Titus
After securing Barca's Valley, Lord Caron took his followers and departed for his own lands, after being assured by Hallia and her people that they would deal with the Vulture King's followers, be they captured in the attack or survivors that fled into the mountains.
Titus and Baldric, meanwhile, made for Blackhaven with all haste, guided by Hallia herself and several of her followers. They left many of their men behind to look after the wounded until they were fit enough to travel.
Getting back to Blackhaven was easier said than done without horses. They were all on foot, struggling with the mountain trails. The only relief afforded to them was that Royce and his survivors would doubtless be on foot as well.
Travelling out of the Red Mountains took them several days, with no sign of how far they were behind Royce.
"He will have known these trails," Baldric fretted more than once as they plodded along at a slow but steady pace up and down the slopes.
Titus quickly grew sick of his worrying, but he kept that resentment to himself. He would have behaved much the same if it were Aliandra or Coryanne.
That alone was baffling to him, however. He could not fathom how any man could love Cassana as Baldric did. He'd never given much thought to why this was so, and he reckoned that Baldric wouldn't tell him such personal reasons.
Although Baldric respected Titus, the two of them had not attempted to become friendly since that night over cider. It seemed to Titus that they had learned too much, which had thrown everything else into question.
Still, they were very much in agreement that they needed to stop Royce. Titus still resented having to hand him over to Hallia, but he made no mention of that. Whether Baldric felt the same, Titus was not sure.
Finally, they reached that place where the mountains met the marches. The rocky slopes gave way to hills covered in grass, herbs, and shrubs.
"Would that we had horses," Titus griped as they quickened their pace on the fifth day.
Manfred turned to Cameron Bolt. "How far is it to Cloudwatch?"
"Difficult to say, answered the young knight uncertainly, "and even if we did march there, I do not have enough horses in my stables."
"Forward, then," Baldric ordered. "I'll not give the Vulture King another day's advantage over us. Not even an hour!"
The pace was gruelling. Of the six hundred men which Baldric had taken with him from Barca's Valley, dozens began to fall behind. Their boots fell apart, their ankles were twisted in falls, they were too hungry to continue. Baldric grew wroth, but it made no matter. He did not wish to abandon men to their deaths, so he left Karl Penny behind with dozens of his men to look after the others.
"You will lose your entire force at this rate," Titus advised one night as they sat beside the ruins of a burned-out farmstead.
"We have no need for them all anyway," Baldric replied defensively. "We broke Royce's army; how many more could still be following him?"
That much was true. It seemed that all of Royce's lieutenants - if one chose to call them that - had been either slain or captured in the storming of Barca's Valley. These included Agripina, who had apparently been Royce's lover besides his spy. She had slashed her own throat rather than fall captive to Hallia, who had had to content herself by ordering that Agripina be given no burial. "Vultures she chose," the young woman had declared, "and so to the vultures we give her."
The same occurred to a man with a hideous goiter, a scarred Dornishman - both of whom Hallia personally gelded - and the bald woman who had been named as the skinchanger.
She had refused to speak to any of them. She had only leered and spat at them if they came too close. Baldric had not wished to waste time with interrogation and torture. The last that they'd seen of her, she and the other surviving lieutenants were buried in the ground almost up to their necks, sentenced to either starve to death or die of exposure.
"The Vulture King ought to be quaking in his bloody boots," Ollo remarked one evening on the marches.
"He will take weeks to die," Hallia vowed as she wrapped herself in a cloak made of goat hide.
A cold wind was blowing across the marches, but they had no means to make fire. The sunset had turned the sky blood-red, with streaks of orange in the west and dark purple in the east.
They had only brought dried nourishment, and Titus was heartily sick of it. He wagered that he'd lost a quarter of his weight on this campaign. Hunger was as normal of an ache to him now as an old wound.
"If you don't mind my asking," Ollo ventured as he sat beside Hallia, "who are your lords? Did they not know what was happening on their own land?"
"The Wyls," Hallia replied tersely. "And they were in no state to protect us. My grandfather said they lost most of their fighting men in a siege during the rebellion."
