Titus
The plan had worked.
Under the cover of night, Maekar had led his army across the Sea of Dorne to Wyl. Cassana Dondarrion remained behind in Stonehelm with a strong garrison of Dondarrion soldiers, while the rest had joined Maekar.
Prince Maron's assault had distracted the Wyls long enough to allow for Maekar to take the castle by storm. Maekar had insisted on leading the assault personally, perhaps to spite Brynden for his insubordinate plotting.
The battle was brief, yet brutal. Thousands were dead or wounded, high and lowborn alike. Most of those casualties were Dornish, either with Maron or with the Wyls. Among them were Lady Jayne Wyl. Grey-haired though she was, she had donned mail and wielded weapons alongside her bannermen. It was not known who had killed her, perhaps because no man sought credit for cutting down an old woman, no matter how warlike she had been. All three of her sons had fallen in battle too, as did two of her grandchildren. The third had yielded the castle.
Maekar's forces had taken their own losses. Lord Geraint Selmy had been climbing a ladder when one of the castle defenders struck him with a large rock. The marcher lord had lost his grip and fallen to the ground.
Worse than that, two of Prince Maron Martell's sons were felled during the assault. Thero, the eldest, was badly wounded by a spear thrown from the wall. Melkar, his second son, was less fortunate; he'd been pierced with an arrow in his abdomen and then his face. He'd died of his wounds, much to the grief of his aged father. Maron himself was also wounded, and the death of his second son was only worsening his condition.
Titus had survived the battle unscathed, as had Baelon Massey, and Alyn Garner. Maekar had taken an arrow to the shoulder, whilst Brynden Rivers was struck in the leg by a Dornishman's sword.
Another wounded man was Ser Zeuxis of Lemonwood. Titus wanted to visit him, but he could not do so before the war council was resumed by Maekar. Someone ought to remind him that he was wounded.
Lanval Selmy, now a lord in his own right, was seated at the table. His eyes were red from grief, but he had composed himself otherwise.
Prince Maekar and Brynden were present despite their injuries. They nodded as Titus and Baelon sat down at the great table.
"Now that the Boneway is secured," Maekar declared, "we must turn our attention to other matters. It seems that the rebels are retreating from the marches."
"Retreating?" Titus was confused. "Where to?"
"They have been summoned," Brynden replied. "Caron, Peake, and Tarly have mustered their armies at Horn Hill. They will soon join Daemon Blackfyre in the Riverlands."
"Odd." Titus leaned forward. "They were never the sort to abandon their castles."
Brynden gave a half-smile. "Desperate times demand desperate measures. Daemon's cause is failing. He is summoning all his remaining strength for a new strategy."
"We shall do the same," Maekar declared. "My father has already issued his summons. He fears that Daemon will march against King's Landing when he collects his army. It is my intention to sail our forces north again."
A queer feeling was building inside Titus. He thought of Blackhaven, which Cassana meant to take with or without his help. Kinslayer. Coward. He thought of the marcher lords, and how they would bolster Daemon's cause. He thought of Lemonwood, where he'd promised to go, where his family awaited him.
"Respectfully, Your Grace, I mean to march south from here," Titus declared. "I discussed the matter with your father in King's Landing before we departed."
"I recall," Maekar observed, "and given the state of Dorne, I will not object. I will only say this. The war is not over, and you would do well to rejoin us in King's Landing as soon as you are able."
Titus was surprised. He had expected an angry retort from Maekar, as well as an order that he go elsewhere.
Maekar turned to Lanval. "Will you ride to Blackhaven? House Swann may stand alone, but it will not be an easy fight."
"Indeed," Lanval elucidated in a morose voice, "but such is the way of this war."
He is no man to command, Titus thought sadly. Not while he is so bereaved. He recalled the look on Cassana's face when she demanded his help in taking back their ancestral home. How dare she call upon our shared blood. She would never have done the same for me if I begged on both my knees.
Still, the black mood persisted; Titus said nothing while the council droned on about other matters. He continued to brood even after the council was concluded and the others took their leave. His trance was only broken by a voice calling his name.
Brynden Rivers was standing up, with both hands resting on a chair. Despite his unnatural features and evil nature, Titus was surprised to see a lack of hostility in Brynden's countenance.
