Cassana
"This will be the last harvest before winter."
Baldric frowned, but he did not dispute Maester Halys' prediction. Cassana did not question him either. Halys was from White Harbour, and he knew winter better than anyone else in Blackhaven.
They were sitting around the head table in Blackhaven's great hall. Aside from Baldric, Cassana, and Maester Halys, there was Ser Dagnir of Edain, the captain of Blackhaven's guards; Ser Branston Straw, the master-at-arms; Tudur Selmy, the steward; and the newly knighted Ser Manfred Dondarrion, heir to Blackhaven. Ser Orryn Bolt, the mightiest of House Dondarrion's landed knights, was also in attendance.
"So be it," Baldric remarked. "Let it come, then."
He turned to his steward. "Put aside a good share of food, but be sure to spare enough for the harvest feast. If we must bid adieu to the autumn, let us do it with full bellies."
"As you say, my lord," Tudur replied. Although he'd always been a bright young man, he had a pale and sickly disposition due to fits of violent coughing whenever he was near smoke, dust, horses, and crops. Tudur's father, Ser Guyard Selmy, had begged a favour of Baldric and Cassana to take his eldest son as a steward. He'd been sent to the Citadel to continue his education before taking up residence in Blackhaven.
It had been part of the arrangement made between Cassana, Baldric, and Lord Lanval Selmy. Selmy was already married to Cassana's cousin, and he'd also taken Manfred into his household, first as a ward, and then as a squire.
Baldric had strongly resisted the idea. Although he had relented and gone along with it, he had only done so on the condition that their other children would remain in Blackhaven. Cassana thought it an absurd notion of his, but she had agreed, planning to talk him out of it. Yet three years after her capitulation, she was still unsuccessful in changing his mind.
"There is another matter." It was Orryn Bolt who spoke up. "There are rumours of trouble in the Red Mountains. Traders and merchants traveling the Boneway do not always survive the journey."
"Danger in the Red Mountains?" Manfred shook his head derisively. "Since when is that news?"
"Since Lord Wyl called his banners," Ser Orryn replied patiently. "Several of his troops came up to Cloudwatch in order to purchase supplies. They have fought several skirmishes already. Men speak of a new Vulture King."
There was a pause as everyone contemplated that possibility. Cassana and Baldric exchanged a glance. They'd both grown up hearing stories and ballads about the various Vulture Hunts in history.
"Well, I suppose we were due for another one of those," Branston Straw remarked casually. "If he grows too big for his boots, it will be good training for the younger lads."
Cassana turned to look at her eldest son. Manfred was sixteen years of age, sporting a lean build and a facial structure which was unmistakably his father's. The red-gold hair which grew down to his shoulders, meanwhile, could only have belonged to his mother's house.
It had only been a few weeks since he'd returned from his wardship at Harvest Hall. He'd been knighted by Lanval Selmy after winning a squire's tourney, and he was fond of boasting that achievement to his former boyhood companions in Blackhaven.
There was no mistaking the eagerness of his countenance. He seemed only too eager to take part in a Vulture Hunt.
If Baldric noticed, he gave no indication. He turned to Ser Orryn. "Be sure to put a strong watch on the Boneway, and keep an eye out for raiding parties against our people. If you require reinforcements, do not hesitate to send us word." Ser Orryn inclined his head.
"We must also consider our nephew's wedding next month," Baldric observed as Tudur's pen scratched at a fresh piece of parchment.
"Of course." Cassana had never been fond of her younger sister, and since she'd married into House Targaryen, distance had been a useful excuse to keep them apart. Still, it would have been unthinkable to snub each other, or refuse an invitation.
"We shall attend. All three of us," Cassana added, glancing at her eldest son, who was cleaning his fingernails rather than listening to the goings-on.
Manfred caught his mother's eye and frowned. "What was that?"
"Your cousin's wedding," Cassana declared. "Valarr Targareyn, in case you'd forgotten."
Manfred scowled at the admonishment. He glanced at Baldric. "Mayhaps I should remain here, Father?"
