Titus
He could not tell how many men had died, or how many of those dead were men that he knew. He could not see the Targaryen banners, if they still flew. He could only see Blackfyre banners in the wind, flying beneath a great mass of men, many of them on horseback. How many there were, he could not see either. They did not see him, or the rest of Baelor's army as it slowly formed up.
Some eleven thousand men had been gathered in the Stormlands and in Dorne. More than half had already taken part in the war. More than a third of them were mounted.
Truthfully, Titus had been repeatedly astonished: astonished by how warmly Baelor had welcomed him back to his command, by how many smallfolk in Dorne and the Stormlands still gathered to the Targaryen banner, and by how many lords and ladies still managed to summon soldiers after so much fighting.
Jena and Baelor had been the primary reasons for all of that. Titus had been given opportunities to speak of the union which must endure, of the war which had destroyed so many lives, and of what must needs be done to end it. But it was Jena and Baelor who carried the day.
Jena had come a long way from her desperate desire to hide away until the war was over. She spoke passionately of her life in the marches, of the old way, of her love for a half-Dornish man, and of their sons together.
"When our heir becomes king," she had declared more than once to more than one sceptical audience, "a descendant of Dorne and of the Stormlands will sit the throne. He will not be at war with himself, any more than his kingdom will be!"
It had been a masterful argument, and it had been well received on both sides of the Red Mountains. It was not long before an army had been mustered. Many of them were veterans of the war, but they had returned to end the war for House Targaryen.
That included Baelon Massey and his elder brother's bannermen, five hundred riders led by Lanval Selmy, and some three hundred war-hardened horsemen of House Dondarrion. Cassana had readily provided these men, lamenting that it could not be more. If she resented that Titus was placed in command of them, she gave no indication.
For his experience and his ties to the throne, Titus had been given command of the right flank. Baelor was at the centre, and the left was given to Thero Martell, who had recovered from his injuries at Wyl.
It was a strange assortment of men: Dornish raiders on sand steeds, marcher knights on destriers, foot soldiers who wore copper and steel alike. Titus marvelled at the sight; this was what Daeron had longed to accomplish, and it had been achieved thanks in part to Daemon Blackfyre of all men.
His men were in position, as were his personal bodyguard. Titus had found it a strange notion, unused to such prestige as a commander. Thirty knights had been chosen to serve as Titus' guard. More than half of them were knights of House Dondarrion, sent by Cassana.
Taking a deep breath to cool his nerves, Titus turned to the captain of his guard, Ser Orryn Bolt. "Give the signal."
Orryn duly obeyed, lifting a bright red flag and waving it back and forth.
Sighing, Titus turned to look at Baelon, who returned his glance with an encouraging smile. His gaze shifted to Alyn Garner, who sat uneasily on his own horse, wide-eyed with anticipation. Titus had dressed him in mail and leather, but he still feared for the lad's survival.
Time stood still again as Titus waited for the signal to charge. Truthfully, he would not have thought the battle was still taking place if he couldn't hear the sounds of it. By sight alone, the Blackfyres had already triumphed.
Mayhaps it is already too late. Mayhaps we are charging to our deaths. The thought did not disconcert him; he had no fear of death any longer.
All the same, he still flinched when the trumpets and horns burst into their wild music.
Titus raised his lance and lifted it above his head. "Charge!"
The sun's warmth was fading, and its declining light was casting a golden shade upon the green grass. Much of it had already been trampled flat, by boots and hooves alike, so there was no obstacle to their approach.
He lowered the front of his greathelm. His left hand held onto the reins whilst his right hand gripped the haft of his lance. It was all part of a routine which had been drilled into him since he was a boy. He forced his shoulders to relax, even as his elbow was tucked close to his side. He guided his horse to run faster, keeping pace with the knights around him.
As the distance narrowed, Titus saw several dozen Blackfyre horsemen turn and attempt a counter-charge. One in particular was heading straight for him. Titus forced himself to breathe slowly as he leaned forward and carefully aimed his lance point.
But Titus had not reckoned with the Dornish horse archers. A hail of arrows flew over the heads of Baelor's army. One of the first men to fall was Titus' opponent; he fell from his horse with an arrow in his open mouth.