"What do you want?" Titus slowly straightened in his seat, preparing to spring up and draw Doom if necessary.
"Must I always want something?" Brynden gave a dismissive wave. "I wished only to commend you. I had my suspicions of you, but your conduct during this campaign has proved your loyalty. I was particularly impressed by your treatment of the Trants."
Titus stood up. "That was not my doing! I did not want any blood spilled!"
"Of course," Brynden inclined his head. "It was their own fault. You did your best to placate them, and they spat in your face. Such is the way with these Blackfyres, is it not?"
Titus frowned, but he did not disagree.
"Oh, and Titus," Brynden added, "I thought you might like to know this. My spies reported that your old acquaintance is with the Swann army. Lomas Tarly, I believe?"
Titus ground his teeth, restraining the urge to grab Brynden by the throat. "I am growing tired of your japes."
"Why would I jape about something like that? Who is Lomas Tarly to me? Do you really think that I exist solely to give you petty torment?"
"Is that what Orys Trant was to you? Petty torment?" Titus's hand was on his hilt.
Brynden simply sighed. "Orys was an excess, I will admit it. Shiera has always enjoyed toying with me, and Orys was one offence too many for my liking. Women make men lose their reason."
Titus felt a fresh wave of loathing for Brynden; his own father had spoken like that when he'd been alive. But he did not disbelieve Brynden's reasoning.
"Make of it what you will," Brynden advised in a tone that was almost courteous. "You have proved your loyalty to House Targaryen, and I would see such actions rewarded."
Titus was tempted to ask what sort of man would count this as a reward, but he realised the answer almost as soon as he questioned it. Vengeance.
Brynden gave him a small nod and walked away, leaving Titus to ponder his choices. Instinctively, he turned to the window and looked down the Boneway, with its twisting trail cut through the mountains.
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"You cannot mean to do this."
"The Swanns hold Blackhaven," Titus declared. "My sister requires my help."
"And you are the only man to liberate Blackhaven?"
Zeuxis was still pale, still sweating, still swathed in bandages, but he managed to shout at him from his sickbed.
Titus stood beside the bed. He had not expected such outrage, and he resented it. "What would you do in my position?"
"I would have kept my promise!" Zeuxis was relentless. "We have fought for you, we have bled for you, and we had only one request from you. Now you mean to lead us away from home once again?"
"I will not have this argument with you!" Titus felt several eyes upon him, most of them wounded Dornishmen. He was getting utterly sick of being looked upon with such dislike and suspicion, and he wished to resolve the matter once and for all.
"If you do this, you shall be an oathbreaker," Zeuxis insisted accusingly.
"Very well," Titus snapped. "I'll take no man with me except those who will follow. The rest of you cowards can slink back to Lemonwood and tell the ladies Dalt how you abandoned me!"
Zeuxis blinked, but his wrath was not cooled. "Edgar is at Yronwood. Mayhaps we should join his side instead? I doubt Coryanne or Aliandra will object to that."
"Take that risk," Titus snarled. "I will be sure to tell them myself when I return there."
Titus had left the room with his head high, but it belied how uneasy he felt over this matter. He was especially fretful when he tried to imagine what Maekar would say.
In that, he did not need to worry; the young prince had frowned, but he did not begrudge him his request.
"Let the Dornish return home," he confirmed, almost as if he resented it. "They have played their part. You can take command of the Dondarrion forces. Lord Selmy will follow your lead, I shall make sure of it. It will be better to have you at the head of our forces."
"You honour me, Your Grace." Titus gave a short bow.
"Spare me those courtesies," Maekar interrupted brusquely.
Titus straightened up again. "Did I say something amiss?"
"Nay." Maekar waved his hand dismissively. Titus was surprised to see a look of embarrassment flash across his face.
"Truth be told, and this stays between us," Maekar admitted, "I wanted to appoint you commander over the marcher forces, whatever you agreed to with my father. Brynden assured me that you would volunteer for the job yourself. When you didn't, I was pleased enough to let you go, just to prove Brynden wrong for once." He gave a shrug. "I suppose he was right again."
