Titus

The serpent reared up and made a noise which was between a hiss and the bark of a dog.

It was watching a strange-looking weasel that darted back and forth, baring a set of sharp teeth. It was utterly fearless, lunging straight for the snake on several occasions. They seemed to be equally fast, equally agile, and equally determined to kill the other.

Dornishmen shouted their bets as they stood a safe distance from the snake. They were divided on whether the snake would win or its furry attacker.

Titus was not fond of gambling, but he could not stop himself from staring out the window at the animals locked in combat. He kept one hand on Doom's black hilt whilst the other held a large tankard of Dornish wine.

The shadow city was well-named. Although the sun never failed to shine, there was ample shade at most times of the day.

An eerie tune was being played in another corner. Four ragged-looking musicians were playing together, each one holding a different instrument. They resembled lutes and pipes, but their designs were much different, if for no other reason than the different sounds they produced.

Titus was always haunted by those musicians, and he could not listen to them long without weeping. He reached into his satchel and tossed them another coin.

"You seem lonely, ser. Would you like my company?"

Titus did not look away from the serpent. He knew who was speaking to him.

Even when the shadow city was half empty because of Hiram Martell's uprising, there was no shortage of prostitutes. Even in this small tavern, women and men of all ages and hues wandered in looking for new wages.

This one was beautiful. She was distinctly Rhoynish in appearance, with olive skin and wavy black hair. She hovered over him like a bird, awaiting his answer. She had an easy smile on her face, but Titus saw little warmth in it. In his past life, he would have gladly hired her services, but now he turned away and pointedly ignored her.

Out of determination or desperation, she did not give up. She slipped into the chair beside him and slid her hand over to his lap. "What brings you to the shadow city?"

"Ill fate," Titus replied, in a voice as sour as the wine he drank. He felt dizzy, so he looked away from the animals fighting outside.

He had told Alyn that they would sail for Essos. His squire had been surprised, but he'd kept his peace and said nothing. When no ships had been available on the first three days, Titus ceased going down to the docks and began drinking. He cursed the war which had driven so many ships away from the coasts of Westeros. He cursed the Martell cousin who had tried to seize control of Dorne in Prince Maron's absence. He cursed everyone he could think of that might have put him in this torturous existence.

Titus was growing tired of this woman's presence. He took out a copper and put it in her hand. "Leave me in peace, else I won't be so kind."

He did not know whether it was his coin or his threat which convinced her to leave, nor did he much care. His vision was growing blurry again, and his head was spinning. "Alyn!"

His squire appeared by his side. He did not ask what Titus wanted. He'd stopped asking such things.

Wordlessly, Alyn helped Titus lean on him as they went to their meagre room. Titus heard men and women whispering as they passed by, and he was seized with a mixture of shame and loathing. He took another drink of wine to quench the growing fire. I'll not become my father today. He will not win our argument.

He was barely aware of slumping down onto his bed, or the sound of Alyn locking their door. More vivid than those were the visions which tormented his slumber. Coryanne and Aliandra smiled upon him, adoring him as they'd always done, whispering sweet words.

He hated these dreams most of all. He wanted Lomas Tarly and Armond Dondarrion to appear, laughing and mocking him as they took turns to torture him. He wanted Danell Benoff to drag him down into that cellar instead of Willem Wylde. He wanted to suffer as he deserved. But the gods were too clever to give him what he wanted. Instead, they tortured him most with all he had lost. Nay. All that I threw away and deserted.

"Ser?"

Titus groaned. His head ached and his mouth was dry. He'd also vomited onto the floor some time in the night.

"Who won?"

"Ser?" Alyn was frowning in confusion.

"The snake," Titus croaked as he fought a spasm of sickness. "Did the snake win? Or lose?"

"Was this another dream, ser?"

"Never mind," Titus grunted. "Get us something to eat."

Alyn nodded, but he did not leave. "You should know, ser, we are running out of coin."

"Nonsense," Titus countered. "Have you forgotten what I have in Braavos?"

"We cannot even get a ship to Braavos ourselves, ser. How would they reach us?"

Gods be damned. "Never you mind, lad," Titus rebuffed his squire. "It won't be long before the ships will return. Traders always come back."

"Aye, ser."

Before long, Titus was back in the tavern's main room. He ate a breakfast of fish and Dornish peppers which made his eyes water.

As he sipped more wine, he drew back the curtain and looked out the window. The musicians were still there, but the gamblers had left. Instead, a guard wearing House Martell's colours stood where the animals had fought. Did they stop the fight? Would he know who won?

"Would you like anything more to eat, ser?"

Titus glanced up at the woman who had spoken.

Alika was the tavern keeper. She was a sandy Dornishwoman, with brown skin and black hair. Her face was lined, and her hair was thinning on her forehead. She and her grandchildren were the only ones who maintained the tavern; she had lost her sons and good-daughters in the uprising.

"Nay," Titus answered, "but another wine would be welcome."

Alika nodded, and was about to turn away when Titus called to her again.

"Why is there a guard outside?"

