Cassana
Cassana stood on her balcony atop the Lord's Tower, looking down at the castle grounds.
The refugees had not stopped coming to Blackhaven after Baldric's departure. Men, women, and children had been dispossessed, driven from their homes by the Vulture King's raids. Cassana had declared that any men who wished to remain in Blackhaven must either take up a trade in her castle or else join her household guards.
Many men had taken the latter option, desperate to provide a home for their families. At present, Cassana watched as they were being trained by Ser Branston Straw. The master-at-arms' voice was loud enough to carry up to her, and she could tell that he was growing frustrated. She did not want to think about how many would actually be worthy enough to join the garrison. What will become of those whom Ser Branston rejects?
Somewhere down there, her sons must be training as well. Kresimir and Geraint were still boys, but the death of Caspor had sharpened their desire to learn how to fight.
Tears flowed down her cheeks and disappeared as they descended. She dared not look down to see how far they fell before dissolving. She might be tempted to throw herself from the balcony.
She could still see Caspor's mutilated head whenever she closed her eyes. He haunted her dreams like a ghost, calling to her for aid or for vengeance. She often needed to retreat to her chambers to let out her grief.
Bring the Vulture King back to me, Baldric. I want to see him weep as I have wept for our son.
There was no news from Baldric yet, but that was to be expected. Maddening as it was, there was no alternative, unless she had a glass candle which somehow managed to burn.
She tried to distract herself with duties, overseeing even the smallest matters. She would walk amongst the refugees and speak with them, hearing their grievances and assuring them of House Dondarrion's dedication to right those wrongs.
"Milady?"
Cassana brushed the last few tears from her eyes. "Yes?"
"The council awaits you."
Gods. She followed the guardsman down the winding stairs, shuddering as the autumn winds whistled in through the arrow slits. "Be sure to light more torches at night."
"Yes, milady," came the dutiful answer. Cassana recalled that this one was named Gerris, and that he had served in the castle guard since her father's time. He was grey-haired and stout now, just like her. The years are as cruel as the gods. She suddenly felt another fresh wave of grief when she recalled that Caspor would never see his hair turn grey.
Tudur Selmy and Maester Halys were seated at the table where Baldric had held court for sixteen years. Where her father had done the same for even longer. Where her brother Titus and her goodsister Tyana had squabbled furiously for their right to inherit this castle.
Cassana took her seat in the large ornate chair of the lightning lords. "Let us begin."
Tudur Selmy cleared his throat before peering down at the first parchment in his hands. "My lady, I fear that the refugees are becoming a problem."
"Forgive me," Cassana interjected icily, "I thought the problem was the Vulture King."
"Of course," Selmy agreed with a look of alarm. "But my lady, our expenses are mounting as fast as our space is diminishing. More are still trickling into the castle, and we cannot support them all at this rate."
Cassana gave a sigh, forcing herself to speak civilly. "In that case, what do you suggest? The Vulture King is still at large, their homes have been destroyed, and their neighbours are dead."
"I suppose we could construct a new town," Selmy replied, but he shrugged to show that he was not fully in favour of the notion.
Cassana was in full agreement with that shrug. "That will take time and materials. And even if we do commit to such an expense, it will be for naught. These people will want to return to their homes and farms once the Vulture King has been brought to justice."
"Indeed, my lady," Selmy admitted.
Maester Walys raised a plump hand. "My lady, if I might offer a suggestion?"
"You may," Cassana affirmed.
"I come from the North, as you know," the maester began. "How familiar are you with Winterfell?"
Cassana tilted her head, pondering the question. "I can name the house who rules that castle, but I imagine you have something else in mind."
"The castle is known for its winter town," Maester Walys explained. "Every autumn and winter, it serves as a warm refuge from the cold. Thousands make their journey to this winter town. More than fifteen thousand can be housed there comfortably."
Cassana frowned. "And what of spring and summer?"
"Most of the houses lie empty in those seasons," Maester Walys allowed. "But they are sturdily built, so that they might endure. If we do build this town, it could serve as a rallying point in times of hardship. They might also serve to develop the marches around Blackhaven. I believe Cloudwatch has a similar design?"
"The village which Cloudwatch supports could never be considered a town," Cassana objected coolly. Even as the maester frowned, however, she spoke up again. "That said, I think there might be merit to this idea. It will be too late to have another harvest before winter, and we do not know how long winter will last. So long as my people have shelter, I will consider it worthwhile."
"We have no shortage of workers either," Selmy suggested. "They will be building their own homes, after all."
At Cassana's bidding, the steward took out a large map of House Dondarrion's territory. "We can acquire stone from these quarries," he observed, jabbing two points near Blackhaven with his finger. "Both are fewer than two days' march away. The bigger problem is where we will get wood."
