Titus

From the sea, Skagos made for a daunting image. Titus could not see any trees dotting the grey mountains which loomed up on the horizon. All he could see was rock, grey as the clouds overhead.

The sea was treacherous, trying to overturn the ships which cautiously approached the island. Only the seamanship of the Royal Fleet was keeping them from sinking to the bottom of the Shivering Sea, and even their efforts were not always enough. Several of the foremost ships, those closest to Skagos, had already crashed into rocks hidden beneath the waves. Some effort was made to save those men aboard the wrecked ships, but when two more ships floundered in the process, the rest preferred to abandon the fallen to their fate.

Besides the war galleys, however, a small fleet of fishing boats braved the waves. At first, Titus could not comprehend how any sane man would sail into these waters of his own accord, until he saw the nets pull in vast numbers of fish. No wonder we eat so well at Eastwatch.

Titus stood as tall as he dared on the ship's deck, gripping one of the ropes to stop himself from shaking. "Not much longer now," he said encouragingly to Alyn, who was huddled at his feet, trying not to vomit. His squire was either too discreet or too ill to refute that claim, and so he said nothing in return.

All around them, they were surrounded by men of House Dalt. Several of them were the sons of fishermen and other sailors, and so they fared better, but many others were in no shape to fight. The sea and the cold had knocked the fight out of them even before they'd lost sight of the Wall. Titus had seen this before in the Disputed Lands; when men lost the will or stomach to fight, they were already defeated. He finally understood why the Skaggs were winning this rebellion. Hopefully we have enough fighters amongst us who are used to traveling on water. Jebril Dalt was not one of those who had been a sailor; he had retched thrice since the voyage had begun. Now he was huddled on the deck, moaning pitiably.

More than the foreboding island before him, Titus' mind was occupied with what Baelor had said to him atop the Wall two days before. The prince had not said anything about it since, nor had he shown any hostility towards Titus. The other lords had learned to avoid snubbing him in Baelor's presence, for the prince continued to invite him and consult him on military matters.

None of it was a relief to Titus. After Baelor's sharp admonishment, he could not longer feel sorry for himself without some measure of self-loathing. Any attempt to gain the prince's approval through word or deed would surely seem self-interested, and Baelor was not one to reward such an action. Titus felt trapped in his place, unable to show his worth in a way that would redeem him.

More than anything, he was reminded of his father, and Ser Lomas Tarly. Those two had revelled in keeping Titus in that place of shame. He had not taken to fighting as easily as his elder brothers had done, and so he had received the brunt of Lomas' scorn. He had resolved to meet Lomas' standards no matter the cost, but that had done him no favours either. He was only doing what was expected of him, his father would say, or he was just flailing to meet his brothers' example. It was a hellish pit from which he could never climb.

Thus, Titus had turned to defiance, treating the game for what it was, and playing a few of his own in return. When he was punished for this, it only deepened his resolve to be the thorn in Armond Dondarrion's side. It had only become worse when Titus grew to see how his father treated his mother, to hear from Jena what she'd seen him do, and his resentment of Armond had descended into loathing. He had hated his father even before the incident which had ended in the death of his brother Orwyle.

Truthfully, after years of ruminating on his actions in Essos, Titus could still not find it in him to repudiate the murder of his father. It might have made him a monster, but what of it? He was a monster by his father's making, and was it not fitting that his father should be slain by that monster which he'd abused and neglected? Perhaps the gods had intended Titus to punish his father for his own sins?

But no matter how firmly he tried to convince himself of this now, Jena's fury and Baelor's disapproval made a mockery of his defiance. Cassana's shriek of "kinslayer" would echo in his mind.

You are a better man than you credit yourself.

Those words comforted him, just as they had comforted him at his lowest in the Disputed Lands. But what did Aliandra know? She had said that before she learned of what he had done. She never repudiated her words; she came to your bed after she found out the truth, did she not?

On and on did Titus wage this furious battle in his conscience. He was still pondering it all when the ship finally reached the great bay of Skagos.

Although the waters were finally calmer, the rocks were no less threatening. More ships ran aground until Titus tried to plug his ears to avoid the sound of drowning men. He kept his gaze on the rising mountains ahead of them, whose bases sloped down to a stony earth which formed the Skagosi's pale imitation of a beach.