Titus cursed as he repositioned his lance. The point buried itself in the side of a man who was faltering, caught between attack and retreat.
Titus abandoned his lance as he rode onward. Doom was in his hand, cleaving through one man's neck and slashing another man's arm.
He felt weapons glance off his armour and shield. His steed lashed out with its hooves and bit at horses in its way. A knight wearing black crossbows on his surcoat was the first man to yield to Titus when his horse was slain by a stray lance. One of Titus' guards seized the prisoner and pulled him away from harm. A second prisoner; this one wore a bull's skull on his blood-red cloak.
The world had been reduced to the narrow eye slits of his greathelm; all he could see were throngs of cavalry around him. The noises were deafening. He could almost recall his old fears of battle, when he'd first fought with the Stormbreakers in Essos. The only sensation which was greater than his fear was the thrill of battle.
It had not been easy for him to admit the truth, least of all to himself. This was the same zeal for war espoused by men like Lomas Tarly. Yet he could not deny that he knew the rush of such an ecstasy. It was what had kept him alive in Essos for six long years. Now the sensation surged through his veins; he was still alive, still fighting, when so many men were dying all around him.
And so he carried on, until a moment when something struck the back of his greathelm, and he slumped forward. Stunned, he felt others strike his body, sending vibrations up and down his body, and the monstrous clangs caused him to cry out in pain and alarm.
The blows ceased as abruptly as they had begun. Titus glanced to his right and saw one of his bodyguards, swinging a mace with wild abandon at Titus' attackers.
A hand grabbed Titus' shoulder and tugged. Reflexively, Titus obeyed, straightening back up in his saddle as he looked at his squire. The tumult around them was too loud, so he simply gave Alyn's shoulder a squeeze before he brandished Doom once again.
He noticed then that he'd charged amongst men who not only bore the Blackfyre sigil, but also the sigil of six white seashells. He could not recall which house bore that banner, nor did he care to find out.
The knight who had intervened for him was locked in a bitter brawl with one of the more elaborately armed seashell knights. His surcoat bore a white bend on purple, a new sigil for a new knightly house. Hasty. Whether it was Keir or Koss, his valiant efforts were no match for a castle-trained knight.
Titus turned his horse so that he was on the seashell knight's other side. When Doom's point disappeared beneath the man's arm, the fight was all but finished.
Blackfyres were faltering and falling back all around him. More and more men were yielding or turning tail as their companions were beaten down by fresh reinforcements.
As he beckoned Alyn to follow him closely, Titus broke out of the melee to see more of the battlefield. Baelor's left had gone to the foot of the ridge, engaging the great mass of Blackfyre horses gathered there. Elsewhere, men were fleeing on foot and on horseback.
Titus took a silvered trumpet from his saddle and gave it to Alyn. The lad promptly blew a shrill note which rang out. As Baelor had intended, the notes served as a rallying call.
An assortment of freeriders and knights galloped towards Titus. Lifting his helm, Titus pointed to the mass of retreating Blackfyres. "After them! Take as many prisoners as you can!"
He knew they would obey his orders; no man was fool enough to risk losing a hefty ransom to slaughter.
Those orders given, Titus turned and circled the blood-stained field, followed by his guard.
At last, he could make out the remnants of Maekar's army. Much to Titus' relief, they still held firm, their shield wall reformed. Baelor had not fully broken through to his brother, but it was only a matter of time. The Blackfyres were disintegrating wherever Titus looked. Larger groups of men were fleeing in all directions that they could go.
One man was so desperate to flee that he rode down any man in his way. He even lashed at them with his sword, cutting down men who had once been on his side. Whether he knew it or not, he was drawing closer and closer to where Titus and his guard were trotting.
That alone filled Titus with disgust, but when the man drew near and he could distinguish the white and black swans on his surcoat, he grew doubly wroth. A coward to the end.
He urged his horse forward, directly for the fleeing knight, who checked himself when he saw Titus. Because of his greathelm, Titus could not determine who he was, but he had already resolved himself not to take this prisoner.
The man fought with a desperate frenzy, raining down blows upon Titus, but Doom deflected most of them. Again and again, Titus moved his horse to stand in the way of the knight's mount so that he could not break away and flee.
