Titus

"Is that all of them?"

"Aye," Zeuxis of Lemonwood answered. He was unwounded, like most of the men who'd stormed Dawncroft, but there was no triumph in his stance or speech. Titus did not blame him.

It had almost been a bloodless victory for the loyalists, defying all his dreadful doubts and dour predictions.

They had kept watch on Dawncroft from a safe distance after delivering their message. Lady Melia Trant had urgently sent riders and reinforcements to the south, doubtless to warn the besiegers of Storm's End.

Despite this, Titus had stubbornly refused to attack until the ten days were finished. Baelon had not questioned the decision, but Titus had overheard a few whispers against him amongst the sellswords and hedge knights. So long as they are whispering, they are still fearful of getting caught. I need only worry when they speak boldly.

It had not come to that either, for every man had played his part. Soldiers had quietly scaled the castle walls, unseen and unnoticed by the severely depleted garrison. None of them expected an attack upon their castle, not until they'd been grabbed and captured. Titus had repeatedly insisted that he wanted no killing which couldn't be helped. They were only to defend themselves, or else face punishment by Titus personally. None doubted that the scarred marcher knight was unwilling to enforce that threat.

Sadly, there had been some bloodshed. Three of the guards had noticed the attack before it was completed. They had sounded the alarm and drawn their swords against Titus' men. Titus, who had been one of the first men up the wall, had urged them to surrender, even as they'd recognized him and attacked.

Their bodies were set apart, treated with what honour could be found in death. Their hands were folded over their chests, holding onto their swords. In death as in life, Titus thought bitterly.

Melia Trant and her household had been roused from their beds during the attack, and they had desperately tried to rally the castle against the invaders. By that time, it was fruitless. Baelon Massey had control of the wall whilst Titus led the troops into the keep. Three pages had tried to fight back even then, cursing the attackers as they struggled to hold weapons that were taller than they were. Titus ordered them disarmed and restrained with the others.

The prisoners were assembled in the hall, where Melia had received Titus and Baelon ten days before. Now Melia stood in her nightgown, red-faced from anger and grief as she clutched two of her granddaughters.

"Monster," she wailed when she beheld Titus, "Orys would curse you if he saw you now!"

"Mayhaps he would," Titus admitted, "for it was on my account that Orys was murdered."

This silenced Melia. Loathing and grief twisted her face, but Titus did not care what she thought of him any longer. Faithless friend. Let her remember me as such.

They were all looking upon him with disgust and fear. Doom glinted in the firelight as Titus stood before the prisoners.

"There will be no killing, no looting, and no dishonouring, so long as you accept that the war is over for Dawncroft. Swear to me now, before the gods, that you will not take up arms against House Targaryen. Lord Brynden Rivers is coming to take charge of this castle, and he will not be as merciful as I."

If anyone was plotting some sort of coup or resistance, the mention of Bloodraven snuffed out those thoughts like a candle in a gale. His was a name to be feared, and they reluctantly swore the oath.

Relieved, Titus gave directions that the servants should prepare the morning meal, watched over by several men of Dalt that Titus trusted. He would keep the sellswords and hedge knights on guard duty on the grounds and walls, easily seen and in plain sight. The Trant household were escorted to their quarters to be kept apart from their servants until mealtime. Titus did not trust that oaths would be kept, even those sworn to the gods.

As the prisoners slowly dispersed he approached the maester of Dawncroft. He was an old man, bald and beardless; one eye socket was empty, but it was his good eye which unnerved Titus more. It seemed to be larger than most eyes, as if it were compensating to perform the task of two. It was also a brilliantly bright shade of blue. Titus' father had also had sky-blue eyes; even when his body had decayed visibly, Armond's eyes had never lost their glossy sheen.

"I wish to send ravens, Maester. Will you assist me?"

The maester nodded and gestured to a small side-door. "This way, my lord."

"I'm no lord," Titus corrected him as they mounted the stairs. "And I do not mean to take this castle from House Trant."

"Does King Daeron mean to do it?"

Titus did not answer. A suspicion flashed through his mind that the old man might be leading him into some sort of trap. Maesters were sworn to castles rather than families, it was often said, but Titus knew full well that maesters were capable of breaking those oaths. He thought of Maester Gerold, whom he'd liked from the start, who had also been sickened by the way Armond Dondarrion had treated his wife.

