Titus

He was clean shaven, well-built, and devastatingly handsome, with curly brown hair and shining blue eyes. He described himself as an experienced artiste, and Titus soon discovered what that meant.

On his first night in Highgarden, Dorian Tyrell knelt before Titus and proved his skill at sword swallowing, prolonging Titus' pleasure more than almost anyone else had ever done. Not once did he pause for breath or over-exert himself. His teeth and tongue had taken turns to brush gently against Titus' shaft, until the Master of Laws was nearly driven mad with a desire to finish.

Finish he did, bending the shining knight over his bed and gripping his shoulders with both hands. So vigorous were his thrusts that Dorian buried his head into the pillow so that his cries were not overheard. He'd cried out louder still when Titus had shifted one hand down to Dorian's member, coaxing him roughly to a swift resolution just before he reached his own climax.

Afterwards, they lay together on the bed as Dorian asked question after question. Unlike most, he was old enough to recall the Blackfyre Rebellion with some veracity, especially since he'd served his uncle as a page. Instead, he asked Titus questions of Essos and the sellsword companies. In particular, he was interested in joining the Stormbreakers.

"Can you give me a letter to show the commander when I go?"

"It's a sellsword company," Titus remarked, "not the Order of the Green Hand. You need no man to vouch for you. All you need to prove is that you can fight. But it would be best if you avoid the sellsword companies."

"Why?" Dorian pouted as his embrace slackened. "Why shouldn't I go seek my own fortune? My cousins will take Highgarden for themselves. I'm too good for the Wall and not good enough for the Kingsguard. What is left for me but to serve in the garrison?"

"All of that is better than fighting for slavers and corrupt men in Essos," Titus remarked. "I saw far too many good men go to waste in that company. There was no glory, and you can't spend gold when you're dying on some unnamed battlefield. If you must needs go anywhere, then go to Braavos."

"To serve old bankers and courtesans?" Dorian gave a mirthless chuckle. "I do not fear dying young, my lord."

Titus sighed. "I thought so too, once."

Dorian frowned. "What do you fear now?"

Titus thought about it; much to his surprise, he did not have an easy answer. "Truth be told, I do not fully understand it myself. I sometimes fear growing old, but I also fear dying too soon."

Dorian was giving him a strange expression, and he slowly extricated himself from their embrace. "It is getting late, my lord, I cannot stay."

It was an unconvincing performance, but Titus did not challenge it as Dorian got dressed. Probably for the best. I do not need another scene like that one with Leto Crakehall.

He drank in the sight of that sculpted form and youthful visage. Dorian caught his eye. "What is it?"

Titus shook his head. "I wish I could take a painting of you with me when I leave Highgarden."

Dorian's boyish grin returned. "Beware what you wish for, my lord. My lord uncle is hoping to marry a kinswoman to the Master of Laws. Whoever you choose, mayhaps she can commission that painting as a wedding gift for you."

And with that, he blew one last kiss before slipping out of Titus' chamber.

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He watched as Barba, Maric, and Andrew fled, shrieking with delight, into the green depths of the maze. He might have gone in with them, if he did not have to wait for his escort.

It was one of the traits which set Highgarden apart from the other great castles of the Seven Kingdoms. Between its third and second walls, a massive labyrinth made of briars was maintained and tended by House Tyrell. It served as an effective means of defense against any invaders who broke through the third wall; in times of peace, it was also a unique entertainment for guests.

Now, stretching his stiff limbs, he turned to two of his knights. One bore a mess of green serpents on his black surcoat. The other carried four wheels, half blue and half white.

"Go after them," Titus ordered, gesturing to the maze. "Stay close at hand in case something happens." Titus gave them two maps which he'd acquired from Lord Tyrell on how to navigate the vast maze. "Make sure to return those maps, too. Lord Tyrell wants them back when we depart."

"Yes, my lord," Ser Criston Lynderly replied before going after the children. Ser Medgar Wayn gave Titus a small bow before doing the same.

Titus had taken them both as squires six years before. It had been a controversial decision, to say the least. House Lynderly had fought for the red dragons whilst House Wayn had fought for the black. House Wayn had been impoverished after ransoming their captured lord, and with disgrace hanging over their heads, they were as surprised as anyone when Titus Dondarrion, the Master of Laws and a hero of the Redgrass Field, chose Lord Wayn's heir to be his squire.