They were some distance from the brunt of fighting, so they could hear each other much more clearly. "Coward!" Titus raged. "Coward!"
He expected the man to beg for mercy, but the protest which burst from his helm left Titus astonished. "I gave your wife to my men! I laughed while they used her!"
Doom halted its swing, and lowered as Titus was overcome with horror. Coryanne? That was you? How?
Before Titus could overcome his shock, the Swann knight swung his sword at Titus' face. The helm withstood the edge, and the swordblade was broken in two, but the force of the blow caused Titus's head to strike the inside of his own helm. Stunned, he swayed back and forth like a drunkard, seeing stars as he heard the man gallop away from him.
He remained where he was, feeling tears in his eyes. A hand soon gripped his shoulder, even as Alyn's voice rang out. "Ser! Ser!"
Titus slowly straightened up again, feeling dizzy. Other horses approached him, and two pairs of hands lifted his greathelm off his head.
"Lord Titus?" Ser Balhano of Godsgrace held Titus' battered helm in one hand as he offered a flask of water with the other.
"I'm not a lord," Titus murmured as he accepted the flask and drank. "What happened?"
"He's dead," Alyn exclaimed, pointing with one hand.
Titus turned, only to see the swan knight lying in the grass. An arrow was between his shoulders at the base of his neck.
Titus turned to the men of his guard. "Who did that?"
"I did, ser." It was Ser Dagnir of Edain, one of the men Cassana had assigned to Baelor's army. He still carried the bow which he'd used in his right hand.
"I wanted him alive," Titus admonished him. "I wanted to know what he meant about my wife!"
"You mistook him, ser," Dagnir replied. "He thought you-" He suddenly trailed off and shook his head. "It was slander, no more than that."
Titus could tell that he was lying, but as he put the pieces together, he knew that this matter was not for idle ears. "Aye, slander indeed." He turned to the other men of his guard and gestured to the Blackfyre infantry fleeing past them. "Go on, take charge of these men. No killing unless they fight back." Dagnir made a move to follow, but Titus signaled for him to stay.
Once the others had ridden off, Titus addressed Dagnir once again. "He thought I was Baldric, did he? So what happened to my sister?"
Dagnir shook his head. "You must needs ask her, ser. I am sworn to my lady's service." He turned and followed the others, leaving Titus to his wonderment and unanswered questions.
Whatever secrets Dagnir was keeping from him, Titus soon put them out of his mind in the face of the battle's end.
Daemon Blackfyre's mighty army was shattered. Thousands of men - such as Lord Gormon Peake, Ser Pearse Caron, and Lord Helos Bolling - had been taken prisoner and were kept to the side under close watch. Thousands more on both sides were grievously wounded, so that Baelor took command of Daemon's camp and directed any healers to tend to them.
Many other men had escaped: Lord Lorimar Mudd, Lord Hugo Strickland, Ser Agramore Jayn, and worst of all, Aegor Rivers. The sword Blackfyre had gone with them too, much to Baelor's dismay.
The full account of the battle was impossible to obtain, but Titus heard plenty enough from different men as he assisted Baelor. Maekar's army had suffered grievous casualties, including Lord Folgrim Hayford, Hand of the King. Maekar had been wounded, as had Jon Waters, Princess Elaena's natural son.
There were far too many wounded men. Most had to be treated in the open air, beneath the setting sun. Only the highest-ranking men were kept in the tents.
Titus had heard that Baldric was injured, and he felt compelled to check on his kinsman. But he sought the tents in vain.
The last one held only five wounded men. Four of them, Jon Waters included, were asleep or unconscious as they lay on makeshift piles of soft straw. The fifth was still awake, and Titus was stunned at the sight of him.
Brynden Rivers moaned as a maester slowly stitched the grievous cut across his face. His eye was also gone, giving him an even more hideous appearance than before. Two Raven's Teeth stood by, standing guard.
"Gods be good," Titus exclaimed. He almost felt pity for Brynden, until he recalled himself. "What happened?"
"Bittersteel, my lord," the maester answered softly. "He took Blackfyre from Daemon's corpse and tried to turn the tide. Lord Bloodraven was brave enough to stand in his way."
Of course, Titus thought dryly. He always finds a way to win glory. Does he really think it will ever win him love?