Titus had always taken extra lessons from the maester, learning of such plants which could be made into poisons. He had confided in them with Maegor, testing it on the abominable man who had raped their friend and evaded justice. Watching him die in agony had seemed so righteous to him. He had thought of the other men he would use it on, but his father had always been foremost.

It had been Gerold who had helped keep him hidden from sight as a begging brother, and together they had slowly dosed Armond's drink so that he would appear to be stricken with some illness. It had been simple for Gerold to give him regular doses which did nothing but prolong the pain. Titus had watched his father suffer, and when he lost the ability to speak, he whispered the truth of his plots into the old man's ear. He had wailed and wept and raged, but none knew what troubled him.

He had felt so righteous then too, recalling his father's abuse against him, and against the other members of his family. The gods would surely have caused him to fail in his task if it were unjust. That's what he told himself now when he dreamed of his father's agony.

Keeping his face averted from the maester's, Titus wrote out messages, sealed the scrolls with wax, and watched the maester tie them to the ravens' feet. One raven flew north, to King's Landing. One flew west for Felwood, and the last flew southwest to Grandview. The sun was rising in the east, lighting up the landscape before the marcher knight's eyes.

"My thanks," Titus told the maester. "What is your name?"

"Arthur," replied the old man.

Titus frowned. "I have been to this castle several times in my life, but you are a stranger. I do not remember your face."

"Not even the last time you were here?" The old man gave a sad smile. " No matter. I was the last maester's apprentice, and the Citadel allowed me to remain here due to my age.

"Forgive me, but you must be the oldest apprentice that I've ever seen."

"I took up my maester's chains later than most, after a lifetime lost at sea. An eye too, as you can tell."

Titus focused on the empty socket rather than the living eye. "See to the dead, then. And give me the names of their families. I mean to pay the blood-price myself when the war is over."

"Very good of you, ser, though only two of those men have any kin left. Rodrik was the last of his line after the plague ushered his parents and sister to the Stranger's embrace. Tresor's family would sooner see you chained up in the walls of the dungeons rather than accept your insult of coin. Glen's family might be more accepting, for the poor boy was a wretched gambler."

He was unnerved that the old man could speak so lightly of such a heavy subject.

"The eye was not all that you lost to the seas, I'll warrant."

"You may be right," the old man agreed amicably as he assessed the remaining birds in the rookery. "The sea has always taken a lot from men, as does war. Would you have thought so little of three men that you would assuage your guilt with bags of coin?"

Now he felt his hands twitch from repressed anger; the old man was too righteous by half.

"I did not think that men of the true faith should ever look down upon a man who fights for his king."

"Assuredly not. But nor do they allow men to purchase salvation with treasures of this world. No coin can ease the burden of sin."

"Let their families rot, then," Titus found himself shouting. "And if they should bemoan their fate, remind them what you said in their defence. Now get you gone, else I return what's left of you to the sea!"

Maester Arthur said no more, and shuffled out of the room. Titus lingered with his furious thoughts, seeking to cool his anger. But the cawing of the ravens were an ugly reminder of Orys' killer, with whom he'd thrown his lot. If this is what serving King Daeron has led me to, what good was my oath to him?

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

He did not have to wait long for ravens to answer him. A bird arrived from Felwood later in the afternoon, and a second one came from Grandview the following day. The attacks had succeeded with minimal losses, though Titus was not sure if that included the castle's inhabitants. Brynden had also written that he was spying on the army outside Storm's End, and he would inform the others what they planned to do.

Titus was more impatient than ever. Dawncroft was a miserable, sullen place. He rarely walked amongst the smallfolk and he never ate with the Trant household. One respite was that Baelon Massey understood his plight, as well as his torment over what they'd been forced to do.

He soon found that he was not alone. The castle inhabitants might have sworn an oath to keep the peace, but their hatred was palpable, especially towards the Dornish.

It was on the morning of the third day since Dawncroft's capture that a body was found.

His name was Karik of Lemonwood; he had last been seen drinking wine with other Dornishmen before he'd gone to retire for the night. At some point, he had fallen badly on the steps, breaking his neck among other parts of his body.

