Titus
Shortly before his exile, Titus had told Cassana that he hoped to never set foot in Blackhaven again. He had done his best to keep that promise, even when he'd helped liberate his family home from House Swann, even when he was appointed Master of Laws. He had seen Cassana and Baldric on a few occasions in King's Landing, and when their four younger children were born, he had accompanied Jena to offer his congratulations.
It was a strange sensation; Blackhaven seemed to have tethered Titus by invisible chains. He could wander as far as he liked, but his home could give the chain a hard tug, and he would be forced to return. He loathed that chain, but he saw no way to rid himself of it.
It had been several years since he'd last visited Blackhaven, and though the castle appeared to be unchanged, the land around it had changed immensely.
A town was being built beyond Blackhaven, filling up a wide space to the north on either side of the path which Titus and his company were using. The homes were made of peat, earth, and stone, for the most part. It was impossible to determine just how many smallfolk were there, but there seemed to be a thousand at least. Many of them formed crowds to stare as Titus rode past, but most continued to work.
Beside him, Ser Baelon Massey was astonished by the sights. "What's all this?"
"My sister has been busy," Titus remarked dryly. Inwardly, he shared in Baelon's bafflement. He had never thought much of Cassana, and he had never imagined her to take on such a massive project as this.
"My lord!"
A knight approached them on horseback, wearing the same sigil on his surcoat as Titus. He smiled as he bobbed his head. "Well met again, Lord Titus."
It always astonished Titus to see Ser Branston Straw as a grown man with high position in Blackhaven. He'd always been Clifford Straw's younger brother, playing with wooden swords and wearing clothes that his brother had outgrown.
"Is there any new word of the Vulture King?" Titus asked as Branston rode alongside him.
"He has become more brazen since the deaths of Ser Orryn and Ser Lanval," Branston lamented. "Raiders are striking against villages now. They plunder what they want and burn the rest. Lord Baldric has been striking out with cavalry whilst the banners have been called. A few skirmishes, nothing more than that."
"Is it true what they say about these pikemen?"
"I wish it wasn't," Branston replied. "Saw it myself last week. These men arm themselves with nothing but pikes and short swords, and stay in close formation whenever cavalry get too close. They can travel at great speed, and they fight like a cornered porcupine. Not to mention they have archers to match our own. The pikemen will sometimes form up around their archers. Our horses can't ride them down, and the pikes help block our arrows."
Titus gave a quiet curse, struggling to dispel the fear growing inside of him. He was also confused by this Vulture King; his ruthless efficiency seemed to be at odds with his less-than-lofty ambitions. Why House Dondarrion? What are we to him?
"My lord?"
Titus turned back to Branston. "Sorry?"
"I asked how many men you've brought."
"My own guard of fifty knights," Titus explained, "and two hundred veterans of the Redgrass Field, and other battles besides."
Branston did his best to not appear crestfallen, but Titus could sense the younger man's disappointment at the lack of reinforcements. "I mean to gather more reinforcements, I promise you that. But on that note, have you gathered any sellswords and hedge knights?"
"Some dozens more come every day, my lord."
"Good," Titus affirmed. "This Vulture King will assume that Lord Baldric is desperate. Mayhaps this will allow for a chance to catch him unawares."
This had been part of the plan which Titus had concocted with Baelor and Daeron. Baldric had received his orders, and from what Branston had said, he was following them.
Branston suddenly spoke in a quieter voice. "Has there been any sight of my brother?"
Titus sighed. "Nothing, Branston. I'm sorry."
Branston nodded. "I thought not."
Titus felt wretched. Clifford Straw had been his squire. After his exile, he had not been able to find out where Clifford had gone. He'd reportedly spent several years in the City Watch of King's Landing, but it was anybody's guess where he'd gone during the Blackfyre Rebellion. Titus had suspected that Clifford had been Ser Harrold Osgrey's lover at one point, but Harrold had died at the Redgrass Field. Whatever he'd known about Clifford's whereabouts would forever be lost.
Despite all his conflicted feelings about the place, something still stirred in Titus' heart as he rode across the drawbridge and beneath the black basalt walls which flew his sigil. He turned to his squires, who were taking in the sights all around them.
All three of them wore the Dondarrion sigil on their clothes. Titus had no wish to treat Andrew any differently than the other two; besides, it was customary for squires to wear their master's colours. Still, what will I say when I introduce them to Baldric and Cassana? He shuddered to imagine the contempt with which Cassana would receive them if she knew how they'd joined his service.
