Cassana
The dungeons of Blackhaven were always cold, even at the height of summer. That might have been a mercy towards Cassana, but she reckoned that Alfred didn't want others to know how he was treating her.
She was not the only one being held in the dungeons. She had seen others languishing in cells when the guards had dragged her inside. She had seen her captain of the guards, known as Royce the Runt. Gulian Straw, the aged steward, had not even acknowledged her when she'd called to him. Other smallfolk were there, too, but she had not been able to recognize them on her way to her own cell.
Whether by design or by mistake, Alfred was clever enough to scatter his prisoners throughout the dungeon. Cassana could not see the others, let alone whisper with them. She had tried it the first day, and the guards had left her muzzled and bound for hours as punishment. It did not help that she was still naked but for a rough blanket to keep herself warm.
Her back had whipped bloody by Alfred before he was finished. An appalled Maester Halys had been brought in to tend her broken and battered body. Whilst she was being bandaged, she had been interrogated again about the wherabouts of her sons and cousins. Praying that they had reached Ser Lyle Bolt, Cassana had refused to answer, even when she was sentenced to the dungeon as punishment.
Thoughts of vengeance raced through her mind. She thought of how Alfred would beg and whimper, how she would make Ser Maynard and Elwood wail before they died, and how all the other traitors' heads would decorate Blackhaven for fifty years.
They fed her only twice a day, forcing her to eat food that only smallfolk would have the heart to stomach. Bowl of brown, skrappel, the odd fruit or vegetable... all of it was repulsive to her, but she was too hungry to refuse anything.
Her guards were not only her visitors. On one occasion, After Cassana had lost her ability to tell night from day, a robed and hooded woman came to her cell, with a satchel by her side and a lit candle in her hands. Behind her walked two men whose surcoats bore the black and white swans which she despised so much.
"My lady." Septa Perianne's voice was surprisingly cold. She did not seem surprised to see Cassana here, nor did she feign humility.
"You," Cassana murmured sourly. She was wrapped in her blanket, but she still felt utterly vulnerable before the septa and her escort.
"How do you fare, my lady?" Perianne asked, kneeling down so her face was level with Cassana's. The two guards stood in the doorway of the cell, ogling Cassana's body without shame.
Cassana ignored the guards and Perianne's question alike. She fixed the septa with a curious gaze. "What brings you here?"
"I am here to inspect your injuries," Perianne replied. She put the thick candle down on the floor, and took out several things from her satchel, including fresh bandages.
Cassana arose and turned her back from the guards before letting the blanket slip down her shoulders and back. She felt Perianne approach her and slowly begin unwrapping the old bandages across her back.
"Ser Alfred knows where your kin are hiding," Perianne suddenly declared, "he is riding to Cloudwatch tomorrow."
Cassana's body stiffened, and she ceased to breathe for a moment. "How did he find out?"
"It was not a difficult riddle, Lady," Perianne replied. Cassana had always disliked this meek woman's voice, but now it seemed to be tinged with some other emotion that she could not place. If it were any other woman, Cassana would have called it scorn.
She flinched as the last of the bandages were slowly peeled from her back. Perianne said nothing for a time as she prepared the new bandages and put them in place.
"How do I know that you did not tell him?"
Perianne's hands ceased to move for a moment. "How could I know your mind, Lady? How could anyone? Have you ever entrusted it to anyone before?"
The treacherous cannot trust!
Against her will, Cassana was reminded of the last time she had seen her younger brother. She could almost see his laughing face and hear his scornful words echo through her mind like some terrifying echo in a dark place. She flinched away from Perianne, breathing heavily with growing wroth.
"So," Cassana murmured through gritted teeth, "what did Alfred promise you to betray me?"
"He promised me nothing," Perianne replied simply, "I serve no family, I serve the gods."
Cassana shivered again; she wanted to rage and scream, but doing so would only convince Perianne of her cause. "And what will the gods think of you aiding a man to will slay me if I do not surrender my sons to him?"
"The gods know my sins," Perianne declared, "and they know yours." She said nothing more as she fixed the bandages in place.
Cassana, too, was silent. She knew the guards would report all to Alfred, and she was determined to keep as much from them as possible. Perianne knows nothing, and she can prove nothing. Just a bitter, treacherous woman.
Perianne stepped away and left the cell without a word, or even so much as a glance, at Cassana or the Swann guards. After a pause, they followed her out of the dungeon, leaving Cassana alone to ruminate on her principal bannermen.
