Baldric
Lord Caron took four days to muster a sizable army. He was mindful that the Vulture King and his followers might strike Caron lands whilst he was away on the Vulture Hunt, thanks in part to the councils with Baldric and Titus. Many of the poorest smallfolk, those who were armed with little better than tools, were sent back home to guard their villages. Lord Caron only took men who were horsed, men who were well-armed, or else who were the most skilled archers.
More than two thousand Caron troops were assembled by the fifth day, following their lord away from Nightsong. Lord Caron rode alongside Baldric, as befitting an ally of equal stature.
Baldric had disliked Lord Caron even before the Blackfyre Rebellion. He had been a snot-nosed arrogant boy, putting on airs as he served as squire to Baldric's eldest brother. Caron had eagerly joined in with the japes at Baldric's expense, as well as sharing in the enmity over Baldric's superior jousting skills.
That alone was bad enough, of course, but Baldric also recalled how Lord Caron had fought for Daemon Blackfyre on the Redgrass Field. That day had been the worst of Baldric's life; he had lost bannermen, allies, and friends too numerous to count, including Wild Wyl Waynwood. Baldric had always had his doubts about the men who'd bent the knee. He certainly knew that his father would gladly join a Blackfyre invasion if it should ever happen, and he did not doubt that Pearse Caron would do the same.
Still, Titus had bent Caron to his will, and the Vulture Hunt could begin in earnest. Some things went beyond the dragon rivalries; this was the marchers' way of life, as it had always been. They might be at peace with Dorne, but the Vulture King was just one of several that they had defeated before.
As they marched southwards, Baldric and Caron sent nearly three hundred horsemen ahead of them as scouts. All were lightly armed, and most were mounted archers.
"Do not engage the enemy except in defence," Baldric urged his own men. "These men are dangerous, and this will be their chosen ground of battle.
It was not long before he could bare conceal his resentment of Lord Caron. The man had a tetchy disposition, and he was determined to prove that, despite having a smaller force, he was an equal power to Baldric, and certainly a more powerful man than Titus, despite his position in the king's court. He would give orders to Dondarrion men or sellswords who were sworn to Baldric's service, as if daring Baldric to object and provoke an argument. He had also placed his cousin, Ser Olyvar, in charge of the scouts, of whom two thirds were sworn to Baldric. Baldric had yielded, not wishing to make a scene, but the more he gave, the more Caron seemed to take. Even Baldric's bannermen were growing discontented.
"At this rate, the Vulture King need only sit back and watch us tear each other to pieces," Ser Karl Penny complained on the second night after leaving Nightsong.
"Them Carons have always been arrogant," Ser Branston Straw remarked. "They still claim all the marches for themselves."
The others laughed at that, except for Cameron Bolt. By all accounts, he was a cautious young man at the best of times, and now he urged them all to keep their voices down.
"Best not give Lord Caron a reason to take offence," he urged.
Baldric glanced over his shoulder, as did the others.
"He's not here," Branston said reproachfully..
"Maybe not," Baldric sighed. "But someone else might hear. Ser Cameron has the right way of it."
They were careful to keep such opinions to themselves thereafter, but the campaign kept them busy enough. Nearly seven thousand fighting men rode horses or else walked on their feet. House Caron had gathered up their last harvest, and so were able to provide ample provisions for the journey. Thousands of smallfolk had accompanied the army, mainly as servants or camp followers. Campaigns draw such men and women like ravens to carrion, Baldric thought more than once as he travelled along.
His younger sons, Kresimir and Geraint, had been so thrilled to serve as squires to their father; by the third day of the march, that enthusiasm had not abated. They were eager to learn how to scour mail, how to look after a horse, and how to sharpen weapons. It was all a great adventure in the name of avenging their brother. More than once, Baldric regretted bringing his boys along. They will not grin so easily when they see those swords put to use. But such is the marchers' way.
By contrast to his younger brothers, Manfred said little and kept to himself. He often wore a look that some would call stern and wise beyond his years, but to Baldric, it was his usual sulk. Still, he had not forgotten his punishment for speaking out, and he did not make any outbursts. But he did not seem to fear his father so much as resent him.
Titus was also growing quiet. As Master of Laws, he might very well have claimed a commanding rank equal to Baldric and Caron, or even surpassed them. But he had not done so, despite what Cassana had believed.
Do not trust Titus, she had warned Baldric before he'd left Blackhaven. By intent or by chance, he will bring calamity upon you. And then he will walk away from it, caring nothing for those whom he hurts.
For Baldric's part, loyalty to Cassana had always served to drive a wedge between himself and Cassana's younger siblings. The Blackfyre Rebellion had given him a newfound respect for Titus, though he mainly kept it to himself. Cassana never liked to speak of why she hated Titus, and he had learned not to ask questions.
