Cayn
The western lords had meant to make a proud arrival to the capital. Cayn could easily picture the image which they'd dreamed of presenting. Rich in gold, silver, and precious stones beyond imagination, the Westerlands had always been proud of their wealth. There was no doubt in his mind that these ostentatious lords and ladies had anticipated riding into the city as conquerors, graciously accepting the Kingslanders' adulation.
Instead, they'd had the terrible misfortune to arrive in the midst of a snowstorm. Thus, they entered the city as refugees from the cold. Cayn had been on the wall when they'd arrived. They had huddled and shivered under cloaks, hoods, even blankets. Their horses plodded along with their heads bowed forward. Their sodden banners hung limply. The smallfolk of the city had not gathered to cheer the westermen's arrival either; most had stayed indoors, waiting out the snowfall.
From his lofty position on the walls, Cayn laughed at the westermen. They did not know what winter really felt like. He had learned that lesson as a boy, and he'd never forgotten it. No matter how long he spent serving Lord Bloodraven in the Crownlands, he was a man of the North, foremost and always. The southrons always sneered at the North, as he well knew, except in winter.
"Look at them," Colwyn jeered. Like Cayn, he was of the North; he had been born and raised in the Rills, serving in Lord Ryswell's garrison. Cayn had led an expedition to find weirwoods; their branches were the source of longbows for the Raven's Teeth, and they were far more common in the North.
Cayn had often embarked on such expeditions as an excuse to visit the land whence he'd come. It also allowed him the chance to find new recruits who followed the old ways, just as he and Lord Bloodraven did. Men like Colwyn were also more receptive to the notion that Cayn was a skinchanger, and more willing to assist him in that endeavour.
Today was such an occasion. It was a long and arduous march through King's Landing until the westermen arrived at the Red Keep. Whilst they trudged the city's streets, Cayn and Colwyn hurried along the wall towards the Red Keep. Despite their fitness, both men were short of breath by the time they skidded to a halt.
The Red Keep was home to dozens of stray cats and dogs. A large brown tomcat was lurking in the first tower that they entered.
"Watch the door," Cayn told Colwyn as he sealed himself in the tower's narrow privy. Then, recalling the tomcat which squirmed in Colwyn's arms, he sat down on the cold seat and left his own body.
He misliked cats; they were ornery and fiercely independent; they could only be forced to obey a skinchanger's will, and they resisted it with all their strength, in the way that dogs rarely did. Still, he had no time to be choosy.
The tomcat was lean and agile, and reached the Great Hall well before the newcomers did.
When the host of the west strode through the large doors, many of the westermen hastily gathered around the lit torches which helped warm the Great Hall. Others, clinging to whatever dignity they had left, shook the melting snow from their bodies to disguise their shivering.
Through the tomcat's eyes, Cayn took note of the lords and ladies. He had met them on a handful of occasions, and he'd also spent the last few weeks familiarizing himself with Lord Bloodraven's notes on each of the important attendees.
Gerold the Golden emerged from the crowd to accept the bread and salt of King's Landing. He was around Cayn's age, so far as he could guess, though tragedy and grief had aged him by at least fifteen more years. There was a melancholic air about the man, even as he was welcomed by the assembled court. For his part, Cayn did not wish to mock Lord Lannister; he had come to the Great Council despite losing his heir less than two months prior, in the same uprising which had caused the death of Maekar.
He had even more respect for the young lord Roger Reyne, who'd already earned his own moniker despite being less than half Gerold's age. The Red Lion had come into his lordship after the death of Lord Robert Reyne at Starpike. Cayn had heard more than one account of how Roger slew seven Peakes to avenge his father. Rightly so, too. Let no man forego his vengeance in this life, else he is no true man.
Walderan Tarbeck shoved a lesser lordling aside to hold his hands closer to one of the torches. He was joined by three young men who could only have been his sons. Like so many southron lords, Lord Tarbeck carried himself with a great deal of hubris and self-satisfaction, especially since his house had fallen on lean times since the First Blackfyre Rebellion. Ironically, he had the most expansive waistline of the lords present.
Lord Alyn Marbrand was slight in appearance and grey of hair, but none would dispute his manhood. He had been one of the finest lances in the Westerlands, earning glory whilst fighting against Haegon Blackfyre. No man was more loyal to House Lannister, according to Lord Bloodraven.
