Clifford
The leaves rustled above him, causing sunlight to flicker through their barrier. It was dazzling, even for a summer canopy. His eyes blinked rapidly to take in the sight of it.
King Aegon IV had been very generous to his favoured son; not only was the Aegonfort close to the sea, not only did it have some of the best farmland in the Crownlands, but Daemon's lands also boasted a sizable copse, perfect for hunting.
It reminded Clifford of the copse which grew south of Blackhaven, where he had always longed to take part in the hunts with the Dondarrions and their guests. He remembered feeling so grateful just for the chance to accompany the parties as a servant. Truthfully, he was a page in all but name, and he prayed to the Warrior for so many nights that he might be given the chance to earn a knighthood.
Titus Dondarrion had granted his prayers, and he had been a good master. He'd never beaten or cursed Clifford, as he'd seen other knights do. He had been generous, and had given him his knighthood as his final act before beginning exile.
He had not known that Titus had returned, much less that Titus had been in King's Landing. That is for the best. How can I tell him about what Bloodraven has made me do?
After he had learned of Titus' return, he had questioned his Lord Commander, Rupert Strickland.
"Aye, I heard he was back for the muster," Rupert had told him over a pot of ale. "I heard he drew sword against Bloodraven in the streets. Called him names and challenged him to a duel. Bloodraven wouldn't fight him, though. He had a company of his Raven's Teeth with him. What a thought, eh? The coward rescued by a coward's weapons." Rupert spat to show his opinion of the Thousand Eyes. Now that they were out of the city, it was a relief to speak plainly without fear of execution.
Titus would never look at me in the same way if he knew what I've done. For he will know, he always did. He guessed the truth before, he would do it again.
"Cliff?"
His trance broken, Clifford turned his eyes away from above so that he faced Harry, who rode beside him.
"Yes?"
"Nothing," Harry said, smiling. "I just thought you ought to look out for that tree root."
"Which one?" Clifford looked in front of his horse, reigning it abruptly.
"Oh, you passed it already," Harry answered, "Forgive me, I was too late."
Clifford threw a nasty look at Harry, but he could not stop himself from returning Harry's smile.
They were riding alone in the copse, far as Clifford knew. When they had left, Daemon was still in the keep, along with most of his guests. A discussion had broken out which Clifford wanted to forget as fast as possible. It would have been the exact sort of information which Bloodraven could wheedle out of him, no matter how much he could try and conceal it.
Birds whistled all around them as they rode along. Clifford half-expected to hear the caws of crows and ravens, and he shuddered twice at each new birdcall. Once for fear, then again for relief.
"What's that, then?" Harry exclaimed.
Clifford turned, and his heart stopped.
A weirwood tree stood not ten paces from him. Although several smaller trees stood between them, Clifford felt as though the face was staring at him. Gods no, not here, not now.
Without another thought, he spurred his horse forward, urging it to run down the narrow path before him. He was blind to Harry and deaf to his calls, even as he burst from the copse into open country again.
Armies of little white clouds marched across the blue field, across the entire horizon. The sea was too far away to smell, but it loomed up beyond the rolling grass, glittering just as the leaves had done. What a beautiful day, in such a beautiful place. It might as well have been a raging hurricane for all the way Clifford felt.
"Clifford!"
He slowed his horse to a halt, letting graze as Harry rode up to him. His horse whinnied as it came to a halt before him.
"What in seven hells are you doing?" Harry stared at Clifford incredulously. "Are you crazed?"
Clifford turned to Harry. "Did you know that tree was there?"
"I saw it, if that's what you mean."
What tree, he asks. He must be making a jape. He should have expected this. He had never been truly honest with Harry about why he dared not approach weirwood trees any longer. But truly, how could he have been honest when the explanation would surely kill any love Harold had for him? It had been easier to say that he feared discovery, that he dared not have the Targaryen family catch them fucking in the Red Keep's godswood. Of course Harry would have assumed that another godswood would not matter.
"How is this even possible?" Clifford looked around the countryside. "The Aegonfort has no godswood, why should a weirwood be growing here?"
"Weirwood?" Harry gave a bark of laughter. "Is that what you saw?"
Clifford felt himself grow flushed.
"There was no weirwood. Some fool carved a face onto some other tree, but it was no heart tree."
"No?" Clifford felt an utter fool. Bloodraven didn't see me after all. Gods, what has become of me?