Baldric frowned. "I was not aware of the need for that."
"No?" Manfred straightened in his seat. "Then let me prove my manhood. I can manage this castle, and our territories." He did not say "better than you can" at the end of his sentence, but Cassana heard the intent clear as day.
"Spoken like a boy," Baldric muttered. "And besides, you ought to pay your respects to Prince Valarr in person. He is your cousin, and your future king besides."
Manfred blinked in surprise at this refusal, then turned back to his mother.
Cassana felt herself growing angry and alarmed. It was the unspoken truth amongst this council that Cassana had an equal voice to her husband's. None would say it aloud, of course, for who knew where such a suggestion might go. If it was perceived that she had the greater voice, however, that would ruin Baldric's reputation and undermine his authority forevermore. Only Manfred would be fool enough to make it obvious.
She deliberately avoided eye contact with her son, keeping her eyes fixed on Baldric. Truthfully, she was in favour of Manfred taking charge of Blackhaven, so that he might affirm his position and prove his worth. But this was no way to make that come to pass, and she would not disempower Baldric, even if it was for her son's benefit.
"You will attend the wedding. As will your brothers and sister," Baldric proclaimed.
Cassana liked that even less, but she would not question him here. "As you wish, husband," she concurred before Manfred could object further.
After the council was finished, and the men got up to their duties, Cassana watched as Manfred stalked out of the room, clearly in the grips of a foul temper. Later.
Instead, she meekly approached Baldric as he waited for her. "We must talk."
Baldric's face turned somber; he knew that tone. Slowly, he offered her an arm. "What is it?"
Cassana kept her voice low and her face pleasant as they walked out of the hall. "Why do you wish for our entire family to attend the wedding?"
"Is it so terrible?"
"Alicent and Celia might be old enough," Cassana allowed. "And it might do them some good. But Kresimir and Geraint are too young for such a journey."
"I was making journeys to Storm's End when I was Geraint's age," Baldric countered. "This will do them good as well. We can stop at Summerhall first and travel with Prince Maekar. I have been sending him ravens already, and he has approved."
Cassana still did not like it, but if Maekar was already expecting them, it would do no more good to resist.
When she did not answer for some time, Baldric gave a low sigh. "I suppose this is where you say I should give Manfred this charge that he wants so much?"
"Nay," Cassana admitted. "He overreached himself today. That cannot be rewarded. You did the right thing, Baldric."
They exchanged a glance. It had taken them a long time to reach this understanding. The war had nearly taken everything from them, and they had found some happiness of sorts. Whatever they might do behind locked doors, they maintained a civil and united front against the world. It was a difficult happiness to maintain, but Cassana knew it for a worthy cause.
"I had best speak to Manfred," Cassana urged Baldric.
"Be gentle with him," Baldric suggested. "He is still a boy. Boys are always too ambitious for their own good."
"No," Cassana contradicted with a gentle voice. "You never were." She kissed his cheek and parted ways with him to find Manfred.
As she walked, she reflected on her firstborn son. She did not know whence he had gotten this terrible tendency to disrespect his father so blatantly. Baldric's family were certainly pompous and arrogant, but they had been a unit; the sons of Gawen Swann had known their places. Nay, it must be from my side. He is too much like Titus. Reckless and arrogant, selfish and wilful. The gods are cursing me.
She found him in the training yard which lay beneath the Heir's Tower. With blunt iron swords, he swung furiously against his attacker. Cassana recognised him as Ser Brus Bolt, Orryn's eldest son and heir. Although Ser Brus was three years older than Manfred, Cassana could see that they were evenly matched. Lanval trained him well.
Cassana waited until the young men were done sparring. As they went their separate ways, she approached Manfred. "We must speak."
Just like his father, Manfred recognised that tone, but he matched it with his own. "Aye, we must." Still wearing half his armour, he followed Cassana to a quiet corner of the yard, well out of earshot.