"This was no accident," Zeuxis urged Titus angrily in private.

"Was anyone seen? What good would it do to make accusations without any proof?"

"These people despise us," Zeuxis insisted, "and mark my words, ser, Karik will not be the last to die here."

He was not wrong. After two more days, two Dornishmen and one sellsword from King's Landing were found dead from supposed accidents. Three of the sellswords' friends were later found torturing and raping a serving girl whom they suspected for an accomplice to the deaths. Titus hanged all three from the battlements to keep order, which only made things worse.

He nerved himself to approach Maester Arthur after the hangings were carried out.

"I offered the castle generous terms. Oaths of good conduct were sworn."

"Sworn at the end of a sword point," the maester observed dryly. "Would you have obeyed such an oath if the Blackfyres had taken you prisoner?"

"Yes," Titus declared defiantly. The old man did not dispute it.

"I suppose that you won't help me keep the peace?"

"I have done nothing to support an insurrection," Arthur answered, regarding Titus with his solitary eye. "I know nothing of any plots against you or your men."

"Of course." Now it was Titus' turn to speak dryly. "The maester does not know because the maester does not ask and the people do not tell."

Arthur said nothing, but his pale blue eye seemed to sparkle.

Thankfully, a second letter from Maekar came that evening.

"Brynden Rivers has conceived of a trap. Take half your men to Durran's Barrow with all haste," Titus read aloud to Baelon and Zeuxis. "When we have broken this army, we shall summon the rest of our forces and march southwards to the Red Mountains."

If there was a doubt or second thought between any of them, none gave it a voice. The prince had commanded, and they would obey.

"Who will go to Durran's Barrow," Baelon asked, "and who will stay here?"

Titus sighed. He tried to think of the best course to take, but every scenario brought him back to his present problem. Any men who I leave behind will be subject to murder.

"Ser?"

Titus looked at Zeuxis. "Yes?"

"I request that you take the men of Lemonwood with you. They are unsafe in this castle."

It was the last thing that Titus needed to hear. "And tell me, pray, where in this war they would be safest."

Zeuxis did not take the proffered bait, but his dusky face was grim. "You are our commander, and the husband of our lady. We will not betray you or break faith, but what would your lady wife or your good-daughter say if they learn what became of us here?"

Titus ground his teeth, forcing his temper down as if he were repressing bile in his throat. But then he was inundated with unbidden memories: Melia Trant striking him across the face, the surly looks of the smallfolk, the maester's bitter words and his accusing blue eye.

"You need not protest so much, ser. I have no intention of abandoning my troops. And my friends neither," he added, looking at Baelon. "I have lost too many of them already."

Everything was swiftly organised. Titus took two thirds of his forces rather than half, for he did not wish to leave behind any man whom he could trust. Therefore it was the Massey and Dalt bannermen who rode out with him, as well as the most reliable hedge knights. The rest were left behind to defend Dawncroft until they were summoned.

Before he left, Titus also visited Arthur a third time, with a sealed scroll for Lemonwood. "It is my intention to lead our troops home," he had earlier assured Zeuxis. "When we open the ways to Dorne again, we can go south and make that region safe from Blackfyre influence."

"The men will be pleased," Zeuxis replied, "they have been away from home for too long."

Arthur did not ask him what the message contained, but he was alarmed when Titus explained his new orders.

"You will leave us at the mercy of common sellswords?"

"Ser Humphrey of King's Mountain is an anointed knight sworn to treat prisoners honourably," Titus assured the maester, leaving out the fact that Humphrey was such an insufferable windbag that Titus preferred to leave him behind. He'd been pleased to have an independent command, saying he'd keep order even if he had to flog the prisoners and garrison alike. Titus didn't bother to inquire how he'd manage such a feat.

Arthur was not so easily mollified. "You are abandoning us."

"Is that not what these people want?" Titus was quickly growing tired of the old man's belligerence.

"You did well to hang those three men," Arthur acknowledged, "and these men fear you. Will they fear Ser Humphrey as much?"

"That is not my concern any longer," Titus answered scathingly. "I wash my hands of this castle. I am tired of being a faithless friend and tyrant."

"Your sins are not left behind so easily as this castle," Arthur warned him.