Titus flinched. He had been part of the army which had laid siege to Wyl. It had been one of the worst battles in which he'd fought. The resistance had been fierce, and Prince Maekar had been determined to make them suffer for it. In the aftermath, only one member of the Wyl family - a terrified boy of twelve - had been left alive to continue the family name.
Ollo sensed Titus' discomfort, and seemed about to change the subject, but Hallia was not finished.
"My father died there too," she mused, almost to herself. "So did my uncles."
How many of them did I kill? "My sympathies," Titus muttered. "I know that words are wind, but I am sorry nonetheless."
Hallia seemed indifferent to his words, but she did give a curt nod. "It is not you who owes me an apology, milord. It is that grey bitch Jane Wyl and that bastard Blackfyre." She spat once for each of them.
Now it was Ollo's turn to look discomfited. He adopted an innocent air. "Was Daemon Blackfyre at Wyl, then?"
Hallia gave him a look of contempt. "Must a man swing every sword to earn the blood on his hands? The Wyls fought in his name because he fought his rebellion. How many would still be alive today if he had not fought?"
Ollo was incensed, but he was wise enough to hold his tongue.
Titus wanted to defend Daemon too. He wanted to speak of he'd been a pawn in the plots by Bittersteel and Brynden Rivers alike. But he knew that Hallia would only take offence at his words.
Moreover, as he pondered what she said, he could not help but find her charge to be correct. Daemon may not have been responsible for beginning the rebellion, but he'd certainly played his part. Had he not taken the mantle of leadership when it was thrust upon him? Had he not led armies across the Seven Kingdoms and encouraged others to do the same?
He had days to ponder that and more, for the journey to Blackhaven was a slow one on foot.
When they were less than a day from Blackhaven, they saw a terrible sight on the horizon. A column of black smoke was drifting up to the heavens.
"Gods, no!" Baldric ordered a redoubled pace, leading it with his sword in hand.
Titus wanted to restrain him. He wanted to remind Baldric that men must still have breath to fight when they reached Blackhaven. He wanted him to be cautious, since they had fewer than three hundred men left and may be charging into a trap. None of it would heed Baldric, Titus knew that.
Thousands of smallfolk were milling about the castle, keeping their distance as arrows flew out at anyone who got too close. Smoke billowed out from behind the black walls.
"Make way," Baldric shouted. "Make way for the Lord of Blackhaven!"
As Titus and the others echoed the call, they were mobbed by panicked men, women, and children. Several Dondarrion guards pushed their way through the crowd and knelt before Baldric.
"Milord," one protested, "it was an ambush! Ser Royce Storm has seized the castle!"
"Of course he did," Baldric shouted. "So now we must take it back from him!"
"We've been building ladders and gang planks, milord," one of the guards said, gesturing towards the winter town.
"Good," Baldric affirmed. "Bring them up!"
As the order was passed along, and as Baldric's forces prepared themselves, Titus and Baldric learned what had happened.
Royce Storm had arrived at the castle with two score men. They had waited until the smallfolk and most of the remaining guards had left the castle to resume work on the winter town. It was unknown what had happened since then, as they had swiftly secured Blackhaven for themselves.
Baldric grew more and more agitated with every word. "Has Royce given no statement? Has he said nothing about my children or my wife?" He hurried off to the front lines, determined to save them if he could.
Titus followed, with Ollo of Lannisport by his side. He alone remained of those whom Titus had taken south; the others had stayed behind with Maric and Cayn and the rest of the wounded.
For the umpteenth time, Titus wondered how they were getting along. They were sure to have a long and slow journey back to Blackhaven and Nightsong. Hallia had assured them that her remaining people would guide them out of the Red Mountains, and Titus did not doubt that Royce's power was broken. He is desperate indeed, Titus thought, if he chose to attack Blackhaven in this manner. How did he expect to triumph against us with only forty men?
Then he recalled that moment where Royce had spoken of being favoured by the gods, and how demented he had appeared when Titus had dared to insult the Seven to his face. Such a man is not going to waste time with ransoms. He will only wish to finish his mission. Much to his surprise, Titus felt a twinge of concern for his elder sister, wherever she was now. More than that, however, he felt pity for Baldric as he watched the first gangplank be carried towards the dry moat.