Titus grimaced at this revelation. He had not thought himself capable of being used by Brynden Rivers, but it had happened after all. It was too late to withdraw now, of course, and he still wished to ride north.
Maekar and Brynden left him the majority of the sellswords, taking the best ones with them back to King's Landing. Much to Titus' disappointment, Ser Arlan of Pennytree was ordered back to the capital.
"A pity, ser," Arlan declared as he shook Titus' hand. "May the gods watch over you and yours!"
"And you, ser," Titus replied warmly, even as he ruffled the hair of Arlan's squire.
Baelon Massey remained, along with the men under his command. Lanval Selmy was in charge of his own troops, but he had dutifully agreed to follow Titus' instructions. Moreover, ravens were sent to Cassana in Stonehelm and House Dondarrion's vassals, urging them all to converge on Blackhaven with the remainder of their strength. Titus would assemble them and command them as he saw fit. Would that I could see your face, sister, when you read Maekar's command.
"Never thought I'd live to see the day," Baelon japed one day as they rode along the narrow passage through the Red Mountains. "Marchers riding up the Boneway instead of down it!"
Despite Baelon's attempts at joviality, Titus' mood was grim. He had spoken angrily to Zeuxis, but he couldn't shake off the effect of Zeuxis' reproachment. It hung over him like a shadow, no matter how bright and warm the sun shone.
Indeed, the eastern Dornish Marches had been undergoing a very dry spell in the past few weeks. There hadn't been a drop of rain in all that time, making for the longest drought in living memory.
Strange as that was, Titus found it stranger still to command his family's household troops. He had been the youngest of four sons; no man would have imagined that he would be placed in any kind of command over the levies of House Dondarrion. Only a few of them had been sent along with Maekar's army, led by two brothers named Keir and Koss Hasty.
Titus had been floored by Cassana's account of her time in the war, and he was fascinated by the brothers. They had been reserved at first, but eventually had answered his questions, giving their own accounts of what had transpired.
"I never thought I'd live to hear anyone speak so highly of Cassana," Titus admitted to them on the last night that they were in the Boneway.
"It's mean minds that speak ill of her," Keir replied defensively. "Begging your pardon, ser."
Titus had abandoned any attempt to befriend them after that. He preferred Baelon's company as well as Alyn's. Lanval Selmy was an able young man, but far too melancholic still as he grieved the loss of his father.
After they emerged into Dondarrion territory, Titus found himself met by a small army of men led by Orryn Bolt. It was a painful reunion; Orryn had been one of his first lovers, and had never forgiven himself or Titus for his curiosity. Titus had long ago learned never to recall those fond memories of innocent exploration between them, even in private.
"Welcome home, Ser Titus," Orryn had declared in an overly courteous tone.
It hasn't been my home for years; you of all men should know that. "My thanks," Titus replied. "My sympathies for your father. He was a gallant man."
Orryn inclined his head. "We will have time to speak of grief some other time. For now, I place my men under your command. Sawyer and Penny sent theirs some time ago." He gestured at the three banners which flew together.
It was not a large force that Titus led north; he often cursed Baldric for taking so many men with him to who knows where. Still, it would have to do.
Fortune was on their side when he heard from outriders that the Swanns had abandoned Blackhaven and were marching north-west.
"Cassana's troops will be heading west too," Titus reasoned to Baelon, Lanval, and Orryn. "Let them secure Blackhaven. We shall destroy the Swanns once and for all."
"How?" Baelon scratched himself nervously. "We've got a third of House Swann's strength."
"We're on horseback, at least," Lanval urged. "They'll mostly be on foot. In this weather?" He gestured to the cloudless sky.
"The weather's not on our side either," Baelon countered. "Bloody hot for us and for the horses too."
The standoff continued as the Swann forces came into view. Titus made use of his sword and bow against their cavalry, but it only prompted the Swanns to withdraw their outriders and keep their army close together.
Worse still, they found an ideal place to make a stand. The land sloped downward, but for one plateau which stuck out like a shelf and was wide enough to accommodate the entire Swann army. On three sides, the plateau was too steep for horses or men to climb without difficulty. Titus and his forces would be forced to attack them on the fourth side, which was partially blocked by their wagons to boot.
"We could starve them out," Orryn suggested after they'd assembled their army in a loose crescent around the plateau's vulnerable side.