Lady Sara Lefford held her arms out as one of her companions unwrapped the fine furs from her body. When those were removed, she was revealed to be wearing a gown of thick linen, elaborately stitched and dyed a myriad of colours. Her nose was large and curved, like a hawk's beak. Her cheekbones were high, and there was a calculating expression on her face as she scanned the hall. Two women, presumably her sisters based on their resemblance to her, stood nearby.
The last - and in some measures, the least - of the prominent lords was Everard Payne. He had neither the acclaim of Roger Reyne nor the infamy of Walderan Tarbeck. He was a quiet, unassuming man with a plain face that was neither comely nor homely. In almost every way, he was overshadowed by the others, and also by his wife, who stood a head and a half taller than him. It was widely rumoured that she was the one who ruled House Payne through him.
Lesser lords and landed knights were also present, but Cayn paid them no heed. They would follow whichever house held their oaths.
Even if one were to account for the weather, it was still surprising to Cayn to see so few of the principal houses sworn to House Lannister.
"Gerold is not loved," Lord Bloodraven had explained when Cayn gave voice to his confusion the day before. "Many still recall how he became Lord of the Rock."
Cayn had heard those rumours before - the ones which told of how Gerold had brought about the deaths of his brother and niece to hasten his own succession - but he hadn't been sure of their veracity until Lord Bloodraven's affirmation.
"Still," Cayn had asked in confusion, "why should they spurn the council over that mislike? Wouldn't they want to vote against him out of spite?"
"Those present might very well do that," Lord Bloodraven had answered. "Still, Gerold is not a man to be openly snubbed. Most of his enemies will prefer to sneer at him from afar. And they'll prosper under his rule and live in his peaceful territory."
The hypocrisy had infuriated Cayn; it was the same sort of tripe which he'd seen and heard from others in his past, especially in their opinions of Lord Bloodraven. When a man uses power to provide peace and prosperity, what does it matter how he acquired such power in the first place?
The cat moved effortlessly around the lords and ladies; Cayn turned its head this way and that for its ears to catch what was muttered and whispered above it. He was especially keen to overhear what might be said as the westermen mingled with those in the Great Hall.
Much to his disappointment, idle pleasantries rang out from dozens of throats. It was difficult to discern anything substantial from this sort of talk.
Lord Lannister was mobbed by men and women expressing their sympathies for the death of his son. Lord Marbrand shunned the crowd and called for a servant to lead him and his family to their quarters. Lady Lefford began an utterly banal conversation with Lady Nolla Corbray.
Cayn focused on Roger Reyne and Walderan Tarbeck, whose forefathers had been sympathetic to House Blackfyre's cause. The Red Lion's grandsire had been none other than Robb Reyne, the Crimson Lion. His family had committed no new treasons since then, but Lord Bloodraven did not doubt that they retained their injured pride.
Sure enough, Roger Reyne struck up a conversation with Lord Mortimer Swann. The Swanns had been staunch supporters of Daemon Blackfyre, and Lord Mortimer's bastard brother had fought for Haegon. The Swanns themselves had been cautious, claiming that sickness had laid many of their smallfolk low. How many of those sick men had slipped away with Ser Alykine Storm?
Unfortunately, Roger and Mortimer were not fool enough to speak of treason in the hall. Cayn moved on.
Lord Payne and his wife were speaking to Titus Dondarrion of all men, prompting Cayn to turn away in disgust. Lord Lannister was standing with Jasper Arryn of the Vale, praising his young heir, Jon.
A hiss left the cat's mouth. He was not sure if it was due to his own frustration or the fury of the tomcat, desperate to be rid of him.
Just then, he saw something which piqued his interest. Lady Sara Lefford had moved on from Lady Corbray; now she was navigating her way out of the main crowd. At her arm was Princess Kiera.
Cayn followed them as quickly as he could manage without it seeming suspicious. They went down an empty corridor, then went through a door which led them outdoors.
Moving swiftly, Cayn made the cat mew softly, prompting Lady Lefford to hold the door open a moment longer.
"Foolish creature, she remarked as she ran her fingers through the cat's thick coat. "The rats are inside the castle!"
"Never mind the cat," Kiera urged softly. "We must speak of the council."