The Bolts commanded the Dondarrion territory which bordered directly on Dornish territory. They were rumoured to have been formed by a Dondarrion bastard who'd been too proud to carry the name "Storm".
Cassana fretted over the Bolts' chances against the might of House Swann. Lyle Bolt was a good man, if not brilliant, but he was also old: his eldest son had led his best men north with Baldric. The other bannermen might join the resistance, but even if they did, they were also depleted in strength.
Soon after Perianne's visit, Gulian Straw began to suffer from a rasping cough. Cassana could hear them echoing in the dungeon, as well as his groans from the effort. Cassana tried to ignore them, then she tried to cover her ears when they started up again, but she could not stop herself from thinking of him. He has been our steward since I was a girl. He deserves better than this.
She knew that appealing to the guards would only draw their ire upon her and Gulian. Or worse, they would see it as an incentive against Cassana. She had no intention of giving up her sons to save her steward's life, but nor did she like the thought of making that choice. And so she suffered in silence, listening as the coughs grew weaker and weaker.
When Septa Perianne visited her again to replace her bandages, Cassana looked upon her with loathing.
"Gulian Straw is dying," she hissed. "You have known him for more than ten years, and you see fit to let him die here?"
"I do not have authority over his life and death," Perianne responded as she worked. Her tone was such that Cassana actually expected her to add "but you do."
"Then appeal to the man who does, for Gulian's sake," Cassana challenged her, "or does mercy mean nothing to you?"
Perianne paused, and when she spoke again, she used a voice that Cassana had never heard from her before.
"You dare speak to me of mercy?"
Cassana hesitated, unsure of what to say to that. She could not admit to knowing what Perianne was talking about, for it would truly be the end of her. And even now, locked up in her own dungeon with just a blanket for clothing and scars on her back, she had too much to lose.
The septa allowed her question to hang in the air, unanswered. After she was finished, her footsteps reverberated louder than they ever had before. Even the guards that followed after her seemed more like shadows.
And so her imprisonment continued, as did the slow death of Gulian Straw. His coughs grew weaker and weaker, until one day Cassana heard Royce call for the guards. She could not see any of it, so she listened in silence as a guard called for his companions to help him carry Gulian Straw out of the dungeon.
Even then, she did not weep. She thought instead of Alfred Swann, of Septa Perianne, of Gawen Swann and his sons, of Maynard Kellington, of Elwood, of Lana, of all those responsible for this hell in which she was trapped. She whispered their names, imagining her revenge upon them. And just as she had blocked out the sounds of Gulian's coughs, so too did she blot out the sounds of his last departure.
She stopped counting the meals she got, letting time pass her by, for as long as nothing changed, then she knew that her sons were still safe. She fretted for Manfred and Caspor, and for her cousins. She wondered how long Ser Lyle could withstand the Swanns, whether he could alert King's Landing of what the Swanns were doing.
That was, indeed, the very thing which plagued her thoughts more than anything else. She had guessed that the Gargalens had been massacred by the Swanns, not long before they had seized Blackhaven through trickery and treachery. It is treason. Any fool would say as much. But why are they so brazen about it? What is happening?
There was nobody to answer her questions. She was confident that anybody who was still loyal to her was already imprisoned. Everyone else was a traitor, either by deed or complicity.
She might have been driven mad by her own thoughts if it was not for an hour when she received a visitor who was not Septa Perianne.
The man who stood before her had a familiar face, but she could not place him until she looked down and noticed his clubfoot.
"I know you," Cassana spoke coldly, "you serve House Swann."
"Kresimir, milady," the tall man acknowledged. He leaned on his staff awkwardly, looking down on her with a look of distaste.
Kresimir Hasty, they call him. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" She asked in an icily polite tone. She had half a mind to call him by the name which his masters saw fit to call him; she had seen his face after being called that moniker, even if the Swanns had ignored it. She held her tongue, instead. She had long ago learned that a woman's courtesies and charms were oftentimes her only weapons.
Kresimir went on. "The septa tells me that you are fit enough to travel."
"She did not see fit to inform me," Cassana replied. "Nor did she save my steward. Was it your master's wish that he die so poorly in his old age?"
A muscle twitched in Kresimir's face, but he gave no answer.
"Will you not answer my questions?" Cassana challenged him.
"As to the first one, I am here to escort you out," Kresimir replied. He turned to one of the guards. "Have her washed and clothed for travel."