"Like as not, they plundered the castle before they left," Titus replied. "We'll go hungry before them."
"So what do we do, Titus?" Baelon wiped his brow and uttered a curse towards the sun.
Titus felt just as wretched. He should have just gone straight back to Lemonwood. Brynden must have known that this would be a fool's errand. He wanted me to endure it instead of him.
"You two! Stop that!"
Titus was jostled out of his thoughts. He turned to see Lanval glaring at two freeriders that were preparing to set up camp. "No fires! You want us all to go up in flames?"
Of course. Titus turned to the others. "On the contrary, Lord Selmy. That is exactly what we need to do."
The others stared at him. Confusion, then comprehension, then a mix of emotions flashed across their faces as they realised what Titus meant to do.
"We burn them off that plateau, let them scatter. We will outrun any flames so long as we keep the horses rested. We have bowmen, do we not?"
"Forgive me, ser, but that is a treacherous tactic," Orryn protested.
"These men are traitors, no?" Titus took out his goldenheart bow and strung it. "I will do the deed myself if all others prove recreant. I will settle this matter once and for all."
Slowly, reluctantly, the others passed along Titus' orders. Archers came forward and doused their arrows in the oil which squires used to polish saddles and armour. A few small fires were lit, and Titus personally sent the first shaft towards the makeshift barricade.
The wooden carts were dry, as was the grass beneath the men's feet. The oiled arrow flew like a beacon in the sky until it thudded into the first wagon. Titus could hear men crying out in alarm, even as men rushed forward to put out the flame before it spread. He was already sending more arrows their way.
Other arrows were joining them. The marchers were among the best archers in the Seven Kingdoms, and they proved it again that bloody day.
Lit and unlit, arrows began to rain down upon the foremost ranks of the Swann army. Arrows were soon flying back towards them, but Titus had scattered his men all across the countryside. The Swanns were tightly bunched together, an easy target for Titus' wrath.
The fires began to build, and the carts slowly began to burn in earnest. Men screamed, as did horses. Just as the flames took effect, hundreds of cavalry burst out of the plateau and thundered northwards.
Without missing a beat, Titus began aiming his shafts at the knights. Dondarrion, Selmy, and Massey soldiers quickly horsed themselves and closed in on the Swann cavalry whilst the archers reverted towards the Swann infantry, trapped by their own burning carts.
Titus shuddered as he listened to the sound of men descending into frightened frenzy. He saw men leaping from the plateau to try and flee across the plain. It was a simple matter for Dondarrion horsemen to ride down the slope and cut these men down.
Despite that, the trickle became a flood. Men fled between the burning carts, too many for the archers to pick off.
Titus put away his bow, climbed atop his horse, and drew Doom. "Charge!"
The plateau was slowly becoming engulfed in flames, causing smoke to cover the battlefield. Men coughed and gasped for breath, they screamed for their mothers or the gods, they cursed as they tried to fight back, and they wailed in agony as they were slain.
Even as Titus rode amongst the disoriented infantry, he noted how most of the Swann horsemen were fleeing northwards, having broken through the thin ranks of Titus' horsemen. Cowards.
"After them," Titus shouted, but his rallying call was heard by nobody. He looked around for Alyn, who held his horn, but the squire had plunged into the battle, lost to Titus' vision.
He could see Baelon rallying a handful of his men, then leading them to a large throng of Swann pikemen. Had they kept order and held their spears in formation, they might have repelled Baelon and his knights. Instead, the Massey horsemen broke the disoriented ranks and drove them into red ruin.
Beyond Baelon, where men were still fleeing the plateau, Titus beheld a small group of knights and their squires breaking out past the growing flames. They managed to keep order, despite their horses' consternation.
Several riders - Orryn Bolt among them - attacked the cohort, stalling their charge. Amidst the smoke and chaos of battle, Titus suddenly noticed one knight in particular. He was adorned in a green surcoat, upon which was stitched a red archer.
Titus was filled with renewed wrath. He spurred his horse forward, aiming for the man whom he loathed more than any living man save Brynden Rivers.
"Lomas!" Titus' challenge was lost in the clangour of steel, the neighing of horses, and the screams of men.