Cayn pretended to explore the grounds, but never strayed out of earshot.
"My daughter has the best claim to the throne," Kiera urged. "By every measurement of inheritance."
"I doubt that the past members of House Targaryen would agree with that assessment," Lady Lefford replied bluntly.
Cayn knew what she meant. Time and time again in the history of the House Targaryen, there had been moments where a woman might inherit the throne. Each time, without fail, the woman with the better claim had been set aside for a lesser male relative.
"And you? Do you agree?" The princess seemed only too happy to match Lady Lefford's candour. "Do you agree that a daughter has no right of inheritance?"
Lady Lefford smiled at that, but her lips were pursed. "My agreement counts for little, Princess. If it didn't, my own daughters would not have been robbed of their inheritance when my son was born."
"Tell me," Kiera suddenly asked, "do you think your word will count for more with Aegon on the Iron Throne? Maegor? Or Vaella?"
Lady Lefford was looking thoughtful now. "I must say, you play the game boldly, Princess."
"I must play boldly," Kiera answered curtly. "Any woman in my place must do the same. We have no choice but to be bold. To be anything but bold is to give up our voices completely."
Even Cayn was surprised by the fervour of her argument, and the compelling manner in which she gave it. When I first knew her, she barely spoke five words at a time, and turned her nose up at anyone in sight.
Now she gave Lady Lefford a polite nod. "Think on what I have said." With that, she turned and went back inside.
After releasing the tomcat, Cayn returned to the privy. Kiera would have been a dangerous woman if she'd ever tasted real power. Even as he pondered that, he suddenly smirked at the irony of her power spawning from the weak and unworthy men whom she'd married.
He had never liked Valarr or Daeron. They had both been arrogant wastrels in their own ways. They'd both been the unworthy heirs of heroic men. Neither of them had even come close to matching the standards of Baelor Breakspear and Maekar. Both had also died long before their time.
Small wonder that Kiera is so bitter, Cayn reflected, and so desperate for the Iron Throne. She will even sacrifice her simple daughter for the chance, and throw her lot in with Princess Jena and her brother.
He bade Colwyn farewell, intending to report to Lord Bloodraven with what he'd heard. Before he could return to the Tower of the Hand, however, he was approached by two of the grimmest-looking men he'd ever encountered.
Their jaws were unshaved, set in permanent scowls. Their clothes were unkempt beneath their eyes were the worst of it; they were flat and lifeless, like those of fish on a butcher's slab.
They stood before him, with one holding up a hand to halt him. Cayn frowned, wondering who these men were; they carried no sigil, and wore plain armour. "What do you want?"
Neither man answered him. They simply gestured for him to come along with them.
For a moment, he wondered if they might be friends of Washton, luring him into a trap. The archer had succumbed to his injuries two days before, with Lord Bloodraven compensating his family with the status of landed knighthood. Still, many might doubt the manner of Washton's death, and might take their revenge on the man who'd supposedly brought about his death.
"Where will you take me?" Cayn challenged them. "And why don't you speak to me like proper men?"
One man opened his mouth; there was no tongue between his teeth. Cayn could not help recoiling in dismay, prompting the second man to leer.
The second man took a scrap of parchment from his pocket and held it out to Cayn. Taking it with a hesitant air, Cayn unfolded it.
Come alone, and tell no one where you are going.
-Shiera
Cayn asked no more questions. He simply walked in his escort's wake as they led him down the darkest corners of the Red Keep, descending underground.
Much of the castle was connected beneath the ground, but only a few could navigate their way through all the tunnels. Cayn had certainly done his share of exploring, but he was unfamiliar with the path that these mute men took. At one point, they opened a door which had been disguised to look like part of the wall.
What astonished him was how easily these men seemed to maneuver their way through the tunnels. There were almost no lit torches, and the guards didn't carry them either. More than once, Cayn let out curses as he stumbled on the rough ground.
"Oi," he finally called out bad-temperedly. "Do we have to walk around in the dark? We don't all have cat's eyes."
The guards didn't even look at him, but Cayn suspected that they were greatly amused by his clumsiness.
To help repress his anger, his mind raced as he tried to imagine what Shiera wanted. It was impossible to predict her intent, even when she deigned to explain herself. Deception was a game that she frequently played, and mischief was its own reward.