For the first time, however, Titus could see greenery on the isle. The land which outlined the bay, sheltered from the wilder winds by mountains and cliffs, was allowed to support grasses and bushes, even trees. What will be waiting us beneath those trees? It did not help that there was a fog hanging over the bay, distorting the view of any man on the ships. And even though the ground was growing more level, cliffs still jutted up above the boats, giving Titus an ominous sense of being watched.

As Baelor's war council had planned, the royal fleet spread itself out to land all across the bay. Various units were assigned to secure different places along the shore and repel any attacks which the Skagosi might make. Once the landings were secured, the army would make fortified camps from which to advance inland and put down the rebels wherever they dwelt.

Titus beheld the patches of green which swelled up before him. The beach was more pebble than sand, and the trees were thin and skeletal. He tried to see if there was any sign of the enemy, but either there were none to see, or else they hid themselves very well.

Titus bent down and picked up his great goldenheart longbow and strung it whilst balancing on the deck. He doubted that any northmen would have had such a bow, and he hoped that the Stoneborn would be surprised by its range.

"Assemble the men," Titus ordered Alyn. The squire took a horn and raised it to his lips.

The men responded sluggishly to the summons, but enough of them were on their feet for Titus' liking. Jebril Dalt was one of the last to rise, no longer moaning as he did not wish to disgrace himself in front of the others.

It was well known that the Dornish preferred to fight with spears and round shields, moving lightly where men in plate armour would be slow. They preferred to fight with stealth or from a distance with double-curved bows that proved deadly even when used on horseback. Titus had consulted with Damrod Martell and Jebril Dalt on how best to use such men in this unfamiliar place, and they had worked out a plan.

Damrod and Jebril would both lead spearmen forward, armed lightly so that they might adapt quickly to an ambush. They would be covered by archers from the ships, amongst whom would be Titus with his goldenheart bow.

Four large transport ships carried the Dornishmen of House Martell and House Dalt; they moved towards the shore at a slow, deliberate pace.

"Archers," Titus called, even as he took an arrow from the bag at his belt and held it lightly against the string of his bow. "Stand ready!"

The front of the ships crowded with men armed with spears, swords, and shields. Titus noted how Jebril had recovered enough to push himself into the foremost ranks. They should write down glory in the tomes as a cure for ailments. Behind them was a mix of archers, jostling to find a good position, and an assortment of camp followers and servants who would set up camp as soon as the shore was secured.

Titus had seen enough of battles in Essos to keep himself calm. Even as his heart began to race, his hands were steady. He would feel worse after the battle, but that was for another time. Now he was preparing himself to fight.

He tried to remember all that he could about what Fynan Umber had said about the Skagosi. They were bigger men who lived like wildlings beyond the Wall. He also said they rode unicorns, but Titus had almost laughed when he heard that part. No horse could run properly in such a place. What worried him more was the fact that the Skagosi had plundered the Northern dead for their weapons, so they would be more dangerous than before.

"Disembark!"

Titus turned to look at the boat nearest to him. It had reached the shores before the others, and Damrod Martell was already leaping down into the shallows. He was followed by dozens of Dornish spearmen, clad in byrnies of leather. Some wore mail or scales over their leather, but all held the bronze round shields of Dorne.

"Fire at will!" Titus shouted to his own company of archers. "And don't hit any of ours!"

Alyn stood by sourly. He was still only a boy, and though he was becoming nimble and swift while practising the Braavosi water dances, Titus had no intention that he fight unless it were absolutely unavoidable.

"Ashore!" Now it was Jebril Dalt who shouted, even as he and the other spearmen leapt from the transport boat's front. Titus winced as one man, eager to leave the boat as fast as he could, collided with another man, causing both to fall over the boat into the shallows. One of them screamed as his leg gave a cracking sound, while the other fell headfirst onto the rocks. His body crumpled with a sickening crunch and went limp, pushed back and forth by the water. Orwyle...

Titus felt physically ill, and he turned away from the grisly sight. He scanned the foggy shore for the enemy, unable to stop his heart from pounding in his chest as it always did before battle was joined.

