Clifford
Clifford had begun to doubt that he would actually survive his journey south. His haste had driven three horses to their deaths by exhaustion. He had narrowly avoided capture four times. Broken men had attacked him, and highwaymen had attempted to rob him. By the time he was discovered by Lomas Tarly and Gareth the Grey, he was wandering aimlessly in the forests of the western marches.
Thankfully, he still had the letter which bore Daemon Blackfyre's seal. It was not long before he stood before half the lords of the marches. Tarly, Peake, Caron, and an assortment of other men regarded him with great interest and polite silence as he read the letter's contents aloud. Just three years ago, no man in this room would have looked twice at me.
Daemon's letter had been dictated by the Black Dragon to his scribe, and he had always been a concise man who shunned elaborate speech. Thus, when he summoned every man loyal to his cause, there was no room for misunderstanding. It was clear to every man at the table that their king needed them by his side more than ever before.
"The king speaks," Lord Harriman Tarly observed when Clifford was finished reading, "and we shall obey."
"What of House Swann?" It was old Lord Argilox Caron who interjected. "They will need to hear these words."
He turned back to Clifford. "Will you ride to Blackhaven to summon the Swanns? We will give you an escort of men who know the way."
"Thank you, Lord Argilox," Clifford replied with a short bow. "I grew up in Blackhaven, but I will not refuse an escort for the journey."
"We had best make it soon, then," Gormon Peake interjected. "I suggest a company of three hundred men plus supplies. I will contribute to that company if you wish."
"Agreed," Lord Caron confirmed. "I, too, will provide knights. They can be ready to leave within the hour."
Harriman nodded and turned to Lomas Tarly. "If it's Blackhaven that awaits Ser Clifford, I can think of no man better suited than you to bring him there safely. You shall lead the detachment."
Clifford shuddered, but he made sure that this was his only reaction. Lomas sat too far from him to make out the details of his face. When Lomas spoke, however, Clifford detected a grudging undertone. "As you wish, nephew."
He said nothing to Clifford as they both left the room to organise their departure. It was as if they did not know each other. Somehow, this was worse than if Lomas' hatred was on full display.
Perhaps it was this oppressive silence, but for the sounds of their footsteps, that Clifford was emboldened to give voice to his curiosity.
"Ser, why are we riding out? Can we not send the letter by raven?"
"We do not trust the ravens," Lomas replied bluntly, "not while Bloodraven is loose in the Stormlands."
Clifford halted mid-stride. The hall had suddenly become very cold. "He's here?"
Lomas gave him a bemused glance. "You fear him that much, do you?"
"Yes, ser," Clifford answered.
"Why?"
There was a dangerous note in that single word, or perhaps it was Clifford who heard suspicion where there was none. He could not be sure, and he dared not clarify it with Ser Lomas. Embarrassed by his fear, yet determined to stand up for himself, he put on his captain's voice again, as if he were explaining himself to another man of equal rank.
"I was in King's Landing for years, ser. I know full well what he is capable of doing, more than most."
Lomas blinked, and his jaw turned downward beneath his grey beard. "I suppose I cannot find fault with that."
"Try as you might," Clifford observed impulsively.
Anger flashed in Lomas' eyes as he registered Clifford's words. "What did you say?"
"You heard me," Clifford answered. He had gone too far to back down.
His anger gave way to disgust. "You even sound like him."
"Is that supposed to insult me?" Clifford walked past Lomas. "We are wasting time."
Lomas said nothing else to him as he organised the detachment of riders. His sour mood did not abate, for he snarled and snapped at the merest provocation, jostling dozens of knights and freeriders alike to get themselves organised at once.
Clifford was given a fresh horse to replace his own, along with two spares. For the first time, he felt frustrated that he did not have a squire of his own. Addam Osgrey had been utterly useful, and Clifford missed him almost as much as he missed Harrold. May the gods watch over you and keep you safe.
"King Daemon must be desperate indeed if he is entrusting you with his commands."