Titus had an urge to pick up the man and throw him from the tower, but instead he stalked out of the room without another word.

Contrary to what the maester had claimed, Titus' troubles did seem to dissipate as he left Dawncroft behind. The kingsroad was not beset with enemies or opposition as they followed it southward.

Durran's Barrow was an ancient landmark which lay almost directly halfway between Storm's End and Dawncroft. The barrow was massive, easily mistaken for a hill if it wasn't so isolated. It was a burial mound which dated back to the Age of Heroes, and some speculated that it was even older than that. One ancient song claimed that a Durrandon king had fought a great battle against a giant king and his followers. The battle had ended with both kings dead and the surviving giants put to flight. Titus had once heard an account from a historian who argued that it had been a giant's tomb first, but the First Men had appropriated it for themselves after the giants were driven off. Whatever the case, bones of men and giants alike had been found in that mound before the Andals had desecrated the tomb and sealed it up. It had simply been a hill ever since. Grass and shrubs grew plentifully upon it. Even trees had dug their roots into the barrow. A small forest grew on the mound which was occasionally culled for timber.

When Titus and his followers arrived one morning, Maekar and Brynden Rivers had already established themselves. More trees had been felled to make massive stakes, crudely sharpened at one end and stuck into the ground so that Titus and his horsemen needed to dismount and walk between them. The red dragon of House Targaryen flew proudly above the small cluster of tents.

Maekar was in his large tent as usual, flanked by Gwayne Corbray and Gram Lefford. He gave Titus a nod when the marcher knight entered, accompanied by his squire and captains.

"Welcome, ser. I must applaud your punctuality."

"Punctuality?"

"Lord Brynden is leading the rebel army towards us as we speak. I had hoped you would arrive before he did, lest you become cut off."

No doubt Brynden was hoping the opposite. "I left Dawncroft under the command of Ser Humphrey of King's Mountain. Most of the sellswords and hedge knights are serving as the new garrison until further notice."

"Good," Maekar replied. "But tell me, ser, how many archers do you have?"

"Archers? I daresay most of my Dornishmen are skilled bowmen."

"A third of my forces are archers, but most of my men have some experience," Baelon Massey interjected.

"It will have to suffice. We must be prepared for battle today."

There was little else to discuss. Working together, Maekar and Titus organized the army into a defensive position.

One side of Durran's Barrow had already been cleared some time before, whilst three parts were still heavily wooded. Behind the line of sharpened stakes, all the men were arrayed on foot, much to the chagrin of the knights.

"We have the high ground," Titus advised Maekar, "and men on foot will better defend it on foot than horseback."

Three quarters of the men would fight as archers until the fighting became too close to loose arrows. These archers were arrayed on the wings, with two ranks of men standing between them holding spears, swords, axes, and other such weapons. Brynden's own company of Raven's Teeth were the primary archers in the army. Many of them, like Brynden, were armed with weirwood bows, as pale as the dragon emblem on their clothing.

Titus had already strung his great goldenheart bow in preparation for the fighting. A few of the Raven's Teeth had goldenheart bows of their own. Zeuxis and the Dornishmen carried the double-curved bows which Dorne was known for, while the others carried longbows of yew.

It was Lord Commander Gwayne Corbray who suggested that men disguise themselves to appear like smallfolk to the approaching enemy. Therefore, most wore jerkins and tunics of poor quality over their mail or plate.

As the sun reached its highest point in the day, Brynden Rivers rode up to Durran's Barrow with three dozen of his Raven's Teeth. The pale man was slick with sweat as he vaulted from his horse and ran between the sharpened stakes.

"Eleven thousand of them, all heading towards us," he told Maekar. "They will be here within the hour!"

The horns were still blowing, and men were still getting into line, when the enemy vanguard was sighted. Behind them rode line after line of mounted knights. A full third of the Stormlands' strength was assembling at the foot of Durran's Barrow, blowing trumpets and horns of their own as they prepared to bring down the red dragon banner.

"We should have brought our full strength," Alyn Garner whispered as he stared down the slope.

Titus could sympathise with his squire's fears. The enemy outnumbered them more than three to one. Would that we had three companies of archers from the Dornish marches with each man carrying a goldenheart bow.