Other men were in his way, but they might as well have been bushes or brambles. Though their thorns were sharp, they could not stand against Doom. Their branches were broken or hacked apart. In that dreadful hour and fey mood, nothing would deter Titus from his vengeance.
As Titus broke through the last throng of men that stood in his way, Lomas turned and saw him. His helm was open, perhaps to better breathe the hot air. Now his alarm was clearly to be seen as he raised his sword against Titus' onslaught.
Titus had envisioned this fight for years. The tyrannical bully who had called him weak, who had derided him as he'd beaten Titus' back bloody, who had shaved Titus' head and made him parade the grounds in shame, who had forced Titus to kneel in barrels of icy water, who had laughed when Titus had been hurt by bigger opponents… now forced to face the weakling grown tall and strong.
The fight was over almost as soon as it began. Titus knocked away the old man's sword stroke, then thrust Doom beneath Lomas' breastplate into his lower abdomen, shouting as Lomas wailed in pain. The Tarly knight fell badly from his horse, landing on his back with a sickening crash that even Titus could hear. Doom had slipped from Titus' grasp, leaving him weaponless.
With all the strength of Valyrian steel, Doom had pierced through the knight's chainmail, and whatever else he was wearing beneath it. Half the blade was buried in Lomas' lower torso.
Lomas groaned feebly, giving a mewling sound of pain when he tried to move. Then he looked up and beheld Titus, who dismounted, removed his helm and smiled balefully.
"You," Lomas' eyes widened. "You! Gods be damned, you of all men?" He was barely audible amidst the conflict about them. Titus knelt down so he could speak with his foe.
"Ser Lomas Tarly," Titus declared mockingly. "Well met again!"
The old knight groaned louder; Titus could not tell if it was in fury, pain, or both.
"I should have known it was you… Fire arrows… You were never a true knight… I watched… I watched you grow into an… an undisciplined disgrace. I should have known what you really were."
Titus spat on Lomas' face. "I always knew what you were."
Lomas made no effort to wipe the spittle from his cheek. "The gods are cruel… and you were always their curse… their curse upon me, upon your father…"
"More than you realise, old man." Titus felt all the old anger and hatred rise up inside of him. The ease of his triumph was dissatisfying. He wanted more from this vengeance.
"You think I dressed up as a begging brother just to mock you? Maester Gerold and I poisoned Armond, right under your nose. It was on my account that he took so long to die. And I reminded him of all the evil that he did, all the suffering he would face in the seven hells."
For the first time since Titus had known him, Lomas was staring at him in unabashed, abject horror. Then he gave another mewling cry, even as tears ran down his face. "You are a monster!"
"I am what my father made me. I am what you made me," Titus snarled. He stood up again, raised his foot, and brought it down right beside Doom. Lomas let out a shrill cry of agony.
Titus raised his voice to a roar, so that his fallen foe would hear every word. "I am your legacy, Lomas! And you will never be remembered except as a traitor to the realm."
He grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands, Titus wrenched the sword from Lomas' body.
Lomas gave a wheezing sob. Then he looked upwards as his breathing became raspier still. Reflexively, Titus followed his gaze.
The evening sky was purple, with several pink clouds drifting lazily overhead. Several black birds, either crows or ravens, swirled overhead as they cawed to each other excitedly.
"Pyke…" Lomas' voice was full of yearning, and he even found the strength to sob. "Pyke…"
Doom whistled through the air, cutting clean through Lomas's neck as if it were made of soft clay. Whatever Lomas meant with his last word was forever lost to Titus. Nor, at that moment, did he care to find out.
"Thus am I avenged," Titus remarked dryly, as if he were assuring himself of his achievement. But the long-awaited hour, come round at last, left him feeling empty. The echo of Lomas' final whimper seemed to hang in the warm air, alongside the smell of blood and smoke.
He turned away from Lomas and beheld the burning battlefield. Whatever Swanns that still survived were fleeing in all directions. The fires spread, but burned out quickly for lack of proper fuel. The yellowing grass was left black and withered in the wake of these flames. The bravest birds flew down to pick at the corpses before flying out of reach.
