Titus
Wherever Titus looked, he could see his reflection along the walls. That was due to the silver mirrors which had been fastened to all the walls of elaborately carved and polished wood. The mirrors allowed one the illusion of a larger hall than it actually was, though there was space aplenty for Titus and his fellow dinner companions.
The Queen's Ballroom was considered to be a small space, but a hundred people could easily sit and eat together. Tonight, fewer than twenty guests were in attendance, not including servants who brought out the food or the group of musicians who serenaded them.
Titus had left most of his belongings in Lemonwood, so he had quickly commissioned new clothing from a Myrish seamstress recommended by Jena. Due to the short notice, the fitting was not perfect, but it served him well enough for the occasion. He wore a doublet of black velvet, upon which the pale stars and purple lightning bolt of House Dondarrion had been elaborately stitched.
Jena sat at the head of the table in the place of her absent husband. Titus sat to her left, while her son Valarr sat to her right. Her second son was elsewhere in the care of a wetnurse whilst Jena played hostess.
Ser Willem Wylde stood behind Jena. Although he stood so still that he barely seemed to breathe, his eyes were unmistakably alert.
Kiera of Tyrosh sat between her betrothed and an older Tyroshi woman who served as her chaperone. Princess Elaena Targaryen sat at the other end of the table, with three of her daughters sitting close by. Lord Ronnel Penrose was not in attendance, having preferred to eat with King Daeron in the Great Hall.
Alyn Garner sat beside Titus, arrayed in spare clothing which had been loaned by a squire of the Kingsguard. The boy had wanted to wear the three owls of House Garner, but he had relented when Titus pointed out that House Garner was sworn to House Targaryen, and it was therefore fitting that he should wear the red and black of his king.
"It might please you to know that my brother has spent time in Tyrosh," said Jena as the first course was being served. She had ensured that several of the dishes were Tyroshi in style, though Kiera looked upon them with suspicion.
Her chaperone, far more polite, turned to Titus and nodded her head. "I hope you thought well of our city." She spoke the Common Tongue with a thick Tyroshi accent.
"I did," Titus answered in Tyroshi. "It was a beautiful sight. I never saw men or women dressed in such a delightful fashion."
The chaperone blinked in surprise at Titus' response, then smiled at the compliment. Titus knew full well that all self-respecting Tyroshi placed a high value on their appearances.
Kiera, however, was a child, and she did not bother to hide how unimpressed she was with Titus' words.
"You speak it like a foreigner," she commented.
Alyn did a double-take, unable to conceal his shock and outrage at the girl's rudeness. Titus gave a tight smile as her chaperone berated her sharply, punctuating her lecture with a slap over Kiera's head. Jena gasped as Kiera gave a cry of pain. Titus noted that Valarr was also shocked at the sight. A prince without a whipping boy, clearly.
The Tyroshi woman turned back to Titus. "The Princess Kiera offers her apologies, Prince Titus."
Jena shot Titus an awkward look, shaking her head once. Titus ignored her.
"No need for that," he answered, "I am no prince of House Targaryen. But I am a man who has fought for the Archon of Tyrosh.
The chaperone continued to look remorseful, but Kiera glared at him with a newfound contempt.
"You were a sellsword?" She turned to her chaperone. "I will not sit at the table with a common sellsword!"
Titus bit his cheek. He had hoped that his service for Tyrosh with the Stormbreakers might have garnered some sympathy, but he'd underestimated how far the trade-loving Tyroshi looked down on men who only made a living with their weapons.
Jena looked with dismay and fury at Kiera. "My brother is no commoner! He is a nobleman of House Dondarrion! If you insult my brother, then you insult the family of your betrothed!"
"He is not my betrothed! I will not marry him! I will not!" The child ran from the table, sobbing and screaming with rage. The chaperone got up from the table and fled after her.
Jena bit her lip, looking distraught. After a moment, she turned to Valarr. "Pay no heed to any of that. She is homesick, she did not mean what she said."
"Yes she did," Valarr answered crossly. "Let her go home, I don't want her here."
Gods… Titus sighed wearily as Jena sprang from her seat. "The next time I hear such sentiments, I will write to your father!"