Still, he was curious about Titus, and especially about those lads of his. It had stunned Baldric when the youngest squire had spoken to him as if they were kin. There was no trace of Titus, or House Dondarrion, to be seen in that boy's face.
It had been Cassana who had later informed him of the truth, and it left him utterly baffled. Such a decision by Titus was unheard of to a man like Baldric. This only sharpened his confusion and curiosity.
The army first went south, then east; by the fifth day, they had set up camp at the foot of the Prince's Pass. Once more, Baldric and the other lords assembled for a war council.
"They will have every passage watched," Titus warned as he examined a map of the Red Mountains. "There will be no chance of surprising them."
"Agreed," Caron affirmed. "And they will surely hide themselves in secure places. They will try to pick us off, lead us into a trap, harass us from safe distances."
"The scouts will return to us tomorrow," Baldric reminded the others. "Perhaps they will bring guides with them?"
"Perhaps," Caron echoed. "Then we shall postpone any decisions until the morrow." He did not wait for leave to depart, but walked off with his bannermen in tow.
"So be it," Baldric sighed. He turned to Ser Branston. "Double the watch. I'll have no ambush take us unawares tonight." As the others went to their places, Baldric called to Titus.
The marcher lord turned back, a somber expression on his face. He had always been taller than Baldric, and he still stood unbent. He was no longer thin, but nor was he especially portly. Like Baldric, his hair and beard were half grey, and his scarred face was lined.
Baldric suddenly felt nervous, but whether that was due to Titus or Cassana, he did not ponder overmuch. "Will you dine with me tonight?"
Titus hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "As you will." He turned and gave quick instructions to his eldest squire, then followed Baldric back to his tent. Manfred slept elsewhere, but Kresimir and Geraint were present. They had already begun serving their father as pages, and so they knew their duties.
"What's this, then?" Titus asked as he watched Geraint carefully fill his goblet from a small jug.
"Apple cider," Baldric replied. "The hardest of its kind that you will find in the marches, or so I was promised." He held up his goblet. "Your health, goodbrother."
"And to you," Titus replied quietly. He then drained the goblet dry and beckoned to Kresimir for a refill.
"You drink well," Baldric remarked.
"Nay," Titus countered. "I am grossly out of practice. I spent years avoiding such drinks. But war seems to sap my resolve to be a better man."
Baldric sensed that Titus meant his words as a jest, but if that was his intention, he was disappointed. Baldric did not have the heart to laugh, or even smile, at such a bleak remark.
Instead he shook his head. "True enough. I no longer recognise the young man who once prayed for a chance at glory."
Titus said nothing to that, and simply raised his goblet in a silent toast. Baldric returned the gesture.
As Kresimir and Geraint refilled the goblets, servants placed food upon the wooden table. There was roast quail, along with several lesser fowl which the army's bowmen had brought down whilst on the march. A thick vegetable stew accompanied the meat, served in pewter bowls.
Both men slowed their drinking as they tucked into the food. Baldric allowed Titus to take the greater share of roast quail for himself. "Gods, this is delicious," Titus gushed as he took another bite.
"That would be Unwin's work," Baldric informed him. "I brought him along with us from the kitchens in Blackhaven."
"Reminds me of old Cassander," Titus reflected. "He used to let me watch whilst he prepared supper."
"He went to his deserved rest just before the rebellion," Baldric recalled. "Unwin is one of his grandsons."
Titus nodded thoughtfully as he took another draught of cider. "Cassander was the first man I met who worshipped the old gods."
Baldric nodded. "Our captain of the guards was another one of those. Ser Dagnir of Edain. He came from a village in the rainwood which still clung to that tree worship. Never understood any of it, truthfully."
"Nor did I," Titus agreed. He was resting his head in one hand as he continued to eat and drink. "But Maester Gerold used to keep tomes from the Citadel, and one of them was an account of the First Men. Legend has it that men sometimes changed their skins for those of beasts."
Baldric shuddered. "Base nonsense, surely?"
"Maybe," Titus allowed. "But what if it isn't? What if such a skill existed? What does that say about the world where magic exists beyond the power of the Seven?"
"You ought not to think like that," Baldric warned him, feeling alarmed at this talk.
Titus shrugged. "What of the Drowned God of the Ironborn? Did you know that in Dorne, there are those who worship some goddess called Mother Rhoyne? In Essos, they worship a red fire god called R'hllor, the Hooded Wayfarer, the Black Goat, three-headed Trios… are they all wrong? The Summer Islanders worship love and beauty. Would that the rest of us put our faith in such concepts."
"Have a care," Baldric urged. "Some talk cannot be excused with drink. You would do well to keep such idle speculation to yourself."
Titus seemed disappointed, but he said no more of gods.
