Baldric

"When House Dondarrion was on its knees, Lanval Selmy proved to be their greatest ally."

Baldric stood by his wife as she addressed the crowd of mourners.

Chief amongst them was Cassana's cousin, Jocelyn, and her children. The eldest was a boy named Daeron, after the king for whom two generations of Selmy men had fought and died.

Tudur Selmy might have stood with House Dondarrion, as he was part of their household now. Instead, he rejoined his family as a chief mourner, standing beside his brothers and aging father, Guyard.

"Many of you will know that I was part of the southern campaign against the Blackfyre traitors. Lanval and his father were the staunchest men I ever met. Were it not for Lanval, we would never have marched against Stonehelm, and the war might well have ended some other way."

It was a strange thing to mourn a man who had proved essential to capturing his former home and overthrowing his family. The irony of it was such that Baldric almost burst into laughter. Instead, he bit his tongue and kept his head down, recalling the man whom he had named a kinsman for the past ten years.

Manfred's head was also bowed, so that he might hide the tears which flowed down his face. Baldric had never seen him weep before, and it hurt him almost as much as Lanval's death.

Alicent and Celia were less affected, but they knew how to comport themselves during this miserable event. Kresimir and Geraint had fidgeted until Cassana had sharply reminded Geraint for whom he had been named.

"House Dondarrion will never forget Lanval Selmy's deeds, nor will it rest before his death is avenged!"

The fervor with which Cassana spoke these words chilled Baldric to the bone. As soon as he recovered from that, however, he also felt a wave of shame at his failure.

When the wretched business was finally done, and Lanval was laid to rest beside his father, the mourners reconvened for supper in Harvest Hall.

Baldric had little interest in asking Jocelyn for renewed support against the Vulture King. Cassana had spent time alone with her during the process of laying Lanval to rest, and she confirmed the truth to him as they ate.

"Selmy lacks the strength to aid us," she murmured so that only Baldric could hear her. "Lanval brought his best men with him. We can expect no further support."

"So be it," Baldric remarked. He was not surprised, but he could see how disappointed Cassana was. "We did the right thing."

"I know," Cassana hissed. "I do not need to be reminded."

Baldric sighed. He had never fully understood Cassana's hatred for her surviving siblings. It was always a struggle for her to visit Jena or to host her in Blackhaven. As for Titus, he had never once returned to his home, despite Baldric's assurance that he would be welcome. Baldric had felt the sting of his snub whenever he'd visited the Stormlands, but Cassana had only been pleased.

It all went back to their father, Baldric knew that. Armond Dondarrion had been a monstrous figure, as far as Baldric could recall. But when Cassana had been raped by her elder brother, it had been Armond who had administered justice against his vile son. That same son had also sired Royce Storm, whom Cassana seemed to despise for that same reason.

Baldric had been astonished by her decision to replace Ser Dagnir with Ser Mychal. The man was a braggart and a drunk. He could scarcely write his own name, he did not suffer fools gladly, and he made enemies easily. Baldric had never liked him, and his campaign in the Vale had not done anything to improve his opinion of Ser Mychal.

"Why him?" he had asked of Cassana.

"Why not?" Cassana had seemed surprised by Baldric's incredulity. "He helped keep you alive during the Blackfyre Rebellion, did he not?"

He could not refute that, whatever else he might say against Mychal. "All the same," Baldric had remarked, "I would not have chosen him if it were my decision." It was a futile statement, for he would not rescind Cassana's appointment.

"Nor would I have allowed Royce Storm back into our service," Cassana had observed coolly.

"So," Baldric had mused after a surprised silence, "is that what this is all about?"

"He is most untrustworthy," Cassana had pointed out.

Baldric sighed. "You cannot blame Royce for his father's sins."

Cassana's eyes were flint, but she said nothing to that.

It was the extent of their conversation about the matter, for they had shortly thereafter embarked on the journey to bring Lanval Selmy's bones back to Harvest Hall.