Cayn had always done his best to give her a wide berth. That wasn't easy for a man who was deep in Lord Bloodraven's confidences, of course. What made it worse was that Shiera had always regarded him with a special interest.
She was not the only woman to covet Cayn; over the years, he had attracted attention from a handful of people. Ordinarily, it was easy for Cayn to discourage such interest. A few other men - such as the dearly departed Washton - made japes about his shyness - and speculated about the reasons for it - but never to his face.
Truthfully, he had no desire for women or men; it was a strange thing, this lack of lust, but he had long ago accepted it. Besides, he often reasoned, love is the death of duty.
He did not know how long they were beneath the earth, and he was baffled by how far these tunnels went.
Eventually, they came across other men garbed like the two whom Cayn was following. They were equally imposing, equally unfriendly-looking, and Cayn wondered whether they too had lost their tongues. What sort of things have they seen to warrant such a precaution?
Finally, they halted before a large door which looked more formidable than most which Cayn had seen. At first, he was surprised that it was unlocked, until he recalled the secret entrance and the presence of the other guards. Anyone who stumbles on this stretch of tunnels without leave is never coming back out again.
He blinked in surprise as he stepped through the door.
Torches were lit across the walls, each one glowing with a different coloured flame. Tables and shelves boasted a myriad of books and ingredients, carefully labeled and organised. The room was longer than it was wide, with a large stone bath in one corner and two doors on either end. A cauldron rested over a hearth in the centre.
Shiera Seastar stood beside the cauldron, stirring its contents with a long wooden ladle. Her silver-gold hair reflected the varied colours of the firelight around her, accentuating her heart-shaped face. All she wore was a shift made of expensive Tyroshi cloth.
"Leave us," she murmured without looking up. Cayn watched the two guards silently go back out the door through which they'd come.
He turned back to the beautiful woman in front of him. "Where are we?"
Shiera gave a hollow laugh. "If I wanted you to know that, do you think I'd have ordered my men to lead you below ground without the aid of light?"
For all the time that Cayn had spent in Shiera's company, he had never seen where she laid her head to rest. He knew that she had discreetly set up her quarters somewhere deep in the city. Lord Bloodraven alone seemed to know where it was, but only a fool would have tried to follow him there. Gossip described her home as the lair of a sorceress, where she performed magic of the vilest order.
Cayn grimaced, but he kept his voice polite. "How may I help you, then?"
For the first time, Shiera looked up from her brewing. It was difficult for Cayn to ascertain her expression. "Shall I answer that honestly?"
A cold hand seemed to grip Cayn's stomach and twist it roughly.
Shiera let go of the ladle and raised her hands to the top of her shift. In short work, the garment slipped down her body and crumpled around her feet. Her entire body seemed to glow in the light of the fires.
Cayn's jaw clenched in discomfort. Is this some sort of test?
Shiera cocked her head to the side. "You have nothing to say?"
He had no idea what to say in response to that; his body was taut, ready to fling itself towards the door and make a mad dash down the tunnel. What good will that do, he suddenly thought in a panic. Those men will be out there, waiting for me. And who knows what sort of magic Shiera is capable of…
"You're far more like him than you know," Shiera suddenly declared, "and far more than you wish to admit."
"Him?" Cayn frowned.
Her mismatched eyes seemed to glow as she regarded Cayn with an unreadable expression. "Nay… that is unworthy. He only resisted me out of loathing and spite. Otherwise, he is just another simple beast with large appetites. You are infinitely more interesting."
Cayn could not comprehend her purpose, nor could he work up the nerve to leave.
Much to his shock, Shiera suddenly appeared vulnerable as she looked upon him with wide eyes. "Was there nobody in your life whom you desired? None at all?"
What is happening? Who is this woman? Cayn wondered whether he should lie, but that was a ridiculous notion. Shiera was doubtless expecting him to lie. And mayhaps the truth would put an end to this farce.
"No one," Cayn answered bluntly.
Shiera nodded slowly. "Pity," she whispered. "You might be the loneliest man I've ever known."
Cayn was stung by that. "Not all those who are alone are lonely," he countered.
"Not so long as you have my dear brother."
Cayn shuddered at the smile growing across Shiera's face. It wasn't a sneer; that would be more bearable. Now, it seemed that she was trying to - or pretending to - present a sympathetic and charitable nature. Whether it was earnest or a charade, it unsettled him worse than her mockery.