Harry was no longer smiling as he looked into Clifford's face. "What is the matter with you? Will you not tell me? You wept at breakfast yesterday and now you are skittish as a colt."
Clifford hesitated, unable to speak for a moment. Then he sensed words forming in his mind, going to his tongue sooner than he could think about it.
"The rightful king."
Harry's chin twitched in that way it did whenever he was puzzled. "What of it?"
"Do not act the fool. Not now that I speak of my worries," Clifford pleaded. "You know full well what must happen if Daemon and his friends had their way."
"Why do you resist it so much?" Harry retorted. "The signs are there if you would just open your eyes."
"Perhaps they are there because you wish to see them!" Clifford dismounted from his horse to better let it graze.
Harry did the same, sliding off his mount with a casual elegance. "The king bequeathed Blackfyre to his chosen heir."
"A bastard," Clifford countered.
Harrold shook his head. "You forget yourself. Daemon was legitimised. And why not? His father was a king. Both his grandfathers were kings before that. He could outdo the Young Dragon himself if he had the chance. And he is wise and rational just as King Viserys once was. Why shouldn't he get his chance?"
He sounds like his father now. "What of it?" Clifford felt uncertain; Harry seemed to have an answer for everything. "Even if he did legitimise Daemon, Daeron is still the elder son."
"Mayhaps. But Aegon legitimised all his bastards. Including the bastards he had before Daeron. If we must go by age, then who would you replace Daeron with? Do you even know the name of Aegon's firstborn son? And besides," Harry added with a smirk, "the realm already knows that Daeron is no son of Aegon."
Clifford half-expected Bloodraven to appear through some wicked sorcery and smite them both. "You cannot say such treason!"
"Why? Why is it such treason to speak if it isn't true?" Harrold swept a hand before him, as if he were brushing something aside. "Would you deny the songs? Aemon loved his sister, it is known. Aegon hated them both, and he disliked Daeron."
"Then he should have disinherited him," Clifford shouted.
Harry faltered, then gave a rueful smile. "On that much, we agree. But I wish we could agree on more than that."
Now it was Clifford who balked. "What are you saying?"
Harry's smile faded. He simply returned Clifford's stare, his black hair waving in the breeze. He looked so handsome that Clifford felt an ache inside of him.
"Did you mean what you said to me yesterday?" He finally asked.
"How can you ask me that?" Clifford protested. "How could you even doubt what I feel for you?"
"I do not doubt," Harry admitted, "but I do worry." He had never sounded so vulnerable before.
Suddenly, they were holding onto each other, as if they were afraid that the world might end if they let go. Their lips were locked, their tears and sweat mingling together, even as they moved backwards towards the copse. Once they were beneath the shadows of the trees again, Clifford was kneeling, leaning forward on all fours as Harry ripped his breeches downwards. He was inside, and Clifford gave a loud cry. Harrold covered his mouth with a hand as he thrust harder. Harder.
His moans sounded so fierce beneath Harry's hand, his eyes were wide open, he felt himself being driven to his apex even as Harry rushed for his own. It was a familiar race, one which was one either through speed or endurance. Clifford tended to win the former, Harry earned the latter.
After it was over, they lay slumped in each other's arms, half-dressed and gasping from the effort. Clifford knew that the argument had not been resolved, but he was unwilling to speak of it again.
"We should return," Harry murmured. "They will miss us if we are gone too long."
We should leave. They need never know where we went. We can disappear in Essos and live like princes. With no small effort, Clifford got dressed, retrieved his horse, and rode for the Aegonfort, Harry at his side.
"*"* "* "* "* "* "*" *"*"*"*"* "*
Daemon Blackfyre was still holding court in his hall when Clifford re-entered it. It was clear that they had been speaking the entire time since he and Harry had left them.
"The proper course is clear." A barrel-chested man was declaring sententiously. His dark hair was receding from his forehead, and his beard had several grey hairs, and he was dressed like a minor lord, though Clifford did not recognise the sigil.
"That's Lord Wybert Bourney," Harry whispered in answer to Clifford's query.
Lord Bourney continued, "You have many friends, Your Grace. The realm remembers your father's wishes."
Clifford turned to Daemon. He sat in his chair, bereft of his wife and younger children. Only Aegon and Aemon, his squires, stood behind him. Perhaps they meant to look solemn, but Clifford thought that Aegon looked bored.
"They may remember, but will they rise up with me if I made my claim?" Daemon's eyes travelled to every man who sat with him.