"You don't know? The Prince and Princess have returned," answered Alika. "Maron has sworn to restore order."

Titus nodded. "Did you see which of them won?"

"Ser?"

"Outside," Titus insisted. "It happened the other night. A snake and some sort of animal."

"Mongoose?"

"What?"

"Mongoose," Alika repeated more slowly. "It is commonly found here. They prey on cobras and other serpents. Men in Dorne are fond of seeing them fight."

"I see," Titus affirmed. "So which of them won this time?"

"I did not see it, ser," Alika replied. "Forgive me."

"No matter." Titus waved his hand dismissively and drank the rest of his goblet dry. "I suppose it never matters."

"Titus?"

He looked up, baffled that he would ever hear that voice in the dregs of the shadow city. But he would have recognised that voice anywhere.

Nobody would have recognised her, for she had done away with her usual clothing. She was dressed in a plain Dornish robe, with a silken cape and hood overtop. Behind her strode Willem Wylde. He no longer wore his white cloak, nor his Kingsguard armour. Instead he was dressed like a Dornish warrior. His copper armour was newly polished, so that it reflected even the meagre candlelight of the tavern.

Titus said nothing as Jena joined him at the table. He was too astonished to say anything, and he fought a raging desire to flee the tavern. Suddenly, it was no longer possible to ignore how miserable and wretched he was, how far he'd fallen, how much he'd lost.

Jena gazed at him with a sad countenance. "You've seen better days," she began hesitantly.

"That seems to be a recurring condition of House Dondarrion," Titus remarked in a low voice. "But fuck me if I can think of when those better days were."

"What are you doing here, Titus?"

"A question I might ask you," Titus retorted. "Shouldn't you be hosting those pretty little parties in Maegor's Holdfast?"

A flash of anger went across Jena's face, but it was brief. Once again her voice sounded so gentle, so maudlin, so drenched with pity.

"That is true, brother. I was hiding from the war. I have no defence, except that I was afraid, and I was selfish. But I'm here becauseI will hide no longer. And I did not come alone."

Miserable and angry as he was, Titus could not help but feel curious. "What does that mean?"

"Baelor has returned."

Gods be good… the Prince and Princess have returned. Titus sat upright and looked to the door, as if Baelor Breakspear was about to step inside.

"He is in the castle," Jena explained. "He does not know."

"Then how do you-" he paused, and gave a long sigh. It only struck him then that Alyn would have heard the news, and that he had inexplicably spent the last three hours in the privy. "Of course."

"Do not punish him," Jena urged. "He approached me in secret."

Titus forced back the angry words bubbling up in his throat. "Of course he did. He's a better squire than I deserve." He glanced at Jena. "Why are you in Sunspear?"

"Baelor must rally another army. Daemon's followers have united under his banner, and scouts report that they mean to march on King's Landing. Maekar is brave, but he is outnumbered."

"So that's why you came to me," Titus drawled. "You want big brother kinslayer to join the fight once more, is that it?"

"Titus," Jena interjected fiercely. "If you ever trusted me, if you ever loved me, then mark my words now. I was wrong, and I will always regret what time we lost, and the hurt I caused you."

Titus wanted to spit in her face. But he was not so far gone that he did not recognise when Jena spoke the truth. Or else she has become a much better liar since I last saw her.

"You have no idea what happened, do you?"

Jena sat back. "I've heard rumours. I prayed that they weren't true."

"You won't save me with prayer," Titus lamented. "You and Cassana were right. No man is so accursed as a kinslayer. Both my children are dead, and so are their mothers. Slaughtered because I broke my promise. I could have saved them all. They died because I failed them."

Jena seemed too overcome to speak. If she dares to cry… I'll…

"I am so sorry, Titus."

He could not stop himself from weeping. He had nothing left to hide from her. He leaned forward on his elbows and looked down at the table. "I should never have left Essos. That is where I mean to go for good once I can find a ship."

"You cannot run away now," Jena pleaded. "The war is not yet over!"

"What does it matter?" Titus snarled. "What part do you expect me to play? You think I will ride out and kill Daemon Blackfyre myself? Your husband will do that. I am not Lord of Blackhaven neither. Our sister took that prize for herself. You want reinforcements, go speak to her. What use am I?"

Alika and one of her granddaughters were looking at them now. Titus felt a flush of shame creep over his face as he lowered his voice. "Why are you doing this to me? I have nothing to offer you, so why must you claw me away from my fate?"

"Because it is not your fate," Jena hissed. "And because you are my brother! My last brother!" She leaned in so close that Titus could count every teardrop in her lashes. "They nearly killed Valarr."

Titus felt himself grow cold. "Valarr? When?"

"A band of men attacked Dragonstone. I put my family in danger. All because I wanted to run away and hide."

Titus sat backwards, feeling more morose than ever. "Do not blame yourself for the gods' curse upon me."

Jena's expression softened. "I cannot promise you relief, or redemption from the gods. I can only promise you a purpose. You still have me. You have your nephews. We are still alive, Titus. And if this war is lost, then what do you think they will do to us?"