"Do it!" Valarr screamed. "Tell him! I hate Kiera! I hate her! Hate her!" Much like Kiera before him, Valarr leapt from him seat and stormed out, but not before Titus could see his eyes filling with tears.
Jena was also on the verge of tears. She was so overcome with emotion that she seemed to be robbed of speech.
Titus bit back his own stormy temperament and addressed Willem. "Ser, I believe my sister would like you to follow the prince and escort him to his chambers."
Willem hesitated until Jena wordlessly pointed to the door. As he hurried after the boy, Jena slumped back into her seat, breathing heavily.
"I believe you can tell the kitchens that dinner is halted," Elaena sternly instructed a wide-eyed servant. "And do let it be known that anyone who speaks of this night will lose more than their position in the Red Keep."
Titus glanced at Alyn. The boy mournfully put down a half-eaten haunch of aurochs with a sigh.
With that done, Elaena stood up and walked over to Jena, as did Titus.
"He has never been so defiant before," Jena murmured, wiping tears from her eyes. "He has never looked at me with such loathing."
"He is an angry little boy who misses his father," Elaena commented frankly. As if to soften her words, she put a hand on Jena's shoulder.
"Baelor will return," the older princess assured Jena, "and he will help Valarr understand his duties."
Jena slammed the table with her hand, causing her plate to bounce. "And what will we say when he asks about our arranged marriage? How will he look at the both of us, who never suffered what he is suffering now? Why should we have been exempt when my son is forced to marry one he did not choose?"
Elaena had no words for that. Nor did Titus.
He had always been relieved that his father had never tried to arrange a marriage for him. His older brothers had been far more compliant, while Cassana had been the apple of Armond's eye; she had been allowed to choose her husband at an early age. Jena had been approached at first, but she had also defied her father's attempts to present her as a viable candidate. She had defied her father's wishes to be a dainty lady who charmed the sons of lords. As Armond had gone deeper and deeper into his cups, he had made fewer efforts to deal with his youngest children. Discovering Dorne and becoming entangled with Garrison and Coryanne Dalt had only cemented Titus' loathing for the way most Westerosi viewed sex and marriage.
Truthfully, he had no patience for this arranged marriage, but he did not wish to make Jena feel worse. Instead, he knelt beside her and put a hand on her other shoulder.
Jena shook both of them off. "Never mind, we shall continue our dinner!" It was a command if ever Jena had made one. A true princess of the Red Keep.
Without another word, Elaena and Titus resumed their places, while the servants began to bring in the second course. An astonished Alyn hastily resumed eating, forgetting the table manners which Titus had attempted to instill in him.
Elaena turned to the musicians, whom Jena had instructed to play Tyroshi music. "I believe that will do. If you might play us something familiar again?" The musicians bowed with relief upon their faces and broke into "Iron Lances".
Although the guests took care to applaud each song after it was finished, the dinner was a subdued affair. The longer that silence went on between them, the more determined everyone seemed to prolong it.
Titus wished that he had words of real comfort for Jena, but he could not muster them in his head.
Still, he could not stay silent. He leaned forward and got her attention.
"I can imagine that you don't feel this way now," Titus assured his sister, "but you are a good mother."
Jena gave him a look of gratitude, but it was that moment when Duckle, the palace fool, sprang into . He capered up and down the room, singing a silly rhyme over the music.
As everyone laughed at Duckle's lyrics, he began to play with discarded chicken bones, battering musicians and servants alike with them as if they were his drums. Titus laughed until he was struck with a thought.
Instinctively, he leaned over to Jena again. "I must ask a favour of you."
"What is it?"
"If I am going to the Stormlands, I want to bring Orys Trant's bones back to his family."
Jena's mirth vanished, replaced with concern. "I do not know if I can secure those."
"You are a princess now," Titus insisted. "And you will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms someday."
Jena sighed. "I will do what I can, Titus."
"Good," he answered, "that is all I ask of you."
He spent the rest of the evening eating quietly, ruminating on what he would say to Orys' family, and all the obstacles which lay between himself and that miserable interaction.