Aegor Rivers sat beside Daemon, as usual. He wore his usual glower, but there was no anger in his voice as he addressed Daemon's concerns.
"Baelor is half a world away, and he is likely marked for death. We have sent word to as many of our friends as possible. This is the time to act if you truly wish to inherit your father's throne."
Daemon nodded, but Clifford could tell that he was still pondering the choices before him. After a moment had passed, he looked up again and addressed his supporters in a clear voice.
"I have never feared the prospect of war, but only a fool rushes into it heedlessly. I learned that from men who have been to war themselves." Here he turned and nodded towards Ser Lomas Tarly, who was surprised to be singled out, but still got up and bowed.
"House Targaryen is rife with men who sought war to solve their problems, and it only led to their utter ruin. Not only men, but women as well. Prince Daemon the Rogue and Queen Rhaenyra, they both went to war for their rightful throne, and it destroyed them both."
"But they succeeded, Your Grace," Quentyn Ball interrupted. "Both their sons became kings!"
"Shall all seven of my sons be kings too?" Daemon mused. As though he had made an uproarious joke, several men burst out laughing. Lickspittles, Clifford thought, even as his heart began to race.
Daemon raised a hand for silence, then continued on. "I must have proof that men wish to have me on the throne. The usurpers are strong, and the lords paramount will support them to keep their own power."
"Then we shall make new ones, Your Grace!" Lord Bourney interjected. "We have word that the Hightowers will become your lords paramount. The Arryns of Gulltown will supplant their haughty cousins, if only we give them a cause to fight for."
Daemon was impressed.
"Lord Bourney speaks truly, Daemon," Aegor Rivers added. "I can name dozens of houses that are waiting for the moment to strike. Men have been speaking your name and your writ to those lords of Westeros whom we count as friends. They will rise up with you across the Seven Kingdoms. They have withheld their strength from Daeron's summons precisely for such an occasion as this."
Daemon frowned, "I sent men of mine own to join the contingents. What will become of them when we declare our intent?"
Before any man could respond, the sound of a horn echoed from outside. The doors to the hall burst open, and several men burst into the room, led by Ser Robin Horpe. The Aegonfort's maester was among them, brandishing a slip of parchment.
"Lord Daemon," Robin cried. "The king has sent an army to arrest you for treason!"
Clifford's heart seemed to stop, but so did the hearts of every man in the hall. They stood or remain seated, but nobody spoke for a moment.
Daemon rose to his feet. "This is madness. Who told you that?"
"A letter from King's Landing," the maester shouted in a voice that was hoarse with terror. He waved the parchment in his hand. "Lord Butterwell himself sent this warning!"
Lord Butterwell? He's a Blackfyre supporter? Clifford did not ponder that revelation for long; the approaching army was the main priority for his terror. He glanced at Harrold, who had collapsed into a chair, looking utterly aghast.
"How?" Ser Eustace Osgrey exclaimed. "How did they know?"
"Know what?" Lord Bourney shouted, "We have committed no treason! What charges do they possibly have?"
"We've been betrayed!" Quentyn Ball roared. He made a move to draw his sword until he remembered that he was unarmed. Instead, he looked around viciously, "Who is the traitor?"
Men began shouting, pointing fingers at each other and calling for their swords. Daemon stood like a mountain rising up amidst a stormy sea. He was blank-faced, as if overborne by emotions too weighty to properly express.
Clifford thought he was going to faint. He was so dizzy that he needed to grip the chair so that he did not topple over. It was not me. I did not betray these men. Who else is a spy for Bloodraven? He looked around as if he could identify the infiltrator by sight.
Then something within him snapped. He took a breath and gave a loud, full-throated shout which echoed above the others.
"Hold! HOLD!"
The tumult ebbed, and all eyes turned back to the Black Dragon.
"I will not believe that any man here is a traitor," Daemon declared, "I do not have to remind you that my half-brother is a known dabbler in dark arts and sorcery."
This seemed to satisfy the crowd, and many of them cursed Bloodraven's name, but they were still restless and anxious over their impending fate.
"The war of the words has ended before it began," Daemon announced, "and it seems that my cousins have struck the first blow. Let it be known across the Seven Kingdoms! I did not provoke this war, but now that it has begun, I will finish it! Who will stand with me?" He alone of the men in his hall was armed, and now he drew the ancestral sword of House Targaryen, the namesake of his house, and held it over his head. "Who's with me?" he shouted again, his purple eyes blazing.
