Titus
Titus had long ago lost count of the hours he'd spent wondering why Cassana had been so loyal to their father. He had never understood why she had turned the other way and ignored his many abuses and flaws. Even when she had told him that it was him that she'd always hated above their father… that still hadn't explained what grudge she'd held against their mother or Jena.
Never in his whole life had he imagined what Baldric revealed. He'd certainly heard a few people hint at his eldest brother's roguish nature, but the truth of it was horrific to hear.
Thoughts of Edmund, Orwyle, Father, and Cassana raced back and forth in his drunken mind, colliding with each other so frequently that he couldn't make sense of anything.
He'd drunk too much, he could tell; he could not recall how to get back to his tent. Thankfully, most men were already asleep, so they did not notice him as he stumbled about in the dim light of fading campfires and glowing embers.
As Titus walked on, his mind continued to race. He could not make sense of what he'd been told. All his life, he'd been told of the gods' curse upon kinslayers. Titus had always known that his father had been one, albeit by mistake. During the trial which had resulted in Titus' exile, he had finally considered what a terrible toll Orwyle's death must have taken on his father. Now Baldric had revealed that Armond had sacrificed Edmund in the name of avenging Cassana's virtue and honour. Titus was overwhelmed by the mere thought of such an act.
He still recalled when Edmund's body had been found; he could still see how his mother had wailed in grief, how his father had looked upon Edmund's mutilated corpse with wrath. He'd personally found those who'd done it and hanged them outside Blackhaven. Titus had wondered how Armond had discovered their guilt, until he'd decided that Armond must have hanged the wrong men. Did he think avenging his son's murder would lift the curse?
Still, Titus could not help but wonder how the gods would still see that as an unworthy act. He would like to think he could do the same as his father had done. If Miru or Barba were ever… he did not wish to consider it, and his squeamishness made him seethe with shame. Does that truly make me worse than Father after all?
Cassana's scorn and contempt came back to him, as well as that look of unabashed loathing in her eyes as she'd spoken of the family he'd thrown away. The very notion that she might have been correct was almost enough to make him scream.
"Lord Titus?"
Gods be damned… you of all men… Titus turned and glared at Royce Storm. The man sat beside a fire, slowly putting another piece of wood on it. A few flames flickered upward as the embers welcomed this new addition.
"What keeps you out and about at such an hour?" His friendliness was false, but convincing enough that he could feign innocence.
Still, Titus stepped forward and spat upon the fire. His spittle sizzled briefly as it landed amidst the embers. "Speak plainly, Royce."
"Plainly? I call that a bold request coming from you." Royce still spoke calmly, but he was utterly still; Titus could see that he was bracing himself to spring up and defend himself. He felt too drunk to fight properly, and he could not justify drawing Doom against an unarmed opponent, not even to himself.
"So be it, then," Titus spoke, forcing himself to speak as quietly as Royce. "I destroyed Father's will. I wanted to spite him, and take all that he'd held precious!"
"And to do it," Royce interjected, "you robbed me of everything I might have had."
Titus swayed where he stood. "I suppose it doesn't matter if I say it was not out of malice towards you."
Royce stood up. His eyes glittered with wrath in the fire, which lit up his rust-coloured beard. It was almost as if he himself were aflame. His voice was a rasping whisper.
"Aye, it does matter," Royce replied. "I would not be half as furious if you had destroyed me out of hatred. Do you have no inkling of what you did? I doubt you thought of me at all before we saw each other again."
That is not untrue. Titus's fists were so tightly clenched that he thought his hands would soon be bleeding.
Royce was far from finished. "I said I could respect your killing of Lomas, and I meant it! What I will never respect is what you did to me! You denied me everything I always dreamed of, and you did it because… because I was just in the way."
Now Titus wondered if Royce would attack him in this state. If he strikes me now, I'll challenge him to a duel, and we can sort this matter once and for all.
But Royce did not step forward. A look of withering contempt flashed across his face. "You were always the worst of the litter. I'll say this for Cassana; she might be a cold bitch, but she always had your measure."