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They did not linger in Harvest Hall. Baldric wanted to return home and see if there had been a reply from King's Landing. The children also wished to go back to Blackhaven, convinced that it would not be shrouded in grief the way Harvest Hall had become.

After several days' riding, the black basalt walls of Blackhaven emerged over the horizon. Baldric feigned a smile as his children cried out that they could see their home once more, but he did not share in their jubilation. He could not forget the Vulture King, the sight of Caspor's head, or the bodies which had awaited him in that small valley.

How had they done it? He could not understand how pikemen had proved so effective in mountainous terrain. That required a level of discipline which he had never seen infantry perform before, least of all those who were only armed with leather as most of these men had apparently been. We will need infantry of our own, and archers too. Cavalry alone will doom us to another defeat.

Before they reached the castle, they rode through the town being built on a large plateau. It was alive with activity; squat and sturdy buildings made of stone and peat were emerging as far as he could see. Hundreds of folk were at work, overseen by maesters, knights, and educated men who proffered guidance wherever it was needed.

"This will serve as a convenient place for men to bring their families," Baldric observed. "Very wise of you, my dear."

Cassana gave a nod. "I hope that we will receive good news from Maester Walys."

It could not have sounded more forced if she had spoken through gritted teeth. Still, Baldric did not push the matter; he had long ago learned when it was foolhardy to press an argument upon Cassana.

Men hailed them with horns and trumpets as they crossed the lowered drawbridge into the castle. Maester Walys stood near the front gate. He bowed twice to Baldric and Cassana. "Welcome home, Lord and Lady Dondarrion!"

Baldric nodded in reply. He might have returned the greeting, but he was struck by how nervous the maester seemed. He was red-faced and sweating, and his lips twitched as they always did when the portly man was agitated. "Is something amiss?"

"Ser… Ser Mychal is dead," the maester stammered.

"What?" Baldric gaped in surprise. From the corner of his eye, he could see Cassana turning pale.

The story came out in fits and starts. It seemed that a drunken Ser Mychal had been confronted by Ser Gilbert of Blackfield after supper. He had accused the knight of stealing from him. As had been his nature, Mychal had become enraged at the accusation. Not only had he grossly insulted Gilbert, but he had threatened to arrest him. Witnesses were divided on which of the men had drawn steel first, but both men were bleeding before the fight was broken up. By that point, Gilbert had already been slain. Ser Mychal had lasted half the night before succumbing to his grievous wounds.

Maester Walys seemed to be on the verge of tears by the time he'd finished his account. Baldric was too aghast to reassure him or even speak.

It fell to Cassana to ask further questions. "Where was Royce?"

Maester Walys paused. "My lady?"

"Ser Royce Storm," Cassana snapped. "Where was he when all this was happening?"

"He was on duty, I believe," Maester Walys replied hastily. "I cannot be sure. But he was nowhere near this confrontation, I know that."

"Of course not," Cassana hissed. "He is cleverer than I thought."

"My lady," Walys protested, "I do not believe that to be the case. When we examined Mychal's belongings, we discovered Ser Gilbert's missing items. We also found some objects that belonged to others in the castle, as well as items belonging to House Dondarrion."

Baldric gave a furious sigh. "So be it, then. Return the stolen goods to their owners, and let us all wash our hands of this miserable mess. Have the servants prepare a bath for myself and my wife."

He went up to his chambers in the Lord's Tower, followed by Cassana.

When they were alone, and the door to their chamber was securely locked, Baldric turned to gaze at Cassana. "If you must accuse Royce of every little thing, at least be able to prove his guilt!"

"How can I?" Cassana was almost white, and her voice came out in a whisper which almost sounded more wrathful than if she'd shrieked at the top of her lungs. "I was with you, laying Lanval to his rest. How can I discount that Mychal is innocent of one crime and not others? Royce knew exactly what he was doing. Who would not say that Mychal was a thief? Who would not be surprised that he would turn to violence and insults when he was accused of a crime?"

