Titus

It was snowing when Titus awoke. The balcony was so thickly blanketed that he reckoned the snow would be up to his knees if he ventured outside. Luckily, the inner chambers were sealed off by doors made of thick Myrish glass. This allowed him to watch the flakes drifting downward while also shielding him from the worst of the cold.

Slowly, he sat up in bed as he looked outside. It was impossible to say how late it was. Behind the thick flurry of snow, the sky was a pale grey colour. The best sort of weather to spend indoors, Titus thought. Not for the first time, he wished he was back in Braavos.

As he got dressed, there was a knock on the door, followed by Sadog's voice muffled by the thick door. "Father? Are you awake?"

"Aye," Titus called. "Give me a moment."

It was not just Sadog waiting for Titus when he emerged from his chambers. Miru and Matthias were present as well, dressed for the morning meal.

Each had spent the prior evening mingling with the assembled lords and ladies. Such duties kept all of them busy; Princess Dido Martell, Lord Rycherd Tyrell, and the ironborn lords had all sailed to King's Landing two days before, and Jena was adamant that everyone play their part.

"Speak to the lords and ladies," she had commanded. "Do not push Vaella's name yet. Leave that to Kiera and myself. But if you see an opportunity, do not hesitate to seize it. Otherwise, inform us how the wind is blowing, and I'll see to it later."

For his part, Titus had avoided the Dornish party for fear of crossing paths with Lady Nisba Dalt. Instead, he and Matthias had sat down with the riverlords and Valemen. Jena had engaged the Dornish, since her husband and sons had been of Dornish heritage. Kiera and Miru spoke with Tyrell and his bannermen. Leroya and Baalun focused on cavorting with the ironborn. Sadog alone was spared this campaigning, as he was meant to be a neutral observer on the Iron Bank's behalf. He had spent a good deal of time praying with the High Septon, who had sailed to the capital along with the Tyrells.

"Where are Leroya and Baalun?" Titus asked his children.

"We tried knocking on their doors, but they didn't answer," Matthias replied.

Titus wasn't surprised. He had known what to expect from his younger children cavorting with the rowdy ironborn. He would have likely wished to do the same and more if he was still in his twenties. Nay, he corrected himself. That's how you would still be if you weren't focusing upon Vaella's claim.

By contrast, Miru looked worried. "I hope nothing's happened to them."

"I'm sure much has happened to them," Titus assured her. "But if it was something serious, we would have heard about it by now."

Miru frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The Black Bolt's crew have been busy with other tasks," Titus revealed. "After the first day, some of them have been shadowing us and keeping lookout for trouble. Discreetly, of course."

"What?" Miru was surprised, but she was the only one.

Sadog glanced at her with amusement. "You didn't notice our tails? It's been over a week since we got here!"

"Why should I? I haven't been tracked since I was a girl!"

Titus felt remorseful. "Forgive me, Miru, but I am doing it for the same reason as before. This is a treacherous place. I won't lose anyone like we lost Barba or the others."

Sadog and Miru's faces fell at the mention of their lost sister. Matthias, meanwhile, suddenly appeared doubtful.

"If this place is as treacherous as you say, Father," he mused, "how do you know that one of the crew won't accept a bribe from someone who bids higher than you?"

"I trust Lwandle with my life," Titus replied. "And Leroya trusts her crew with hers." He did not need to remind his children that two-thirds of Leroya's crew consisted of men and women whom Ollo and Leroya had liberated from slavery.

"No stronger currency than gratitude," Sadog remarked amusedly, quoting Bellaria.

"They'll find us in the Great Hall," Titus assured the others. He turned to Miru. "In the meantime, did you find out how Jena fared?"

"As well as could be expected," Miru admitted quietly as they made their way down a winding staircase. "Princess Dido and Lady Jordayne both support Vaella's claim, as do the lords Blackmont and Allyrion. Lady Nisba Dalt was reticent, but she did not object.

Titus sighed. He could understand why Lady Nisba Dalt would not wish to side with Titus or Jena. Her father had lost his entire family due to their association with House Dondarrion.

"Do you think she will defy her fellow Dornishmen?" Matthias asked.

"Aunt Jena wasn't sure," Miru shrugged. "But surely Lady Nisba will wish to give her fellow woman a chance to rule?"

"Mayhaps," Titus mused. "But at least the Dornish were receptive."

"More than I can say for the men of the Reach," Miru replied bitterly.

"What happened?" Matthias asked.

"The only one who paid Princess Kiera any heed was Lady Elyn Florent."

"Better one than none, I suppose," Matthias offered.

"Aye, well, the Florents are a fickle bunch," Titus interjected. "My guess is that Lady Elyn is only voting that way to spite the Tyrells. Which means that Tyrell has a new reason to oppose Vaella."

"What about those in the Riverlands?"

"Lord Gilbert Tully was close-mouthed about his stance," Titus explained. "His bannermen were more forthcoming, but I heard no support for Vaella except from Lady Uma Ryger. Lady Nolla Corbray of the Vale was also willing to consider her, as was Ser Gaul Waxley."

"Two, maybe three nobles," Sadog pondered, "out of what? Twenty?"

"Too many," Titus answered. "That's the truth of it."

By then, they had come to the main floor of Maegor's Holdfast. They proceeded towards the open gates and the lowered drawbridge.

As they did so, Sadog spoke again. "Who are all the others supporting then?"

"I doubt even they know," Titus answered. "There does not seem to be a clear choice among Maekar's descendants."