Whether it was because Baldric felt uncomfortable by the silence, whether he too had had a hefty amount of cider, or something else, he was inspired to give voice to a thought which entered his mind. "Do you ever dream of the men you've killed?"
Titus froze, mid-bite as he held a bone in both hands. Then, he tore a strip of cooked and seasoned flesh, chewing it slowly. It seemed as if he wished to avoid answering Baldric's question, until he swallowed and spoke readily. "Sometimes."
Baldric nodded, even as he drained his goblet to wash down a bit of goose that was sticking in the back of his throat. "Forgive me, but I cannot speak freely of such things with just anyone…"
"No need to explain," Titus urged. His voice sounded strange already, even as he swallowed another mouthful of cider. "Only a fool would think less of you."
"The realm is full of such fools," Baldric murmured. "But you were there on that terrible day. And I can only imagine what you witnessed during your exile."
Titus gave a sour laugh. "Even that is beginning to feel like it happened to another man."
"Howso?"
Titus faltered; it was clear that he'd spoken impulsively. Then he seemed to make some sort of decision to speak, but the words seemed to pain him as they left his mouth. "I think I have forgotten what it means to live with hope."
Baldric had not been expecting that. "Surely, you cannot mean that, my lord! Not after our great victory!"
"Great victory," Titus mused. "Bitterly won, no?"
"Of course it was," Baldric allowed, "but even were it twice as bitter, the victory should still be worth it. What have these ten years of peace meant if not that?"
"Peace," Titus echoed hollowly. "Peace. What does that even mean anymore? My duties have kept me travelling from one end of the realm to the other, and I see little sign of peace. The old grudges continue, just like with Lord Caron."
"That may be," Baldric replied, "but before this Vulture King arrived, Blackhaven had ten years of peace." You might have seen that for yourself if you had come to visit us during your rounds.
Immediately, Baldric felt remorseful for that unworthy thought, and he spoke more gently. "You gave us those ten years when you drove the Swanns out."
Titus shook his head. "They were already fleeing, Baldric. You have always been too generous with your gratitude."
They sat quietly for a moment, eating and drinking together. Baldric was growing tipsy from the cider, whilst Titus seemed to be drunk. He really has been abstaining, Baldric thought.
Titus put down a chicken bone and gave a long sigh. His melancholic expression seemed to deepen.
"What haunts me more than the ones I killed are the ones I didn't kill. Not by mine own hand, anyway. The ones I let die because I abandoned them. Garin and Chayora… Aliandra and Coryanne… I might have saved them." Titus' eyes welled up as he averted them from his goodbrother.
Baldric felt an urge to put a hand on Titus' shoulder. "I just don't understand it."
"Understand?" Titus glanced up at Baldric. "What don't you understand?"
"Any of it," Baldric answered. "You and Cass have far more in common than either one of you thinks. Why is there such hate between you?"
Titus glumly shrugged. "I suppose we never liked each other, even before that wretched business with Father."
"Your father?" Baldric felt his insides growing cold. "You disapprove of what he did?"
Titus stared at Baldric with surprise. "How could I not?"
Mayhaps Titus isn't the only one who is drinking too much. "It was evil of him, of course," Baldric protested, holding up his hands in the air, as if surrendering to Titus' outrage. "But surely you must concede what your brother did was far worse!"
The anger faded from Titus' face. "What?"
"Your brother," Baldric insisted, "your eldest brother. What he did to Cassana. Is that not worse?"
Titus frowned. "What did he do?"
Gods… he didn't know… Baldric felt himself growing flushed. He opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to do or say.
Suddenly, Titus seemed less drunk than before. "What did Edmund do to Cass?"
Slowly, reluctantly, Baldric ordered his sons to leave the tent, forbidding them to overhear. Then he told Titus what Cassana had confided in him. He felt sick with shame at having betrayed his wife's confidence, but he saw no way out except to tell her brother the truth.
By the time he was finished speaking, Titus had slumped against his chair, utterly aghast.
"All these years," he exclaimed in his slurring voice. "No wonder she defended Father for so long." His face suddenly became alive with disgust and confusion. "Does that mean the gods punished him with Orwyle's death? He slew Orwyle by accident, or so he said. Were the gods punishing Father for murdering Edmund? But what sort of justice is that?" He shook his head, almost violently. "What a ghoulish joke!"
Baldric was suddenly reminded of what Titus had said to trigger the misunderstanding. "What were you referring to, then? When you spoke of your father and Cassana's hatred of you."
Titus faltered for a moment, then gave a shrug. "So be it. We shall speak truths together, Baldric. And besides, I was already punished by the king for what I did."
Baldric leaned forward. He had always wondered why Titus had been exiled, but he had not expected to hear the answer from his own mouth.