"The rainwood is too far away," Cassana mused. "And House Swann will hinder us wherever it can manage." She gave a sigh. "I suppose there is the hunting wood." She was referring to the small forest which her family had hunted for untold generations.
"We will need to be very sparing," Maester Walys cautioned. "Take only the biggest trees, and allow the rest to replace them. Else that wood will disappear forever."
"Even that will not be enough wood for our purposes," Cassana countered. "And it will take far too long to shape the sort of stone that we require."
Selmy, who had been poring over the map, suddenly pointed to a specific area to the north-east of Blackhaven. "Mayhaps we can use peat and turf from this bit of moorland? Combine that with the stones, we need not worry too much about proper stone shape. We can simply collect any pieces we find and fit them together."
It was a good idea, Cassana could see that for herself, as could Maester Walys. Stone and peat would endure longer than wood.
As if he read her mind, Maester Walys added another point in favour of Selmy's idea. "Cost would be kept down if we have the people build these houses together. We need only oversee the work and ensure that it is done properly."
Plenty of work for any man unfit to become a soldier, Cassana mused, and good training for any new recruits to guard the workers on their journeys.
"So be it," she affirmed. "But work must begin at once. As you northmen love to say, maester, winter is coming."
"Indeed, my lady," Walys agreed with a smile.
Cassana sat back in the chair. "What else do we have to discuss?"
"There is the matter of Ser Dagnir of Edain," Selmy replied, "and his title."
Of course. She had been putting off that appointment for too long. "Go on, then."
Selmy took out a fresh sheaf of parchment. "I have whittled the candidates down to four, my lady. We have Ser Jackers of Ashdon, Ser Gilbert of Blackfield, Ser Mychal of Harmon's Hollow, and Ser Royce Storm of Blackhaven."
Cassana was surprised, but limited her reaction to a blink. She tried to keep her voice calm as she glanced at Selmy. "May I ask why Ser Royce is being considered?"
"He grew up here, did he not?" Selmy was no fool; he could sense her change of mood, and he grew nervous once more. "I thought you would consider experience as a mark in his favour."
"Fully agreed, though I seem to recall his absence of sixteen years," Cassana retorted.
Selmy fidgeted in his seat. "You would think that, my lady, but there is slightly more to his candidacy than that. There is considerable support for him. Several of the older guards have vouched for him as a fine man and a skilled warrior."
"Their memories seem different from mine," Cassana remarked. "I recall a man who dallied with my brother's widow, who insulted my house whilst he made his departure."
"That may be," Maester Walys replied cautiously, "but he seems to have repented. Else your husband would not have welcomed him back, surely?"
Cassana gave both her councillors a meaningful glance, measuring these interjections. Neither of them knew Ser Royce. They simply report that which is. All the same, I had best make sure that Royce is not winning them to his side.
All the same, Cassana recognised that she had been a fool to draw attention to Ser Royce's name. She had given them cause to justify him, when he could have easily been dismissed without a word. She adopted a gentle tone of voice, with only the slightest bit of chiding, as if it were a simple and insignificant transgression. "My husband, out of the goodness of his heart, allowed him a place back amongst the guards. He did not mention any wish to appoint Ser Royce as Ser Dagnir's successor."
"As you say, my lady," Selmy replied, visibly relaxing as he spoke again. "Who will you choose instead?"
Who, indeed? Cassana knew exactly who she wanted to appoint. She had not forgotten the complaint which Ser Lomas Tarly had carried from Royce during his imprisonment for murder. Mychal of Harmon's Hollow had been known to despise Royce Storm and quarrel with him.
Truthfully, there was little reason to choose Ser Mychal. He had only earned his knighthood as a boon for his service during the Blackfyre Rebellion. By all accounts, he was an abrasive and boastful man, bullying those beneath him and toadying to those above. Still, he was the one most likely to keep Royce Storm miserable, and mayhaps drive him away from Blackhaven once more.
"I believe Ser Mychal has served our castle longer than any of these men," she declared, after pretending to think about it. "He proved his loyalty to Blackhaven many times under my husband's command in the Vale."
"So he did," Maester Walys affirmed. If he had any qualms about such a choice, he showed no sign of disapproval.
She turned back to Selmy, who was equally untroubled by the choice, already grabbing a new piece of parchment. "What shall we discuss next, Master Selmy?"
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She could not go to Branston Straw. The lad might be loyal to House Dondarrion, and especially to Baldric, his former master, but Cassana also knew that Branston had known Royce before the troubles had begun all those years ago. She did not trust that he might have some affection for the man. Not for the first time did she wish that she had Kresimir Hasty by her side once more. She wished for Hasty's sons, and Dagnir of Edain, and his cousin Orleg, and Basil of Stag's March, and Danel of Hegg's Mine, and Vin Storm. Any one of them would have spied on him for me, gladly reported all his doings to me. Maybe they would have murdered Royce for me if he gave me cause.