He glanced around at their army. It seemed pitifully small without mounted cavalry, and most of the men looked like ragged peasants. Maekar was one of the few who did not disguise himself, and he stood out proudly with gleaming armour and a dragon-helm which Titus found himself envying.

"Stand firm!" Maekar drew his sword and lifted it in the air. "House Targaryen!"

Men cheered, but Titus sensed their lack of enthusiasm. He should make a speech, stir their hearts with brave words. But he is not that sort of man.

The enemy slowly formed up out of arrow range. They drew up their own archers in loose formation, preventing them from becoming a dense target. Their cavalry was formed up in the center, with infantry on the wings. Their cavalry won't brave the wood, but their men on foot will do it.

He turned back to his squire. "Where is your Braavosi sword?"

Alyn gave a start. "I left it with our horses, ser."

"Go get it. I have an important task for you."

Alyn dashed off, even as a crescendo of trumpets and horns signalled the attack.

It was a terrifying sight to behold. Titus counted at least a dozen different banners flying above the army, including the grey moths of House Horpe, the skulls and kisses of House Lonmouth, the sleeping lion of House Grandison, the orange vairy of House Bolling, the spruce trees of House Fell, and the hanged man of House Trant. The latter filled him with foreboding, and he prayed that his arrows might find other targets.

"Nock! Draw!"

The orders were shouted by Brynden in a voice which Titus had never heard Brynden use before. He looked across and saw the Raven's Teeth obeying their lord's command. Various other men followed their example, as did a number of men on the left wing where Titus had command.

He fumed at this presumption, but he was more concerned with Brynden's folly. They're not in range yet, you oaf.

"Loose!"

The first hail of arrows flew to the music of twanging bowstrings. Titus watched them shoot outward before they made their descent, only to realise with a jolt what was happening.

The army below had not even bothered to take cover from the volley; like Titus, they had presumed themselves out of range. Then the Raven's Teeth proved the worth of their bite.

Screams erupted as the volley landed amongst them. Titus could hear men shouting commands, but he could not make out their words, for Brynden shouted another command.

"Fire at will!"

For once, Titus followed Brynden's example and echoed the command. More than two thousand archers obeyed. The arrows flew thick and fast into the air, with no rhyme or reason. Death was raining down upon the enemy, sowing chaos and indecision among their ranks.

The line of archers ran forward, desperate to close the range gap. The archers alone outnumbered the army on the barrow, and Titus felt a shiver of fear as he imagined what their volley would look like. He forced himself to stand his ground, sending arrows which managed a range that he'd never thought possible, even for his goldenheart bow. Some foul trickery is at play here.

More trickery was to come. The Blackfyre archers drew their bows and let loose their first volley. Titus had no time to pray again as he heard the whistling and beheld the approaching points.

Then, much to his surprise, the arrows fell short. At first, he attributed it to magic, until he noticed how warm the back of his neck and head were feeling.

Turning, he beheld the bright summer sun. In the time it had taken for the enemy to attack, the sun had drifted from its place in the sky. It now hung above the loyalists, meaning that the Blackfyres could not look up at the enemy without having the sun in their eyes.

Titus burst into astonished laughter, causing many to stare at him. Soon, men saw the meaning of his mirth, and the merriment spread as they resumed loosing arrows.

"Ser!"

It was Alyn. He stood by with his Braavosi sword in hand.

"We will hold them here," Titus explained, "but I suspect they will send men into the trees to take us in a pincer move. We must be prepared for them."

He turned to Zeuxis, who'd been listening as well. "When I give the signal, we will go into the woods and remind these Blackfyres how Dorne defeated Aegon the Conqueror!"

Zeuxis smiled and spread Titus' order amongst the Dalt bannermen. Titus took another arrow and sent it shooting towards one of the Horpe banners. He had already lost count of how many arrows he'd loosed, but this one's fletching was stained red from his bloody fingers.

The Blackfyre army suddenly broke apart. As commanders shouted incoherently, groups of infantry ran to either side of the cleared slope, avoiding the rain of arrows. Titus watched with dismay as they ran amongst the trees, just as he'd imagined they would.

Most of the infantry marched forward, however, while the cavalry held back. They're going to pull apart our stakes so their horses can charge unencumbered. It was likely that they would be able to do it, too; Titus did not doubt that their numbers might tip the scale, but he tried to banish the panic from his mind. All that is left now is to fight. Nothing else matters but that.