The boys had been too young to fight in the rebellion, but they had both lost kinsmen in the bloodshed. They had seen each other only as enemies, fighting each other over the slightest insult. It did not help matters that both boys had assumed that Medgar was a hostage, and Criston was being rewarded by a fellow loyalist.

Finally, Titus had had enough, and admonished them furiously. "The war is over! The realm must heal, else we will have to fight the war again, and again, until all the realm comes apart!" When that had not served, he had threatened to send them both home in disgrace if they did not conduct themselves properly, regardless of who was at fault.

They had not been reconciled to each other, but it had ceased their open squabbling. Titus had long ago abandoned the notion that they would ever like each other, but they proved able to at least be civil and courteous over time. When he'd granted them their knighthood, both had asked to remain in his service.

It had been three long days in Highgarden. Titus had insisted on presiding over several legal cases, two which involved members of House Tyrell itself. The proceedings had been tedious, but they were necessary. There had been little disapproval of the way Titus managed the cases, or else the disapproval was strictly hidden from sight.

Titus turned to where his eldest ward was being trained by Baelon Massey.

"Move your feet," Baelon shouted as he swung his wooden sword at Cayn's armoured head. The fourteen-year-old leapt backward, parrying the attack with a swing of his own sword.

Titus reflexively nodded in approval as Cayn held his own against Baelon's onslaughts, too focused on the bout to notice Titus' presence.

Finally, Baelon lowered his sword, breathing heavily. "Good lad," he rasped. "Go on and practice your archery."

Grinning to himself, Cayn began stripping himself of the training armour. He'll be a mighty warrior someday.

Nearby, Ollo of Lannisport was also training. He cursed as Ser Alyn Garner evaded another attack. It was the first time that he had fought a man who'd been trained in the Braavosi style of duelling known as water dancing. He never can resist showing off, Titus thought ruefully. Still, it would be helpful for Ollo, as the man's fighting skills were rudimentary compared to castle-trained warriors.

"Damn you! Stand and fight me!" Ollo attacked again, glaring as Alyn effortlessly side-stepped the clumsy attack. His sword tip rapped different vulnerable parts of Ollo's body, indicating how many ways he might die if they were fighting in earnest.

As he put his helm aside, Cayn took a moment to watch Ollo. A loud, mocking laugh burst from him as he watched the older man floundering.

Titus frowned, and he opened his mouth to get Cayn's attention. Baelon was quicker. The big man picked up his shield again and barreled forward so that he thumped Cayn in the back. With a cry, the youth lost his balance and fell face-first into a nearby patch of mud.

It was not what Titus had in mind, and he gave a sigh as others snickered at Cayn's plight.

Scrambling back to his feet, the young man wiped mud from his face and glared at Baelon. "What was that for?"

"A lesson to watch your back," Baelon replied cheerfully.

"We were finished!"

"Finished? I decided otherwise!" Baelon leaned on his wooden sword as some of the others laughed. "Is that what you'll say to all your opponents?"

Cayn stomped off angrily, even as Titus approached his old friend. "That was ill done."

"Come now, Titus," Baelon protested. "He earned that."

"It will teach him nothing," Titus insisted. "Nothing but cruelty and vengeance."

Baelon shook his head. "You think this is the first time that he's been a bully?"

He was not wrong; Cayn had a bad tendency to mock and ridicule when he was at an advantage. Titus admonished him every time he caught the lad at it, or he had denied him privileges on occasion. The incidents had diminished, and Titus hoped that they would stop completely as Cayn strove to be a knight.

Now he folded his arms. "You know where he came from. You know how he's struggled." He left it at that, thinking of Cayn's deepest secret, one which still unsettled him to think on.

"Aye." Baelon refused to back down, but he kept his voice low so that nobody overheard them. "I do know that. Doesn't make it right for him to act as he does."

"It is not right that you treat him the same way, either," Titus countered. "I won't have my boys learn the same lessons that were forced on me!"

Baelon's expression softened. He put a hand on Titus' shoulder. "You're a good man. One of the best I've ever known. But a few clouts over the lad's head won't make you Lomas Tarly."