Instinctively, she made her way to the great hall, where she'd erected a plaque which honoured Kresimir Hasty and the seven knights who'd saved her when she had lost nearly everyone else. She always ensured that fresh flowers were laid beneath the plaque, watered and replaced in an endless cycle which always drew those to read those magnificent names.
Instead of inspecting the flowers, however, Cassana was distracted by an unpleasant sight.
Septa Perianne sat at one of the tables, holding a copy of The Seven-Pointed Star in her hands. Across from her sat a number of maidens, daughters of House Dondarrion's knights. Among them were Alicent and Celia, Cassana's daughters.
"It was in the land of Andalos," Septa Perianne read aloud, "where the gods took human form and walked the land amongst mortal men. In their great wisdom and foresight, the gods chose Hugor of the Hill to be the King of Andalos. Seven stars did the father bring down from the night sky, and fashioned them into a crown for Hugor to wear. "Rule in our name," he declared to Hugor, who bowed before the gods in gratitude. Pleased was the Father, and he crowned Hugor as he knelt, bidding him rise with the crown in his hair."
Cassana had never liked Perianne; she had always been a mousy woman that squeaked at the sight of her own shadow. Somehow, that frightened young septa had formed a bond with Cassana's goodsister, Tyana, after she was found guilty of murdering Maester Gerold. Worse than that, Perianne had become convinced that Tyana was innocent.
In that, she was entirely correct. Cassana had murdered Gerold to avenge her father's murder at his and Titus' hands, then framed Tyana to eliminate her as a claimant to the lordship. Perianne had desperately tried to prevent Tyana's punishment from being carried out, but she had been unsuccessful.
Tyana's execution had not ended the matter, however. It had only deepened the rift between Cassana and Perianne, so that she had not lifted a finger to help Cassana when Alfred Swann had seized Blackhaven for himself, degraded Cassana, and imprisoned her alongside any man who remained loyal to House Dondarrion. Cassana had never forgiven or forgotten that treason, but she had taken no revenge against Perianne. For one thing, she was still a septa, and her neutral stance was justifiable by her oaths to the Faith. For another thing, Cassana had been amused at how turning the other cheek had only inflamed Perianne's loathing for her.
Still, the joke had worn thin over the years. Perianne had grown grey and stout alongside her, but she continued to fulfill her duties as a septa. Perhaps she had realised that Cassana was growing tired of the game, and was determined to outdo her in piety and patience.
After she looked upon the flowers, Cassana walked out of the great hall without interrupting Septa Perianne. She wished to see where her two remaining sons could be found.
Kresimir, who was Celia's twin, and his younger brother Geraint were still reeling from the death of their brother Caspor. It did not help that Manfred, whom they had worshipped all their short lives, was gone with their father to hunt down the Vulture King. Much like Cassana, they seemed to benefit from being kept busy.
As she expected, the boys were watching Ser Branston Straw and his assistant lead the assembled recruits through the drills.
Much to her distaste, she saw that one of the assistants was Royce Storm. He was pacing amongst the smallfolk, barking orders on how they should hold their shields and weapons.
"Come now," she told her sons. "You are both due for Septon Tam."
Kresimir shot her a pleading glance. "Can we come back after our lessons, Mother?"
"We shall see," Cassana replied, but Kresimir was not satisfied with such a vague answer.
"Please, Mother," he begged. Cousin Royce promised to teach us how to use a sling!"
We shall certainly see about that. "Off you go," Cassana insisted.
As soon as the boys hurried back inside the keep, Cassana turned to Royce Storm.
He'd just finished repositioning a green boy's stance when he responded to her calling of his name. "My lady?"
"A word, ser," she commanded, making it clear that he was being summoned.
Royce dutifully left the men behind and slowly plodded beside Cassana. "What can I do for you, my lady?"
"That is not the question, ser," she answered. "The question is what Blackhaven can do for you. I imagine that it has been a trying readjustment for you these past weeks."
"It has not been easy," Royce admitted. "Many of my dearest friends are gone. Your boys have been very welcoming to me, however."
They always took after their father. "Kresimir and Geraint were always taught to honour and look out for one's kin."
Royce inclined his head. "Blackhaven was always my home, no matter how far I travelled."
"Indeed?" Cassana turned her head towards Royce once more, maintaining an innocent and curious tone. "Where might that have been?"
"Nowhere special, my lady," Royce said with a smile. "Hedge knights see a great deal of the seven kingdoms which are ill suited for a lady such as yourself."
Cassana was growing weary of this game. Royce had changed a great deal from the impulsive and hot-blooded young man that she'd known. Now he was cautious and calculating, guarded with his words and emotions. We are both so determined to hide our true intentions that we are saying nothing.
Still, she was determined to be friendly to him; she did not know how deeply he mistrusted her, but it might offset the news of Ser Mychal's promotion to captain of the guards. Best to leave him unsure of my motives, whatever his might be.