The castle grounds were full of men and boys. They wore leather and mail, and a few were garbed in plate armour as well. Some men were training with weapons, others were looking after their horses. Squires ran this way, carrying out a hundred different tasks. Most turned to behold the new arrivals.
One man held up his sword and gave a great cry. "Dondarrion!"
Titus held up his hand, both as a salute, and also as a wordless blessing. The cry was taken up by dozens of other throats. Andrew gleefully echoed the cries as he bounced atop his palfrey.
A stout septa with grey hair was approaching the stables when Titus and his company began to dismount. "Welcome home, my lord."
Titus inclined his head. "Septa. I hope the years have been kind to you."
Perianne curtsied as she replied. "I weather the years with any strength that the gods allow me. But I fear that your house has seen better days."
When were those better days, exactly? Titus bit back his cynical thoughts; he would save those for his older sister in case she provoked him again.
"Lord Titus!"
When Titus first turned, he thought he was looking at two men; one was very short and the other was tall enough to look Titus in the eye. Then, as he approached them, Titus realised that the tall man was still a boy, with wispy hair on his cheeks.
It was the short man who had spoken. His hair and beard were grey and scruffy, his equipment was old and dented, but Titus was struck by how familiar he seemed.
The man's grin was wide, but there was a cautious air about him. "Do you remember me, milord?"
Realisation struck Titus like the lightning on his clothes. "Gods," he exclaimed, "Ser Arlan, isn't it?"
"Of Pennytree, milord," the old man added, grinning wider as he bobbed his head three times.
"I never thought I would see you again," Titus remarked. The last time he'd seen Ser Arlan had been in King's Landing, after they'd returned from the Battle of the Redgrass Field. It had been a grim day for them both, particularly Ser Arlan. His nephew, who'd served him as a squire, had been slain in the battle, and Arlan had left the capital early to take his bones back to Pennytree.
"I see you have a new squire," Titus remarked, nodding to the tall boy.
The lad gave a hesitant bow, too tongue-tied to speak.
"Aye, this is Dunk," Ser Arlan declared. He was much too short to pat Dunk on the shoulder, so he patted his back instead. "Don't mind him now, he might be as big as an aurochs, but he's also slow as one too!" He gave a wheezy laugh at his own wit.
Titus simply nodded in acknowledgment, unwilling to mock the shy boy to his face. "Well met, Dunk."
"This is Titus Dondarrion," Ser Arlan told Dunk. "I rode under his command for a time during the Blackfyre Rebellion. Took the castle of House Trant without a single loss! Fought in half a dozen other battles, too! He sits on the small council, now! You might learn some wit from him!"
Dunk had already become flushed from the japes at his expense, but now he reddened even more as he gave another bow. "Honour to m-meet you, m'lord."
Titus patted Dunk's formidable shoulder, then turned back to Ser Arlan. "It is good to have you here, ser. We need men who know their business in war."
Arlan's smile faded. "Aye, milord. I heard the news in Brightwater Keep. My condolences to you and your family."
Titus inclined his head in gratitude for those words, then noticed the brace of horses which accompanied these two. The largest of them, a big brown destrier, snorted loudly and tossed his head back and forth. Titus saw a bright flame in his eye as Dunk went to calm the horse.
"Steady on, now, Thunder," Dunk murmured, running a hand through the destrier's mane. "Steady on." The horse gave a low nicker as it allowed Dunk to rub its nose.
"Will you be leading this campaign, milord?"
Titus turned back to Ser Arlan. "Nay. My goodbrother will take command."
He might have gone on speaking with Ser Arlan if it weren't for Branston Straw calling his name. Instead, Titus left Ser Arlan behind and entered the keep of his former home.
The Great Hall of Blackhaven had undergone some alterations since Titus had set foot in it, but he was grateful for the changes. He had little wish to be reminded of his childhood.
Baldric and Cassana sat at the head table alongside two girls. Titus could only surmise that they were his nieces; the last time he'd seen them, they'd been scarcely more than babes. Now they were girls soon to flower. Time makes fools of us all.
"Lord Titus Dondarrion!" Branston Straw declared in a booming voice.
Titus watched his sister's face. At first, she started at the sudden shout, and stared at him with wide eyes. It was a short-lived surprise, however; the familiar countenance returned. Her mouth was set so that it was as close to a scowl as politeness allowed. She arose from her seat, but did not approach him. Some things never change.