Lomas was beside him again, already mounted up on a restless stallion. His squire rode behind him on a smaller horse.
It was absurd. Clifford's wroth was stirred as he glared up at the disdainful old man. He had fought in too many battles to fear the disapproval of Ser Lomas Tarly.
Clifford pulled himself onto his own saddle before answering Lomas. "You would know how desperate the king's position is if you'd been at his side. We have been busy in the Riverlands in your absence."
"Watch yourself," Lomas growled. Despite that, Clifford could not fail to note a strangeness to his tone. If it was any other man, he slowly realised, he would have immediately recognised it as shame.
He thought back to how dismissively Harriman Tarly had spoken to Lomas. It had not seemed important, but now Clifford heard the echo in his mind, and he recalled Lomas' resentful answer. He is not well-liked here. He is not a commander any longer. Not really. He felt much better than before.
He wondered if Lomas wished for news. If he did, he was too proud to ask it of Clifford. When other men did ask, Clifford was only too happy to oblige; it did not matter that Lomas would get the truth from them, it was enough to see him angry and unwanted.
To save time, the men journeyed until the moon was high over their heads. They had brought no tents, so they ate dried food without fire and slept like hedge knights until the first light. It was a grueling pace for Clifford after the journey he had made to Horn Hill from the Riverlands, but it was not long before they were riding across familiar territory.
It had been some seven years since he'd left Blackhaven, and the war made it seem much longer. As the black castle rose up on the horizon, Clifford observed it with anxious wonder. Where are Father and Branston?
It had puzzled him to learn that Blackhaven was taken by House Swann. He wondered what had become of the Dondarrions that remained there, as well as his own family. None of the men who rode with him had been to Blackhaven, but they had heard rumours of House Dondarrion and House Selmy seizing Stonehelm in revenge.
Thus, it was not a surprise to see the black and white swans flying over the gates of Blackhaven, as with the small tent town which had been raised above them. The war had turned such army camps into a common sight.
Through some sort of good fortune, Ser Eward Swann was making an inspection of the camp when the riding party was noticed. He was a mature man of thirty or more, accompanied by his younger brother, Cedrik, and his uncle, Alfred. It struck Clifford that the men seemed to be making an expedition ready. Do they know of Daemon's orders already?
"Hail, Ser Eward," Lomas called as he slowed his horse to a halt before the Swanns. "We bring word from King Daemon Blackfyre himself."
Eward exchanged glances with his kinsmen before turning back to Lomas. "Well? Out with it, then."
Clifford dismounted and took Daemon's letter. He held it out until Eward snatched it from his hand and began to read.
Alfred stepped forward. He was a barrel-chested man with the jowls of some great dog. There was a malevolence in his eyes which Clifford misliked on sight.
"So few," Alfred grumbled as he looked at Lomas' riders. "A few hundred? Is that all that could be spared?"
Clifford was confused; it was Lomas, still horsed, who answered Alfred's challenge. "Spared for what, exactly?"
"The retaking of Stonehelm," Alfred replied, speaking as if Lomas were an imbecile. "Our castle is in enemy hands. My brother and his grandchildren are captives!"
Eward chose that moment to finish reading. Handing the letter to Cedrik, he scrutinized Clifford with haughty and entitled conduct.
"My uncle speaks truly. I find it a strange thing that Daemon should command us to abandon our homes. Would he have me leave my father in chains?"
Clifford did not like Eward's tone, but staying silent was no option. "I am not privy to King Daemon's thoughts, only his commands."
Eward furrowed his brow, but he said nothing.
His uncle was not so calculating. "The king had best come down to the marches if he wishes to rally us. It would be a fine thing for him to give us aid."
"You wish to make demands of King Daemon Blackfyre?" Lomas spoke again, glaring balefully at Alfred Swann.
Clifford disliked that it was the old man taking charge yet again. But he did not object to it, for Lomas' unabashed belligerence was more than a match for the Swanns. Even Alfred was checked by the dangerous question.