"Mayhaps you would like to see me with him? He need not know you are watching us."
Cayn nearly took a step backward. A noise left his throat whose emotion even he could not distinguish.
Shiera giggled. "Come now, Cayn, don't be bashful!"
"No more of this," he protested. "Mock me if you will, but you will not have me believe your brother to be so ignorant as I."
"Oh, this is touching," Shiera exclaimed. "You will not stand up to me, but for his sake? Do you wish it were you in my place? I would be quite happy to watch the two of you, make no mistake!"
A terrible thought flashed through Cayn's mind. He looked at the distant door. "Is he here, then? Is that where this is leading?"
"My brother is not omniscient," Shiera remarked wearily. "I thought you were cleverer than that."
"I am clever enough to know what he is capable of," Cayn retorted. "He knows I'm here now, doesn't he?"
Contempt quickly returned to Shiera's countenance, as it always seemed to do. "The man of a thousand eyes and one. He revels in those rumours." She rolled her eyes as she put her shift back on. "Aegor made that jest when he took Brynden's eye, if I recall. And so, poor Brynden had to adopt it for his own. Your former master insulted that splotch on his face, he made that his moniker. He has always been reviled, you know. He takes lesser men's abhorrence and fashions it into a fearsome suit of armour. It's quite pathetic, really. Almost as pathetic as your pitiful performance."
Cayn was astonished; he had always known Shiera's propensity for misprision, but he'd never heard it aimed against Lord Bloodraven. She says it with such confidence, too. Doesn't she know he will find out about this?
Shiera laughed again. "Oh my, but you really do fear him!"
Cayn was piqued into replying once again. "Who doesn't fear Lord Bloodraven? Besides you, anyway." He added the last three words as an afterthought, and he was surprised when Shiera's face snapped upward and stared at him.
"Now now," Shiera tut-tutted. "Envy is not a good look on you."
Cayn clamped his jaw shut once again. He knew better than to rise to such easy bait.
"Very well," Shiera remarked after a pause. "I'll put your mind at ease."
She turned away from him and walked to one of the tables. "Run along now, Captain."
"Run along where, my lady?" Cayn gestured to the door behind him and the one on the far end of the room. He had a dozen questions about her reasons for bringing him here, but he did not wish to give Shiera the satisfaction of any more of his curiosity.
"Back the way you came, of course," Shiera taunted condescendingly. "My guards will lead you back to the Red Keep. I imagine your master is expecting you."
"And what do I tell him when he asks where I've been?"
"Whatever you please," Shiera retorted. "Lie to him, tell him the truth, but rest assured; he will not know you were here."
"What makes you so sure?"
Shiera flashed him a look of contempt over her shoulder. "Don't be a fool, Cayn. I have had my beloved Brynden wrapped round my finger since I was twelve years old."
Cayn hesitated, wondering what that meant. Before he could leave, Shiera spoke again.
"And when you see him, remind him of his proper duties to the Seven Kingdoms."
"*"* "* "* "* "* "* "* "* "** "*" *"* *"*" *"*" *"*" *"*"*" *"*"* "*"*"* "**"* *"*"
Shiera's prediction proved correct. After Cayn reemerged in the Red Keep, he was told that Lord Bloodraven awaited him in the rookery.
Grand Maester Piato was nowhere to be seen; the pale lord was feeding the ravens himself. They were especially noisy as they demanded their share of the offal and meat which Brynden distributed. Cayn took a deep breath and approached his master.
"So," Brynden declared as he held up a hunk of flesh for a bird to snatch at. "What have you discovered today?"
Cayn had spent the entire journey back pondering how he would respond, how he would confess what had occurred. Yet when faced with Lord Bloodraven, he felt a twinge of fear.
"Very little, my lord," he began in an apologetic tone. Before he could work up the nerve to continue, Lord Bloodraven spoke first.
"No need to be so remorseful. Every little is a gain."
"Well," Cayn continued with less hesitancy than before, "I believe there is something you should know. Princess Kiera is proving to be much more persuasive than we expected. I saw her win over Lady Lefford."
"Is that so?" Lord Bloodraven patted a bird's head as it gorged itself upon the remains of a rat.
