?" Clifford asked.
"My brother has invited me to the Aegonfort," Harry answered.
It was as if an invisible hand was gripping Clifford's throat. "What for?" He managed to croak.
"For the celebrations, you idiot," Harry teased, grinning at him. "Lord Daemon is holding a feast to welcome the new year."
"He's not coming to the city?" Clifford asked.
Harry stopped what he was doing and stared incredulously at Clifford. "Why on earth would he do that? Have you missed what's been happening to any man that speaks his name?"
Clifford looked away, shuddering.
Only when his lover put a hand on his shoulder did Clifford look at Harry again.
"Come with me, Cliff," Harry murmured before planting a soft kiss on his lips.
Clifford broke off the kiss. "What about our duties?"
"Duties?" Harry gave a good-natured laugh. "The Lord Commander himself is joining Daemon! He won't be the only one either, I promise you that."
Gods be good… "What will the king say? What will Bloodraven say?"
"Name him not," Harrold snapped, half in anger and half in alarm. He looked around, as if he might spy one of Bloodraven's thousand eyes leering at them. He still doesn't know that there are two of Bloodraven's eyes looking at him now…
Harry turned back to Clifford. "Never mind him. He may say what he likes, but last I looked, his power ends at the city walls. We will be safe from his scheming in the Aegonfort."
Clifford knew that he was playing a dangerous game, but the possibility that he could be out of Bloodraven's grasp… it filled him with a hope that he hadn't felt in years.
"And besides," Harry continued, and his voice took on a quieter, gentler tone. "I don't know what's been troubling you, but mayhaps some time away from all this will help you. And if I can help you sleep easier at night…"
Clifford was already weeping. He had hoped against hope that Harry hadn't noticed anything. Of course he did. What a fool I was to think he didn't. He wept harder when Harrold grabbed hm and held him tightly, whispering assurances in his ear.
Time lost meaning to him; it seemed to him that he had packed his bags and walked with Harrold to the Red Keep in mere seconds.
They arrived at the Tower of the Hand, where the Lord Commander of the City Watch had his headquarters.
When they entered the barracks, they beheld a surprising sight. Members of the City Watch were huddled in groups, whispering amongst each other, or else were sitting alone in silence. All of them were morose, worried, or a mixture of both.
Clifford was tempted to ask someone what was going on, but haste overcame his curiosity. He walked past the throngs of gold cloaks to the chamber of Rupert Strickland.
He found Ser Rupert pacing the floor in a listless manner. His eyes were slack, but it seemed to Clifford that his trance was due to his being deep in thought.
"Lord Commander?"
Ser Rupert did not respond until Clifford had said the words three times. "What is it?" He spoke irritably.
"I need your leave to join Ser Harrold Osgrey at the Aegonfort for the new year." He gestured to Harry, standing beside him.
"You have it," Ser Rupert answered curtly, nodding his head.
"What has happened?" Harry asked of Rupert.
The Lord Commander gave a sigh. "A raven arrived from the North this morning. There was an assault upon Skagos. It ended badly. Thousands dead, missing, wounded."
The floor seemed to break beneath Clifford's feet. He wanted to walk away and sit down, but he did not trust his legs.
"What of Baelor?" Harrold asked in a hushed tone.
"He is grievously hurt, it's said," Rupert answered. "I overheard it from the king himself. He was speaking at the small council."
Clifford felt dizzy. He turned to look at Harry, who returned his gaze. Any man would have said that Harrold was astonished and alarmed at the news, but Clifford knew him well enough to sense a budding excitement which was being suppressed.
"We should prepare to leave," Clifford told him, tugging at his arm. He turned back to Ser Rupert, "Thank you, Ser."
The two young men left the barracks in silence, but Clifford's thoughts were raging. He wondered if Brynden would seek him out again. The mere thought of it caused him to practically run back to their home, even as Harrold kept pace with him. He is eager to leave as well, for different reasons.
Clifford did not have the will to question Harrold's feelings on this ill news, and he knew full well what Harrold's answer would be. After years of spying for Bloodraven, and seeing so many men and women dead on his word, Clifford dreaded to hear any treasonous words leave his beloved's mouth.
"*"*"* "*"*"* "*"*"* "*"* "*"*
Clifford had only been to the Aegonfort three times before. Harrold had gone to visit his brother, Edwyn, who was a household knight in Daemon Blackfyre's service. Each time, the beauty of the estate and castle took Clifford's breath away. It was not an extravagant structure, but great care had been taken to its design. It was also formidable for a castle its size; not only was it well-constructed to withstand a siege, but Daemon managed to employ a large garrison. No doubt that was due to the generous wealth he'd obtained during his father's rule and also the inheritance he'd gotten from his mother.