"Uncle..." Eward put a hand on Alfred's shoulder.
Alfred acquiesced by stepping back from Lomas' horse, but not before he gave a resentful glance at his nephew.
Lomas was not finished, however. "The true king commands, and we must obey if he is to secure his rightful seat. What is Stonehelm compared to the Seven Kingdoms? What is Lord Gawen's life?"
Alfred seemed to be unable to curb his causticity. "Who are you to speak thusly to men of House Swann?"
"Ser Lomas Tarly," Lomas declared proudly. "I fought with the Young Dragon in Dorne. I served the Black Dragon's household for six years. I've risked my life in a dozen battles for King Daemon, and I would gladly lay down my life in his service! Can you say the same?"
Alfred's hand twitched, as though he wished to draw his sword, but Eward spoke first.
"Your contributions are noted, ser," he commented dryly, "and I will not dispute them here."
Alfred gave his nephew a look of incredulity. "You cannot mean to-"
"-I will not have it said that I was a poor ally to Daemon Blackfyre, Uncle," Eward snapped. "If you wish to avoid that fate, you can help organise our forces. We will march for Horn Hill as soon as possible!"
Alfred did not dispute his nephew's command, but as he walked off to carry it out, his face was set in a dark scowl.
Clifford breathed a sigh of relief as the Swanns dealt with their new orders. He turned his gaze back up to Lomas. "Thank you, ser."
"You mistake me," Lomas rebuffed him. "I serve King Daemon, not you."
Of course. Clifford gave an embittered sigh as he turned his back on Lomas. He had better things to do than to bicker with that man again.
Cedrik Swann was still holding Daemon's letter when Clifford approached him. "How soon will you be ready to depart?"
"Soon enough," Cedrik answered curtly. "What of it?"
"My father and brother are in Blackhaven, as far as I know. Gulian and Branston Straw. It has been some time since I saw them."
Cedrik considered that with no small measure of hesitancy, much to Clifford's agitation.
"Is there something amiss?"
"Branston is elsewhere," Cedrik answered reluctantly. "I know not where. He threw his lot in with the red dragons. As for your father… I regret that I must be the one to tell you…"
Clifford felt dizzy. Of all the possibilities, he had not anticipated this. He did not trust his voice, so he silently swayed on his feet, even as Cedrik addressed him with clumsy courtesy.
"He was ill for quite some time, and his best years were behind him. There was little to be done for him, ser. I can only express my sympathies."
Clifford did not like it. For no reason which he could express, he greatly disliked the notion that his father had fallen to illness at such a convenient moment as the occupation of Blackhaven. He would not have sided with the Blackfyres. Why would they strive to keep him alive? It must have been fitting that he was sick. If he was even sick…
He tried to halt these furious qualms with Cedrik's account. Accusing the man of lying would not give him access to the truth. "I wish to pay my respects before we depart."
"You will find him near the southern edge of the godswood."
It was a strange thing for Clifford to walk the grounds of Blackhaven again, let alone standing beside his father's grave. Gulian Straw had always been well-liked as a man. As a father, he had been stern yet patient, serious yet affectionate. The tears which Clifford had restrained before now flowed freely down his face as he knelt upon the grass. He placed both his hands onto the earth, digging ten small holes into it, as if he might try to embrace his sire one last time. You were a good father. You deserved a better son.
"I had not thought to see you again."
Septa Perianne was standing to the side. Clifford recalled her from his younger days, growing up in Blackhaven. She had taught Jena Dondarrion, among the other young ladies who dwelt in the castle. She had always been solemn, but it had always seemed to stem from a certain shyness and self-doubt. He saw no trace of that in her face now.
"I had not thought to see this dark day," Clifford remarked scathingly. "What happened?"
"You do not know?"
"Cedrik Swann said it was an illness."
"Then he spoke truthfully," Perianne allowed. Now she appeared as her old self, with an unsettled countenance. What does she fear?