"Daemon will not kill you," Titus protested.

"Who says it will be him? Who says he will know what becomes of us? You know full well the sort of men who call themselves Daemon's allies."

True enough. Titus groaned as he felt his headache return.

"You once helped Dorne join the Seven Kingdoms," Jena urged. "That was an important deed. Baelor has not forgotten it, and he would have you by his side. You swore your oath to him, did you not?"

"He has no need of me," Titus hissed. His sister had overplayed her hand, and he saw her ploy in such words. "Anyway, why shouldn't I add "oathbreaker" to my titles? It would hardly be the worst one that I claim."

Jena sighed. "I can only beg you to remember the best of yourself, Titus. Remember that which I always knew, that which Coryanne and Aliandra loved. You are not an evil man, Titus. You never were."

You are a better man than you credit yourself. Tears filled his eyes as he heard Aliandra's voice again, as clear and lovely as it had been so long ago.

Jena had arisen. "I will not tell Baelor that I saw you. I did not come here to force your hand, brother. Leave or stay, but I am begging you with all my heart: stay here and help us."

Titus did not look at her as she left his table. His head was spinning, and he felt utterly vulnerable. With no small effort, he pulled himself to his feet and staggered towards the hallway.

Alyn had not yet appeared, and his absence suddenly made Titus realise how much he'd had to drink. He nearly walked past his door, and dropped the key when he first pulled it from his pocket.

Only when he finally opened the door did he realise he was being watched. He turned back around, only to see Willem Wylde standing before him.

There was a hesitant, miserable expression on his face. Titus glared at him. "What do you want?"

Willem did not flinch. Instead, he stepped forward and put his arms around him in a protective embrace. He smelled of sweat, metal, and a faint trace of lavender.

He said no word; he simply held Titus in his arms. Just as Titus had done for him that terrible night when he couldn't sleep. Willem had wept as Titus had never seen anyone weep before, but it had been all he could do just to hold him tightly, as if he could imbibe some of his friend's agony.

Now it was Titus who began to sob. His body shook with spasms of grief. His shame melted away, for Willem held him tightly and wept with him.

A little voice in Titus' head asked why Willem was doing this; whether Jena had put him up to this. But Titus knew that Jena would never have known about that terrible night, for Willem never wished to speak of it, not even to those friends who had witnessed it and freely sworn themselves to silence.

Titus did not know how long he and Willem stood in the doorway, nor did he care. But eventually, Willem led him into the room and sat him on the bed.

Titus was the first to speak. "Do you have any news about Baelon?"

"Nay," Willem answered quietly. "We only just arrived in the south. I thought he was with you."

Titus sighed. "Last I saw him, he was in the marches. Alive and well."

"Hopefully that has not changed," Willem remarked.

Titus shook his head. "The gods themselves couldn't break Baelon. He'll outlive us all for sheer pigheadedness."

Willem grinned at Titus' jape, but it soon left his face.

They sat in silence for quite some time, with Titus ruminating on how far they'd come, how much they had endured, how much they had lost.

Finally, Titus broke the silence. "I slew Lomas Tarly, you know. He called me a monster before he died."

Willem shook his head. "Spoken by him? You know better than that."

"Do I?" Titus looked down at his feet. "I've spent a long time wondering where things went wrong in my life. It sometimes feels like I was cursed from the beginning. But mayhaps Lomas was right. Mayhaps I am the curse upon those whom I love."

Suddenly, he felt Willem's hands grip his shoulders and force him to look his old friend in the face. Much to his surprise, he saw tears in Willem's eyes.

"Do you have any idea how close I was to slaying myself that night? Do you know what I would have done if you hadn't found me? If you hadn't rallied our friends to my side? You saved my life, Titus! You are not a curse!"

Such was the passion in Willem's voice that Titus could not speak. He simply stared at Willem and wept afresh.

The intensity left Willem's visage as he leaned forward and kissed Titus's cheek. "Do you recall what I told you when Lord Tarly banished you from Horn Hill?"

Titus could still picture it in his mind; he was packing his belongings when Willem had slipped into the room, still limping from Benoff's assault. He'd wept as he'd kissed Titus' cheek and whispered something into his ear.

Now he repeated it aloud. "I wish I'd loved you instead of Ellard."

Willem nodded, looking shamefaced. "I wish I hadn't said that. I was just a stupid boy."

"Stop," Titus urged. "None of that. You only regretted what happened with… with him."

"Maybe," Willem allowed. "But nor did I realise what love truly was. I always loved you, Titus, and I always will."

No matter what my decision is. He does not say the quiet part aloud, unlike Jena. As he sat there, however, Titus discounted any suspicions he might still have for Jena and Willem's intentions. They were among the last people left living who loved him for who he was, who saw the best of him. He believed that Jena, Willem, and Baelon Massey would not cease to love him if he left. But he did not doubt that their lives would be in terrible danger if the Blackfyres won.

It matters not who wins. What matters is that I fight for those whom I love.