"You must recall," Titus began, "that my father was an evil man. He often subjected his wife and children to violence, even without all that nasty business with Edmund. Cassana may have forgiven him all that, but I loathed him. So, I made him answer for the pain he inflicted upon us."
As he confessed his plot to kill Lord Armond Dondarrion, Baldric was stunned. Not even during the Blackfyre Rebellion had he ever wished to slay his traitorous kinsmen, not even after a lifetime of misery at their will.
"How is it you were only exiled for such a crime?"
"Daeron's mercy," Titus replied. "I confessed it of my own free will to save two other men from execution." He suddenly gave a hollow laugh. "And then you went on to burn one of them alive."
Baldric deeply regretted his part in the conversation, especially because he felt so trapped by it. He had betrayed Cassana's greatest secret, and now he was bound to keep Titus' own secret. It seemed too great of a price to slake his curiosity on the enmity between his wife and goodbrother, but the price had been paid all the same.
After Titus was finished, he retired to his own tent whilst thanking Baldric for the supper and cider. Baldric went to his own bed, but despite his pounding head, he could not sleep for quite some time. For the first time, he understood why Cassana had wished for him to keep Titus at arms' length, but this comprehension was at odds with his pity for Titus' misfortunes. He wrestled with his mixed emotions until he finally collapsed into an exhausted sleep.
He was not sure how long he slept, or even what he dreamed of; he was jolted back into wakefulness due to sunlight shining through a hole in his tent.
Nursing a strong headache and a raging thirst, Baldric called for his sons, who brought clean clothes for him to change into, as well as a pitcher of water that he drained dry.
The camp was already bustling when he stepped outside, restraining the urge to shield his eyes from the morning sun. It was a rare day where Baldric cursed a bright day, but this was one of those times.
"Lord Baldric!"
He turned and beheld Ser Cameron Bolt approaching him with great haste. At first, Baldric wondered if they were under attack, but nobody else seemed to share in Bolt's alarm.
"My lord," Bolt gasped as he skidded to a halt. "The scouts are returned."
"Good!" Baldric frowned at the expression on Bolt's face. "It is good, is it not?"
"They are reporting to Lord Caron," Bolt told him. "No word was sent to us about it."
Gods be damned. "Get the others assembled," Baldric ordered angrily. "And wake Lord Titus if he is still abed."
He stormed across the camp and bulled his way past the Caron guards.
Pearse Caron sat lazily in a chair, unmoved by the expression on Baldric's face. A group of men stood before him, led by his cousin Olyvar. There was also a handful of smallfolk standing apart, comprised of three men and a woman. Baldric could not be sure whether they were stormlanders or rocky Dornishmen.
"What is the meaning of this?" Baldric thundered at Lord Caron.
"The scouts have submitted a report," Lord Caron replied unabashedly.
"You are not the sole commander of this army." Baldric forgot about tact as he glared at the seated marcher lord. "Why was no word given to Lord Titus and myself?"
"I saw no sign of you about camp," Lord Caron answered. "I assumed that you were busy. Was I mistaken?"
Clever, Baldric thought resentfully. He was hardly about to admit that he'd overslept due to drunkenness. "Out with it, then. What is the news?" From the corner of his eye, he saw Titus come in. He forced himself not to reflect on their prior conversation again; he had more important matters to consider.
"Very well." Lord Caron turned back to his cousin. "If you wouldn't mind repeating what you told me?"
It was soon clear that Ser Olyvar was the more courteous and tactful member of his family. "My lords," he began, "we found at least five pathways into the mountains. There were no guards or fortifications, but we did not venture very far."
"No matter," Baldric muttered. "These men would certainly have trapped you if you'd ridden beneath the mountains' shadows."
"We do not even know which of those paths will lead us to the Vulture King," Titus added. It was clear that he was speaking through gritted teeth. Baldric was relieved that he was not the only one struggling with the prior night.
"As to that," Ser Olyvar replied, even as he gestured to the smallfolk, "we have found three guides. These are Gisgo, Mickon, Alim, and Agripina. They have seen the Vulture King and his followers. They will guide us to them for a price."
"Tell me," Lord Caron suddenly drawled, "are we not serving the King's command? Is it not their sworn duty to the King that they serve us? Since when are these peasants permitted to haggle their knowledge to the King?"
"Leave it be, Pearse," Titus growled. "I will pay them myself if you wish to act niggardly."
"Our thanks, my lord," the dark-haired woman called out, smiling and curtsying towards Titus. He gave her a curt nod, but he seemed less groggy than before.
Pearse glanced at Baldric and shot him an exasperated and knowing glance. Baldric could understand what Lord Caron meant with that look. Certainly not the first woman that Titus will have paid. Yet however conflicted he felt about Titus and what they had discussed the night before, Baldric pointedly turned away from Caron's conspiratorial glance.