Just then, a deep-throated roar sounded, echoing all across the bay. The echoes endured far longer than normal, or so it seemed to Titus, until he realised with a thrill that they weren't echoes. They were waiting for us. They've surrounded the bay. Gods be good, how many of them are there?

Before him, the Dornish landing parties had gathered together at the sound of the men. They grouped together for safety, spears raised and sticking out between bronze shields, as if they were some sort of pincushion. Titus did not blame them; the sound was growing more terrible as several high-pitched screams joined the chorus of war cries. They sounded inhuman, even unearthly, to Titus' ears.

"Hold firm!" He tried not to sound unsettled. The archers were glancing about fearfully. Some had already nocked and drawn their first arrows. Their hands trembled from the effort.

"What's happening?" Alyn asked Titus in a quiet voice. Resentment had deserted the boy, and his eyes were wide with alarm as he held his Braavosi sword in hand.

"I don't know," Titus answered calmly. He put a hand on Alyn's head and ruffled his hair, "Stay on the boat, whatever happens to me."

"A squire looks after his master," Alyn protested. His voice was feeble with indecision, but his eyes blazed defiantly. Good lad.

"A squire follows orders," Titus insisted. He might have said more, or Alyn might have protested, but both were suddenly distracted.

For out of the mist and shrubbery thundered a cavalry unlike anything which Titus had ever seen before. Hundreds of massive, shaggy beasts charged the landing army, far as Titus could see across the bay. Each one had a long protrusion from their gargantuan heads. Horns... they really are unicorns... Mother save me... Father save me...

Atop each of the immense steeds was a man, and they all appeared to be just as big as Fynan Umber or bigger still. None was wearing any kind of armour which wasn't made of leather or furs, but they bore a wide assortment of weapons. Some were made of steel, others were of iron or bronze, but most of the weapons were made of some strange substance which he could not place. Much to his shock, it was as black as his own sword, and just as shiny. Valyrian steel? Are they armed with Valyrian steel? How did they acquire so much of it?

All around Titus, archers were crying aloud and sending their shafts at the horsemen. Many shot wildly in their surprise, however, and only a few shafts seemed to find targets. Titus cursed as he drew his own arrow and sent it at one of the foremost unicorns.

Despite the panicking archers, Titus was confident that the packed spears of the Dornishmen would be able to repel the Skagosi cavalry. He aimed another shaft as he waited for the charge to break itself against the spearmen.

Suddenly, there was a clattering sound. Titus gaped in alarm as rocks seemed to rain down on the men on the shore and the men who were still on the boats. Titus looked up and saw crowds of Skagosi standing on the cliffs. He saw men, women, children, either hurling stones with their bare hands or launching them with slings. Several also had bows of their own, and they loosed shafts down upon the massed attackers.

Men screamed from injuries, or else fell forward and did not stir, either from rocks or from arrows. Several archers aimed up at the men on the cliffs, but they were easy targets for the Skagosi.

The Dornish spearmen, meanwhile, had become confused and alarmed over the sudden barrage. They raised their shields to protect their heads, but a great wail arose from them as the Skagosi cavalry thudded into their disoriented ranks. One man was impaled on a unicorn's horn so that it emerged from his back.

Titus cursed as he dodged a shaft from above. He grabbed Alyn, who stood utterly stunned at the turn of events. "Get the non-combatants below deck!"

For once, Alyn did not argue. He grabbed the unarmed men and screamed at them to follow him. So confused and alarmed were they that they obeyed the boy without question. Titus could not help but laugh at the sight, so that he did not scream at their predicament.

A Skagosi warrior gave a loud battle-cry as he swung a great battle axe down upon a Dornishman's head. The cry died abruptly when Titus' arrow embedded itself in his face. Titus was already looking for another target, trying to move about the deck so that he did not present an easy target. Once, he looked up and considered taking aim at the Skagosi on the cliff, but he saw that many of them were children as young as Alyn. I have enough sins on my conscience before I start to kill children.

A one-legged Skagosi with grey hair was standing foremost on the ledge, leaning on a crutch as he loosed shafts down at Titus.

Titus stepped to the side to avoid one of his arrows. Much to his surprise, the point shattered when it struck the wood. Pieces of shiny black metal scattered across the deck like glass.