Edwyn was present in Daemon's hall when Clifford and Harrold entered it, along with many knights, minor lords, and their families. Daemon attracts more hangers-on than a corpse draws flies. They had arrived too late for supper, as the tables were almost finished being cleaned up by servants.
"Welcome back!" Edwyn embraced Harrold and Clifford in turn. "What kept you, brother? You came from King's Landing, and you're still the last one to arrive."
"The last of us?" Harrold frowned.
In response, Edwyn turned and hollered across the hall, "Oy! Addam! Get over here!"
Clifford turned to Harry as his face split into a wide smile. "By the gods!"
A twelve-year old boy emerged from the crowd, yelling Harrold's name excitedly. He resembled his older brothers in every way.
Harrold gave a grunt as Addam crashed headlong into him, wrapping his arms around his stomach and squeezing hard. "How long have you been here?"
"We arrived yesterday!" Addam called out.
He did not need to clarify what "we" meant, for there was a deep-throated cry of joy. A tall and robust man approached them. His surcoat bore the yellow and green chequy lion of House Osgrey, but his features alone betrayed his kinship to Harry and his brothers.
Clifford still felt uneasy around Ser Eustace. He was fanatically proud of his sons, though Clifford had seen what a burden that pride was for Harry to bear. The man was a renowned knight, though his house had fallen on hard times, and he seemed determined that either his sons or Daemon Blackfyre would reverse those years of ill fortune.
"What a fine sight," Eustace roared as he embraced Harrold after Addam had disentangled himself. "All my boys together again!" He turned to Clifford, "And well met, Ser. I might have known you'd be trailing Harrold as usual!" He gave a laugh to show that he meant it in good humour, but Clifford blushed as he felt Eustace's hand clap him on the shoulder.
Edwyn met his eyes and gave a helpless shrug. Unlike their father, Harry's older brother was well aware of their relationship.
Thankfully, Clifford was spared the need to respond to Eustace, due to a shout which went up amongst the gathered knights and ladies.
Daemon Blackfyre walked as a king among lesser men. His silver-gold hair spilled down to his shoulders in an elegant way, his purple eyes shone in the firelight, and he stood taller than almost every other man in the room. Even such men as Ser Eustace seemed to shrink before him.
He was also accompanied by his wife and children, all of whom were amazed by the reverence shown to Daemon by so many men and women. His eldest boys, twins who looked to be Addam's age, were the only ones who were entirely unabashed by the attention. They beamed proudly and seemed to take it all as their due.
Clifford followed the others in bowing when he approached.
"Come come, none of that, now," Daemon protested cheerfully, but the crowd's adoration did not diminish or abate. Cries of "The Black Dragon" rang out, including from Eustace and all three of his sons. Clifford felt faintly ill. Bloodraven would have every one of these men tortured to death for saying those words.
"Welcome, friends," Daemon announced, spreading his broad arms in a magnanimous gesture. "A new year is dawning, and I could not ask for better company to welcome it with me."
Between fits of applause, he gave a brief speech in that same vein. As he went on, Clifford's eyes wandered over the faces of those in attendance. Judging from their sigils, Daemon had gathered men from every part of the Seven Kingdoms except the North and the Iron Islands. He also recognised a number of them: Ser Quentyn Ball, Ser Aegor Rivers, Ser Rupert Strickland, and then with a jolt, he recognised Ser Lomas Tarly.
The man's hair and beard were entirely grey, turning white, but he was unmistakably Ser Lomas. Not far from him was his former squire, Robin Horpe. Both were staring in surprise at him, and although they did not seem suspicious or hostile to his presence, Clifford felt even less comfortable than before.
"*"*"* "*" *"* "*"* "*"* "*"* "*"* "*
Daemon lived up to his reputation; despite the modest size of the castle, he managed to find space for all his guests. Clifford and Harrold were even granted a private room far from where Eustace was, thanks to a quiet request from Edwyn.
Daemon went riding every day, and he was never alone. Clifford was wary of spending time with Daemon, even if it meant spending less time with Harry. He could not decide if he feared Daemon and his followers discovering his role as a spy, or Bloodraven discovering in the company he was keeping.
None of Daemon's other guests seemed to worry about their safety; indeed, they were excited to discuss the severity of Baelor's injuries. There had been a particularly bad moment for Clifford one evening when a group of men were deep in their cups after supper. They crowded around a single table, for everyone else had departed the hall.