The maester arose once his task was done and hurried out of the tent. Titus remained, looking down at Bloodraven. "Are you in any pain?"
Bloodraven suddenly began to giggle like a child. "Pain? Pain? Ask Bittersteel that question! Ask Daemon!" His chuckles increased in volume.
What did they give him, and how much? Titus smirked at the sight of this vile man, grovelling and laughing at nothing as a trickle of blood seeped out of his stitched scar.
"You have no business here," one of the Raven's Teeth warned Titus.
"You cannot command me," Titus snapped, "I am goodbrother to Prince Baelor, you dolt." He put a hand on Doom. "Come here and drag me out, if you dare."
"Dead! That's what he is! Dead dead dead!" Brynden made some strange gesture, as if he wished to sit up, but he seemed to have lost control of his limbs. Titus turned back to the wounded man. He does not even know I am here, or who I am.
"I only wish I could have told him…that I poisoned his bitch mother," Bloodraven murmured.
Titus' blood turned cold. He stared at the injured man. "You did what?"
"She was plotting against Daeron," Bloodraven droned; he was oblivious to Titus, speaking as though he was in the middle of some strange euphoria.
Titus wished that Bittersteel had taken more than Bloodraven's eye. "You murdered Daena Targaryen?"
The Raven's Teeth looked uncomfortable. They seemed of a mind to send Titus out, but Titus was prepared to fight them both if he could hear the rest of Brynden's words.
"Just as I slew her son and grandsons today," Brynden murmured happily. "The Black Dragon would bring chaos into the realm, and slaughter his way across the seven kingdoms. I saw it in the dreams. The black dragon rising… attacking the red… but the white dragon slew it."
Whether it was from his drugged state, or his own triumph, or a mix of both, Brynden erupted into a high-pitched cackle. "It came to pass! Everything fell into place! I spread the word that Baelor was dying, I purged the realm of Daemon's followers, smoked them out so they revealed themselves! Aegor wanted war, and I was the one who gave it to him." He cackled again.
He is crazed. "Not just Aegor. You wanted the war. You made it happen, all so you could gain power for yourself under Daeron. Thousands are dead because of you."
The effects of the medicine continued to increase, and Bloodraven's word became unintelligible.
Titus wished he could draw Doom and cut off this vile man's head, and then Bittersteel's afterwards. So much death. All because of a brotherly feud. But now the two Raven's Teeth stood between him and Brynden with drawn swords, however. Titus might be able to overpower them, but not before reinforcements arrived. You are spared once again, Brynden.
He stormed out of the tent and walked back out onto the battlefield. Thousands of men still lay where they had fallen, many of them battered and hacked beyond recognition. Others, men and women alike, wandered amongst them as Titus did.
He recognised too many for his liking. He saw Lanval Selmy, sitting atop the body of his stallion, drinking morosely from his hip-flask. He saw Keir and Koss Hasty, holding each other as they stood aside, numb with horror. He saw Ser Arlan of Pennytree, sobbing as he held the body of his fallen squire. He saw a row of highborn bodies, lined up away from the other corpses. Lord Hayford was only recognisable by his sigil.
Much to his surprise, he saw Baldric, standing vigil over one of the corpses. Titus stopped to look at the man whom Baldric was mourning, but he did not recognise him.
Before he could pass on, Baldric had looked up and seen him. "Titus," he acknowledged in a low voice.
Titus nodded. He struggled to come up with something to say that he could mean earnestly. "Cassana will be relieved to see you again."
Baldric flinched, and Titus was surprised to see a tear run down his goodbrother's face. What became of you?
Titus said nothing of the tear, looking instead at the dead man whom Baldric was mourning. "A friend?"
"Of sorts," Baldric replied hoarsely. "Wyl Waynwood of the Vale."
"I see." Titus knew nothing of Wyl, so he was bereft of words; he wished that he'd simply walked past Baldric. He was thinking of how to extricate himself gracefully when Baldric spoke again.
"I heard what you did, Titus. How you helped liberate Blackhaven. I cannot thank you enough."
Titus felt his insides twisting. It was a strange thing to earn Baldric's gratitude for the biggest mistake of his life. "No need for that. I played a small part in that matter."