Suddenly the sound of trumpets rang out, blasting three notes in rapid succession, rising above the noise of battle.

"Retreat!" Titus bellowed the word as loud as he could. "Retreat!" He turned to the archers, "Prepare the gangplanks!"

Several Dornishmen ran forward with the large planks of wood, only for two of them to fall slain or stunned.

Titus took one of their places, helping to position it before drawing Doom from its sheath.

The marcher hurried down the gangplank and ran towards the throng of fighting, where the large riders stood amongst the panicking Dornishmen and laughed as they struck down with their weapons. Titus saw Jebril Dalt on the ground; an arrow had pierced his shoulder, while one of his arms had almost been hacked off entirely. He whimpered and wailed until a large unicorn hoof trod on his neck.

Fury coursed through Titus as he charged the great beast. His black sword flashed through the air and clove into the animal's thick neck. He wrenched the blade free as the unicorn screamed in agony. Blood spurted from the ghastly wound, even as the unicorn crumpled to the ground.

The Skagosi rider had also shouted, and he was unprepared for the attack. He fell heavily, his burly body slamming into several Dornishmen. Though a few of them were knocked over, others made short work of him with their spears and short swords.

"Retreat!" Titus turned and swung his sword at another Skagosi. "Back to the ships!"

The Dornishmen heeded his call; the front ranks continued to engage the Skagosi whilst their comrades made their way up the gangplanks, deflecting stones and arrows with their shields.

Titus beheld Damrod Martell. The man was dancing around one of the Skagosi riders, using his spear to inflict a dozen wounds upon the unicorn and rider alike. Both were bleeding, and both were infuriated, lashing out at Damrod as if they shared the same mind. Dodging kicks and swings from the rider's long sword, Damrod continued to dance, shouting taunts at them.

"Damrod!" Titus ran forward, but rocks from above struck his shoulder and thigh. He cursed as he faltered in his stride. Much to his shock, the unicorn spurred towards him, horn lowered.

Titus sprang to the side, dropping his sword as he did so. Behind him, the unicorn gave another high-pitched shriek.

When he turned, he saw that Damrod had found his opportunity. The Dornishman had used the long blade of his spear to slash at one of the unicorn's legs. Blood poured from its hamstrung limb.

The rider managed to spring away and land on his feet. Armed with a long warhammer, the Skagosi turned on Damrod with a fury. The Dornishmen stepped back as the hammer smashed down upon his spear shaft, breaking it in two. The Skagosi, hairier than the horse which had borne him, gave a gutteral snarl as he swung at Damrod again and again with boundless energy.

But Titus was rising too. He had crawled back to where his sword had been dropped, and rose with both hands on the hilt. The Valyrian steel blade disappeared into the large man's torso, and it took all of Titus' remaining strength to pull it free again.

Just as the unicorn had fallen, so did the warrior falter and collapse to his knees, moaning as he pawed at the red patch which grew rapidly across his clothing.

Titus limped forward and with a deep breath, he swung the sword so that it cut into the neck where he knew a man's lifeblood flowed. Scarcely had the slain Skagosi fallen forward than Titus was grabbed by Damrod Martell. "Come on!"

Shouldering Titus, Damrod led them to the gangplanks. After they and the last of the rearguard had made it back on board, the ship's crew began to row at a furious pace. The vessel pulled away from the shore.

The remaining Skagosi cavalry had also pulled back, while their archers and stone-throwers continued to exchange missiles with the men on the ships until they were out of range.

Titus groaned as every movement of his left arm caused pain to shoot through his shoulder. He still held Doom, using it as a staff so that he did not have to put pressure on his leg. All across the deck, trails of blood stained the wood, while pieces of the black metal glittered against the dull brown and dark red blotches.

This is not Valyrian steel. Titus picked up one of the bigger shards and studied it, trying not to listen to the sounds of wounded and dying men all around him.

"Ser?"

Titus looked up, only to see Damrod Martell facing him again. The Dornishman appeared to be unhurt, and he had a shaken expression on his face, but he gave a respectful nod of his head. "You fought well."

"My thanks," Titus urged, returning the nod as much as his shoulder allowed, "for your words and your actions. I am in your debt."