"I am glad that you are settling in," she told him. "House Dondarrion has endured many terrible things since my father died. We ought to look after those kinsmen that remain." She spoke those words with an air of finality, assuring Ser Royce that he was dismissed without saying it aloud.
However, he did not depart. Instead,
"Since you offered your assistance, my lady," Royce began, "I was curious if you knew what became of Elwood."
Cassana felt a pit open up inside of her. In an instant, she was brought back to that horrid day in her own chambers, where Alfred Swan had allowed Elwood and Ser Maynard Kellington to force themselves upon her whilst she was rendered helpless by the very rope which she used on Baldric. Anger and shame swiftly heated her beneath the autumn sun.
He knows this tale; or does he? Is he trying to antagonise me? Well, cyvasse is a game for two players, not just one.
She forced herself to adopt an innocent air. "You did not hear?"
"I know that he died during the rebellion," he replied. "None of the others seem to know what exactly became of him, though. I heard that Ser Dagnir might have known the truth of it, but alas…" He gave a sad shrug.
It was a calculated performance; Cassana could see it clear as day. She did not know how much of what he'd said was a lie; Dagnir certainly would not have disclosed anything without Cassana's permission; he had always been a good secretkeeper.
In one thing, he had erred, and she gleefully exploited it behind her innocent bravado. "What makes you think that I would know of his end?"
"I didn't think that, my lady," Royce replied. "I was told that you would know, since he was last seen escorting you to Alfred Swan's siege of Cloudwatch.
Got you. Cassana thought back to the bitter woman sitting in her great hall, reading to her daughters. Only Perianne would still recall that. And she has every reason to wish me ill.
So pleased was she with this victory over Royce that she decided to unsettle him even further.
"The last I saw of Master Elwood," she answered him, "he was lying dead in the open air, with his severed member stuffed into his mouth."
The truth had its desired effect. Royce gaped at her in astonishment.
"I trust that satisfies your curiosity?" Cassana remarked sweetly.
Royce frowned, but he gave a short nod of his head. "Much appreciated, my lady. But mightn't you also tell me what he had done to earn such a fate?"
"He chose the wrong side in the war," Cassana answered lightly, "and he thought he could betray House Dondarrion."
With that, she turned and walked off, savouring the expression on Royce's face long after he was out of sight. Her only regret was that she would not be present for his reaction to Ser Mychal's promotion.
She was about to re-enter the keep when horns were blown from atop the walls.
Cassana turned back around and hurried towards the main gate. "What do you see?"
"Dondarrion host returning!"
Cassana breathed a sigh of relief. Baldric had given no guess as to when he would return. She had begun to wonder when he would come back, and now she quickly gave orders to welcome Lord Dondarrion home.
Ser Branston Straw quickly organised two lines on either side of the main gate, as befitting a hero's triumphant return. Cassana looked on it approvingly, even as she gathered her household to stand at the end of the lines.
Even before the great gates were opened, however, Cassana sensed that something was terribly wrong. There were no trumpets or horns from the approaching host, no songs being sung. The guards atop the wall gave no cheers to see their lord come home.
Baldric and Manfred rode at the front of the host; although they seemed to be uninjured, the looks on their faces were grim and dark. The pit was opening once again inside of Cassana, especially when she saw horses carrying several biers, two of which were wrapped in Selmy and Bolt banners. Gods, no... please no...
When Baldric finally reached Cassana, he dismounted with a weary sigh. "This Vulture King is more elusive and clever than we thought," he muttered to her.
Cassana wanted to scream, but she knew that Baldric needed her to be strong. She embraced him wordlessly, and did the same for Manfred when he approached her.
She could not stop herself from weeping when Baldric confirmed that Orryn Bolt and Lanval Selmy were dead. "We should escort Lanval home," she urged Baldric as they walked into the keep. "Jocelyn and the children will be inconsolable..."
"Aye," Baldric confirmed. "Before we do that, I must send a raven to King's Landing. The Baratheons will be there anyway for the wedding, we can address it to them as well so that no offence is given."
Cassana stopped in her tracks. "Must we?"
Baldric also halted, and rounded on her with an astonished anger on his face that she hadn't seen since the Blackfyre Rebellion. "I will not have this, Cassana! We cannot do this alone! The Swanns and Carons will not aid us by choice, and Lanval's heir is eight years old! This Vulture King is an experienced man, whoever he is. His followers are no mere rabble or band of brigands, I've seen it for myself. They are disciplined, well-trained, and utterly without mercy! We must call our banners, and seek out allies wherever we can."
Cassana shuddered. She had almost forgotten how good she'd felt just before her husband's return. Still, she was not going to question Baldric's conviction. "So be it," she relented. "I shall arrange for a message to the king."