"Is there any more news of the false king's heir?" Aegor Rivers asked of Quentyn Ball. Although he was normally a taciturn man, his voice was slurred and loudly scornful.
"None that I heard before I left," answered the knight known as Fireball. He was a burly man, known as one of the finest knights in all the realm. He had served as master-at-arms in King's Landing for three decades. He had sparred with the Dragonknight himself in his youth, he had won a dozen tourneys, and he had only been denied a place in the Kingsguard because King Daeron had repeatedly refused to honour his late father's promise.
"He will surely die up there," Ser Eustace confided in his sons over several drinks, "mayhaps these wildlings poison their blades like Dornishmen?"
"He's half Dornishman, is he not?" Harrold japed, "I'm surprised he didn't freeze to death as soon as he got to the Wall!"
Eustace gave a laugh, raising his goblet as if toasting Harrold's jest.
Edwyn turned to look at Cliff at that moment. His voice was slurred, but his words were clear enough, "I heard your former master went north as well. Titus Dond- Donarr..." He shook his head, trailing off.
"Dondarrion," Eustace answered. He regarded Clifford with a curious eye. "I did not know he was returned to Westeros!"
"Nor did I," Clifford answered truthfully. He could no longer remember the last time that he'd given thought to Titus. Had he come to King's Landing for the mustering? But more immediate was his fear at how Eustace might react.
The older man frowned, and turned to Aegor Rivers. "Is he one of us, then?"
Aegor turned and spat, "If he is, then I've heard naught about it. He was thick with Baelor and the Dornish, from what I recall. Why, I recall he was quite heartbroken over that one Dornishman... What was his name again, lad?" He locked eyes with Clifford as he took another drink.
"Garrison Dalt," Clifford answered, too intimidated by Bittersteel to do aught but speak truthfully.
"Aye, that was it," Bittersteel answered. For the briefest moment, the corners of his lips curled upward to make a scornful leer. "I remember he was weeping over that man's body in the Sept of Baelor. I would hope mine own lady wife weeps so fitfully over me when I breathe my last."
Ser Eustace gave a gust of laughter at Aegor's jest. He did not see Clifford reach under the table and hold his second son's trembling hand.
"Speak no more of Titus!"
Clifford shuddered, even as the others turned to Ser Lomas Tarly. He did not normally join the others to drink, but he had acquiesced that night and sipped at a single glass of wine whilst the others indulged. The aging knight looked fitter than when he had lived in Blackhaven. He seemed revitalised, more alert and confident, which made Clifford feel intimidated by his presence.
"His name befouls the air in this hall. He was a disgraceful son, and he has become a disgraced man," Lomas snarled. "I would not have him join our cause even if he brought us Brynden Rivers' head!"
"Gods be good, Lomas!" The speaker was a greybeard named Ser Icham Rankenfell. He and his son Dain were both household knights sworn to House Blackfyre. "You may die of a fit if you hold that grudge any harder! Why, I would hail any man who brought me Bloodraven's head!"
"I wouldn't," Aegor Rivers retorted, "If anyone's going to slay that pale demon, it will be me!"
They had rambled on, but Clifford had excused himself, too terrified to hear what other things they might say.
Despite the unsettling words spoken by these men, the days yielded beautiful summer weather, with refreshing winds which made men smell of saltwater. Clifford often took his horse for solitary rides along the coast.
On the morning of the new year, he got up early to see the sun begin its journey across the sky. Harry groaned and grumbled, but he had agreed to accompany Clifford. They both wanted a chance to spend some time together outside of their room.
"We could have gone to see the sunset, no?" Harry grumbled, yawning loudly as he saddled his horse.
Clifford gave the back of his head a playful cuff, "This will help you wake up."
Harrold grinned dangerously at Clifford, "I like when you try to take charge."
Clifford blushed, and barely stifled a cry when Harrold gave his groin a squeeze when he turned to mount his horse.
They went on their way down a well-trodden path toward the shore. The dark night sky was brightening in the east. A sliver of light had already begun to emerge from the distant water by the time they set out.
They allowed their horses to amble along, then dismounted so the beasts could freely graze on the dew-covered grass. Clifford and Harrold sat on a large rock and watched the sun rise in earnest. Holding Harry's hand, Clifford was mesmerized by the sight of the sea, its dark waters reflecting the colours of the morning sky: the yellow and white sunlight, the reds and oranges of the new sky.
"A beautiful sight."