Travel? "Where am I going?"
"To Cloudwatch, milady," Kresimir answered. He turned and limped off as the guards lifted Cassana, wrapped in her blanket, and led her out of her cell.
As she walked past the other cells, she saw more of those smallfolk who had been imprisoned alongside her. She recognised Royce, her captain, the maid called Abigayle, and at least a dozen other men and women who'd served her faithfully. Several of them had served her father when she had just been a girl. Seeing them here, languishing alongside her, filled her with redoubled wroth.
"You have not seen the last of me," she declared proudly, "and one day I will personally unlock the keys to your cells. House Dondarrion will never forget you!"
Whether those words meant anything, she did not like to think about. But a few feeble cries of "Dondarrion" echoed amongst the prisoners as Cassana was led up the narrow stairwell.
"*"* "*"*"*"* "*" * " *"* "* "*"*" *"*
After she was washed and dressed by sour-looking maids, Cassana was escorted to the stables, mounted on an old palfrey, and then bound to it so she could not dismount.
Kresimir was mounted on his own horse, with an iron boot secured over his clubfoot. Eight guards were with him, mounted on some of the best horses from Blackhaven's stables. Even the horses they used for pack animals were of the best quality. What a terrible misuse of those beasts. Cassana recognised Elwood, who leered hungrily at her, but the others were strangers. Swanns. Of course. Nobody to fight for me if I should resist.
When she was mounted, Cassana looked askance at her escort, as if she were still the Lady of Blackhaven. "Shall we go? Or shall you continue to waste my time?"
The smile left Elwood's face. "Arrogant bitch," he remarked, wheeling his horse away from her.
As they made their way across the grounds of Blackhaven, a group of Swann soldiers gathered to watch them leave. They murmured amongst themselves and laughed at her. They called her names and they spat at her. One man's spittle landed on her face, then a second and a third. She did not waver from her purpose. She was too busy thinking of how these men would look when they were strung up by their arms, forced to chew on their own severed genitals for sustenance.
Out on the open ground, Cassana made every effort to effect an air of authority, as if she had chosen to go riding.
"What awaits me at Cloudwatch?" She turned to the riders amongst her, but none of them looked at her except for Elwood, and he did not deign to reply.
For her part, Cassana avoided meeting Elwood's eyes; his expression was much the same as when he had watched her stripped and beaten by Alfred. However, she did not want Elwood to think that she was afraid of him, and so she addressed him as arrogantly as she could manage.
"Tell me, Elwood, how will you spend those coppers?"
From the corner of her vision, she saw Elwood frown. "Coppers? What coppers?"
"What a pity. I thought you might at least have earned yourself a pittance for your honour. Your sister was a far better negotiator for her worth."
Elwood paused for a moment, then spat full onto her face. His spittle landed on her throat, and slowly trickled between her breasts.
"You let Dornishmen march across the marches for nothing! You betrayed your own family, and all the families of those who fought for you!" Elwood was shouting at her, but she was not afraid of hot-blooded anger. She had long ago learned how to master herself before such rage. She was back on the grounds, watching her sons running in and out of Blackhaven's godswood.
The image was broken by a fist smashing against her face. She let out a wail of pain as spittle landed on her face.
"I'll teach you to ignore me, you bitch!" Elwood had halted his horse so that he was alongside her. There was nothing she could do to ward him off or defend herself. Half her vision was gone, while the other half was blurred from tears; her hands were tied to the saddle; her face seemed to be on fire; she was half-delirious from the agony.
Through the haze, she suddenly heard a shrill scream that was not her own. She could not see properly, but Elwood did not strike her again. Instead, a hand grabbed her shoulder.
"Milady?"
Something was dabbed against her good eye, soaking up the tears. She beheld one of the Swann guards, who held a clean rag that was already wet from touching her face.
"We did not expect him to touch you, milady. Would that we could have known."
Kresimir's apology was almost lost to Cassana, for the shrill screams had not ceased.
Elwood was writhing on the ground. His hands clasped his leg, but that did not stop blood from spilling out through his fingers. The leg of his breeches was already stained red.
"What... what is happening?" Cassana whimpered, unable to stop herself from sobbing.
"We intended to go somewhere more quiet," Kresimir explained hastily. "Elwood forced our hand by forcing his own upon you."
She could not be sure if Kresimir was aware of his witticism or not. She could not be sure why, but it was suddenly the funniest joke that she had ever heard. She began to laugh hysterically as tears continued to pour down her face.