Baldric was less reticent. He approached Titus with an outstretched hand. "Well met again, goodbrother."
"And to you." Titus clasped the hand and shook it firmly. "It is good to see you again." He made sure to say that to Baldric and Baldric alone.
Baldric was oblivious to the cold mood between Titus and Cassana. He bade the girls approach. "This is your uncle. He has come all the way from King's Landing to aid us in the name of the king."
Titus furiously struggled to recall their names as they gave shy curtsies before him. Luckily, he had prepared for this. He reached into his cloak and took out two brooches of gold and amethyst. "A gift from the capital."
Both girls smiled at the jewels, holding them in their hands as they thanked him.
"I must summon my boys," Baldric mused, and gave the orders to a nearby servant. "And bring my council members," he added as an afterthought. "We have much to discuss."
"Ser Branston was telling me some of it," Titus added as the servant hurried off. "What is your strength?"
"Some four thousand thus far," Baldric replied. "Times of peace leave sellswords eager for work."
"Good." Titus told Baldric of his own numbers; like Ser Branston, Baldric was disheartened by the low numbers, but he did not give voice to that feeling.
Cassana had no desire to be discreet. "Is this all the aid which King's Landing promised us?"
"The realm is still recovering from the Blackfyre Rebellion," Titus countered. "There are also the Blackfyre exiles to consider. If Bittersteel should get the sense that the realm is not intact, he might rally those who still sympathise with the black dragons. In any case, my troops are excellent. Every one of them earned glory and renown in the war."
"No man here doubts their worth," Baldric assured him. Careful choice of words, goodbrother. "But we cannot be sure if four thousand will be enough. This Vulture King commands hundreds, perhaps thousands, and they are all well-trained and well-disciplined."
"I mean to get more reinforcements from Lord Caron," Titus replied.
Baldric seemed ready to dispute that claim, but he thought better of it. Instead, he nodded and glanced at those who had accompanied Titus into the hall. "I trust that these are your commanders?"
"Ser Alyn Garner," Titus introduced the dusky knight whose green tunic bore three owls. "Ser Baelon Massey." His old friend pointedly ignored Cassana as he saluted Baldric. "Ser Todrik of Duskendale." The young knight had chosen the Dondarrion lightning bolt for his sigil, though it was white instead of purple, on a brown field instead of black. "Ser Hosteen Terrick." At this, Baldric frowned; doubtless he recalled that the Terricks had fought for House Blackfyre, but he was too polite to point that out.
"And these are my squires," Titus declared as he gestured towards the lads. "Cayn, Maric, and Andrew."
The boys bowed before Baldric, but Andrew could not resist smiling at Baldric when he straightened up again. "Hello, nuncle."
Baldric blinked in surprise, then turned to Titus. "Your son?"
"One of them, aye," Titus answered. Thus far, he was tempted to add, but he suddenly felt tense. As soon as Andrew had spoken, Cassana's gaze had flickered from him to Titus. A knowing expression was in her eyes, and her mouth curled upward at the corners.
"Our congratulations, brother," she announced. "It is always a pleasure to meet a nephew of mine."
Cassana approached Andrew and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. Titus forced himself to remain composed, though his mind was furiously racing, trying to understand what game she was playing. Nay… this is what she wants. She knows that I do not trust her, she wants to unnerve me.
He noticed that others had come into the hall. Two boys and a young man stood together, all of them with red-gold Dondarrion hair. When Titus had noticed them, they approached their parents and shot suspicious glances at the newcomers.
"Our sons," Baldric announced, introducing Manfred, Kresimir, and Geraint. "Your cousin," he told them, gesturing to Andrew. His sons regarded Andrew with the same curiosity and confusion that Jena's sons had shown. Manfred's lip curled in much the same way as Cassana's did when he put two and two together. His mother's son, to be sure.
Still, Titus recalled that his sister's family had gone through a great tragedy. He looked them all in the eye, one after the other, as he spoke in a solemn voice. "I hope that my wishes reached you all, but regardless, I will repeat them now. I grieved when I learned of Caspor's death. And I promise you, I will not depart the marches until his death has been avenged."
His words were met with a morose silence from all except Baldric. "Our thanks, goodbrother," he murmured. "Your words and deeds are greatly appreciated. It is a comfort to have you by our side once more."
It was then that a side door opened. A maester entered the hall, as did a young man who wore the colours of House Selmy.
"Come now, Titus," Baldric urged. "Let us make our plans for the Vulture Hunt."