"*"* "*"*" *"* "*"* "*"*
For a man who had only just come of age, Maekar Targaryen seemed far older than his years.
It was not just the fact that his hair was so silver that it appeared to be white. Nor was it just that he was already a father of two boys with his wife, Dyanna Dayne. There was a sternness to him which appeared to have stifled whatever boyishness he'd once had.
Titus watched as Maekar ruffled his eldest son's hair and embraced his wife. Both wept unashamedly, but Maekar was dry-eyed. The only indication he showed of any pain at this departure was a deep-set scowl that remained on his face as he bade his father and mother farewell. He continued to scowl even as they rode through ranks of smallfolk who cheered the silver prince and his army.
For his part, Titus paid little heed to the people as he passed them by. He was not so foolish to think that they were cheering for him. He did wonder whether the smallfolk were cheering out of love for Maekar and House Targaryen, or whether they cheered out of fear of Bloodraven.
For his part, Brynden Rivers was nowhere to be seen. A troop of his men marched with the army, armed with longbows, but there was no sign of him. No surprise there. The illusion of his presence must be maintained. But when will he join us?
The army which marched from King's Landing was a small one. Some six thousand men had been assembled. Besides the men of Dalt, most of them were from the Crownlands and King's Landing itself. There was also a good scattering of men who had fled the Riverlands, Stormlands, and the Reach. Some of them were survivors of battles against the Black Dragon's supporters, and they told stories of terror about their enemies.
Titus was worried about the morale of their army; he had seen and experienced firsthand how quickly men's resolve crumbled in the face of defeat. Only victory would put an end to their fears and give them the confidence to stand firm.
They spent the rest of the day riding south along the kingsroad. When the sky was a mix of purple and pink, the order was given to make camp within the thick forest of the kingswood.
As Titus was overseeing his troops alongside Baelon Massey, who was leading his house's levies with the army. Baelon was also helping Titus guard their fallen friend's bones.
Orys' remains were pulled down from the spikes where they'd been left as a warning. As was customary, the silent sisters prepared his bones for burial; two of the sisters were assigned to escort Orys' remains to his family's castle. Titus intended to make the journey as well, as did Baelon.
"You did right to collect him," Ser Willem Wylde had told Titus before the departure from King's Landing. "Take him home where he belongs, away from this city."
The words echoed in Titus' mind whenever he looked at the little casket. It was difficult for him to sleep as the old guilt came back with a vengeance.
As the tents were pitched in a small treeless patch of the kingswood, and the men began to make their supper, a man in Targaryen livery approached Titus.
"Prince Maekar requests your presence, Ser."
Maekar was waiting for him in his own tent, which was considerably more spacious than any other in the army. As he stepped forward to greet the young prince, Titus was struck once again by Maekar's imposing figure. Although he was just sixteen, he was tall enough to look Titus in the eye, and he had a powerful build which already rivalled his eldest brother. Although Maekar was no longer grimacing, he appeared ill-at-ease nonetheless.
He was not alone, either. Lord Commander Gwayne Corbray and Ser Gram Lefford of the Kingsguard stood at either side of the tent's entrance. Brynden Rivers was also present, his arms behind his back in an expression of false humility. Dark Sister was at his side in an ornate black sheath with a pale dragon painted on it. Loath though Titus was to admit as much, the sword did manage to suit Brynden.
When did he get here? Titus entered his expansive tent and bowed to the young Targaryen prince.
"Your Grace," Titus answered respectfully, straightening again.
"Ser Titus." Maekar turned back to Brynden. "Tell him what you told me."
Brynden inclined his head to the prince, then turned back to Titus. His voice was coldly courteous, but Titus did not miss the disdain which Brynden clearly felt for him.
"My reports indicate that Storm's End is under siege by some eleven thousand men. Command is split between Lords Helos Bolling, Gaskon Fell, Mylor Grandison, and Harrion Trant."
"Trant?" Titus stared in shock. "House Trant has turned against the throne?"
Maekar frowned in confusion. "Is that some special surprise, Ser?"
"Aye," Titus answered. "I knew the Trants well! Orys was a dear friend. I was a guest at Elinor's wedding!"
"Her wedding to Lord Declan Horpe?"
