Baldric
"Marvelous work, is it not?"
Baldric nodded in agreement. They were the finest hunting horns that he'd ever seen.
He and Cassana had pondered what to gift their nephew for his wedding, until Baldric realised that he was able to go on an aurochs hunt three months before the wedding. These wild cattle were rare enough as it was, and the marcher lords had mutually agreed to limit their hunting of these massive beasts. Therefore, each lord was permitted to hunt them only once or twice a year, and even then, they were only allowed to bring down two adult aurochs without calves.
This suited Baldric; on his hunt, he had gone for one of the largest bulls in the herd. It had been a daring mission; the bull had been very stubborn and strove not to be separated from the rest of the herd. Even when Baldric and his party had succeeded in isolating their target, the bull had fought a grim battle for survival. Several hounds had been trampled and three horses were gored. None of the hunters had died, though Enoch Bolt, brother of Ser Orryn, had suffered a broken leg. But the battle had been a victory for Baldric; the bull was slain.
Its meat was the main course in a great feast that Baldric held in honour of the successful hunt, but his true purpose had always been the massive horns atop the bull's head. Both were given to Hador, the blacksmith of Blackhaven. Baldric had assured him that only one horn was necessary, but if he could make hunting horns out of both, he would bequeath it to Enoch as compensation for his injury.
Now, the work was finally achieved. Hador had carefully hollowed out both horns, covered the outer layers with preserving layers of paint, and inlaid silver on top.
"Marvelous work, indeed," Baldric echoed as he picked one up. Taking a deep breath, he blew into the horn as a test of its quality. A fine note rang out, loud and clear, echoing against Blackhaven's basalt walls.
"You have outdone yourself, Hador," Cassana remarked, pressing an extra bag of silver stags into his rough hand. "You have our gratitude."
"Milady." The burly man gave a low bow.
Baldric turned to his wife, grinning broadly. "Remind me to commission another horn for myself on the next aurochs hunt."
"I doubt that you will need such a reminder," Cassana replied, looking back at him with bemusement.
Baldric handed the horn back to Hador. "Give the measurements to Hallas so that he may craft the coverings."
"Milord," Hador bowed again.
The sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky. A few autumn leaves were still dancing in the light breeze as Baldric walked past the godswood.
"Caspor is taking his time," Cassana murmured beside him.
Baldric glanced back at her. "He always does. And he is in good company."
"I know," Cassana replied. "All the same, he will not have time for his studies before supper at this rate."
Baldric sighed. "No great loss. He struggles too much with numbers and letters. Cedrik was much the same."
"So was Orwyle, come to think of it," Cassana mused. "It is past time that he becomes a squire."
Baldric sighed. They had trod this path before. "Aye, that is true. I have given it some thought. He could serve Ser Branston."
Cassana gave him a level look. "Husband, why not suggest he squire for you and be done with it?"
"Is that so wrong?" Baldric frowned.
"He could follow in Manfred's footsteps and train at Harvest Hall," Cassana suggested. "Ser Dagnir might introduce him to the Rogers of Amberly. Perhaps we could send him to Bronzegate? Lord Buckler was with you in the Vale, was he not?"
Baldric shook his head. "He will not do well in a strange castle, with impatient and unfriendly faces."
"We cannot protect him forever," Cassana urged in a soft voice, "nor any of our other children. Kresimir will be seven in two years. Will you keep him here? Will you keep Geraint here too? What of our daughters?"
Baldric said nothing; he looked away from her as he felt an anger growing inside his chest.
"Baldric," Cassana insisted. "The war is over. You cannot go on living in fear of the next one."
"Do not vex me with this," Baldric exclaimed, unable to stop himself from lashing out. "Why must you drive our children away?"
Luckily, they had made their way to the eaves of the godswood, and there was nobody close enough to overhear them. The trees were almost all bare of leaves, so that Baldric could see a glimpse of the heart tree. A strange sense of foreboding struck him, so he turned his back to the trees, facing Cassana once more.
"That is unfair," Cassana stated. She was eyeing him with a strange emotion that Baldric could not place. "There is something else at work in your mind. I can tell." She is not wrong.
"What befalls our children when you send them away? They return and look at me with disgust and contempt."
Cassana opened her mouth to speak, but she closed it before she uttered a word.
Baldric felt foolish. He had not meant to reveal that. He had always kept the true depth of his feelings locked away inside of him. Just as he always dreaded, Cassana began to regard him with pity in her eyes.
"Spare me," he urged when she opened her mouth again. "I see what I see, and I hear what I hear."
Cassana sighed. "You are a good man, Baldric, and a good father. Manfred is a boy. What boy has ever respected their father?"