Titus was reminded of the vultures which thrived in the Disputed Lands. He had vomited the first time he had seen them feast on the dead. But those birds, much like the crows and ravens here, were simply slaking themselves with food. What excuse do we have?
"Ser?"
It was Alyn Garner. He was bloodstained, leading Titus' horse back to his master. The lad's eyes were wide open, but he did not quail at the sight of so much carnage.
"Lord Lanval wished to tell you that their cavalry escaped. They went north with all haste."
"Cowards." Titus spat on the ground beside him. "Let the swans fly away. I have no doubt that we'll see them again."
"All the same, should we not pursue them?"
"Let someone else do it," Titus avowed wearily. "I have done right by my kin. Blackhaven is liberated, and its capture is avenged. I have another journey to make."
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Lanval Selmy and Baelon Massey were tasked with securing the rest of the marches. Titus, meanwhile, turned back south to fulfil his first promise, taking only Alyn and a number of well-laden horses with him.
At the Boneway, Titus traded his mounts for sand steeds to carry him across the desert. The longer his journey took, the more eager he became to make an end of it. I have waited and stalled long enough.
The journey was longer than Titus wished, but shorter than he expected. He was beginning to feel good for the first time in days when he came upon a sight which not even his worst nightmares could have conceived.
Lemonwood was a smouldering wreck. Most of the town's structures were damaged by fire, many beyond repair. In one corner of the town, a new cemetery had been established. Men and women alike were digging graves, some with their bare hands.
A long line of heads had been placed on spikes. Titus was alarmed to see that the pikes were adorned with Martell banners. What happened? Why are Martells being displayed like traitors? He was particularly alarmed at one head in particular, for he bore a striking resemblance to Damrod Martell.
More questions echoed wildly in his head. What happened? Who did this? Where is my family? He wanted to shout for answers, but he could not bring himself to confront anyone that he saw. Men, women, children, all of them walked with an expression of grief, fear, and suffering. Titus had seen that look many times before, but he'd never dreamed that he would see it here.
A few Dalt soldiers approached him. "Welcome back, Ser Titus." The words were not spoken with such malevolence that Titus felt his heart stop.
It was Zeuxis who had spoken. The look of loathing on his scarred face was enough to make Titus' outrage and protests die in his throat.
"The crows are coming to feast," Zeuxis drawled. "Does this sight please you?"
"That is unworthy," Titus insisted. "What happened here?"
"You had best see Ser Edgar," Zeuxis declared. He turned and walked towards the castle. Titus dismounted and followed him inside.
Edgar Dalt sat at a table, poring over documents. He was thinner than Titus recalled him, with fresh scars on his body. One finger was missing from his left hand. Titus did not fail to note that he was dressed in black.
When he looked up, Titus saw Edgar's eyes widen for a moment. But by the time he arose, his expression was as flinty and grim as that of the others.
"You come too late," Edgar declared. "Else you might have gotten a warmer welcome from my sister and mother."
Titus felt tears forming in his eyes. He could not bring himself to ask for Edgar's meaning; he knew it already.
Edgar cocked his head to the side. "Have you nothing to say?"
Once again, Titus was reminded of Garrison as he looked upon Edgar and heard his voice. Garrison would never have spoken to me like this. Or would he? "What is there to ask? They're dead, aren't they? All of them?"
Edgar's face became grimmer still. "You were told?"
"Only by you. You would surely not keep them or my children from me. Or would you?" Titus was almost alarmed at how calmly he spoke, how dry his eyes were in the face of such a realisation.
Edgar regarded him for a moment; when he spoke again, his voice was thick with anger and contempt. "What sort of man are you? Must you see what I have seen? Do I have to dig up Aliandra's body and show you what they did to her before she finally died? Do you need to see the state of Chayora and Garin? Would you like to see the burned stable where I found their bodies? Must I speak of how my mother threw herself into the sea?"
His words struck Titus like savage blows. "How can you speak like that to me? I am your kinsman!"
"No longer," Edgar replied scathingly. "You saw to that when you chose your vengeance over my family."
How dare you! I had no way of knowing what was happening here! The war is still going on! I did what no other man would not have done in service to the king! I will not stand here and let you blame me for this! He could not even swallow, let alone speak these words which raged impotently inside of him.