Titus glared at Brynden, hiding his nervousness that Bloodraven had recalled the name so quickly. "Aye. And what of it?"
Brynden smiled at Maekar. "Lord Horpe was always one of the foremost supporters of Daemon Blackfyre. His nephew has been one of Daemon's household knights for the last five years. Indeed, Lord Horpe is among those besieging Storm's End."
Maekar's scowl was back. "Traitors." He glanced at Titus with unfriendly eyes. "Do you still vouch for them, Ser?"
Titus knew what he should do. He should renounce the Trants, swear to punish them cruelly. But Brynden was watching him with that mocking look in his eyes, and Orys Trant's casket might as well have been resting in a corner of the tent.
Titus pointed a finger at Brynden. "Did you inform Prince Maekar of the incentive which you gave House Trant to rebel?"
Maekar turned back to Brynden, who simply looked condescending.
"This is no time for us to be divided, Ser. Or is it your aim to sow discord amongst leal men of the Crown?"
"That is no answer," Titus insisted.
Brynden shrugged. "Since Titus insists on playing his games, I shall indulge him. Orys Trant was executed in King's Landing for treason. I heard him confess, as it happens. It seems that he was in league with Maegor Toyne, another traitor and Blackfyre supporter."
Titus was tempted to draw Doom and slay Brynden where he stood. But he knew that he was not quick enough or close enough to succeed. And even if he were, the ghastly punishment for such an action was not worth killing this vile man. Not quite.
"Men will say anything to make torture stop. And Brynden twists the truth as a crofter's wife twists a goose's neck," Titus observed scathingly. "Orys Trant was guilty of nothing but lying with a woman that won't be possessed by any man."
For the first time, Brynden was visibly stung by one of Titus' remarks. Before he could respond, Maekar intervened.
"Enough of this," he declared. "I will not have my time wasted with petty squabbles. My father appointed you both to be my generals and advisors. Must I remind you what that entails?"
Titus ground his teeth while he shook his head. "You do not, Your Grace."
Maekar stepped over to a small wooden table; a map of the Stormlands was spread across its surface.
"They have nearly twice as many men as we do," Maekar observed. "And they will not be surprised by our approach, so we cannot plan an ambush."
Titus and Brynden joined Maekar at the table. The marcher took note of the dozen or so seeds which had been placed on the map in a specific arrangement around Storm's End. "Is this an accurate arrangement of their army?"
"As the raven flies," Brynden replied.
Titus ignored Brynden and looked back at Maekar. "The enemy holds every advantage. They will not abandon such a position. You will be forced to attack them yourself."
Maekar's jaw twisted beneath his youthful attempt at a beard. "That is no option, Ser."
"Indeed not," Brynden quickly interjected. "If you will allow me?"
"Go on, then," Maekar permitted.
"Storm's End is a formidable castle, and well named. It is also the height of summer. Lord Baratheon is well stocked. The enemy will run out of food before he does."
"Not necessarily," Titus interrupted. "These lords can draw more support from their own lands. Felwood, Grandview, and Dawncroft are all less than five days' ride of Storm's End."
"Precisely why we should not attack this army," Brynden retorted, "instead, we sever their supply lines."
Titus felt a shiver go through him, but he said nothing as Brynden continued.
"We attack their people, seize their provisions, and we force them away from Storm's End. We move swiftly and strike them when the advantage suits us best. Then we withdraw and lead them on a merry chase until the dance begins again."
Maekar's scowl had deepened. "There is little honour in attacking women and children."
"My Prince, if I may be allowed to be blunt, honour will not win this war," said Brynden. "These are men who only respect the sword, so we must make them respectful of us again." Gods… he might as well be justifying the death of a lamed horse.
Titus recalled his time in Essos, where he had rubbed shoulders with sellswords in the Disputed Lands. They had been a diverse sort of men, but they had been united by one trait; death was simple to them. Many of them were hardened and bitter, slowly drowning in spirits or some other escape from the horror of war. Others laughed to see men die; they cheerfully slew each other if the price was right, they turned skulls into drinking cups, or they collected bones or ears as grisly trophies. It was this, as much as the sight of slavery in Lys, that made Titus realise he needed to leave the Stormbreakers and take Alyn with him.