"How dare you shame your father like that," Cassana whispered heatedly. "You will apologise to him at dinner tonight. And you will do it after the main course has been served!"
Manfred's eyes widened, then his jaw clenched stubbornly. "Anyone would have expected that he allow me the chance-"
"You cannot speak for anyone," Cassana interrupted. "Only yourself. When I last looked, you were a man grown. Did you not learn anything from Lord Lanval's example? He knows full well how to honour his father."
Manfred's jaw twisted. He wanted to speak his mind freely, she could see it in his eyes. But he was not quite so foolish as that. He turned away instead, walking off as he ground his teeth.
He did not confirm that he would obey her, but Cassana was confident that he would. Mislike it though he may, he was too much his father's son to risk angering her.
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Later that day, Cassana sat in the great hall once more with her two daughters.
Alicent was ten years of age while Celia was eight. They alone had not inherited the fiery Dondarrion colour. Instead, their hair was a sandy brown, much like that of their father.
One of the serving maids was braiding Celia's long hair as she sat in a chair. "What is the capital like, Mama?"
"It is a marvelous place," Cassana claimed. "It is the second largest city in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Only Oldtown is greater."
"How many times have you been there, Mother?" Alicent was determined to speak as ladylike as possible, and had given up the childish affectations which Celia still used.
"Only five or six times," Cassana replied.
"When we see Aunt Jena, do we call her 'Princess' or 'Your Grace?'?"
"Either one is suitable, Celia."
Not far away, Baldric sat by the hearth, warming his feet as he drank ale from his horn. His gaze alternated from Cassana and their daughters to his second son. Caspor was sitting with Maester Halys, struggling once again with his lessons.
It was this moment when Ser Dagnir of Edain entered from outside. Cassana did a double take when she saw who else had accompanied him.
Baldric saw them too, and he stood up in his astonishment. "It cannot be," he whispered, softly enough only for Cassana to hear him.
Like Dagnir, he was average in height. He was also of a similar age to Dagnir, past thirty. His reddish orange hair was short and bristly on the top of his head, while his beard was much more thickly grown. His eyes were dark green shade, much like Cassana's own. More than ever, he resembled Cassana's oldest brother, the one whom she had despised even more than she loathed Titus.
She had not thought to see him again, especially after sixteen years. But here he was, returned once again to Blackhaven. Older and more lined though he was, wild and unkempt though his hair and beard might be, she knew him for Ruddy Royce Storm in an instant.
"Ser Royce Storm," Dagnir announced. "He claims to be your kinsman."
"Lord and Lady Dondarrion," Royce declared before giving a low bow.
Cassana could sense Baldric growing tense beside her. Neither of them were pleased to see him return. It was not so long ago that Baldric had forgotten the man whom he had almost fought in a trial by combat. Thank the gods that he does not know the full truth of that.
"What brings you back here, ser?" Baldric asked, speaking courteously but tentatively.
"A simple wish, my lord" Royce replied humbly, "to return home."
"A simple wish long in the making," Cassana could not resist observing.
Much to her surprise, Royce gave a good-natured grin at her snideness, showing a mouth full of yellow and brown teeth in the process. "Aye, my lady, it has been a long journey back to Blackhaven. But the gods have been merciful indeed, for I am safely returned."
"That is a far cry from the mood in which you left Blackhaven," Cassana observed tartly, "if my memory still serves."
"True," Royce admitted. "I was proud, and my honour was insulted. But mayhaps you recall that I was accused of an ugly crime that I did not commit?"
Cassana forced herself not to shudder. How much could he remember? How much could he have known?
"I do recall it, ser," Baldric replied cautiously. "The gods made their will clear. No harm or insult was made against you after your innocence was proven."
"True enough," Royce agreed. "Since we agree on that much, I would hope that we can let bygones be bygones? Might I be welcomed back into House Dondarrion's service?"
No. Never. The words were caught in Cassana's throat. She revolted at the idea of her life being haunted by this ghost. But she could not identify a single plausible reason to turn him away.