Arrows and stones flew from the walls, but only a few. Arrows flew upwards in response, but Titus did not see whether or not they found a mark. He held his shield over his head and Doom in his hand as he watched the first gangplank being brought forward.
It proved too short for the moat, and Baldric's troops withdrew from range once again.
"Make it longer," the marcher lord urged frantically. He paced back and forth, unable to take his eyes from the walls.
Suddenly, there was a great shout from the walls. A figure came hurtling down, plunging into the moat.
Titus darted over to Baldric's side. Both men were too shocked to say anything. Yet, when their eyes met, Titus sensed that a similar flash hope between them. The castle is not fully secured. There might still be hope.
"Sound the horns," Baldric commanded. "Let them know we are here!"
Immediately, a dozen horns were lifted to men's lips, sounding a chorus of music. It was as if a hunting party were setting out, or an army was about to charge.
"Dondarrion!" Smallfolk took up the cry, as if that cry could encourage resistance.
There were no missiles coming from the walls. Titus could only hope that this was a good sign.
Suddenly, the drawbridge began to lower.
The crowds began to cheer, until the drawbridge accelerated and fell to earth with a terrible crash. A split emerged in the middle of it, while pieces of wood broke off to disappear in the moat.
"Forward!" Baldric did not hesitate to draw his sword, lift up his shield, and begin running.
Titus was not far behind him. "Charge!"
He did not look behind him to see who followed. He was plunging into battle, in the very place which he'd called home for the first twenty-two years of his life, whether he liked it or not.
No missiles struck his shield, but that was because there was combat everywhere he looked. Men in mail and leather were striking at each other with all manner of weapons. Women had also leapt into the fray. He could see two of them lying dead on the grounds, their hands still clutching weapons. By the stables, a young woman shrieked as she hacked at an invader whilst he was battling a Dondarrion guard.
Baldric gave a battle cry which seemed to echo against the black basalt walls. "Royce! Come out and face me!"
Royce did not appear, but others were happy to take his place. Two brigands descending from the walls charged towards him with bloodied swords raised. Baldric took one blow on his shield whilst the other attacked was confronted by Manfred, who'd been the first man to follow his father and uncle through the gates.
Ollo gave a roar as he hewed a man with Baelon's longaxe. Cameron Bolt led a group of archers up to the wall. Hallia shrieked as she leapt upon a brigand and plunged a dagger into his neck. Guards, bannermen, and even some smallfolk were rushing over the battered drawbridge with any weapons they could find. "Dondarrion" continued to be shouted over the sounds of horn-blows.
Titus looked about him. Much of the keep and most of the other structures looked intact. It was the Lord's Tower which was issuing smoke. He grabbed Ollo. "We must find Royce!"
They entered the great hall and ran past the disordered tables and chairs. Titus forced himself to look away from the corpses of servants and guards. This madness must end.
No matter how long Titus had shirked his birthplace, he still knew his way through the corridors of the keep. At the base of the Lord's Tower, however, he halted when he caught sight of the servants' quarters.
Four corpses had been left behind in the smouldering room. Three were burned beyond recognition, but one had kept enough of her face that Titus recognised her.
Cassana lay in a dark pool of her own dried blood. Her eyes were still open, devoid of life; coupled with her open mouth, it looked as if she was staring up in astonishment from where she lay. Titus felt a shiver go through him as he looked upon her. I wish I'd poisoned you along with Father… Those were my last words to her.
Titus turned to Ollo. "We need to bring my sister to Baldric."
Ollo gaped at Titus as if he were mad. "How?"
"Stand guard here," Titus commanded angrily. "If anyone should appear, have them carry her out."
A faint cry sounded out from the top of the Lord's Tower. Titus' jaw clenched as he ignored Ollo's calls and sprang forward.
"Royce!" He ran up the steps of the Lord's Tower. He could not recall the last time he'd gone up this tower, but it was familiar all the same. He gripped Doom in both hands as he ascended the winding staircase. "Royce!"