"In the name of the gods!" Baldric cursed as he sat down on the bed. He'd developed a headache whilst riding back to Blackhaven, and now his head was pounding.

Cassana was silent for a moment; when Baldric looked back at her, she was staring at him with a fury that never failed to make him shudder whenever he saw it.

"Do you not believe me?" Her voice was still soft, and sounded more dangerous than ever.

Baldric forced himself to stay calm, leaning back in his chair. "I did not say that. I said that we cannot punish Royce without evidence. Even if he has done terrible things, we cannot prove it!"

"Not yet," Cassana replied scathingly. "I am quite convinced that he has an accomplice. Septa Perianne."

Gods, this is getting worse... "A septa, now? Did you not hear what I said about proof?"

"A confession ought to be sufficient proof," Cassana retorted.

"Seven fucking hells," Baldric groaned. "I cannot listen to this." He stood up and approached his wife, though not without some wariness. "There is something terribly amiss with you, and I saw it before Caspor's death. It started to fester once Royce rejoined our service."

Cassana's anger did not diminish, but it did seem to become muted. She said nothing as Baldric approached her.

Baldric lowered his voice, nerving himself to ask the question whose answer he feared. "Is there something you must confess to me?"

There was a strange expression on her face as Baldric's question hung in the air between them.

The longer that the silence went on, the more agitated Baldric became. "Cassana?"

"I swear upon our children," Cassana whispered. "I swear upon our children, living and dead, that I never betrayed you with him."

Baldric was relieved, but his wariness did not abate. "If not that, then what is he to you? Are you keeping secrets from me again?"

"Again?" Cassana's face was suddenly fey. "I never stopped keeping this secret from you, Baldric. The gods alone would know it, I swore, and I shall keep my oath."

"Do you really think that will settle the matter?" Baldric could not help but shout that question. "Does it amuse you to test my trust of you?"

Cassana stepped back from him. "Secrets such as mine are not kept for amusement. I take no pleasure in this secrecy, but I do it to keep safe your peace of mind."

Baldric grimaced, but he despised arguments with his wife, and so he said no more as she disrobed and change into the robes she wore for her bath. He turned away from her, fuming at his lust for her overriding all else.

"Since when do you turn your back on your own wife?"

The question was given quietly, but there was a hint of scorn to her voice. She knows me too well. Baldric ground his teeth, wishing that he was stronger than this. He bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking. He would surely be lost if he got down to her level. I am angry with her. I will not succumb to this. Yet it was a difficult endeavour. They done anything since Caspor's death, and that pall still hung over his head.

"Turn around."

It was an arrogant command. She knew that he could not resist.

"Leave it be," Baldric remarked. "I have no wish to play these games tonight. And if you wish to bathe, do it now."

He stared at the wall, hating the silence which stretched out. When it did finally break, however, he felt worse. Cassana made a sound behind him that was halfway between a sigh and a sob. It was not a sound which he heard often, and he had never before been the cause of it.

Alarmed, he turned around, but she had already turned away, slipping out of their chamber through a side-door. Baldric gaped as the door slammed behind back into place with a thud that seemed to make the stones rattle.

Remorse and self-loathing filled Baldric. He wanted to run after her and grovel, beg for forgiveness, but he knew that it was too late. He sat on the end of the bed and struggled not to weep. This did not last for long; he swiftly got up and left their chambers, feeling as if he had been banished.

He wandered along through the castle, looking for his children.

As usual, Septa Perianne was looking after Alicent and Celia. "My lord," she declared respectfully when he entered.

Did Cassana speak true? Would you truly betray me and my family for the sake of Royce Storm? He wished that he remembered more of what had happened in those miserable days. He had already forgotten what Tyana had looked like, how she had sounded. Royce, too, had been a blur until his return to Blackhaven. It was a sinister thought that this septa would actively work against the house and castle to whom she'd been sworn most of her life.