"I did," Baldric answered simply. "You know full well what I wanted from my father."
Cassana folded her arms beneath her breasts as her voice grew agitated. "I do not know all the answers, Baldric, but you cannot allow your judgment to be so easily swayed by the whims of your children. It is little better than depending on the whims of your father and brothers."
"Easy for you to say," Baldric remarked resentfully.
"What does that mean?"
Horns suddenly sounded from the walls. Baldric and Cassana turned to see guards running back and forth.
"What the…" Baldric started forward, with Cassana following behind.
Several guards were descending from the wall with all haste. When they caught sight of Baldric, they approached him. "What in the name of the gods is going on?"
"Horses, my lord." It was Royce Storm who spoke. Since his return to Blackhaven, he had trimmed his rust-coloured hair so that it was cropped close to his skull.
"Horses? Is that all? Do they not bear any riders?"
Royce paused. "Yes and no, my lord."
Instead of the wall, Baldric made his way to the main gate. With every step that he took, a terrible sense of dread grew stronger within him.
Guards had already called for the gate to be opened, so that Baldric could pass through them immediately. He crossed the drawbridge on foot, followed by Cassana and several others.
He still had nightmares of Gulltown's harbour. He could still smell burning flesh, hear the screams of men being burned alive, see his brother Raymont strolling amongst the burning boats, sneering at him dangerously. He could still vividly recall every battle which he'd fought in the Blackfyre Rebellion. Daemon Blackfyre had died a hundred times in his dreams, or he'd lived and attacked Baldric. All his worst moments paled in comparison with the sight before his eyes.
Several horses were lashed together, trotting back to Blackhaven. Baldric could see that several ropes were trailing behind the horses, dragging objects behind them. The two foremost beasts had pikes secured to their saddles. At the ends of both pikes, he saw two heads.
Even before Baldric could see whose heads were at the ends of those pikes, he knew to whom they belonged. He could recognise the horses as Dondarrion mounts. His vision blurred, but he did not have the nerve to approach that grisly sight. Nor could he run away. He simply stood before the walls of his home, even as the remains of the escort approached him.
Men and women were screaming behind him, but he was oblivious to them. He fell to his knees as he beheld the head of his son. "No… gods, no…" He covered his face and gave a guttural bellow into his hands.
Men rushed past him, shouting to each other. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and he shook it off. He tried to smother his grief with his hands, but he could not stop. Caspor's face had been mutilated, he'd seen it for himself. His cheeks had been slashed, his eyes and nose had been removed. It was only by the horses and the red-gold hair on Caspor's head that Baldric had recognised his own son.
"My lord! Lord Baldric!"
Slowly, reluctantly, Baldric raised his head. He felt dizzy, and his throat was dry.
The guards had taken the pikes and removed the heads of Caspor and Ser Dagnir. Finally, Baldric saw the full horror of what the horses were dragging.
All the heads of Caspor's guard were being pulled along at the end of those ropes. Most of them, like Caspor's, had been rendered unrecognisable.
Cassana stood nearby, utterly aghast. Her cheeks were glittering with teardrops in the bright sun. Baldric staggered towards her, murmuring her name. As soon as he embraced her, and held her shaking body in his arms, her resolve collapsed.
"Caspor…" she sobbed. "Oh, Caspor… what did they do to him?"
Baldric held her fiercely as she began to shriek. He flinched at the sound while a great sense of shame washed over him. I should have paid heed to the rumours. I should have given him a larger escort. I should have…
"Lord Baldric? There is a note."
Cuffing at his eyes, Baldric turned around. A young guard, looking slightly ill, held a scrap of parchment towards him.
Baldric took the parchment and unrolled it. He held it so that both he and Cassana read it at once.
Death to House Dondarrion, and all who bear that cursed name. The Vulture King shall deliver you all to the Stranger's grip. You shall spend an eternity in the seven hells, suffering for your vile sins.
He had to read it three times before he could comprehend the words. Only after the third time did he realise that the words were written in dried blood.
"Vulture King," he spoke aloud. His own voice sounded strange to him.
"My lord?" Royce stood nearby. He'd torn off his cloak and wrapped it round Caspor's head, as if hiding it from sight would alleviate the agony which Baldric and Cassana felt.
"There is a new Vulture King," Baldric explained to those within earshot. "By this villainous action, he has declared war upon House Dondarrion. And he will rue the day he ever did so!" His voice had risen to a scream once again. "Gods witness me now, I will make him rue this day!"
Men drew their swords and hefted their weapons. Cries of "Dondarrion" broke out amongst those assembled, affirming that Baldric and Cassana's loss was their own.