He felt no pain in his fingers as he continued to loose arrows at the approaching mass of stormlanders. This was war as he'd learned it in Essos; he did not think about why he fought for the Targaryens instead of the Blackfyres. All he thought of was what would happen to him if these men reached the top of the barrow. This was far easier to understand. Kill or be killed.

The mass of infantry surged upwards like a slow wave, soaking up the arrows which continued to rain down upon them. Titus wished that it had been raining, for then their position would have been a true death trap.

As it was, he could not stand there forever. He turned and ran towards the centre of their lines, where Maekar stood with his Kingsguard knights. "They've sent men to flank us! I will lead the Dornish against them!"

Maekar was surprised, but to Titus' relief, he did not dispute the suggestion. "Go, then, ser. May the Warrior stand with you!"

Titus ran back to the left wing and grabbed Baelon Massey by the shoulder. "The left is yours until I return!"

"Where are you going?"

Titus did not answer him, for he was already turning and shouting for Zeuxis and Alyn to rally the Dornish. They followed him beneath the eaves of the trees which grew on the barrow.

The sounds of battle were muted, and the air was remarkably cool after fighting beneath the sun.

"Fire at will," Titus ordered his men. "If you see any stormlanders, kill them!"

Much to his surprise, several of the Dalt men laughed. One of them nocked an arrow to his bow and mimed aiming it at Titus. "I've got this one!"

Titus rolled his eyes. Even Alyn was grinning.

"Thank the gods I'm a westerman," he quipped, prompting more laughter from the Dornish.

Titus wanted to laugh as well; he wanted to cuff Alyn over the head and challenge him to name House Garner's castle, but he had no time for japes.

"Spread out," he commanded. "The enemy is approaching from all sides!"

Despite his order, Alyn stayed close by his side as he ran in a diagonal line down the slope. Several times, Titus ducked behind a tree to scan for signs of the enemy.

They appeared suddenly, advancing at a steady pace. None of them wore plate armour; the lucky ones wore mail while most of them were dressed in boiled leather. These were no sellswords, as far as Titus could tell. They were levies drawn from villages and farms, fighting for their lords as they'd always done.

The first of them fell with a scream, impaled with an arrow, before Titus even nocked another arrow to his own bow. He continued to hesitate as more shafts flew out to slay more stormlanders. They ducked behind trees or broke into a run, screaming war cries out of rage or possibly fear. One was drawing closer and closer to Titus.

With a sigh, Titus sent an arrow into the man's face, so that he lost his life as quickly as possible. I'm a Stormbreaker once again.

Other stormlanders were advancing more cautiously, breaking cover to dash for the next tree and waiting for pauses to repeat their strategy. Titus turned to Alyn, who knelt beside him wide-eyed, gripping his Braavosi sword.

"Brace yourself, lad," Titus urged, "remember your training, and stay alive."

Alyn nodded; he was beginning to tremble, and his breath came out shakily. You'll forget to be afraid when you start to fight.

A stormlander was running towards their tree. Whether he knew of Titus and Alyn's presence behind it, Titus wasn't sure. Nor did it matter, for when Titus jumped out with Doom raised, the man was too slow to stop the Valyrian steel blade from hacking through his neck muscles. His headless body collapsed in a heap as the head rolled down the slope.

The clash of metal began to sound out in the forest. Titus didn't know if the main battle had been joined where Maekar and Brynden stood, or if his Dornishmen were clashing with the stormlanders. He could not afford to think about anything other than the men who rushed towards him with weapons raised.

Doom clove through leather and pierced mail; no weapon could blunt its edge. He did not stand his ground; he took the fight to men who were still in the middle of their own advance, wrong-footing them. Most of them were not castle-trained either; only a few held swords of their own. But most of the Dornish still kept their distance, so Titus was standing by himself. Moreover, the stormlanders were quick to notice that the Dornish did not risk hitting Titus with their arrows.

A group of them lunged at Titus as he ducked between the trees, cursing him with weapons raised.

Titus ducked away from an axe swing to knock away a spear thrust, but there were too many for him to slay at once.