"I shall take charge of my daughters for now," he told her, summoning the girls to follow him across the grounds.

"Where are we going, Father?" Alicent was the elder girl, and proud of her light-brown hair. She was growing it longer and longer, so that the braid often coiled around her neck like some sort of tame snake.

"A walk," Baldric replied. He held both their little hands in his own, revelling in such a childlike gesture. Manfred had long ago determined that holding his father's hand was unmanly, as had his two youngest sons. Caspor had been different; he had not given it up until his elder brother's bullying became too much to bear. Baldric had known that it was past time anyway, but he had missed the feeling of his children's hands in his own. Ever since Caspor's murder, the girls had begun to hold his hands again when they walked together, just as they did now whilst they went up the stairs of Blackhaven's outer wall.

The view was magnificent as always, but the beauty was tragic. The autumn sun shone over the land, which was yellowing as more grass withered along the ground. The trees stood like skeletons, their limbs bare. Even the last leaves had decayed by now, gone as if they'd never been. Men call winter the season of death, but surely it is autumn. We slaughter beasts for their meat, the crops wither and cease to grow, the leaves on trees burn one last time before turning black.

"Father?"

"Yes?" Baldric looked down at Celia. Her hair was fashioned into two braids instead of one. They rested on her narrow shoulders as she gazed up at him with wide eyes.

"Will you tell us a story?"

"Of course." He sat down on a small chair used by the guards. Celia sat on his knees, while Alicent stood beside him, still holding his hand.

"Which one would you like to hear?" Baldric's eyes flickered from one daughter to the other. "The first Dondarrion?"

"You always tell that one," Celia admonished him in her childish tone. "Tell us a new story!"

"A new one," Baldric mused. "Very well. This is a story about the oldest of the marchers."

Alicent's eyes widened with interest. "House Caron?"

"Gods," Baldric shook his head. "Who told you that? Of course not!" With a snort of laughter, he began the tale.

"Long ago, before the feet of men ever touched ground upon Westeros, the land belonged to the giants and the children of the forest. But the Seven foresaw that the Andals would come to live in Westeros, and they wished to have the land prepared for them. Therefore, they raised a bridge across the Narrow Sea. It was a bridge made of solid earth, and it was so thick that a man needed two days to cross the width."

A cool breeze blew around them atop the wall, but neither Baldric nor his daughters heeded it. The story warmed Baldric in the telling, and he saw that it also warmed the girls to listen.

First Men, these were. They were savage as the children, but the gods knew that a high destiny awaited them. But the journey to that destiny was a long one, and perilous. Many adventurers died when they crossed Dorne, or else went mad and disappeared into the desert, forever dwelling amongst the sand-dunes and the shadow of the Red Mountains."

"Are the Dornish still mad, Father?"

Baldric glanced at Alicent and shook his head. "No longer, child." He did not have the heart to explain that the Dornish were not mad, had never been mad, for then that would cause more questions about the rest of the story's claims.

He resumed the tale. "In those days, the First Men travelled in clans for safety. They followed strength, and chieftains were abandoned or replaced if they faltered. Such was the case with an old chieftain named Luc. He was eager to find the green lands which men had found in Westeros, so he led his clan out of Essos. Men still respected him when his hair turned grey, for he was a strong fighter who had led them across the bridge without losing a single man. But when they warred with another clan, Luc was lamed in the leg by a spear thrust. There were no herbs in the desert, so his wound did not heal. He lost his strength, then his reason, and finally his life."