"I should have known it, when you confessed yourself in King's Landing," Edgar continued in a voice made softer with grief and self-reproach. "But I was blind to the truth. As was my sister and my mother. They loved you, Titus, perhaps more than you know. I was proud to call you a kinsman, for I owed you my life and I saw the love you had for my family. We were fools, all of us. My father, my mother, my sister… We did not heed the gods' curse upon those who slay their own blood. And now we have been punished for it."
Titus felt his stomach turn into a pit. He wanted to protest, to beg, but he could not put together a thought in his mind, let alone a sentence on his tongue.
Edgar's face contorted still further in rage and grief. "By the will of the gods, I am the last of my family, and I name you accursed, Titus Dondarrion. You have brought enough ruin upon Lemonwood, ser. Take your leave, and never return."
He could not look anyone in the face for shame. Titus turned his back and returned to his sand steed outside the castle. He was blind and deaf to the world as he allowed the horse to guide him past the burned buildings and through the open gate.
Edgar's words echoed in his mind as the faces of Aliandra and Coryanne appeared before his eyes. Chayora and Garin's names were all that he had left of them.
"Ser?"
Titus saw that Alyn Garner was still riding beside him, unable to conceal his discomposure.
"What are you doing, lad?" Titus shouted at him. "Did you not hear Ser Edgar? The gods have cursed me! Did you not hear him say that?"
"I heard him, ser," Alyn answered softly, his voice trembling. "But I have nowhere else to go."
Titus paused. "The gods help you, then."
He turned back to stare at his horse's ears, flicking in the air as the steed trotted down the dirt path.
"Ser, we are going to Sunspear," Alyn added.
"I care not where we go," Titus answered dully, "so long as I never see Lemonwood again. I owe Edgar that much."
They rode on in silence for the rest of the day. The hot winds and summer sun were relentless, just as they had been on the marches. Some fey mood within Titus made him think the sun was glaring at him, cursing him as Edgar had. He heard his sister's voice again, shrieking at him with such venom and loathing that he'd felt his heart stop. No man is so accursed as the kinslayer.
It occurred to him that he had not learned all that had happened to his family. He did not know if there was some new vengeance on his conscience. But it no longer mattered to him, for there was no vengeance he could take that would purify him. What blood can I spill that isn't already staining my hands?
They had been right; he had abandoned Coryanne and Aliandra, he had turned his back on them and his children. Their children. They never chose me as their father. Mayhaps they were right all along.
He did not know how long he brooded, or how long the horses rode; he was barely aware of himself as he dismounted from his horse and began to disrobe. He wanted to feel that glare upon his body. He would not hide himself from the gods. No amount of clothing he put on would ever hide the bloodstains on his skin. Kinslayer. Coward.
The beach was rough. Mixed with the sand were pebbles and seashells. Titus walked on. Alyn's voice was a distant echo, a ghost of a sound which quickly faded as the blood pounded in Titus' head. He did not even care when he felt sharp pains in his feet. Did Coryanne's feet bleed too?
The sea was cold, colder than anything he'd felt since leaving the North. All his pain was gone as he ploughed further into the water. He flinched as the chill shot up his body, slowing as the water's strength pushed back against him. Even the sea will not take me. It does not wish to grant me a swift death.
He stopped where he was going and tried to kneel. His head went beneath the waves. All sound disappeared, and his eyes were closed against the saltwater. He could still feel the great fiery eye upon him, impossible to escape. Water slipped past his lips, filling his mouth with the taste of salt. Is this the last that Coryanne sensed before she died?
It was under those waves that Titus' resolve finally broke. He felt his body shaking. His tears were lost to the sea. He would not find Coryanne, and she would not have him even if he did. He had failed her, failed Aliandra, failed Garrison, failed Chayora, failed Garin, failed Edgar. He had cursed them all, and they had suffered for his great sin.
He was standing up again, taking in warm air again.
"Ser!"
Alyn was shouting from the shore, but Titus screamed louder. He screamed as loud as he could, even as tears washed the salt from his eyes. His screams of grief were lost amidst the waves and wind. He did not stop screaming, not even when his voice was gone and he tasted blood in his mouth.
But he did not die; he knew very well that dying was a mercy which he did not deserve.