He passed several rooms on his way to the top. Each one had already been scorched and burned. Titus' eyes were watering from the smoke which was gently drifting through the air. It seemed to be some sort of ghostly escort for Titus, leading him to the room which he'd once coveted for himself. Who was that young man? Could he ever have imagined what a cursed life he'd choose for himself?
"Come out, Royce," Titus screamed. "It's over!"
At last, a faint answer echoed towards him from the top of the tower. "Titus!"
"Royce," Titus called out again, holding Doom before him. He wondered how many followers remained with Royce. He wished that he'd waited for others to join him.
"Incest! Kinslaying! Sinners! We are all unclean!"
He sounded completely deranged. His voice was a high-pitched howl, half of agony and half of some sick sense of amusement.
Titus was nearing the top, he could sense it. Much to his shock, he realised that he was afraid of what he would find. He is just a man, he reminded himself. Thousands are dead on his account, but he is only a man. There is nowhere left for him to go.
The Lord of Blackhaven's chambers occupied the entirety of the tower's top. It was a magnificent set of rooms which Titus had rarely seen for himself. His father and mother had lived here. Armond and Bella, Titus thought to himself. What wretched years they spent in these chambers. How many miserable men and women of our family spent their days in here? How did I ever long to join them?
He was still pondering this growing sense of despair when he finally reached the top of the stairwell. What he saw only heightened his anguish.
The great oaken doors of the lord's chambers were ripped open; one of them was still aflame, causing Titus to recoil from the heat. The chambers inside had already been ravaged by fire, and a few flames still flickered amongst the burned wreckage.
Titus might have prayed to the Seven, if he still thought it would do any good. But he was utterly bereft of such naive faith any longer. He was alone with this madman - this monster - but he could not deny his own role in creating him. Lomas' squire, no less. How you would laugh at me now, old man. Titus wiped sweat from his brow as he stepped into the room.
A shriek suddenly rang out. Titus cried out in shock, looking around wildly, until he realised that the scream came from outside the chambers. He made his way to the spacious balcony on the western side.
Royce stood out on the balcony, leaning down to stare at the castle grounds.
"Look at me now, uncle," he called cheerfully. "Lord of Blackhaven at long last!" He gave an unearthly cackle as turned to face Titus. There was a sword in each of his hands.
"Come to usurp me, uncle?" He spat. "You always wanted my rightful seat! You almost took it from me, too!"
"That was a long time ago, Royce," Titus called out grimly.
"And you would do it all again," Royce snapped. "I know the true colour of your heart! It goes well with that black sword of yours!"
Of course, Titus thought bitterly. Cassana betrayed me after all, just as I betrayed her.
"Your grandfather got what he deserved," he declared, "and so will you!"
Titus approached Royce as he held Doom sideways, prepared to repulse a blow or make a swing, whichever opportunity came first.
"So here we are," Royce declared, sounding saner than before. "Two monsters of the same house. You slew your father in this very chamber, and I slew my mother tonight."
Mother? That checked Titus. "Your mother?"
Royce giggled. "You didn't know!" His titters turned into a peal of laughter. "Upon the hour of death, she spoke her final truth! The Crone lifted her lamp, and blinded me with the truth!"
Before Titus could ponder a fitting response, Royce's cackles turned into a sob of agony.
"What is wrong with this fucking family?" He howled his question so loudly that Titus was convinced that those far below would hear him.
Royce looked upwards, as if he was addressing the gods. "Incest and rape! That was how I was conceived! And now I slew my mother tonight for a crime she was forced to endure! Forced as a child! Why?"
He could easily lunge forward and slay Royce where he stood. The man was not even looking at Titus, and he was in no state to defend himself. Much to Titus' shock, however, he found that he was beginning to pity Royce. If he must go mad, it felt wrong that he should do so because of a lie. For it was a lie, Titus realised, told to Royce out of vengeful spite. Cassana never failed to make sure that her enemies suffered, he thought grimly, right down to her last breath.
Royce seemed to notice Titus again. "What are you waiting for?"