Titus shuddered. "That's how it began with my father, too. A drunken clout over my head when I was a boy. Then another, and another, each less justified than the last." He turned and spat on the ground. "I tell you, Baelon, my memories of boyhood are fading. Even some of our memories with Orys and Willem and Maegor. Truth be told, I can't even recall what my father looked like in those days. But I'll never forget those beatings, or the rage that they inspired in me."

"Maybe so," Baelon remarked cautiously. "But for my part, I do forget them. My own father gave me clouts over the head, he would have me whipped for insolence too. No different than any other man I've ever known." He quickly held up his hands at the look on Titus' face. "Your father was worse, don't get me wrong now. I can only speak for myself."

Titus paused, contemplating Baelon's words. He was spared from having to address them when someone's approach caught his eye.

Leonette Tyrell, eldest daughter of the rose lord himself, was tall enough to look Titus in the eye. She had a slim figure, with a mane of bushy brown curls cascading down her shoulders. The dress she wore was elaborately tailored and utterly modest as becoming a maid of nineteen. Her dark green cape bore a golden rose which seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. Her face was adorned with hazel-coloured eyes, full lips, and a mass of brown freckles on each cheek. She was being escorted by two maidens and three Tyrell guards.

So it begins again. Titus stepped away from Baelon and approached her. "Good day, my lady."

"Lord Titus." Whether by chance or design, Leonette timed her curtsy so that she dipped and straightened with the syllables of his name. "Forgive me, I did not know you would be early. I hope you have not been waiting long."

"Think nothing of it," Titus answered politely, kissing her proffered hand.

They walked together into the maze beneath the shining sun. The Tyrell guards followed in their wake, as did four of Titus' knights. Alyn Garner was already striking up conversation with one of Leonette's female companions as they walked; her giggles were loud enough to reach Titus' ears as he walked arm-in-arm with Leonette.

Dorian's prediction had come true; after that first night, Titus had spent each of his meals seated with Tyrell ladies. In between his legal cases, Titus had also been invited to take walks in order to know each lady better. He'd walked the walls of Highgarden, down the pathways along the Mander, and through the carefully cultivated orchards. Now he entered the maze with Leonette, even as he tried to forget what he'd been doing with her cousin three days ago.

Lady Leonette walked with a statuesque grace, dutifully allowing Titus to lead her down pathways, except to steer him away from certain pathways. "I do hope that we have proven our reputation for hospitality, Lord Titus."

"Indeed you have," Titus replied. "Surpassed it, even. I daresay I've been remiss, waiting so long to return. Nearly nine years now, I think."

"What kept you away so long, if I may ask?"

"Alas, there are many places for a Master of Laws to travel."

"It must be a shame to travel so far from your home," she murmured. "Do you ever have the chance to visit Blackhaven?"

Titus gave a hollow laugh. "I have certainly had the chance, but I do not intend to return there, if I can help it."

Leonette paused, even as a curious expression appeared on her face. "Are you not the Lord of Blackhaven, then?"

"I am not. My sister and her husband took up Blackhaven when I was exiled."

She gave him a look of surprise; no doubt she hadn't heard that tale. It was almost amusing to Titus how few people recalled that part of his life. Leonette's own cousin had made the same mistake.

Titus had not travelled abroad by choice, it had been his punishment. Uthor and Edgar Dalt had been accused of murdering Red Robert Flowers of the Kingsguard, and when Brynden Rivers had withheld a key witness, only Titus had been able to save them from execution. He had done so by nearly admitting to having poisoned his own father. Daeron's punishment had been exceedingly generous, given the nature of that crime, and it had not saved Titus from the curse of kinslaying.

He did not elaborate on any of this to Leonette, of course. He simply allowed her to change the subject.

"My father told me of your mighty achievements during the rebellion."

"I hope he did not forget to speak of his own," Titus quipped.

Leonette smiled politely at his praise of her father, but she shook her head all the same. "My father once jousted against Daemon Blackfyre before the war. He always lamented that he never got the chance to avenge his defeat."

Titus had little sympathy for such attitudes. He'd heard such nonsense from dozens of lords and knights over the years, each one envisioning a sequence of events where they and they alone were able to put Daemon Blackfyre down single-handed. Unlike most of those braggarts and bores, though, Longthorn had at least fought in the war. It was only through inconvenience that he'd been unable to lead a host of reachmen to the Redgrass Field.