"If she persuades enough of them," Cayn cautioned, "then they may persuade Lord Lannister himself."
"Let them try," Lord Bloodraven laughed. "Nothing will stop Gerold vouching for Aegon."
"Aegon?"
"You're surprised?" Lord Bloodraven gave him a curious look. "Did I not tell you of that?"
"I don't recall," Cayn muttered earnestly. The whole business with Shiera had taken up so much of his thoughts that he might very well have forgotten part of what Lord Bloodraven had already explained.
Much to his relief, Lord Bloodraven was happy to explain his point again. "Gerold's heir Tywald was a squire at Starpike. According to my sources, the young man was dying in his brother's arms when Aegon personally knighted him."
Although he had nothing but contempt for the Faith, Cayn could still appreciate such a moment as that. Knighthood was a title which should go to warriors of renown. It seemed to him that Aegon understood that. He had not much cared for Maekar's youngest son when they were boys, but he had become a worthy man. Far worthier than any of his brothers or cousins had been.
"A sentimental parting gift, to be sure," Lord Bloodraven drawled. "Gerold will not have forgotten that."
Cayn nodded. "Well, better Aegon than Vaella, I suppose. He is a worthy man for the throne."
He had meant to sound neutral, but he had evidently failed. Lord Bloodraven halted, and slowly turned to look at Cayn. "Worthy," he echoed thoughtfully. "But not the worthiest?"
He hesitated for a moment, then spoke again in a lower tone. "I have no voice on this council, my lord. But I know whose name I would cry out if I did."
Lord Bloodraven regarded him silently, as impenetrable as Shiera had been.
Cayn wondered what he should say, or do. Kneeling felt like a step too far, and an apology felt premature. He refused to look away from his master's eye.
"You flatter me," Lord Bloodraven finally observed. "But tell me, friend, even if you could speak your piece at this council, how many others do you think would follow your example?"
Cayn opened his mouth to speak, but no good answer came to his mind. There was only the truth. "Very few, I'll warrant."
Lord Bloodraven turned back to the ravens, feeding them once more. "For what it is worth, I do note your loyalty to me. I am grateful for it."
Possessed with a fit of wretchedness, Cayn forced himself to speak again. "My lord, I must confess something."
He did not speak of everything that had occurred, for he did not yet know what had happened. What he was sure of, he revealed. Thus, he spoke of how she had summoned him to her chambers, how she had attempted to seduce him, and how she wished to persuade Lord Bloodraven to take the throne for himself.
Lord Bloodraven was stone-faced through all of it, filling Cayn with dread as he spoke on. He was not sure if it was his wild imagination, or some other cause, but it felt as though several ravens halted and stared down at him. By the time Cayn was finished, he really did kneel before his master, accidentally pressing his knee down on a pile of old raven droppings.
"Forgive me," Cayn pleaded, oblivious to the smell in his nostrils. "I do not know why she had such an interest in me, and I swear to the old gods that I neither encouraged it nor pursued it."
The pale lord shook his head as he turned once again to the ravens all about them. "Rise."
Cayn obeyed, leaning on a ledge for support.
"I do not need your oath to know the truth of that," Lord Bloodraven explained. "I know you, and I know my sister. She has always been… playful."
He was relieved beyond words to be forgiven, but now he wondered what Shiera might do to him for confessing the truth. "What must I do, then?"
As always, his master heard not only the words he spoke, but the words he didn't speak. "Never mind her," Lord Bloodraven assured him. "Shiera has always taken great pleasure in toying with those around her, especially me. It seems that she wished to test the limits of my passion for her."
Cayn shuddered at the implications. Lord Bloodraven had been his mentor and master for so many years, but would that be enough to spare him from his jealous wrath? Perhaps it was his own fear's presumptions, but it seemed as though Lord Bloodraven himself was wavering on that front.
"She has always thought highly of herself," Lord Bloodraven mused. "I suppose her thinking so highly of me must be a compliment, in her own way."
After a moment of silence, Bloodraven turned back to Cayn. "Leave Shiera to me. But mayhaps you can deal with something else, if you have the stomach for it."
Cayn heard him, and made his assurances before leaving the rookery. It was not until much later that he realised Lord Bloodraven had made no definitive comment on whether he sought the kingship or not.