So passionate were his words, and so mighty did he look before them, that every man in the hall forgot their fears and hailed him with all the strength of their voices. "The Black Dragon" echoed from a hundred throats, as did "The Rightful King" and "Blackfyre".
"At last," a voice near Clifford shouted, "Daemon will be our king at last!" He turned to see Ser Eustace, weeping for joy as he thrust a fist high in the air.
And Clifford, much to his astonishment, cheered for Daemon Blackfyre. He seized Harry's hand and held it up, echoing the words which other men shouted. He did not think, he did not ponder, he simply shouted.
Once again, Daemon held up a hand to halt the cheers. When they subsided, he turned to his half-brother, "Now is the time for war. We must plan our strategy at once."
For the first time since Clifford had known him, Bittersteel smiled. "I'm afraid I must correct your claim, Daemon. The war of words has been waged for months. Did I not say that we have been preparing for this day longer than you?"
"A well-kept secret," Daemon remarked, half in admiration and half in resentment.
"It was for your safety, Your Grace," Ser Quentyn Ball declared. "And for that sake again will I prove my loyalty to you. I will ambush the army before it arrives here and put it to rout. You and your family can make your escape-"
"I will not have it said that I fled whilst men died for me!" Daemon objected angrily.
"Did you not speak of prudence?" Bittersteel countered, "Your wife and children must be kept safe, and we are too few to stand here at the Aegonfort. You must go and call your banners across the Seven Kingdoms! Antlers is close by, and House Buckwell has long been awaiting the chance to declare for the Black Dragon. From there, House Lothston of Harrenhal will open their gates for you. Where better to rally your leal bannermen?"
"You seem to have done a great deal of planning," Daemon commented. "Brynden Rivers might even call you his equal for cunning." The words were not spoken lightly. Some of the good cheer was diminished as Daemon stared accusingly at Bittersteel.
The dark-haired knight rose from his seat and knelt before the Black Dragon. "If I have given you offence, then I regret it. But if you doubt my loyalty, then let me say this. I am the first man to kneel before my true king, just as I have always been foremost." He looked up at Daemon spoke with such candor of which Clifford had never imagined him capable. "You are the father of my bride, you are the brother I always cherished above any other, and you are the man whom I have long wanted to call king. Your hour is come at last, and I will never forsake you for as long as I live. Let all who stand here bear witness to this oath!"
Men hailed those words, and others pushed forward to swear the same oath. Daemon was visibly moved, and said nothing for a moment as he wordlessly ordered silence for a third time.
"So be it," Daemon answered. "I will ride to the Riverlands as my brother suggests. My family shall travel with me, along with men I can trust. The rest shall ride with Ser Quentyn, and we shall show Daeron that my head is not easily claimed!"
What followed this decree seemed a blur to Clifford. Men were running this way and that, calling for their squires, their wives, their children. He saw Lord Cockshaw pick up his squalling son and heard him declare that they must needs return to the Reach, even as the boy wailed that he wanted to stay with Daemon. He saw Ser Icham Rankenfell pull the black dragon banner from the wall, tie it to a spear shaft, and wave it in the air. He saw Rohanne, standing in one of the doorways, and wondered fleetingly how long she had been there. He heard Daemon give orders to several of his men, naming who would accompany him. One of them was Edwyn Osgrey, even as Ser Eustace was ordered to ride with Ser Quentyn.
Harrold was beside him, a hand on his shoulder, "Which way will you go, Clifford?"
He did not have to explain the meaning of his question. That much was plain enough in his face. He was worried again, as worried as he'd been before outside of the copse. And for Ser Clifford Straw, a man plagued with doubts for six years, there was no longer any doubt in his mind.
You will never know what I would do for you, Harry. "When Titus knighted me, I swore to obey my king," Clifford declared, "but now I have chosen a king for myself. He is the same as yours, Harry, and always will be."
He suddenly knelt in the middle of all that chaos, and kissed Harry's hand. "I am your man, till my dying breath. May the gods witness this oath and condemn me to the seven hells forever if I break it."
There were tears in Harry's eyes as he pulled Clifford upright again. "To war, Cliff. We will see the Black Dragon on his rightful throne."
I hope you can see me now, Bloodraven. My revenge upon you will be the downfall of the red dragons, and the ascension of House Blackfyre.