Before he could think of how to respond, his youngest squire suddenly leapt from around the corner. His hands were up in the air, he was covered with leaves, and his tongue stuck out of his open mouth. A guttural, almost bestial scream left him as he leapt into view.

Leonette shrieked and leapt back in surprise. Andrew instantly recoiled at the sight and sound of her, even as he stared up at Titus.

"Andrew!" Titus stepped forward and brushed leaves from his head. "What in the seven hells do you think you're doing?"

"I'm sorry, Father," Andrew squeaked, his cheeks turning flushed. "I didn't know it was you!"

Nearby, Titus heard Barba and Maric's laughter echoing from some hiding place. Of course…

"Be off with you," Titus warned sternly, trying to suppress the grin which was threatening to break out across his own face.

Andrew needed no second warning; he dashed off down another pathway, mumbling a hasty apology in Leonette's direction.

Titus turned back to Leonette and shrugged. "My apologies, Lady Leonette. Where were we?"

But Leonette did not recover. She was still breathing heavily, staring wide-eyed at Titus in astonishment.

"He called you "Father"," she exclaimed.

Titus frowned. "Aye, and what of that?"

"Is he your son, then?"

"In a manner of speaking," Titus replied, feeling more and more cautious. "I found him when I was passing through Harrenton." He did not elaborate on how Andrew had been a sickly boy of just six years, begging for food along the path. Titus had fed him, washed him, and brought him to a maester who provided treatment for his ailment. Andrew had never known a father before him; his mother had been a prostitute who'd dropped dead whilst travelling between settlements. He had barely survived the journey to Harrenton on his own. He was the first of Titus' orphans to call him "Father", and he had never corrected the notion.

Now, as he looked at Leonette's incredulity, he saw what an error he had made. Andrew was clearly a baseborn boy from his manner of speech, even the way he carried himself. Titus' explanation had only affirmed that. It would have been a considerable scandal to many if Titus had whelped such a lowborn bastard, but to take in a peasant lad who was no relation to him whatsoever… to take him in as a son… Small wonder that Leonette is so stunned.

Still, Titus did not wish to renounce Andrew. The boy, or the other children for that matter, could likely still hear him.

"If he wishes to take my Dondarrion name," Titus declared, "then he is welcome to it."

Whatever affection that Leonette had shown to Titus, feigned or genuine, it had left her countenance completely. Titus could see why; he must have seemed such a promising match for her when she'd first been told of him. But now she knew that his lordship was honorary, he had no land to his name, and he was fool enough to not only make a peasant boy his squire, but also an heir.

Although she continued to speak courteously on the rest of their walk, they no longer walked arm-in-arm. Titus knew already that she would not be sitting next to him at supper that night.

So it proved later on, when he was instead sitting beside Lord Leo Tyrell at the high table, which overlooked the great hall from an elevated platform. Servants hurried up and down the short flights of stairs with food and drink in their hands.

He was known as Longthorn even before his victories against Blackfyre armies. Even with such men as Baelor Breakspear, Daemon Blackfyre, and Quentyn the Fireball for competition, men declared that Leo Tyrell was one of the finest knights of his generation. Although he was at least fifteen years older than Titus, Lord Tyrell was still slender and fit enough to joust with men young enough to be his grandson. May I age half as gracefully as he has.

At one point during supper, the silver-haired man turned to Titus between mouthfuls of roast swan. "Will you travel with me to your nephew's wedding, Lord Titus?"

"For part of the journey, mayhaps," Titus replied. "But I still mean to make my stops. We have a month to reach King's Landing, after all. I will take longer to travel the roseroad than your party will, no doubt."

"As you say," Longthorn mused. He turned to one of the tables placed nearest to the platform, where Titus' children were seated. "I trust that the new clothes meet your approval?"

"Very much so, Lord Leo." Titus was grateful for Longthorn's tact, but he could sense the underlying tone of resentment.

On the first day of Titus' arrival to Highgarden, he had brought Miru to be measured for new clothes to replace her ragged attire. Much to his surprise, she had thrown a fit when she'd realised what was happening, and begged to keep her shabby smock. Then, even after Titus had promised that he would not dispose of her smock, she had wept harder at the prospect of being stripped and measured by the seamstress and her assistants. It was only when Barba had agreed to be measured with her that Miru had allowed the seamstress to touch her. It had been a grueling experience all the same, and though Miru appreciated her new clothes, Titus had been left baffled and overwhelmed by the means. Not only had he purchased dresses for Barba, but also new outfits for the boys in his care, lest they felt left out.