Blood was seeping between Titus' fingers now. "And what would you say of my dear Cassana when I told you of how she was the one who nearly had you killed?"
"What is this?" Royce frowned in confusion.
As I said, Royce, I'll speak plainly enough for you. "Cassana slew Maester Gerold. She told me herself in the strictest confidence."
"You lie," Royce snapped.
"I shall forgive you that outburst," Titus observed. "It is a shocking thing to imagine, given how kindly my sister has always been."
Royce's jaw twisted beneath his beard at Titus' scorn. "Suppose I name you liar once more?"
"Then you shall face your doom," Titus declared mockingly, even as he gripped his sword's hilt. "But if we are speaking plainly, you had best hear the full truth before I cut you down. It was Cassana who murdered Gerold; she wanted Blackhaven just as badly as I. Is it not convenient that Tyana was found guilty of the crime, when she had the best claim to our seat? Cassana set it all in motion, and then blackmailed me into surrendering my own claim."
The anger left Royce's face as he stepped back from Titus. Titus had expected surprise, but Royce seemed horror-struck.
"Tyana," he exclaimed. "She did not murder Gerold?"
"Aye," Titus snapped, unable to prevent a smile crossing his face. "My dear sister nearly had you killed, and then she had Tyana executed."
Royce looked down. "She turned on me before the end," Royce murmured. "And then I was the one who accused her of adultery and murder."
"Is that so?" Titus folded his arms. "I suppose Cassana counted on that too. She always did rank me when it came to cunning."
Royce sat down heavily, no longer paying any heed to Titus as he began to blink rapidly. He lowered his head as if ashamed by his display of emotion. Lomas' squire, through and through. Tears are a curse to him, as they were to Lomas and Father alike.
Titus spat in the fire once more before stumbling off. He had hoped to feel better, but the earnest grief on Royce's face had left him hollow.
For his part, Titus had not expected to reveal that secret, but evoking it had certainly reminded Titus just how cruel Cassana truly was. I killed Father for revenge, she killed Tyana for greed.
Somebody was following him. He could hear light footsteps and heavy breathing as something drew nearer towards him. Instinctively, he knew that it was a dog, and he recognised the sounds.
It was Fyre. Cayn's mongrel hound loped forward with a curious expression on her face.
Titus smirked as he clumsily patted Fyre's head. "You know the way back, then?"
Much to Titus' surprise, Fyre began to trot between the tents, pointedly aimed in one direction.
Bemused, he followed the hound as fast as he could manage. Cayn's training that dog bloody well.
Andrew alone was still awake, sitting with a book and a single lit candle. Maric was sprawled on the ground, limbs outstretched, while Cayn lay on his side, facing the thick tent fabric.
Andrew frowned worriedly. "Are you well, Father?"
"Aye," Titus muttered. "Of course I am." He wiped a hand across his brow. It was far more damp than he had intended.
The assurance did not quell Andrew's display of concern. "Are you drunk again?"
Alyn would not have asked me that. "That's no question to ask, boy," Titus snapped.
Andrew flinched, staring wide-eyed up at Titus. "I'm sorry, Father!" He sprang out of his seat and stood beyond Titus' reach, holding the book to his chest.
Titus paused, registering the fear which emanated from Andrew's small frame. When he stepped forward, Andrew flinched.
"None of that, now," Titus exclaimed. "I'll not lay my hand on you. When have I ever done so?"
"You never got drunk neither," Andrew quietly blurted out. "Not like the men who hurt Ma."
Gods… Titus had no words for such an outburst. He felt utterly ashamed, but such a feeling also stirred an intense frustration within him as well. I have spoken sharply before, haven't I? It never scared him as much as this. Aye, I'm drunk, but he ought to know me better than that.
"Let's say no more about it," Titus urged, trying to sound conciliatory. "Now be a good lad and get some rest. Go on, now."
Andrew nodded, but he hesitated where he stood. Titus gave a long sigh when he realised what he needed to do. With a grunt, he got up and lumbered back out of the tent.