Maekar brooded over Brynden's words for a moment longer, then he looked at the map. "If you had your way, uncle," Maekar began, "where would you begin with this plan?"
It was not quite the concession which Titus had feared, but nor was it the refusal for which he'd hoped. He ground his teeth as Brynden placed a long pale finger on the map.
"I suggest we strike at Felwood first. We could attack their villages with a few men, let the Fells think that brigands are attacking their land. When we dispose of their last reserves, we raze Felwood itself. From there, we go after Grandview and Dawncroft. Divide and defeat, Prince Maekar. Then when the Stormlands are secured, we do the same elsewhere."
Titus had to admit that Brynden's plan was certainly effective, if not callous. But he foresaw dangers with it as well.
"Your Grace," he interrupted, "I believe that this will be a costly campaign."
Maekar frowned. "Howso?"
"The smallfolk were your subjects. They were led astray by these ambitious lords. If we put their villages to the sword and the torch, they will not forget it."
"Good," Brynden interjected smugly. "They should remember the price of treason."
"Once again you rely too heavily on fear," Titus countered. "Do you think that Daemon Blackfyre inspires his followers with fear?"
"His followers are fools." Brynden dismissed Titus' words with a wave. "They are ambitious men, stupid men, stubborn men, all of them happy to betray their vows to House Targaryen. The realm will be well rid of them."
"Rid of them?" Titus echoed, thunderstruck. "You cannot kill them all, Brynden."
"Enough," Maekar exclaimed bad-temperedly. He looked at Brynden. "Titus is correct. If these peasants swear to follow their lords, then we cannot be surprised when they blindly follow their orders, treasonous though they might be."
Brynden's expression did not change, but Titus was ever after convinced that he saw the briefest flash in those red eyes which made them appear serpentine.
"However," Maekar continued, "there is merit to your plan. It simply requires some amendments."
"As you say, Your Grace," Brynden acquiesced.
As they devised the best route to approach Felwood, Titus pondered what he had witnessed. He had not expected that Maekar would value his opinion, much less speak brusquely to his infamous uncle. Not even Baelor would have been so curt with Bloodraven to his face.
"Their castles shall be taken," Maekar resumed. "They will be less apt to suspect an attack if we give no warning. No alarm must be raised of an attack."
"Which castles shall we take first?" Titus asked.
"We shall take them altogether. Our army shall be divided into three parts at Bronzegate and travel to each castle. We only attack on a day that all three forces will be in place." With that, he pored over the map trying to work out how long it would take.
"I believe that will take just over a fortnight, Your Grace," Brynden advised.
Titus wondered if his doubts would be welcomed. He could see why Maekar would suggest such an attack, but there were so many ways that things could go wrong.
"You never answered my question, Ser."
Titus frowned. Maekar and Brynden were both looking at him. "Your Grace?"
"Orys Trant. And his family. You will not renounce them?"
Titus focused his attention upon the young prince. He did not need to look at Brynden to know he was smirking again. No matter what I say, he will win. Damn him.
"My friend was slain unjustly," Titus insisted firmly. "And if that is why his family turned against the Iron Throne, then I daresay they were more justified than Daemon Blackfyre."
Brynden's grin widened. "Traitors always reveal themselves." He put his hand on Dark Sister's hilt.
"Have a care, Rivers," Titus warned. "I am more accustomed to Valyrian steel than you." He put his hand on Doom's hilt.
"Both of you stop this at once, or I'll have you arrested and sent back to my father in chains!"
Maekar's shout jostled both men out of their hatred for one another. Titus didn't know what Brynden heard in Maekar's voice, but he could sense, for the first time, the insecurity of youth. He heard an inexperienced commander shouting at his advisors out of fear as much as rage. It struck him that for all his bluster and assumption of authority, the prince was still a green boy.
Maekar seemed to realise the same about his outburst, for his voice was cold when he spoke again.
"I was going to assign you to take Dawncroft, Ser, since you know it so well, but perhaps that is an error in judgment."
"I can take charge of that task," Brynden added in a helpful tone.