"We can settle that another time," Damrod remarked, looking around with dismay.

Titus followed his gaze. All across the bay, ships were pulling back from the shore, mocked and cheered off by Skagosi who stood along the shore. Titus glared murderously at the Skaggs, but he could not deny their valour. I owe Fynan Umber an apology.

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

By the time that the ships returned to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, several of the wounded had succumbed. They were carried off the boats, along with any of the dead which had been recovered from the battlefield. Titus ignored his wounds and oversaw their removal, as well as bringing the surviving wounded to healers. He also kept his eyes and ears open for any sign of who else might have died. Where is Baelor?

Ser Mavis Holt personally came down to the harbour, staring grimly at the defeated host limping back on board the diminished fleet. Titus regarded him for a moment but then turned away as one of the biggest ships came to a halt at the dock. Like most of the ships, it flew the Targaryen sigil from its mast, but that was the only flag flying from this ship.

Men were taken off the ship in stretchers while others limped of their own accord. Those who weren't wounded still carried a demoralised expression on their faces. Titus felt panic rising in his throat as he scanned the wounded and the dead for Baelor. What had become of him?

He emerged last of the wounded, assisted by Ser Borlad Hardy of the Kingsguard. He was looking down at his feet as he carefully descended the gangplank. His black clothing concealed any sign of blood, but Titus could see his right arm was hanging limply by his side. It had been crudely splinted by a maester who followed in Baelor's wake.

"Your Grace?" He stepped forward, eyes wide.

Baelor looked up and gave a nod, "Ser Titus."

Titus turned and limped over to Mavis Holt. "The prince is wounded. He will need quarters in your keep."

The commander turned to one of his black-clad troops, but Titus did not stay to listen. He went back to Baelor as he was led off the dock. "Damrod Martell is unhurt, Your Grace. A quarter of our forces are dead or wounded."

"Gods," Baelor gave a great sigh, either from sadness or pain. "Is this battle as you knew it in Essos, Titus?"

"Yes and no," Titus replied wearily. "I've never seen unicorns before."

"Find a maester for yourself," Baelor advised, "for we shall see them again."

Titus bowed as Baelor was led away. He first went to seek out Alyn Garner.

He found his squire on the transport ship, having stayed aboard even after the sailors had disembarked. He sat in a corner, huddled over to hide the sight and sound of his weeping.

"Alyn?" Titus approached slowly.

Alyn looked up in alarm, his dusky face already creasing with an ashamed expression. He quickly cuffed at his eyes as he prepared to stand. "S-ser?"

"Sit down, lad." Titus limped over to put a hand on Alyn's shoulder. With a low groan, he slid down so that he sat on the wooden floor beside his squire. "No need for any of that. We're alone here, you and I."

Alyn shuddered, "I ran away..."

"Aye, you did," Titus agreed. "You did as I told you to do."

Alyn shook his head, "I ran because I was afraid!"

Titus put a hand on the boy's shoulders. "Only a fool or a madman would have no fear of battle. I was afraid today, and I was afraid when we fought in Essos. Your father was afraid too."

"He was?" Alyn's voice was quieter and lower, as it always sounded when his father was brought up.

"Every time," Titus promised, "and he was the bravest man I ever knew. If he saw you today, he would have been proud."

Alyn's thin shoulders shook, and his sobs began again.

Titus felt tears in his own eyes as he pulled the boy towards him in an embrace. The old tremors began to rock his own body, and he was once again visited by the memories of what he'd seen. He saw Jebril Dalt again, trampled to death. He saw the Skagosi riders and their horses, shrieking like demons. He saw the Dornish soldier who'd died as Orwyle had died. But as Alyn clutched his clothing and buried his face in Titus' chest, Titus saw his son and daughter, half as young as Alyn, recoiling from his touch.

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

The army and the navy remained at Eastwatch. Baelor sent out only a few ships to scout for other landing sites and to record signs of Skagosi movement. The days turned into weeks as the wounded either recovered or died. It was unclear how many men had been lost, either to the sea or to the Skagosi, but Titus guessed that they had lost a tenth of their forces. Ser Clarence Crabb of the Kingsguard had fallen in battle, as had Lord Everard Royce. Hector Stokeworth and Gaiman Celtigar were wounded, while Isengrim Velaryon had been lost at sea during the retreat.