"Mayhaps it was not the whole truth?" Clifford arose from his knees, his fingers curling into fists. "Else why are you here?"
Perianne shook her head. "I had not heard you had come back. Are you a prisoner?"
"Nay," Clifford replied curtly. "I serve the Black Dragon. I came here to collect allies for his cause."
"You count these men as allies, then?" Perianne sounded surprised.
"Not if there is a blood debt to pay." Clifford was growing angrier by the second. "Speak plainly if you know the truth, or else…" He did not finish his threat. He had long ago sworn oaths to protect women, let alone a woman who served the gods themselves.
Perianne did not shy away from his wroth; on the contrary, her face fell. "Your father was imprisoned by Alfred Swann because of his loyalty to House Dondarrion. I attempted to petition his release, but Alfred saw it as leverage against Cassana. I did what I could to prolong his life, but my hands were tied."
Clifford felt tears running down his cheeks, but he did not care of his own personal shame. He put a hand to his sword hilt. "You seem well-kept for a woman who was imprisoned. Or do you serve my father's killers?"
"I serve the gods," Perianne retorted. "I take no sides in the conflict of men."
"Then why should I trust you now?"
"Because your father was a good man, far better than those whom he served."
More riddles. What secrets are you withholding from me? His confusion dissipated quickly in the face of his mounting wroth. He wanted to find Alfred Swann and slay him where he stood.
Then he found himself looking back to his father's grave. He wanted me to be a man of letters. He wanted me to think. So what would he have done in my place?
"*"* "* "*" *"*" *""*" *" *""*"*"*"*"* "* "*" *"* "*
He did not find an answer to his question, not through the entire journey back to Horn Hill.
Blackhaven was abandoned, for the Swanns had no wish to leave any man behind to face those who would surely reclaim it. Even as they'd departed the castle, word reached them that an army was coming up from the Boneway, and no man doubted that Cassana Dondarrion would sally forth from Stonehelm to join the liberators.
For his part, Clifford made it a point to stay away from the Swanns, brooding to himself as he ignored Lomas with equal venom. He wished Harry was here, not so much for his confidence but for his comfort. He would not hesitate to challenge Alfred Swann to a duel. But even if I won against Alfred, his kinsmen would put me to death, and none of these men would defend me. I am bereft of allies until I return to the Riverlands.
Thus he did nothing, no matter how much it galled him. He would catch glimpses of Alfred Swann laughing with his own men, speaking with his nephews, and he almost felt choked by his suppressed lividity.
Still, the army soon had more concerns than Clifford's desire for revenge. Two days after they left Blackhaven, outriders began reporting signs of pursuit. Clifford was not privy to the reports, but rumours spread quickly amongst the Swann forces.
"We're being chased," one man muttered in earshot of Clifford. "Lucamore saw an army coming up after us from the Boneway. They're following our trail."
"Gods be fucking damned," a second man exclaimed. "How are they following us so fast?"
A third man snorted contemptuously. "Must be on horses, no? All cavalry, I'd warrant."
"We're going too bloody slow," a fourth man complained.
Clifford could not disagree. Most of the Swann army was unable to afford their own horses. They had also brought wagons full of supplies, plundered from Blackhaven.
There was more bad news two days later. Horsemen had been seen coming from the south. Whether these were the pursuers circling them, or a new group of attackers, it made no matter. They can attack us from two sides. Maybe three. Maybe we're surrounded already, marching into a trap.
The Swanns grew agitated. No matter how much they strove to increase their pace, the army could not leave the enemy behind. Outriders and knights rode out to drive off the horsemen, but fewer and fewer men returned. Ser Eward eventually ended the sorties, keeping his remaining horsemen close at hand. Some of their foes became emboldened, appearing just out of bows' range. It remained uncertain how many there were, but there was a day when Clifford could spy hundreds of horsemen. They flew the banners of House Selmy, House Dondarrion, and the banners of those landed knights who owed them allegiance. Clifford could easily recognise House Bolt, House Penny, and House Sawyer, but it was the largest banner flying alongside the Selmy sigil that frightened Clifford. House Straw. Mine own family is coming to slay me.