"All the same," Baldric insisted, "you will always have a place in Blackhaven."
Gods… this war has changed us all. Titus did not expect such passionate gratitude from his goodbrother. He had always seemed such a pompous wastrel. Titus also had no wish to take Baldric up on that invitation, but nor did he wish to make a scene by outright refusing. He simply nodded his head and left Baldric in peace.
On and on Titus walked. The sunset was in full effect, casting a mix of purple and red across the sky. Its beauty was almost a mockery of the butchery beneath it.
There was a restlessness within him that would not settle. Brynden's gleeful confession continued to echo in his head. All that he had understood about the war, all his thoughts about the conflict… As if I did not have enough reasons to hate Brynden…
More highborn and knightly corpses, laid out in rows. These were the Blackfyre dead. Titus recalled several of them from his past. Lord Arson Tork the Redtusk, Aubrey Ambrose, Robb Reyne, Lord Harriman Tarly and two of his kinsmen, Cedrik and Eward Swann, their uncle Alfred. Titus lingered at Alfred's body, pondering Dagnir's words. You should be thanking Dagnir for such a swift death.
"My boys!"
Titus flinched as he heard a deepthroated voice wailing those words. Many were crying aloud, but Titus recognised this voice in particular.
The man had fallen to his knees and put his arms around two corpses. Titus noted that one of them was no older than his squire, and he'd lost an arm. Then he looked at the other and saw that it was Harrold Osgrey. Not far from them lay a third corpse dressed in Osgrey colours.
Ser Eustace gave a howl of grief as tears formed rivulets across his blood-stained face. They rained down upon his sons' faces as he attempted to hold their corpses in his brawny arms. While the sound and sight brought tears to Titus' own eyes, Eustace was just one voice in a large choir.
Titus had not the heart to approach the bereaved man. Nor did he expect that his sympathies would be welcome to a Blackfyre supporter at this terrible hour.
He passed on, looking upon the dead and the dying alike. He could not determine which ones had fought for the red dragons or the black, nor did it matter any longer. All grudges are left to the living.
Some of the corpses lay apart. Two of Baelor's men had found the bodies of Daemon Blackfyre and his twin sons. Daemon rested on a Blackfyre banner, with Aegon and Aemon to either side of him. The arrows which had slain them were still sticking out of their corpses. Titus could also see the whiteness of the arrow-shafts and the blackness of their fletching. Brynden spoke truly. This was his triumph all along; the war, and its outcome. We were all his puppets.
As Titus approached, he saw a group of Raven's Teeth standing over the bodies of Daemon and his sons. They spoke amongst each other, but Titus could not glean their words; he only heard their laughter, but it was enough to make him wroth once more.
Striding forward, Titus suddenly recalled a memory. He had stood in the Sept of Baelor, joined briefly by Daemon while standing vigil for Garrison Dalt. Daemon's words returned to him from some murky well in his recollection. "Forgive me, I should not laugh over a man's corpse."
The Raven's Teeth went quiet as Titus approached them, as if they sensed his hatred of them. But he did not draw his sword, nor did he so much as meet their eyes.
Daemon's eyes stared sightlessly up at Titus, until the marcher knight reached down and closed them, as well as the eyes of his sons. He should have hated Daemon for what he had put the realm through, but Bloodraven's confession had put an end to all that. The realm presumed that you'd been blessed by your father. Truthfully, you were accursed. All your life, you were used and manipulated by friend and foe alike. You never had a chance, just as I never did. For one mad moment, Titus wondered whether he'd fought on the right side of this terrible war.
As he looked down upon the fallen pretender, he recalled another moment from the Sept of Baelor. Daemon Blackfyre had smiled at him whilst sharing rum in Garrison Dalt's honour. "Mayhaps I should task you with speaking the toast at my passing."
"He was the Black Dragon," Titus declared in a loud, solemn voice.
Whether they were the victors or the vanquished, men who were within earshot turned to look at Titus.
"The dragons of old were never slain by mortal men with swords or axes. Only with arrows from afar," Titus continued scathingly. Only then did he glare at the Raven's Teeth, who matched his acerbic expression before walking off sullenly.