"Long did the survivors of his clan argue over which way to go. They had become lost, and they dreaded to die in the sands of Dorne. Luc had been the one who had heard stories of where to go, but he had not shared the secrets, for no man would have dared to harm him without that precious knowledge. He had told some of it to his son, Martyn, whom he hoped would succeed him as leader. Martyn was challenged, however, by his half-brothers. All of them envied his favoured place at their father's side, and they rallied around Judal, the fiercest of them. They spoke evilly of Luc, how the gods had punished him for his arrogance. They said that Martyn would bring them evil fortune. Martyn planned to challenge Judal to a fight, but he was still half-grown. His mother fled by night, and he was obliged to go with her and protect her in the desert."

"They travelled for days, following what they remembered of Luc's plan. Martyn was young but he was strong, and his desire to avenge his father filled him with purpose. But his mother was failing, growing weak from the journey, giving up water and food so that Martyn's strength could be replenished. One night, Martyn's mother swore that she would always be with him, and that he would see her again. When Martyn awoke the next morning, she was gone."

Alicent and Celia were riveted by the story. "Where did she go?" Celia asked innocently. Alicent, being older, simply wept silently as she continued to listen.

"Many days and nights did Martyn journey across the dunes, until he came to a remarkable sight. The Red Mountains arose in front of him, but although they were tall and imposing, they bore the first greenery that he'd seen since entering Dorne. Others guarded this land fiercely, however, so he travelled only by night, and hid himself by day for fear that he would be found and slain."

"Still longer did he travel, seeking a way out of the mountains. He climbed dozens of paths, most of them leading nowhere. Several times, he was forced to defend himself. He had always been skilled with a sword, but one day, he came upon a valley which held a small lake. A great white swan, bigger than any other swan which he'd ever seen before, awaited him there. She gave him her spare feathers so that he might make arrows of them."

"White swan," Alicent echoed. She already saw the meaning of that animal. Celia was merely enthralled by the notion of a friendly bird.

"With these arrows, Martyn became the an unrivalled archer. His shafts flew further than his foes, swifter than the birds which he hunted. But he did not slay any swans, for he saw that this bird was his guide, his protector, his guardian. Thus did he fight his way through the mountains, growing tall and strong during his quest for the green lands."

"Finally, his efforts were rewarded. He took a narrow goat track out of the mountains, leading him to open plains whereupon the mighty aurochs roamed in herds of hundreds. He learned to hunt them as well, travelling across the grasslands. Giants still roamed, and he was forced to defend himself from them as well. On and on he wandered, seeking some shelter in that desert of grass, of ridges and hills."

"Did he find it?" Celia asked, too impatient to listen quietly.

Baldric smiled. "He came upon a mighty river. It was powerful, with no way across. Martyn could not swim, and he had no way to make a boat. But he did not abandon the river. He could see a mighty forest on the other side, and he had come too far to turn back the way he'd come. For seven days, he wandered up and down the river, looking for some means to make it to the other side. He needed to wander because he had made enemies of wandering clans that had already arrived in the green lands. Then, on the seventh day, he was visited by another swan."

"This swan was black, and it was just as great as the white swan, but it was far more beautiful. She bowed before him and suffered him to sit on her back. She swam him across the river, leaving his enemies to curse and shout in vain. Martyn vowed to love this black swan, and honour her in gratitude for evermore. The following morning, he awoke to find a maiden lying beside him. Her skin was pale as snow, and her hair was black as coal."

Both his daughters started; they understood what had happened. They giggled as they exchanged glances. Alicent had a sly look in her eyes. "Did the maiden lay eggs?"

"She did," Baldric replied, amused by her reaction. She laid seven eggs, and out of these eggs hatched four boys and three girls. Martyn and the maid raised them until they were old enough to help their parents build a home. They took wood from the forest and stone from the mountains to build a castle which was black and white, in honour of the swans which had saved Martyn's life. He honoured them again when he chose a banner for himself, and took their name for his own. Thus did he found House Swann, along the river which he protected from foes on either side of it. His descendants continue to thrive in the Dornish Marches, including here in this castle."

"Really?" Celia was not as quick as her elder sister. "His descendants? Here in Blackhaven? Who are they?"