"Nay," Titus objected through gritted teeth. "I am no recreant. I swore to your brother and father that I would fulfill my duty."
Maekar regarded Titus silently until he gave a terse nod. "See that you do it, Ser. Regardless of their reasons, the Trants have become our enemies."
"Yes, Your Grace," Titus answered, wishing to be done with this lecture.
Maekar turned to Brynden and spoke no less brusquely. "You will take Grandview. And see to it that you take care of our family's sword."
Once again, he revealed himself for the boy that he was. Titus heard envy, resentment, and anger in Maekar's tone. He wants that sword for himself. Of course he does.
For his part, Brynden did not change his manner. He smiled and bowed in what would be deemed a respectful manner from anyone else. "My Raven's Teeth will be honoured to present you with Grandview, Your Grace. We are well accustomed to slaying traitors."
"*"*" "*"* "*"
Titus' sour mood continued as the army was divided at Bronzegate. Maekar and Brynden took their divisions southwards, whilst Titus' journey was set for the south-east, towards Shipbreaker Bay.
Even with his blood ties to House Targaryen, his war experience, and his family name, it was decided by the others that Titus could not command any nobles or landed knights. Baelon Massey alone defied this snobbery, vowing to lead his levies at Titus' command. Most of the soldiers which Titus commanded were common-born men with almost no battle experience between them, with some five hundred sellswords and hedge knights to stiffen their ranks.
As they travelled, Titus had much to worry over, and much to suspect of Brynden. Did he know of my intentions with House Trant? Is that why it was so easy to acquire Orys' bones? Was it all part of his plan to surprise and humiliate me? Or does he not know I have Orys with me?
He kept these ruminations to himself; he was convinced that Brynden had slipped some spies amongst his ranks. It was just over three days ride to Dawncroft, and he spent much of that time brooding beside the mule which held Orys' bones, wondering what to do.
Baelon Massey often rode beside him. Though he never admitted it, Titus could sense that his old friend was greatly affected by the presence of Orys' bones. He japed more than usual, laughing at the slightest provocation. He even spoke cheerfully to the casket as if he expected - or hoped for- a response.
"How does it feel, Orys? Riding back home with us?" Baelon's grin was almost a grimace as he leaned forward and patted the casket.
The silent sisters who escorted the casket did not so much as look at Baelon or Titus, but Titus wondered what they must be thinking.
"Titus! Do you remember when Orys and Maegor rubbed the bedsheets with stinging nettles?"
"Gods!" Titus surprised himself by smiling along with his friend. "I thought I'd only dreamed that! Was that at Horn Hill?"
Baelon eagerly nodded his head. "Lord Tarly's bed, and all four of his children! We distracted everyone at supper whilst those two went to all the beds! Pompous fools were screeching for hours!"
Titus laughed. He never thought it was possible to miss those days. But as he rode along, approaching thirty years of age, fighting in the biggest war since the Dance of the Dragons, he suddenly felt a powerful nostalgia for his youth.
"They punished Willem for it too, those cunts," Baelon added ruefully. "I almost forgot about that. What in seven hells made them think it was Will?"
"He confessed," Titus answered. "Lord Tarly was interrogating all the servants. Will didn't want anyone else to be blamed."
"He always was the best of us," Baelon observed solemnly. "Small wonder he ended up in a white cloak."
He looked at Orys' casket. "You hear that? You should have stepped forward and spared Willem, you whoreson!" He cut his laughter off with a sheepish glance at the silent sisters, who still refused to meet his eyes.
"Sorry, friend," he apologised to the casket. "Your mother was no whore."
"And why should it be an insult if she was?" Titus asked, thinking of Coryanne and Aliandra.
Baelon sighed and took a swig of water from his hip-flask. "You're becoming as Dornish as the men you command."
"Good," Titus retorted. "It means I won't end up like my father."
Baelon's smile faded, and rode in silence for a time. He knew more than enough about Armond Dondarrion.
It was Titus' turn to break the silence. "What do you think Orys would have done if he'd lived to see these days?"
"What do you mean?"
"Would he be riding with us, or with his kinsmen?"
Baelon frowned. "I mislike this riddle."