He made a crude bed of hay for himself beside the tent's entrance, and clumsily lay down with much groaning. No matter. Our supplies of spirits will run dry soon enough. I'll start anew and put it behind me, along with this blasted Vulture King.
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As the army began a new march into the mountains, Andrew did not speak of the incident, but it still seemed as though the lads were more subdued than usual. It will pass, Titus told himself more than once.
Thankfully, there was plenty to distract Titus from this underlying dread. His angry thoughts about Royce and Cassana had not vanished with sobriety, and there was a new development in their campaign.
Scouts had been found who requested rewards for bringing them to the Vulture King. Two men and a woman, all of them past twenty at least and ragged-looking. They agreed to guide the army to the Vulture King's lair for pay.
"He's based in one of the valleys," Gisgo explained as a grimy finger slid across the map laid out before him. The Red Mountains had not been properly charted, so the man simply jabbed an area which contained illustrations of mountains. "It's not far from the Boneway, if that helps you see where it is. But you can only get to it from trails that start here." He indicated the eastern side of the Prince's Pass's northern end.
"A long journey," Pearse Caron observed. "Slow too. Very little room for the horses to ride."
"The valley's still green, with firm ground," Agripina assured them. "Your knights will have room to charge, milords."
Titus had not brought a great amount with him, but he gave each of the three informants a copper star. "On my word of honour, and that of the Iron Throne," Titus vowed solemnly with his hand upon a statue of the Father, "this is only the first part of your payment. When the campaign is at an end, we will reward you in full."
After the bargain was made, a strategy soon followed. Pearse would take Gisgo and Mickon as guides, whilst Agripina would guide Baldric's forces. The Carons would attack from the north, and the Dondarrions would strike from the south.
"Does the Vulture King know of these trails?" Baldric asked Agripina as they embarked on their journey.
"Of course, milord," Agripina replied. "He'll have men looking out for you up there." She pointed to the mountains over their heads.
"At least if we divide our forces, he will have to do the same," Baldric observed grudgingly. "I refuse to believe that he outnumbers us."
Numbers won't be the problem, Titus thought, but he did not bother giving voice to his concern; the others had surely put that together for themselves.
Pearse had another demand as they agreed on their strategy. "I propose that we divide our forces equally. It will profit this Vulture King to attack us piecemeal."
Titus and Baldric exchanged a glance. For his part, Titus saw the sense of it. It was not surprising that Pearse should wish to avoid drawing attention from the Vulture King as the easier target. What surprised Titus was Baldric's response.
"Since such is your concern," he declared, "I shall give you a detachment of my best troops, under the command of my son Manfred."
Manfred was unable to hide his astonishment at his father's decree, nor did he restrain the triumphant half-smile which stretched his mouth to one side.
When the time came for the two halves to part ways, Manfred was given command of all the Dondarrion cavalry which Baldric still had. The only horsemen that he retained were those sellswords and hedge knights with their own mounts, Titus's bodyguard, and the Targaryen detachment.
All two hundred of the latter troops were veterans of Maekar's command during the Blackfyre Rebellion. They had marched with him throughout the southern campaign before going to the Redgrass Field. After the war, those men had become part of Maekar's Summerhall garrison. When Titus had made ready to leave, Maekar had sent a raven to his home, declaring that he would make a contribution to this Vulture Hunt.
"Feels like old times, milord," Ser Arlan of Pennytree insisted to Titus as the armies went their separate ways.
"More's the pity," Titus murmured; his spirits had fallen even lower than when Cassana had sent him away from Blackhaven in disgrace.
The aging hedge knight gave him a queer look, as did his squire called Dunk, but Titus did not care.
"Is anything the matter, milord?" Ser Arlan ventured cautiously.
"Not anything," Titus replied. "Feels closer to everything. This will be a deadly campaign, and I foresee a grim end for most of us."
"We'll fight bravely, milord," Ser Arlan declared encouragingly. "As bravely as Baelor Breakspear!"