Harrold ripped his hand from Clifford's in alarm. They both turned to look at Ser Lomas Tarly as he strolled past their horses.
"Good morrow, Ser," Clifford called out, attempting to sound casual. Harrold was silent, but Clifford could sense his wariness.
"No need for pretence, lads," Ser Lomas declared. "As you were."
Something about the way he spoke made Clifford pause. Now it was Harry's turn to speak. "What do you mean, Ser?"
"You know that already, Ser Harrold," Lomas answered. "Carry on." He walked past them, a knowing smile on his face. Clifford was suddenly reminded of the way that Titus had smiled at him back at the tourney of 189, when he'd first fallen in love with Harrold.
"He knows," he murmured as Lomas walked out of earshot.
"Nonsense," Harrold retorted quietly.
"He does," Clifford insisted, "I think he might be like us too, that's why."
Harry paused, and looked after Ser Lomas, "You're sure?"
"I knew him in Blackhaven," Clifford answered, "Never saw him with a woman in all my life."
"That proves nothing," Harrold answered.
"I cannot prove it then, but I sense it. I think we have nothing to fear from him."
"I hope you're right," Harrold answered shakily. "My father counts Lomas as a good friend."
Clifford sighed. He wanted to believe that Ser Eustace would be accepting of his son's preferences, but he was not even sure what his own father would say. He regularly wrote letters to his father and brother in Blackhaven, and he had never even brought up Harrold's name. He knew that Branston would never understand, and think less of him for it, but he was not sure about Father.
He sat and pondered his family, holding hands with Harry and kissing him as the sun rose into the sky. By the time Harrold and Clifford rose to collect their horses again, the sky had settled into a serene shade of blue.
"*"*"*"*"*"* "*"* "*"* "*"*"*
The morning meal was especially extravagant when they returned to Daemon's hall. Musicians and jugglers performed gaily for those in attendance. Clifford joined in with the revelry, singing "Lord Harte Rode Out on a Rainy Day" along with the singers, as well as "The Dornishman's Wife."
"The King Without Courage", to the delight of the audience. All burst into song, and when it was finished, "The Black Dragon" were shouted again and again. Daemon's own children joined in the chants, even as their father smiled broadly and waved a hand in acknowledgment.
"The Rightful King!"
Clifford turned to stare at Ser Aegor Rivers, who had shouted those words whilst sitting beside Daemon's eldest daughter, Calla.
They were betrothed, as Clifford had learned. It seemed a strange match to Clifford, especially since he had heard plenty of rumours in the City Watch that Rivers had been a rival suitor to his half-brother Bloodraven over their half-sister. Shiera Seastar was a beautiful woman, allegedly, one of the fairest in the realm, and a woman who was generous with her affections. But men whispered that to court her was to court death, for Bloodraven was a fanatically jealous man. Small wonder that Bittersteel stays away from King's Landing.
Now, Bittersteel courted death again by repeating his call.
"The Rightful King!" Quentyn Ball echoed the claim.
Others took up the cry - Ser Lomas Tarly, Ser Robin Horpe, Ser Eustace Osgrey, Ser Edwyn Osgrey, even young Addam - and Daemon gave a great laugh at the notion. Only his wife, Rohanne of Tyrosh, seemed to share Clifford's sentiments, for her smile faded and she looked worried.
"The Rightful King!" Harrold cried aloud, clapping his hands.
An icy hand seemed to grip Clifford's stomach, but he said nothing, and forced a smile on his face so that Harrold would sense nothing amiss. Yet he could not bring himself to repeat those treasonous words. He could not help but tremble as he imagined having to stand in front of Bloodraven again, having to reveal these secrets to a man who longed to have his half-brothers' heads on spikes. Mayhaps I can spare Harry from that fate, at least... his family too. But then they would surely guess the truth of why they we alone were spared...
"Cliff!" Harry had grabbed his shoulder, "Why do you weep?"
Clifford cuffed at his eyes "I love you." He spoke his words as loudly as he dared, confident that nobody else would hear them over the cheers.
Harrold blinked in surprise, and he gave Clifford's shoulder a firm squeeze. "And I love you. But why-"
Luckily, Addam had chosen that moment to stand on his chair in order to raise a toast. But the boy's clumsiness caused him to fall over with a cry, knocking several plates and cups over. One of the plates was Harry's, and he gave a shout of surprise, turning away from Clifford. Eustace berated his son whilst many others roared with laughter.
Bloodraven shall never have this secret from me, Cliff vowed to himself, I would sooner fall upon mine own sword.