"You must forgive Miru," Titus explained, abandoning any pretense at subtlety. "She has endured terrible things in her short life. Worse things than any child deserves to know."

Lord Tyrell nodded slowly. "No doubt." He turned to Titus. "If we might speak plainly for a moment, what is your intention for those children?"

Now we come to it… Titus glanced at the table, where the lowborn orphans sat. No matter how richly Titus garbed them, they still struggled to ape the table manners and behaviour of everyone else in the hall. Titus squirmed to see it. Judging from their subdued faces, they were being snubbed by their neighbours at the table as well. Even the servants seemed bemused by their presence at the table.

"It is a good question you ask, Lord Tyrell," Titus replied. "And truth be told, I did not take them in with a clear intention in mind. I simply saw a chance to better their lives."

"A noble wish," Longthorn remarked dryly, "though you are rather behind if you have only got six of these waifs in your custody."

Titus forced himself to maintain an easy half-smile as his insides churned angrily. "Regretfully, I cannot save all the children of Westeros, but does that mean I should save none of them?"

The rose lord raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps my maester is better suited to such philosophical questions. Though since we are speaking of this subject, I cannot help but wonder how many more orphans you can take in before the royal treasurers start to take notice."

It was certainly not the first time that a nobleman must have thought of such things, but only Longthorn had been bold enough to suggest it to Titus' face.

"My expenses are no secret," Titus stated calmly, "least of all from His Grace. If he has a concern about how I spend money, I will surely hear of it."

Longthorn had no answer to that, but from the way he turned away and paid him no more heed, Titus suspected that Longthorn would spread the word about Titus' children, revealing them for what they were. He would no longer have to stave off marriage proposals, be they hinted at or bluntly spoken. What surprised him was that all he felt in response to this inevitable scandal was a deep sense of relief.

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The Mander was teeming with boats. It was almost possible for a man to cross the mighty river by leaping from deck to deck, if nobody impeded his journey. Men and women stood along either shore, calling to anyone who wished to hire their boat. Each boat seemed to serve a different purpose.

With supper at an end, Titus led Baelon, Alyn, Ollo, and a handful of other knights to a particular pleasure craft with high bows. Over a dozen beautiful women stood on deck, presenting themselves with a casual and well-practiced elegance.

A gangplank had been set up for the boat, with two hulking men, armed with maces and short swords, standing on either side of it.

An old woman, wearing a rich and gaudy dress, rested in a chair before them. She quickly appraised Titus' clothing as he approached, then began to stand up. "Welcome, milord!"

Titus motioned for her not to get up, then gave her a nod. "Good day to you."

The procuress smiled as she settled back into her chair. "How may I help you, milord?"

"The usual manner," Titus glanced upwards, where the ladies had turned their attention towards him.

"All clean, every one of them," the procuress assured him. "Whichever one you like. Or do you prefer more than one, milord?"

"Would that I could have them all," Titus remarked, more to himself than the woman before him. He glanced at his friend. "What say you, friends?"

Baelon scratched an old scar as he returned one woman's wave to him. "I say you might have to give me an advance on my wages."

Titus laughed. "Choose one each for now, lads and see how we feel later." As the others pressed forward, he grabbed Ollo by the shoulder and held him fast. "The rest of these men already know this. I will simply warn you now. No man of mine shall ill-treat or bully anyone of any rank. Highborn, lowborn, baseborn, and bastardborn alike. The worse your crime, the worse I'll make you answer for it."

Surprisingly, Ollo's smile widened. "You've never sounded more like the Black Dragon, milord."

Titus frowned, but he had nothing to say in response. He simply went up the gangplank and put the comment out of his mind.

He had never held any illusions about his elevated status. Nobles and commoners had seen him as a member of the king's small council, but without that position, he was just an aging knight without land. Few would guess that he had built up a fortune in Braavos, held in trust by the Iron Bank, but that would hardly change anyone's opinions. Land and legacy were all that mattered to these pompous fools. Titus had little interest in befriending them or securing another marriage for himself. He had been appointed by Baelor and Daeron to enforce justice, and so long as he did that, what did it matter if he sacrificed his reputation to better the lives of those children?