There was nowhere to hide on the open grasslands of the Dornish Marches. There were precious few trees to provide shelter from arrows or timber to build a strong camp. The men were growing weary, however, and they made their way to a short plateau which rose up to the south. The Swans waited on the high ground, determined to hold it against any impending attack.
Clifford kept to himself as usual, shirking conversation. He did not want to die here, surrounded by strangers and men he loathed. He had not forsaken his honour to die so far away from Harry. Father, Mother, Smith, Warrior, any of you. Send me a miracle. I cannot leave this world of living until Harry bids me farewell.
The miracle came on the second day after they'd made their stand. Clifford was eating the last of his salt beef rations when he was approached by two gaudily armoured knights.
"Your presence is required," one told him.
Clifford did not make a fuss; he was too curious to be afraid.
The commanders were assembled at the far end of the plateau. Further down the grasslands, the enemy army was approaching and gathering.
"Ser Clifford," Eward Swann declared. "Thank you for joining us."
Clifford pointedly ignored Lomas Tarly and Alfred Swann. "How may I help?"
"The council has decided to send the remaining horsemen north. The enemy has only a thin screen of scouts in that direction. A cavalry charge will surely scatter them, before their army can assemble. They will ride north, to King Daemon's side."
Clifford nodded. He dared not raise his hopes until he heard the confirmation from Eward's lips.
"Have you nothing to say to that?"
Clifford kept his gaze upon Eward rather than Alfred, who had spoken. "Tell me what my fate is to be, and I will accept it."
"Well said," Lomas interjected. "You are beginning to talk like a man."
Despite the sardonic tone, it was clear to Clifford that those words were not lightly spoken. He risked a quick glance at Lomas, and saw no amusement on that lined face.
"Enough," Eward ordered impatiently. "You will guide the cavalry to the Blackfyre host. You know the Dondarrion and Selmy territory better than we do, and you know how to find Daemon in the Riverlands."
Clifford was not so confident in his abilities, and other doubts assailed his mind, but he was not about to sabotage his chance to escape the impending battle.
"As you command, ser." He inclined his head in a formal nod to Eward.
"Prepare to leave," Eward commanded, "but say no word of it to the men."
You mean to abandon them all. And then you presume to ride north to claim praise from Daemon. The Black Dragon fights with his men, win or lose. He will not congratulate you for cowardice.
Still, Clifford obeyed Ser Eward. He claimed that he would join the cavalry for a counter-charge when battle was joined. The men did not fully believe him, but they did not impede his advance to the front of the battle line.
All three of the Swanns were assembled there, with all the horsemen left to their command. Then Clifford noticed that several were missing.
"Where is Ser Lomas? And where are Robin Horpe and Gideon Farring?" Robin and Lomas know this land just as well as I. Why are they not coming along?
"They will remain behind to command the rest of the army," Alfred stated. He at least had the grace to appear shame-faced.
For the first time, Clifford felt a mixture of sympathy and respect for the old Tarly knight. He was a brute and a bully, but on this occasion, he was braver than these men who sought to escape. He is braver than I am. The thought made him resentful, but he was in no mood to switch places.
Instead, he looked back at the advancing banners. Dondarrion's loomed larger than the others. The purple-on-black stood out against the blue sky and green grass. Only then did Clifford register the lightning bolt, recalling the words of young Daemon Blackfyre. "You were struck by lightning. I saw a lightning bolt come down upon you and take off your arm, black and smoking. You fell to the ground and died, as the sky opened up and rained on your corpse."
Panic surged through Clifford. I cannot die now. I am waiting for his call. His last kiss shall be my release. I chose that fate for myself. Even if I am to die, I cannot be denied this little matter of life's end.