Baelon Massey, Titus' last surviving friend from his youth, was also injured. He'd been knocked unconscious from a stone which might have caved in his skull if he hadn't worn a helm. A unicorn's hoof had trod upon him while he'd lain senseless, crushing one of his feet.

"The worst part is that nobody will believe me," Massey lamented as he sat up in the small bed which had been given to him in the Wolf's Tower.

Titus gave him a good-natured grin. "If that is the worst part, then you fared well."

Massey laughed at that. "What of you? Are you feeling better?"

"Aye," Titus answered. The stones had not broken any bones, thankfully. His limp had almost gone away as well.

"Has there been any news from the council?" Massey asked eagerly.

Titus shook his head.

Massey frowned, then his expression changed. "You won't tell me if there is any news, will you?"

Titus grinned, and gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. "Do not ask for answers that you mislike."

Massey snorted. "Be off with you, then." He shook his head in disgust, but he still grinned as Titus ruffled his hair.

Titus had been more truthful than his friend suspected. Baelor refused to relinquish command, holding council and giving orders from his bed as he waited for his body to heal. His injuries were not serious, but they were very slow to heal. His sword arm had been broken in three places, and he'd been slashed by a Skagosi blade.

"Dragonglass," Baelor explained as he rested on his bed in the Royal Tower. His right arm, newly bandaged and splinted earlier that day, was strapped to his chest so that it didn't move. "We have it in plenty on Dragonstone. It is a brittle substance, thank the gods. The Stoneborn ought to reconsider it for their weapons."

"Do you want word sent to King's Landing?" Titus asked him.

Baelor's face fell. "Nay. This will only discourage Father."

"He will be discouraged if no word is sent," Titus insisted, "as will my sister."

Baelor flinched. He looked at Titus for a moment, and it seemed that he might become angry. But then he gave a sad sigh. "It is best if they do not know of my injuries. My life is not at risk. And besides, it would not do to have them know of this defeat."

Titus nodded and left his room. He was alarmed at how badly the Prince of Dragonstone was reacting to his failure. Titus saw him shed tears of the deaths of men like Velaryon and Crabb. Lord Hector Stokeworth had urged him to prepare another invasion, but Baelor declined. He wanted the army to rest, to train, and to wait for the second contingent.

But the second contingent did not arrive. Men grew anxious as they waited, and Baelor sent a murder of ravens south to White Harbour for news. Each bird returned with the same answer, day after day.

Then, as Baelor became truly agitated on the absence of his reinforcements, he summoned his surviving commanders to council.

Titus had spent the last few weeks supervising the Dalt men, training them and encouraging them so that their morale might recover. He had also spoken with men of the Nights Watch to better understand the Skagosi and their ways, hoping that there might be some sort of weakness that they could exploit.

When he arrived at Baelor's chamber, he was the last one. Much to his surprise and alarm, Baelor's face was twisted with anger. Stokeworth and Celtigar had a sickly pallor on their faces, whilst Damrod Martell sat to the side, head in hands.

"What happened?" Titus asked.

"News from the south," Baelor replied in a terse voice. "Daemon Blackfyre has rebelled against the Crown."

By the time that Baelor was finished with his news about the outbreak of war, of battle in the Vale, the Crownlands, and elsewhere, Titus was leaning against the wall, feeling dizzy. He thought of Jena, of Coryanne, his children, Aliandra, Edgar, even Cassana and her family in Blackhaven. What has become of them?

"Madness..." Martell muttered. "The realm is falling into utter madness."

"We must go back," Stokeworth insisted. The death of his son had left him pale and shaking. "We cannot abandon the Seven Kingdoms for Skagos."

"I agree!" Lord Celtigar chimed in. "Let the Northmen deal with these savages. We must look to the realm proper."

"And what will the North say if we abandon them for the south?" Titus interjected, though he hated having to make that argument. "The North remembers, as they love to say. And they will remember that we failed them."

They were all looking at him; Stokeworth and Celtigar looked incensed at this argument, Martell was incredulous, but Baelor was merely thoughtful.

Before the others could counter Titus' words, the Crown Prince spoke.