Titus turned back to Daemon's body. "And so it proved again today, on this field of red grass." He drew his black sword and held it up in a salute. "Farewell, Daemon Blackfyre. Led by ill-fate and evil men to a bitter doom. Sleep in peace, as you never could in life."
"The Black Dragon!"
Prisoners took up the call, chanting it defiantly as their captors glared. Titus lowered his sword and sheathed it again. Did you foresee that too, Brynden? May Daemon Blackfyre haunt your dreams for as long as you live.
"Generously said of you, Titus."
Titus glanced at Baelor Breakspear as the prince slowly approached him. He could not tell if the prince approved of his eulogy or not. "A wise man once spoke to me of forgiveness and understanding. Now I see that we are all forgiven by death."
Baelor pondered those words, then turned to look upon his fallen uncle. "The Stranger takes us all alike. But I am not as wise as you claim. I still have much to learn."
Titus looked past the corpses of Daemon and the highborn Blackfyres, out where the lesser men still lay, Targaryen and Blackfyre alike. Birds and beasts were already grabbing their first bites, the first of many more before the field was cleansed. At least ten thousand men had died, with more still succumbing to their wounds.
"How fares your brother?" Titus asked, turning his gaze back to Baelor.
"Well enough," Baelor replied. "I cannot claim that he is in good spirits, but I suppose that is much the same as before."
Titus acknowledged Baelor's jest with a nod. "He is a worthy man. I saw him prove himself ten times over in this war."
"He says much the same of you," Baelor answered. He looked at Titus with apprehension. "Tell me, do you mean to return to Lemonwood?"
Titus flinched. "Nothing awaits me there but grief, and memories."
"I'm sorry," Baelor offered gently. "Blackhaven, then?"
Titus shook his head. "I have nowhere to go."
"Perhaps you do," Baelor suggested. "When I was last in King's Landing, Lord Steffon Banefort made it clear that he would resign from my father's council. The war swept over his lands, and he has much to repair and heal."
"A common story," Titus observed tentatively, "but do you mean for me to take his place?"
"I do," Baelor replied. "All the realm must heal if we are to end this war for good. Men have suffered on both sides. They have lost fortunes, lands, titles, and kin. Punishing one side over the other will only harden our differences. I believe you see that better than most."
"How well do you see it, Your Grace?" Titus knew it was dangerous to speak thus, but he had nothing left to lose. "How well does your father see it? For there are two men to blame for this war, both of whom now wield your house's swords."
Baelor said nothing for a moment; his visage betrayed no clear emotion. Then he spoke much more quietly than before. "My father owes a great debt to Bloodraven, one that he believes cannot be repaid."
Gods be good… even you fear Brynden. "So, he remains on the small council?"
"For now," Baelor answered. "But I… Maekar and I both believe it best that he does not hold sway over it."
Titus neither accepted or rejected Baelor's proposal. He looked back down at the bodies of Daemon and his sons.
"Think on what I have asked," Baelor urged, "but know that you have our gratitude and friendship, whatever you decide."
Titus nodded his head as Baelor walked away. He felt foolish and disarmed by such talk of gratitude and love.
Only then did he see his squire. Although he stood apart, amongst the second row of Blackfyre dead, Titus could sense that Alyn was weeping. He ran as fast as he could without tripping on the corpses. "Alyn!"
The squire turned, hastily wiping his eyes. He hadn't looked so young since Skagos.
"What is it?" He put his hands on Alyn's shoulders. "What happened?"
"We slew my kin." He pointed to where three bodies lay in a heap; their valuables had already been looted from their bodies. Their torn surcoats bore three owls on a green field.
Titus did not know what to say. He simply put a comforting hand on Alyn's shoulder as the lad shook with renewed grief. A part of him felt utterly baffled by the strength of Alyn's melancholy. Alyn had never met his kinsmen. These men might not even be Garners themselves.
Nonetheless, Titus knew enough to put aside his own confusion. He stood silently by, until Alyn's anguish began to ebb. Slowly, keeping his eyes upon the ground, Alyn allowed Titus to lead him away, out of sight and smell of that butcher's field.
"Where are we going?" Alyn asked.
"To find Baelon," Titus declared, "and Willem too. It's past time we all sat down together over meat and ale. What better way to recall that we are still alive?"