Titus frowned, but he did not answer.
"This is the gods' cruel joke, is it not?" He hefted his swords and went into a defensive stance, as if preparing to duel Titus. "These miseries cannot be borne! I will have no more of it."
Once more, Titus hesitated. He had every reason to slay this mad monster. This was the Vulture King, who had destroyed so many lives. And yet had it not been he, Titus, who had helped to make him so? Had not he and Cassana delighted in telling him their worst secrets, hurting him with truth and lies alike?
"Come on," Royce shrieked. "This is what the gods truly intended! This was their wish! To put an end to our disgusting house once and for all! So come! Let us destroy each other! Let the king himself come south and bear witness to our house's downfall!"
"You are crazed," Titus declared. "And you truly are blind if you still see the gods' will in any of this madness."
Royce gave another howl as he lunged forward, swinging his blades directly at Titus.
Titus side-stepped him, watching passively as Royce stumbled past him. Doom was pointed to the floor now.
"Are you craven or are you unmade?" Royce snarled, spitting at Titus as he recovered his stance. "Do you fear death so much? Why should you cling to this wretched life? You cannot run from your punishment in the seven hells!"
Titus snorted derisively. "Are you as deaf as you are blind? I do not fear that which does not exist!"
"The gods are real," Royce screeched. "They are real!"
Smoke continued to billow out from inside. Titus could still breathe thanks to their position on the balcony, but his eyes were stinging nonetheless.
"I will not take part in this farce of yours," Titus insisted. "I swore an oath to forego my vengeance."
"What is an oath sworn by you?" Royce swung at him again, but his attack was too wild to be effective. The smoke must be affecting him too.
"Your fate lies with Hallia and her people," Titus declared.
"Who?" Royce shook his head in confusion, or mayhaps it was due to the smoke. His eyes were watering and he'd begun to cough. He had also dropped his swords, and so he bent forward and groped about trying to find them.
You don't even recall her name? "You're right, Royce," Titus declared. "We are both guilty of monstrous crimes, against each other too. But Hallia and her people were innocent. They did not deserve the evil you forced upon them."
He recalled what he had learned about his father, how he had been willing to hand his own son over to the family of the woman whom he had raped. It had been vengeance for Cassana moreso than the peasant woman, but Titus respected it all the same. There was some good in you after all, Father.
"I will not kill you, Royce," Titus insisted. "Drop your blades and come down from this cursed tower!"
"Come down," Royce echoed. "Aye, where my punishment awaits." He looked upon Titus with a sudden reverence that made Titus recoil. "Aye, uncle, as my elder insists. I shall see you again shortly." He suddenly rose up and sprang away from Titus. He did not run back into the tower, but to the end of the balcony. Before Titus could even react, Royce threw himself over the side with one last unearthly scream.
Horror-struck, Titus backed away from where Royce had leapt, so that the fire's heat grew stronger.
The desire to live suddenly seized him with such fury that he plunged back into the chambers. He covered his mouth and nose with one hand, desperate to hold his breath, even as he was surrounded by flames. Smoke hung in the air so that he could barely see.
With his last strength and will, Titus hurled himself back out of that hellish room.
He very nearly tumbled down the stone staircase, but he managed to sprawl along the top step instead. Groaning, he pulled himself up and began to stumble down the stairs, gasping with relief as the air became cooler and devoid of smoke.
"Titus!"
He slowly made his way down the staircase, guided by the echoes of Ollo's voice. He called out to the older man as well.
Ollo suddenly emerged in front of him, axe raised.
Titus nodded to him. "Has Baldric secured the castle?"
"Aye," Ollo replied grimly. "And I had two men bring the lady to her lord."
Titus felt a wave of sadness and pity for Baldric; two of his children dead, and now his wife. Is this the dowry you thought you'd have when you married my sister? "Are his daughters alive, at least?"
"I do not know," Ollo answered. "I waited for you." He glanced up the staircase which Titus had descended. "Where's Royce?"
Titus sighed.
"You killed him?"
The marcher lord shook his head. "He jumped."