Suddenly, one of the stormlanders gave a shrill cry as he fell forward. Alyn Garner had already spun away from the man and slashed at the back of another man's knee, hamstringing him before he could react. Alyn cursed the men in Bastard Valyrian, forgetting his Westerosi tongue in the thick of battle.

Titus admired him, but he could not stay still for long. More men were attacking, and he was soon struck with a sword blade that nearly cut through his rondel.

Dornish cries echoed around him, and Titus saw a man wearing copper scales leap forward with a wild yell. Deflecting a spear thrust with his round shield, the Dornishmen hurled a throwing spear at the offending spearman.

Titus turned back to Alyn. The fourteen-year-old squire was duelling with a man twice his size. "Dornish goblin," the man snarled as he hacked madly with a longaxe. Alyn made his attacks seem clumsy and slow, so quickly did he pivot and dodge. His blade snaked out to try and land a blow upon the stormlander, but his mail shirt was protecting him too well.

With a roar, Titus raised Doom and brought it down where the man's neck met his shoulder. Blood spattered across Titus' face as the man gave a mewling whimper, fell forward, and did not rise again.

"Good lad," Titus urged Alyn, but he was already dancing with another attacker.

Titus turned to see who was next, but he only saw stormlanders falling back. They abandoned their dead and wounded to the Dornish counter-attack. Laughter and cries of triumph rang through the woods.

"It is not over!" Titus ran along the slope, desperate to keep his men's discipline intact until the fight was finished. "Let them run, we must return to the prince!"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Alyn racing alongside him. His sword was red with blood, but he was not trembling any longer. For a moment, Titus worried how the boy would react if the battle was won, but then he recalled what worse fate lay in store for him should the battle be lost.

Dornishmen rallied to Titus as the stormlanders descended the slope in full retreat. They retraced their steps back to the sound of metal clanging on metal, and the screams of wounded and dying men. Titus swore that he could smell the blood being spilled just ahead of them.

They had miscalculated how far down the barrow they'd gone. When Titus reached the treeline, he saw that they were below the line of stakes. That was the least of his concerns, however, for the stormlanders had broken past that barrier. From the sight of the corpses on the ground, it had been a very costly price, but the enemy had succeeded in ripping several stakes from their places and opened gaps for the cavalry to charge through. Horsemen were packed together as they trudged upwards. The knights and noblemen atop these massive steeds were crying for blood, and Titus knew they were sure to get it if they reached the top.

He could not see if Maekar and Brynden lived, but their banners still flew, and arrows still flew in the air. We are not too late.

"What do we do?" Alyn was staring at the carnage in disbelief.

Zeuxis grabbed Titus' shoulder. "Do we pull back up the hill?"

"Nay," Titus answered quietly. He saw what needed to be done, though he dreaded what it might cost him.

"Any man with arrows left, stay here and fire upon those horsemen. Everyone else..."

"Ser?" Alyn sounded confused, or perhaps he was simply afraid to comprehend what Titus meant to do. Now you understand how to win a battle, Alyn. You must be willing to go mad.

"After me!" Titus drew Doom and broke cover from the trees. He did not know how many men would follow him, but he could not look back any longer.

The rear ranks of the attack were a mix of infantry and straggling cavalry. Several turned to stare at him in shock. The first man Titus slew did not even raise his weapon.

Arrows flew over Titus' head, burying themselves in the horses or knights who rode them. Stallions and mares reared, shrieking louder than any man, causing several men to tumble backwards. Titus paid them no heed, but he could not ignore the sickening crunch of metal when those wretches landed badly. More screams filled his ears, but the battle was joined.

Alyn gave a cry as he dashed forward, slashing at a horse's leg. Zeuxis ululated before hurling two javelins at close range. Picking up a discarded sword, he threw himself upon a terrified-looking man whose surcoat bore a green wolf.

Titus could see fear building on the faces of the men he attacked. They had clearly not expected several hundred Dornish to cut off their best retreat. Titus prayed that the others were still holding firm as he felt himself growing weary.

A large knight, unhorsed but unhurt, suddenly appeared before him with a morningstar and shield in hand. Titus recoiled as the knight's weapon caved in a Dornishman's head with a single swing.