Baldric seemed to have the same dilemma, but unlike her, he did not stay silent. Instead, he stepped forward and gave Royce a thoughtful expression. "I would not normally ask this question, but I do not lightly take men into my service. Did you take part in the Blackfyre Rebellion?"
A dangerous question, indeed. Cassana could not help but admire Baldric's boldness, even if he hadn't outright asked him whether he'd fought for the red dragons or the black.
"A just question, Lord Baldric," Royce responded amicably. "And I regret to say that I was taken in by false friends. But praise be to the gods, for they delivered me from treachery. They opened my eyes to the truth and gave me the chance to escape a disgraceful death. Thus did I renounce my foolish loyalties and fled my former friends' persecution."
It was well said, Cassana could not deny him that. He'd spoken so eloquently, so humbly, that Baldric did not point out his outright evasion of the question. Then again, Baldric had asked an evading question to begin with, she grudgingly admitted to herself.
Baldric nodded slowly. "There is room in my garrison for you, Ser Royce. I will not promise you any former title or position. Too much time has passed, and I will not have you step over loyal men. Doubtless there will be men who once saluted you in their youth. Gulian Straw's son is now my master-at-arms. You claim that pride once drove you from this castle. Now you have a chance to tell me whether it will do so again."
Royce's expression did not waver. "My congratulations to Ser Clifford. No doubt his father was pleased to make that promotion."
If Cassana did not feel sour before, then something like to acid was coursing through her body.
"You are wrong on all counts," Baldric replied. "Gulian Straw rests in his grave, and Clifford has been missing for nigh ten years. It is Branston of whom I spoke, and it was I who rewarded him thus, for his gallantry during the Blackfyre Rebellion."
"Alas." Royce placed a hand over his heart. "My sympathies. Master Straw was always a fair-minded man. I shall pray that he sleeps in peace."
Once again, he said the right thing; none would have doubted his sincerity. But Cassana still revolted inwardly at the notion of Royce returning to Blackhaven. She slowly arose and approached the men.
Her movement caught Royce's eye. He gave her a small bow as he addressed her. "Lady Cassana. You are as lovely as always."
Such flattery was meaningless to Cassana; she had long ago come to terms with her greying hair and rounding figure. Still, she nodded her head in acknowledgment, waiting to see what would happen next.
"In regards to your prior words," Royce resumed, turning his attention back to Baldric, "I will accept any position that you see fit to give me."
"Very well," Baldric allowed. "Ser Dagnir will direct you to the barracks."
With that, Baldric went over to where his daughters had been watching curiously. Dagnir and Royce turned to leave the hall, only for Cassana to approach them.
"Ser Royce," she spoke quietly, "my husband was remiss in relaying old news to you."
A guarded look flickered in Royce's green eyes. "And what news would that be, my lady?"
"After your trial by combat, Lady Tyana was found guilty of murdering Maester Gerold. She was beheaded after the birth of her child."
Royce did not seem to react outwardly, but Cassana could sense a coldness emanating from him as he stood in silence.
"The gods are just," Royce remarked simply, then gave another courteous nod to Cassana before following Dagnir out of the hall.
It was a cold response, especially given Royce's past with Tyana, but Cassana was not surprised. Tyana had turned on him first, after all, and testified against him at his trial. When he had triumphed in combat, he had showered her with insults and accusations, denouncing her before all who'd come to watch him fight. Cassana had not been there, of course; she'd feigned illness that day in order to hide a blood-stained knife in Tyana's chamber.
The treacherous cannot trust.
Titus had said those words to her when she'd confronted him to secure Blackhaven for herself. The words had always remained with her, even after she had learned to trust in loyalty during the Blackfyre Rebellion. This reminder of her own treachery filled her with loathing for Royce. Still, he will be easily disposed of should he ever prove false. She had cut Maester Gerold's throat herself for his treachery; she had personally castrated Elwood of Blackhaven for his rape of her. The years might have passed, but she was no less willing to strike against those who crossed her or those she loved.