"I am the heir to the Iron Throne. One day, I will become king. And I will not have it said that I did not fulfill my duty to my people, no matter what that duty might be."

He slowly sat upright in his bed and nodded to Titus, "I will not leave the North until this rebellion is settled."

"Your Grace!" Lord Celtigar blustered. "Your duty is to the realm!"

"Is the North not part of the realm?" Baelor retorted. Even though he did not raise his voice, even though he did not sound angry, there was a dangerous tone to his words. "As far as I have been told, the North is the only kingdom in the realm which isn't being torn apart. They have remained loyal to the Iron Throne moreso than any others. And you suggest that I reward their loyalty by turning my back and leaving this task unfinished?"

Nobody dared to answer him.

"I will stay," Baelor repeated, "until this business with Skagos is done."

He turned to Lord Stokeworth. "Your son died valiantly, and my family will not forget him. But your family has need of you, just as you have need of them. I will not have anyone speak ill of you should you wish to return."

Stokeworth was silent for a moment, looking at his prince with an unreadable expression. Then, with a shaky breath, he spoke again. "My sons will be as valiant as their brother, I have no doubt. If my prince has need of me here, then I will remain." He knelt before the Prince and bowed his head.

"I too will stay here," Lord Celtigar quickly echoed, "I will not have any man question my honour." He hastily knelt beside Stokeworth, much to Titus' disgust.

Damrod Martell beheld the scene, then stood up and approached the bed. "My cousin sent me north to represent his good faith to the Iron Throne. That was my duty, and that has not changed." He gave a low bow to Baelor.

Titus knew what he must do. He had not wished to be sycophantic like Lord Celtigar, but now that he was last, he feared it would reflect poorly on him as well.

Before he could say anything, however, Baelor spoke first.

"Ser Titus," Baelor declared, "You will lead a part of this army back to King's Landing."

Titus opened his mouth to speak, but forced himself to stay quiet. He gave the prince a bow, partly so that he did not have to see the others' faces and guess their thoughts.

Before he'd finished straightening up again, Baelor continued. "My lords, I must speak with Ser Titus on how we shall progress. If you will please take your leave?"

Titus kept his eyes on Baelor, ignoring the others for fear of seeing contempt and anger on the others' faces.

"Speak freely, if you wish," Baelor urged him after the door closed.

"I do not know what to say," Titus began, "I have tried to recall myself and serve you faithfully. Have I been wrong?"

"Nay," Baelor replied. "I do not send you back in disgrace. But you are my most experienced commander in war. And the realm will have need of you more than I."

Baelor turned to Ser Borlad, who had been standing beside Baelor's bed the entire time. "My sword, Ser Borlad."

Titus frowned as he watched the Kingsguard knight pick up Dark Sister and hold it in his hands. Even in its sheath, there was a strong power in that ancient blade. Titus recalled those who had wielded Dark Sister in the history of House Targaryen; their names had lived on in legend, for good or ill. Queen Visenya, Maegor the Cruel, Baelon the Brave, Daemon the Rogue Prince, Aemon the Dragonknight... and now Baelor Breakspear accepted it with his one good hand.

"I can no longer wield this sword," Baelor remarked ruefully, "so it should go to a member of my family who can." He suddenly held out the sword, hilt first, to Titus. "I charge you, my goodbrother, with giving Dark Sister to whomever my father shall choose to wield it."

Titus almost took a step back from the proffered blade, but he managed to check his foot. His hands reached out and took the sword. Doom was still at his side, but even with that powerful blade, he was awestruck to be holding Dark Sister in his unworthy hands.

"Your Grace..." he answered hoarsely, "I will not fail you. But what of your campaign? Will you not require your sword when you take the fight back to the Skagosi?"

"That is my concern," Baelor answered. "But you are mistaken, Titus. The Targaryen kings did not wield Dark Sister, by tradition. They had another sword which was passed down from the Conqueror himself. My grandfather gave it away carelessly, and it is past time that we correct his mistake. When my business in Skagos is finished, I mean to reclaim my birthright once and for all."

And though the prince had spoken lightly, even calmly, Titus shuddered for Daemon Blackfyre when he faced Baelor Breakspear again.