"She is crazed," one of the guards murmured fearfully.
"Milady, please," Kresimir dismounted and hobbled towards her. He took out a knife and cut the ropes which bound her to the horse. "Come down."
Cassana obeyed him, allowing the grey-haired servant to help her off the aged palfrey. With his halting gait, he walked her towards a nearby copse, giving her an old tree stump to sit upon.
"We shall make camp here," Kresimir shouted to the others. He turned back to Cassana with another rag and dabbed at her face. "Gods be good. He was wearing mail gloves too. Bastard!"
"He is no bastard," Cassana murmured. Her hands shook as they rested on her lap. She felt utterly cold and she seemed unable to draw breath.
"Easy now, milady." Kresimir shed his old woollen cloak and draped it over her shoulders. "Rest here, we'll give you something to eat."
"What is happening?" Cassana shrieked, unable to control herself any longer.
"We were told to bring you to Cloudwatch," Kresimir explained as the others approached on foot, leading the horses behind them. "But we have no wish to serve the Swanns any longer. What Ser Alfred's doing is..."
"It is treason!" Cassana snarled. "He will beg for the gift of hanging before I am done with him!"
"Of course, milady, of course," Kresimir urged her hastily. His eyes were wide with alarm, speaking as though he were trying to tame a wild beast. Cassana was seized with a frenzied notion to attack him, and show him how well-founded his fear of her truly was.
"You think this will save you?" She looked from Kresimir to the other seven men. "Any of you?"
"Mayhaps not," Kresimir murmured, "but I'll warrant we just saved your life."
"Saved my life?" Cassana repeated incredulously. "Elwood had no intention of killing me!"
"Ser Alfred does," one of the guards answered. He looked so similar to Kresimir that he could only have been his son. "Word is the Bolts have been giving him a bloody nose. He ordered you to either beg Ser Lyle to surrender, or else he'd give you to the army right in front of the castle for all to see."
Cassana shuddered, and her wroth was cooled for a moment, but then she remembered her situation. "You did not save Gulian Straw. Nor did you see fit to break me out of the dungeon!"
"That was beyond our power," Kresimir countered desperately, "I do swear it by the gods above, we would have done it if we could. We had no part of the steward dying, Ser Maynard thought it proper. Said it might break you, so he did. He's the castellan whilst Ser Alfred is away."
Gods be good... Ser Maynard Kellington. His treachery and cruelty left her too stunned to make new protest or accusation. She simply stared from one man to the other as they looked down at her.
Suddenly she heard a fresh round of insults shouted distantly. Elwood is still alive.
She stood up, holding out her hand. "Give me a dagger."
The men looked at each other diffidently, unable to match her gaze any longer.
"Are you all recreant?" Cassana raged.
"Nay, milady," Kresimir answered quietly. He drew a knife from his belt and offered her the hilt. "You have suffered. Take your revenge as you see fit."
Cassana took it and marched back to where Elwood still lay. He was no longer thrashing, and his noises were feebler. He looked at her, wild-eyed with fear as he opened his mouth to protest.
Cassana did not hesitate; she pressed her foot on his neck, hard enough to cut off his voice and leave him croaking for breath. "You enjoyed watching me," she snarled. "You wanted me so badly. I saw it in your eyes. I felt you inside me when Alfred gave me to you." It was the first time that she had acknowledged it aloud; Alfred had declared that he was not guilty of raping his kin, but he saw no reason to deny others a chance when she'd refused to give up her sons. Elwood and Ser Maynard had both used her whilst she'd been tied to her own bed. She had thought to terrify Elwood, but saying it aloud only made it feel doubly painful to her. The memory alone filled her good eye with tears.
She pushed her foot down hard enough to make his good leg kick frantically.
"You will spend an eternity in the seven hells," Cassana declared balefully, "wondering if it was really worth it."
She lifted her foot from his neck, even as the dagger's short blade plunged into Elwood's eye. He gasped, then began to scream as he'd never screamed before. The dagger twisted and turned, causing fluids to pour down Elwood's face. The second eye followed, but by then he had howled his voice away. He offered no resistance as she moved down his body and cut away his breeches. She felt half-mad, but also numb to her pain. She filled her hand with soft flesh and held it firm as the dagger's edge sawed beneath her hand until the flesh was severed. Her hand went back to Elwood's open mouth and filled it just as she'd vowed to do back in Blackhaven.