"Blackfyre!" the knight's voice echoed from inside his large helm. He deflected an arrow with his oaken shield and lashed out against Titus. As Titus backed away, he was dismayed to see the black hanged man of Trant decorating the knight's blue shield and surcoat.

Time seemed to halt as Titus felt his despair give way to frustration, and then to rage. "Damn you," he screamed as he raised Doom. "Traitor!"

The Trant knight blocked Titus' attack with his shield, but Titus did not stop attacking. If he gave this man an opening, the morning star would be lethal. Instead, he stayed in close quarters, forcing his opponent to remain on the defensive.

The problem was that Titus had been fighting for quite some time, and he was very tired. This knight had not yet begun to fight, and he suddenly gave the marcher knight a hard shove.

Titus fell backwards, losing both his footing and his sword. Thankfully, his fall was broken by a dead horse, but he could not see where Doom had gone. He tried to scramble to his feet as the Trant knight advanced and swung his morning star.

Several piercing trumpet blasts rang out, causing the knight and many others to turn and look upwards.

The retreat had been called. Thousands of men were streaming back down the slope. Many lost their footing and fell, causing others to stumble in turn. Behind them came the defenders, cheering wildly as they pursued their foes.

Although he felt his spirits lift with joy, Titus was struck with alarm at the prospect of so many men trampling his Dornishmen underfoot. "Pull back! Pull back to the trees!"

The knight turned back and raised his weapon again. Titus leapt to the side as the morningstar slammed into the body of the dead horse. As the knight struggled to pull his weapon free, Titus dove for the man's feet, wrapped his arms around the armoured shins, and heaved with all his might.

With a loud crash, the knight fell backwards, screaming in pain or terror. Titus abandoned him even as the stampede of retreating men descended upon the trapped man. His screams were swiftly cut off.

Reaching the safety of the trees, Titus saw that most of his men had made it back to safety. Zeuxis had survived, and Titus was surprised to see him holding Doom, cleaned of blood. The Dornishman held it out for Titus with a respectful nod.

Titus smiled and sheathed his weapon. Then, with a thrill of horror, he saw Alyn huddled unnoticed at the foot of a tree. His leather cap was gone, and he was clutching one side of his head. Blood seeped between his fingers as he shook, pale-faced and sobbing.

"Alyn!" Titus knelt beside Alyn and pulled his hand away from his head. There was a cut across the side of his head which had taken the top half of his ear.

"Gods," Titus breathed a sight of relief. "A flesh wound." He pulled off the jerkin which he still wore over his armour and cut it into strips. He pushed a wad of cloth against Alyn's wound, ignoring his cry of agony, and tied it in place with another strip. "This will do until you get proper treatment."

As weary as he was, Titus could see that his squire was in no fit state to walk back to camp. With a deep breath, he picked up Alyn in his arms and proceeded to walk back up the hill.

Men were cheering wildly as they looted the dead and dying. Titus could see Baelon Massey, covered in other men's blood as he roared exultantly with the others. He halted when he saw Titus, and his face fell at the sight of Alyn. "No!"

"He's wounded," Titus assured him, grateful for his friend's concern.

"Make way!" Baelon shouted at the other men on the hill. "Injured man!"

Titus groaned as he struggled to step on firm ground. Corpses of men and horses lay where they'd fallen, while arrows grew like wildgrass amongst them.

"Titus!"

It was Prince Maekar. He, too, was spattered with blood, as was the large mace in his hands. "You did very well! Your Dornishmen secured the day for us!"

"They did, Your Grace," Titus gasped, growing wearier by the second as he adjusted his grip on Alyn.

Maekar seemed to want to say more, but Ser Gram Lefford distracted him with some matter. Titus walked past the prince.

"Father…"

Titus looked down at Alyn. He was still trembling like a leaf, staring at nothing. His crude bandage had darkened with blood, but it was no longer running down the side of his face.

"You will be alright, Alyn," Titus murmured. "You fought bravely."

"Fought," Alyn echoed in a hollow voice.

Once again, Titus felt a surge of hatred for the Blackfyres who had pushed so eagerly for war. As he laid Alyn down for a maester to attend, he brooded on the death and destruction which this war had caused. He cursed the nobles and knights who had gladly led thousands of their followers to die in a war that need never have been fought. One day, I will see Daemon Blackfyre answer for this.