"Gods be fucking damned!" Ollo lowered his axe in his amazement. "I suppose that's done, then."
"Aye," Titus replied heavily. "The easy part is done."
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Even with thousands of smallfolk to provide assistance, the repairs were a tedious process which would take months to finish.
With winter approaching, the surviving members of Blackhaven's household suggested that the smallfolk continue building the winter town. Many of the castle's repairs could wait, especially the chambers of the Lord's Tower; nobody was interested in claiming those charred rooms for themselves.
An immediate task was to take account of the fallen and treat the wounded. Although Septa Perianne had been slain in the fighting, the silent sisters which served Blackhaven had survived. The dead were given over to them, including Cassana.
There was little left of Royce to hand over; Hallia had been livid that he had cheated her of revenge, and she had not been assuaged by apologies, or by the offer of more gold.
"I will take your gold and your words," she declared to Titus and Manfred, "but I hold myself paid in cheap coin. I will not forgive you for your failure." She and her followers departed with their compensation soon after that, never looking back.
Cameron Bolt, Karl Penny, and Garvey Sawyer had left too, along with their remaining bannermen. They had offered awkward condolences to Titus and his kin, and they promised to have ballads made about the Vulture Hunt, but anyone could see that no pretty words could rob this victory of its bitterness.
It had fallen to Titus and Manfred to manage the aftermath of Royce's attack because Baldric had collapsed entirely. He had been inconsolable upon seeing Cassana's body, sitting beside her for hours, ignoring everything and everyone around him. The only thing which had provoked a reaction from him was when his daughters were found hiding in the godswood with Jocelyn Selmy's daughters and their wetnurse. Even that had not been enough to stir him out of his crushing melancholy; after Cassana was laid to rest, he'd retreated to the Heir's Tower and shut himself away from everyone but his children.
Each day felt like a month to Titus. Blackhaven had become a ghastly place, full of evil memories which gnawed at his being. A gloomy pall hung over the castle, so that few people wished to remain inside it. The smallfolk only came back from their labours to eat and sleep. They spent their work and leisure outside the walls.
Titus could not leave; not until the rest of the Dondarrion army returned from the Red Mountains.
He still did not know what he would say to Cayn; the more he thought of how he'd behaved, the worse he felt. Andrew's death had been cruel, but ever since he'd learned of the second skinchanger, he'd paid heed to Cayn's plea of innocence. I should have listened. Instead, I beat him and cursed him…
He dreaded to think what Cayn must feel about him now, but he was determined to make amends. Had he not done so much for his eldest squire? Had he not been a second father to him? He would explain things to Maric, apologise to Cayn, and reconcile himself to them, and them to each other.
After six days, the contingent returned to Blackhaven.
It was a diminished host; only several hundred men and women trudged into the castle. Most of them were either sellswords who'd survived the campaign or bannermen who dwelled in Blackhaven or around it.
"Where are the rest?" Manfred asked incredulously.
"Many went back to their homes, ser," answered Hador the blacksmith. "We heard that the Vulture King's lair had been burned, and his followers defeated. We thought the matter was resolved." He, like so many of those who returned, were appalled at the state of Blackhaven.
Titus did not listen to how Manfred would explain things. He sought out his own surviving followers amongst this considerable throng.
"Milord?"
Titus halted and turned to see who addressed him.
Ser Arlan of Pennytree sat atop his destrier. He did not wear his armour, and his right arm was in a sling. His squire stood beside him, leading two more horses - a stot and a palfrey - by their reins.
"Well met again, milord," Ser Arlan declared. "We heard about your victory!"
"Our victory," Titus corrected him. "You played your part too, ser." He forced a smile on his face and a cheerful tone to his voice.
"Gracious of you to say, milord," Arlan thanked him. His good cheer faded as he looked about the castle. "But what's become of this place?"
Titus was pondering what to tell him when he saw Alyn Garner first. His countenance was grim, and did not brighten when Titus hailed him. "Lord Titus," he murmured as he accepted Titus' embrace.
"It is good to see you again," Titus urged. "Where are the lads?"
"They are gone," Alyn answered without preamble.