"So do I, but I want to know the answer," Titus remarked. "I've been torturing myself trying to solve it."
"Would the Trants even have joined the Blackfyres if Orys was still alive?"
"How would I know? I was in exile! Why do you think I'm asking you?"
Baelon shrugged helplessly. "I know as much as you. I lost touch with the others after Maegor's execution."
Titus sighed. There was no other response he could think to give.
On the third day, when they were five leagues away from Dawncroft, Titus ordered his division to set camp within a forest. "Stay hidden," Titus told Ser Zeuxis of Lemonwood, "and wait for my return."
Thus did Titus travel on with the silent sisters, accompanied only by Baelon, their squires, and half a dozen hedge knights.
One of them was a slight fellow of some thirty years. Although his hair was unkempt, his equipment was not. He wore a well-kept hauberk, greaves, a gorget, and a halfhelm of polished iron. His oaken shield depicted a silver winged chalice on a deep brown field. He was one of the men provided by Lord Hayford, the new Hand who had replaced Ambrose Butterwell.
Ser Arlan of Pennytree was remarkably gladsome and sprightly for someone of his station. He seemed to make friends easily in whatever company he kept. Titus had liked him from the start, and personally sought him out to join the escort.
"'Tis a bit strange to me, milord," Arlan remarked as they set off. "Begging your pardon for asking, but where are we going?"
"We are escorting the sisters," Titus answered. He did not want to be more specific until they reached their destination. "And I'm not a lord."
Arlan grinned. "As you say, milord." He bobbed his head in a way which might have been mockery, but it was too good-natured for Titus to take offense.
Arlan was accompanied by a boy named Roger who was slightly older than Alyn. Not only was he serving as Arlan's squire, but he was also his nephew. While Arlan rode a large rounsey, Roger sat awkwardly on an old pony while also leading a well-laden stot.
Baelon was less cheery than Arlan. He appeared nervous, for he recognised where they were going.
At one point, he maneuvered his horse so that he was alongside Titus. "Are you certain that this is a good idea?"
"No," Titus answered quietly, "but I want to do right by Orys and give his family a chance to repent."
Baelon still looked worried, but he knew better than to challenge Titus when he was resolved. Maybe he agrees with me.
House Trant's castle of Dawncroft had stood since the time of the First Men. Their lands were south of Haystack Hall and north of Storm's End along the coast. It was said that Tarth could be seen from Dawncroft's tallest tower on a clear day. That tower had also helped to give House Trant their sigil, or so it was said. According to legend, the first family which lived in Dawncroft were slaughtered by Andal invaders. The conquerors taken the castle for themselves, burned the godswoood, and insisted that the smallfolk convert to the Faith of the Seven. One man refused to do so, no matter how cruelly the Andals tortured him. He died defiant, and his body was hanged from the tallest of the square towers as a warning to the others. His wife, daughters, and eldest sons were soon dangling from nooses beside him. The youngest son escaped and fled to Storm's End. He later assisted the Durrandons by sneaking into Dawncroft and opening its gates to the Storm King. This son became the first Lord Trant and he hanged the Andal prisoners as vengeance for his own family's deaths. He'd taken his hanged father as a sigil, along with the haunting words "So End Our Foes" as a reminder of his vengeance.
The guards were suspicious until Titus indicated the silent sisters and the casket in their care. The party was permitted to enter, where Lady Melia Trant awaited them.
She was already weeping as she approached the casket which held her nephew's bones, but then she collapsed beside the casket and sobbed aloud.
Tears filled Titus' eyes, and he made no effort to contain them. He approached Melia and put his hand on her shoulder, standing over her silently.
Slowly, Melia's sobs died away, and she stood up again. She looked Baelon and Titus in the face as she spoke to them both.
"Thank you for bringing him back home. I can only imagine the risk you took in the midst of this war. Orys was blessed with loyal friends."
Titus nodded his thanks, feeling even more wretched about his second purpose.
He could not bring himself to speak for a moment. Melia did not notice as she called for two servants to take her nephew's remains away. "We will bury him with his mother and father," she said, almost to herself.
She turned to them, "How did you recover him?"