By the time she arose again, dropping the blade, she was sobbing and laughing at the same time. Kresimir and the others were aghast, unable to speak as they looked upon her with horror.
Cassana was not sure how long she stood there, shaking in the wind, whilst she stared at nothing. A hand carefully took the knife from her, and she made no effort to keep it.
"Milady," Kresimir's voice was taut and muted, "you must eat."
Yes, that is true. The small voice in her mind agreed with the suggestion, and she felt herself walk back to the copse, sitting back down on the stump as the others made a fire and prepared some sort of meal from their supplies.
They offered her food, and she ate it meekly, indifferent to the world. She found herself looking at the body of Elwood, being feasted on by dark birds. How do they find the dead so soon? What evil spirit lies within those crows?
She slowly awoke to her surroundings. Kresimir and the others sat in a circle around the fire, speaking in low tones to disguise their words.
They went silent as she approached them and sat beside Kresimir.
"Tell me what is happening," she insisted. "Has the world gone mad?"
Slowly, deliberately, Kresimir explained about the war, of Daemon Blackfyre, of House Targaryen, of Brynden Rivers' campaign of terror, of the conspiracy which had festered and grown amongst the lords of Westeros.
It might have overwhelmed her, but she had long passed her breaking point. Now it was as though she had simply solved one of the puzzles that she'd played with as a girl.
And just as she'd always done as a girl, Cassana moved on to the next puzzle without preamble. "Why did you do it?" she asked of the aging servant. "Why are you saving me?"
He sat awkwardly because of his clubfoot, or perhaps it was simply her question which left him sheepish. He spoke again. "House Swann committed treason. I will not die a traitor to the realm."
"Is that all?" Cassana persisted.
"Is that not enough?" It was the same young guard who resembled Kresimir.
"It is never enough," Cassana remarked. "A smart man would see that the Blackfyres are winning. Honour means nothing when there is plunder or glory, or reward. The treacherous cannot trust.
"Very well," Kresimir remarked. "Mayhaps I've grown tired of being mocked by those arrogant oafs. Mayhaps I want something better for my sons?" He gestured to two of the guards. "Mayhaps I thought Baldric was the best of his brothers. And mayhaps I saw a chance to finally break away from House Swann once and for all."
He had spoken assertively, angrily, and resentfully. He looked upon her without hesitation or squeamishness, directly in the eye. Cassana regarded him for a moment, and then gave a short nod. "All that I do believe, Master Kresimir. You will have all that and more if I ever regain what is mine."
Kresimir paused, then bowed his head silently.
"On that subject," one of the other guards interjected, "what is our next plan? What is the safest road to King's Landing?"
"King's Landing?" Cassana turned to look at the new speaker. "Why ever should we ride there?"
"Your sister is Princess, milady," one of Kresimir's sons observed, "and the king can command an army to liberate these lands."
"The king has his hands full with the realm," Cassana answered dismissively. She felt herself returning to normal as she focused on these practicalities. "We must rally our own forces."
"And who might those be?" Kresimir asked. "Have you not heeded my words? The marchers have chosen the black dragon, all except your house. And House Dondarrion is scattered. Your husband took the best men with him and those left behind are leaderless. You yourself have just seven fighting men at your command, and not a single knight amongst them!"
Cassana ruminated on her situation, then looked each man in the face. Two were pock-marked, five were missing at least one of their teeth, none of them wore plate. Seven men. Seven magnificent men.
A cold smile - her first genuine smile in a long time - crept across Cassana's face as she turned back to Kresimir. "I do not know how you were educated, but I was taught that seven is a fortunate number."
Several of the men laughed dryly at her wit, and even Kresimir's dour face split into a shy grin.
Cassana stood up and looked about her. "We have no time. We must make plans and carry them out at once."
"Mayhaps not at once," Kresimir interrupted. "If we are going to find reinforcements, you had best clean yourself and change out of those clothes, milady."
Only then did Cassana realise that she was still spattered with Elwood's blood. She also realised that half her face had swollen up, leaving her unable to open her right eye.
"Gods..." she moaned, "No bath will conceal this mess. I'll be sporting a black eye for weeks."
"Mayhaps," one of Kresimir's sons agreed, "but anyone who sees it will call it a fair price when they hear what happened to the man who did it."
The jest was spoken hesitantly, even nervously, but it made Cassana laugh until she was doubled over and clutching her sides.