Titus felt breathless. "What do you mean?"
Alyn led him to where Medgar Wayn and Titus' remaining followers stood. There were two shrouded forms at their feet.
"No," Titus cried aloud. "What is the meaning of this?"
"We brought Andrew's bones with us," Alyn explained. "Maric succumbed to his injuries along the way home."
Titus did not lift the shrouds. He didn't have the strength to do it. "What of Cayn?"
"Rode off with the Targaryens," Ser Medgar replied. "Went to Summerhall, I reckon. We didn't know he left with them until it was too late."
At first, Titus felt numb. Then, a wild rush of emotion seized him, and he did nothing to restrain it.
Instead of tears, however, gales of laughter burst from his mouth. He leaned forward as his hands clutched at his sides.
"Lord Titus," Medgar exclaimed. "Why do you laugh?"
Why? Why? What else can I do? I have no more tears. They might fill Blackhaven's moat by this point. He suddenly understood Royce's final moments, and he felt a wild urge to draw Doom from its sheath and fall upon its point. "Is this not a jest? A bitter jest indeed!"
"Should we go after Cayn?" It was Ollo who spoke. Titus had not even seen Ollo joining them.
"Why? He's made his choice!" Titus shook his head, as if trying to shake out the blood which pounded in it. "He's left me for the pale demon. His curse strikes again."
"Damn you! Bloodraven did not do this! You did!"
Shaken by the venom in that shout, Titus looked to Alyn, whose dusky face was grim as death.
"Gods be damned! You did it again! Did you forget what you lost when you last chose vengeance over love?" Tears went down Alyn's cheek. "There is no man more responsible for your suffering than yourself! You can blame Bloodraven all you wish. You can blame Royce. You can blame your father. But it will only prolong this blight on your life!"
Titus was completely cowed. He could not even conceive of what to say in response.
Alyn shook his head bitterly. "I will have no more part in it," he exclaimed. "I will always honour you, Lord Titus, but I cannot follow you down this path any longer."
"Alyn…" Titus began to plead, but he could not conjure a second word.
Alyn turned away from him. "I will be on my way."
He is in earnest… Titus gave a shaky sigh. "You would cheat yourself of any reward for your service?"
"I have enough coin for my needs," Alyn assured him curtly. "When I have need of my final wages, I will return to the Red Keep."
Titus felt utterly hollow; he could scarcely believe that he was still standing. "Is this truly farewell, Alyn?"
For a moment, it seemed like Alyn might crumble, but he recovered himself and gave a brief nod. "I will pray for you, Lord Titus," he declared. Then he seized the reins of his horse and made for Blackhaven's main gate.
Titus sat heavily upon the ground, beside Maric's body. He pondered what Alyn had said, unable to forget those bitter words. He might have been furious that Alyn dared to place blame on him over Bloodraven's evil sorcery. But Alyn had always told him the hard truths. Ever since he was a boy, Alyn had been utterly devoted to Titus. He had risked his life on Titus' command without doubt or second thoughts. He had refused to abandon him when he was determined to waste away in the shadow city. Less than two weeks before, he was ready to die at my side, Titus thought. And now he has abandoned me. If he is doing it now, then I must deserve it. He thought of what Hallia had said about Daemon Blackfyre. I couldn't defend him either.
"Lord Titus?"
The marcher lord looked up to see his nephew approach him. More than ever, Manfred Dondarrion resembled his mother. His eyes were cold, and his jaw was firmly set. Does he dislike me as much as she did?
"When you make your report to the king, would you omit the detail that Royce Storm was the Vulture King?"
Titus understood the reason for that request. It would turn House Dondarrion into a laughingstock across the realm. To think that one of their own - a bastard knight - not only managed to train an army of brigands and broken men, but also did it whilst serving House Dondarrion in plain sight…
"Aye," Titus affirmed. "In a dozen years, no man will even remember Royce Storm's name."
Manfred nodded curtly and walked off without another word.
Titus could not sit still. He had no more reason to linger. He sprang to his feet as he looked Ollo and Medgar in the face. "We shall make for King's Landing at once, by the speediest way."