"My sister commanded it," Titus answered truthfully, then tried to sweeten the truth with a lie. "She sends her sincerest regrets."
Melia frowned. "Words are wind. But I shall hold my peace before you, Ser. I must be grateful that she granted me this small kindness at least."
Titus was deeply disheartened by the venom in her words of gratitude. That does not bode well.
"My Lady," Titus began in a choked voice, "I ask if we can call ourselves your guests?"
"Of course," Melia answered, half in confusion and half in astonishment. "Was that in doubt?"
"We took much risk to come here," Titus explained, clinging to the notion that his words were not outright lies. "It would comfort me to have your protection, even for a short while."
She turned to another servant. "Bring out bread and salt, so that Titus' mind can be put at ease."
It did nothing to ease his mind as he took his share. He glanced at Baelon, who was looking fearfully at Titus.
"Is there something amiss?"
Even despite her grief, Melia Trant was sharp enough to sense her guests' disposition. The silent sisters had departed with the servants, whilst the hedge knights were struck dumb at standing in the very castle which they were meant to take. Alyn was utterly bewildered, and it was clear that he was growing more fearful by the second.
In for a penny, in for a stag. "If I may ask, Lady, where are your kinsmen?"
Melia's face froze, and became guarded. Tears were still on her face as she looked upon Titus with suspicion, saying nothing.
Titus sighed. "Will they listen to you?"
"What does that mean?" Melia spoke coldly, out of fear and conjecture.
"There is time yet to spare your house from further death," Titus explained.
Melia's eyes widened. "You cannot mean to say that you are fighting for them that murdered Orys?"
"I do not fight for Brynden Rivers," Titus replied, placing a hand over his heart. "I will swear any oath to that. He is not my master, nor will he ever be."
"It was not just Bloodraven," Melia hissed. "Is Bloodraven the king? Does he permit himself to act as he sees fit? If I held a wolf's leash and allowed it to slaughter children, would the wolf alone be blamed?"
Titus felt sick; he could understand Melia's grievance, and it was a just one. He also felt compelled to kneel before her and admit his own role in Orys' murder, but he feared it would condemn the others. And anyway, he had sworn oaths, and the men who had his oaths needed his services in time of war.
"Lady," Titus urged, "Orys would not wish for his family to turn against the Crown."
Melia stepped forward and struck Titus across the face.
Alyn gave a cry of alarm, even as several guards stepped forward, weapons raised.
"Peace!" Baelon cried aloud in alarm. "We came in peace!"
"How dare you," Melia gasped, sobbing again. "How dare you bring my nephew back to me with such poison on your tongue? How can you ask me to put aside all my grief and wroth… would you dare to ask the same of my husband? My sons? Orys' brothers?"
"Yea, I would," Titus answered grimly, his cheek stinging with pain. "I would urge you to act in haste, for your house does not have long to surrender. A swift rider might reach Storm's End in a day, and a raven will take three days to reach King's Landing. Tell your kin that they have ten days to come home and lay down their swords."
"Faithless friends," Melia cried aloud. Her face was turning pale, and even her hair seemed to turn greyer. "If I had not given you guest right, I would have your heads along the battlements! Get you gone and never return!"
So be it. Titus gave a short bow. "For my friend's sake, you have ten days to reconsider. I pray that I see no banners of House Trant when I march to Storm's End."
With that, he turned and stalked out of the hall, followed by the others. Melia's sobs began anew behind them.
Angry guards who wore the hanged man on their surcoats escorted the party back to the gate; it was clear from all their faces that guest right alone spared them from a bloody death.
"March to Storm's End?" Alyn was too young and too curious to restrain his question once they were out of earshot of Dawncroft. "Is that what we're doing?"
"No," Titus answered, "but that is what she will say in her letter." Forgive me, Orys.
"What do we do now?" Baelon had not sounded so subdued and miserable since the day they'd discovered what Danel Benioff had done to Willem Wylde at Horn Hill.
"We wait, Baelon," Titus answered through gritted teeth, "and we pray that House Trant sees sense."
"Pray?" Baelon turned his head and spat. "I'll not waste my efforts on prayer. If the gods were merciful, this war would never have happened."