Titus forced a small smile on his face as he waved away his prior remark. "Never mind me, ser. I'm growing weary of war. Or mayhaps I'm simply growing old."
"Now now, no need to speak lowly of yourself, milord! You're young enough to be my son!" Ser Arlan seemed ready to clap Titus on the shoulder, but he checked himself. Instead he gave a shrug. "'Tis the last breath we take before we leap, that's the hardest one to take. Everything that follows is easy. I say as much every time. Just ask the Lunk!" He clapped Dunk's back, who simply became flushed.
Although it was not the sort of advice he needed, Titus saw the sense of what Arlan was saying, and felt grateful. "You're a good man, Arlan," Titus told the knight earnestly. "I'm glad to have you with us." He looked Dunk in the eye. "You too, lad." The tall youth hastily bowed, stuttering some sort of message about gratitude.
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The depleted Dondarrion host under Baldric's command were stretched into a long line along the winding mountain trail. It was little better than a goat track in most sections, and it was almost never flat.
Many carts had been abandoned by the Prince's Pass, and still more were lost on the trail. Men were forced to divide the supplies amongst them, making them more heavily laden beneath the fierce sun. The one relief was that it was autumn, and that the Red Mountains were not too hot or dry even in the height of summer.
"This is unwise," Titus warned Baldric as they led their horses on foot. "The men will tire sooner."
"So be it," Baldric insisted. "You weren't there when we fought in the Vale. I saw carts careen down mountain slopes and take dozens of men with them. I saw horses lose their footing and crush their riders to death."
Titus cursed in response to that account, then frowned as he thought of something. "If that's so, then why didn't we leave our horses behind?"
Baldric shrugged. "If we run out of supplies, at least we won't lack for meat."
Titus gave a bark of bitter laughter. "I haven't eaten horseflesh since I was with the Stormbreakers." Gods, I am getting old.
Even before the enemy was spotted, Titus had the sense that they were being watched. On the second day of their slow crawl into the mountains, Maric spotted someone on a lower peak, kneeling above them. Whether it was a man or a woman who was watching them was unclear, for they were too high up. They soon vanished from sight, but others appeared as the hours went on.
Titus ensured that the army was flanked by men with large shields, ready to form up and provide a hasty defence from any ambush whilst the others got into formation.
Neither he nor Baldric forbade men from loosing arrows at these lofty onlookers. Only a few men tried, and swiftly gave up when their shafts proved too. This emboldened the watchers, for they began to descend and stand boldly against the sky, in full view of the men below. They also began to launch missiles of their own upon the army.
Few were injured, for Titus' men held up shields to fend off arrows and sling stones. But they could do nothing about the mockery which echoed down to them. The onlookers soon figured out just how far the Dondarrion archers' range was, then stood just beyond it. Laughter and jeers grew louder as the army was forced to press on at a slow pace, constantly looking upwards.
Titus was also looking upwards, studying their position and waiting for his chance. When the time was right, he came to a halt and took his goldenheart bow from his horse's saddle.
It had been a gift from Ser Garrison and Coryanne Dalt. Summer Islanders were known for their archery, and for producing some of the most powerful longbows in all the world. Only dragonbone bows could outmatch goldenhearts for range and power. Craftsmanship and quality of the wood gave goldenheart longbows a longer life than lesser weapons, and Titus had taken special care of his gift.
Now he took an arrow and drew it, aiming for one bold watcher who waved a spear in both hands over their head, laughing at the men below. Titus kept his breathing steady; he was a marcher, and he'd been training with bows since he was a child.
The arrow flew as he'd hoped. The string twanged as Titus kept his eye on the taunting figure above him.
Suddenly, the man's laughter halted, and Titus could see both arms drop downwards, releasing the spear. After a moment, the figure crumpled into a heap, slipping off the ledge he'd been standing on, and disappeared from view. The others hurriedly fled as Dondarrion troops roared with laughter.
Titus felt a rush of good cheer fill him, the first of its kind since he'd come to the Stormlands. Mayhaps Ser Arlan was right after all.