Baldric turned to Branston Straw, who had seized Caspor's head from Royce. "These men must be laid to rest. Prepare a pyre." He did not have it in him to organise a burial for severed heads. "Call the banners! We shall find this Vulture King and drag him back to Blackhaven in pieces! One piece for every man whom he slew today!"
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Cassana took it upon herself to tell the children of their brother's murder. Baldric dared not stand by, for it might undo him entirely. My children think I am weak enough as it is. They will hear the stories of how I wept before the gates. Well, so be it, but they'll not see me wailing before them. Instead, he threw himself into preparations for war.
It was a terrible irony for him, given all the nightmares which he had endured since the Blackfyre Rebellion. Now it was an opportunity to fret over something other than his grief for Caspor.
He had plenty to ponder. The Vulture King, whomever he was, must have been confident in his own ability to fight against House Dondarrion, or else he was utterly mad. Baldric could only guess how many men he had at his command, where they dwelt, what their next plan was.
"He wants you to charge after him," Cassana suggested while Baldric was poring over maps of the Dornish marches later that night. "Any man would lose their head, and he would count on you doing the same."
"Aye," Baldric agreed. "That is why I will not do as he wishes. I called only for mounted warriors."
Cassana frowned. "Horses cannot ride up mountains, least of all destriers."
"What would you have me do?" Baldric stared at her.
Cassana shook her head. "Forgive me, I do not know."
It was that apology and that admittance which truly unnerved Baldric, and it was the first time when he realised the full effect which grief had upon Cassana.
He straightened up. "What happened when you told our children?"
"You know what happened," Cassana snapped. "They wept and wailed. Manfred is determined to behead this Vulture King with his own sword."
Baldric shook his head. "That is too easy of a death."
"It is," Cassana affirmed. "I want him alive. I want to hear him beg me for death a hundred times!"
Baldric nodded, but as he glanced down at the maps, he thought of something else. "I have sent word to Lanval as well."
"Good," Cassana declared. "He is our kinsman by marriage. He will join us. But what of it?"
"I have not informed anyone else," Baldric admitted. "I was not sure who ought to know what has happened to us."
Cassana's expression softened, but she said nothing.
"What do you think?" Baldric urged her.
Cassana's eyes went from the map of the Dornish marches to a larger map which encompassed the entire Stormlands. "We can expect little help from the Baratheons."
Baldric nodded. They had been to Storm's End just five months before, and the bitter truth had been plain as day. Lord Baratheon was an old man whose wits were wandering. One day, he had been convinced that Daemon Blackfyre was still alive. He had also called for his son, Wyott, then burst into tears when told that Wyott had been dead for nearly ten years.
Not only was Lord Baratheon incapable of leading men to battle, but his household was in turmoil. His younger son, Lyonel, was headstrong, stubborn, indulgent, and still a year away from manhood. All of this was used by his uncle, Runcel, as justification to retain his position as regent.
Baldric glanced down at the maps again. "Should we send word to Summerhall?"
"The prince will be in King's Landing by now," Cassana urged. "What help can he do? And besides," at this, her voice hardened, "I do not think it wise to call upon the Iron Throne if we ignore House Baratheon. They will be offended that we went over their heads."
It was a good explanation; certainly, it was a better justification than her true reason to refuse assistance from the Iron Throne. Baldric did not have the heart to pick a quarrel about it.
"Very well," he conceded. "And I trust there will be little good in calling on our other neighbours?"
Cassana cocked her head to the side, regarding him with an incredulous expression. "You do not need me to tell you that."
Baldric sighed heavily. He was not in any hurry to speak to his father again. Even ten years later, House Swann was still recovering from their disastrous defeat in the rebellion. Besides that, the old lord of Stonehelm had never liked Baldric, even before he'd fought against his family in the Blackfyre Rebellion. The last time Baldric had said a word to his father had been when he'd come to collect his nephews from Stonehelm. Gawen Swann had not said anything in reply.
As for the Carons, they had not lost quite as many of their troops during the rebellion as House Swann, but Pearse Caron had not forgotten the Rebellion. He had kept to himself, avoiding interaction with House Selmy and House Dondarrion.
Thinking of his father, Baldric was reminded of another matter. "I will take Manfred with me. Blackhaven will be yours." He had not suggested it; it was a simple affirmation.
It caught Cassana off-guard, as Baldric had expected.
"I wish to have him by my side," he explained. "Manhood in war is not as simple as he thinks, and I wish to help him through it if I can." And if he will allow it.
"As you say," Cassana observed. There was a curious expression on her face, and no wonder. Baldric understood why she might be confused. If he must defy us, if he must assert himself, if he must undermine our authority… better it be mine than yours, my dear.