"No," Miru agreed sadly. "A few are curious about Maegor, some think Aemon should renounce his vows, and a few believe it should be Aegon, but most say so because they fall back on him rather than genuine support."

What a mess, Titus thought once again, careful not to speak it aloud whilst others might hear him.

Leroya was already seated when Titus and the others arrived. She looked as though she'd been feasting half the night, right down to the stains on her clothes. She also looked remarkably peckish, eating pork sausages that she speared on her knife two at a time. She had chosen the quietest corner of the hall to sit down and break her fast.

Titus patted her on the head as he sat beside her. "Where is Baalun?"

"On the ship," Leroya answered. "One of those ironborn had a comely daughter who wished to see a swan ship up close."

"He better hope her father didn't notice," Sadog warned. "Those ironborn have a prickly sense of pride, so they do."

"Don't worry," Leroya assured him with a sly grin. "I distracted her father all night. His friends too, just in case."

"In the meantime," Miru interjected whilst stifling a grin, "did you find out who the ironmen are considering for their king?"

"They want Vaella," Leroya answered. "Or Maegor. It makes no matter to them which one it is."

Matthias was bewildered. "I thought the ironborn follow strength. Why would they want the babe or the child?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Leroya laughed. "They want a weak ruler so they may reave again. "We want another Aerys", they said."

"Gods," Sadog exclaimed. "What a ringing endorsement that will be!"

"Speaking of endorsements," Matthias quipped, "do you have any idea how His Holy Highness feels about all this?"

Sadog rolled his eyes. "His High Holiness has no opinion, so long as the chosen monarch remembers their duty to the Faith."

"Well, that settles it," Matthias remarked. "He'll throw his lot behind the maester."

"A maester cannot become king," Miru reminded her younger brother.

"Tell that to Baelor the Befuddled," Leroya japed.

"Baelor the Blessed," Sadog corrected her haughtily.

Leroya shrugged. "Them ironborn called him the Befuddled. The Berserk too, come to think of it."

"That's enough," Titus interjected as he saw Sadog open his mouth again. "The last thing we need is to become further divided."

And yet, as he said those words and watched his children silently eat, he couldn't help but think what a mistake it had been to return.

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It was later that morning when men came into the city, declaring that the westermen were less than two hours away.

The snows had delayed their arrival by at least three days, or so Titus had heard. He also heard the declaration by Brynden that the council would convene the following day to begin hearing claims.

Jena was dismayed and enraged by the latter news. "He is preventing us from building our case," she execrated whilst she and Titus strolled in the deserted gardens. Neither man nor beast was in sight.

"I thought it a strange decision," Titus reasoned. "He robs himself of any chance to do the same as us."

"Don't be absurd, brother," Jena berated him. "Brynden Rivers never makes a move which undermines his own position."

"Aye," Titus acquiesced, feeling more dispirited than ever. "Except I have not yet determined what his position is. Whom has he thrown his support behind?"

Jena did not answer for a moment. Titus assumed that she had no words, until she spoke again in a hushed whisper. "I think he is preparing to seize the crown for himself."

Titus balked at that, halting mid-stride as he stared at his shrunken sister. "Are you mad? Not even Brynden would be so reckless."

"Is it truly so reckless?" Jena rounded on Titus with a renewed zeal. "He has his supporters gathered. The northmen will support him, for one. He shares their faith, after all. Lord Arliss Blackwood will support him, as will Odo Whent. Most of the crownlanders are in his pocket. Our own nephew is a firm supporter of Brynden!"

Titus greatly misliked this notion. "House Targaryen will not stand for his usurpation."

"Oh no?" Jena waved a dismissive hand. "You have been speaking to the nobles as I have! They cannot agree on who should become the next king! I believe Brynden will use this moment to present himself as the man who saved the realm from three Blackfyre rebellions, the man whom three kings trusted with their lives."

Titus did not want to believe it. He wanted to put this mess behind him and go home, and he wanted to persuade Jena to come with him. As to who should sit the Iron Throne… Titus was not sure which of the claimants was the best, but he would still rather burn the throne with wildfire than let Brynden Rivers sit his narrow arse upon it.

A thought suddenly came to him. "Aegon has five children," he pointed out, "and his wife is Lord Blackwood's daughter! Are you telling me that Blackwood will allow his uncle to stop Betha from becoming Queen?"

Before Jena could open her mouth, a voice called to them.

It was Baalun. "The westermen are on the horizon," he told them eagerly.

"Which means it will be another hour," Jena reminded him.

Titus gave his son a level look. "So what was her name?"

"Lartha," Baalun answered, only to frown in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Your sister told us," Titus replied. "And besides, you still haven't washed."

Baalun looked sheepish before hurrying off towards Maegor's Holdfast.

"Are all your offspring so prolific?" Jena asked Titus.

He gave a shrug. "Matthias indulges himself too. Chatali had her fun before she decided Lotho was all whom she needed. And Belakka always preferred being worshipped."

"I suppose two out of five is better than none," Jena commented waspishly.

Titus was stung. "I'll not have you looking down on my children like that. ."

"Need I remind you what your dallying cost you?"

"Cost me?" Titus was properly angry now. "Leaving Westeros for the second time was the best decision of my life! And if I never see this shit-pit again, it'll be too fucking soon!"

Jena matched his glare with her own. Then, her lip began to quiver. Much to Titus' dismay, a tear went down her cheek before she turned away.

He wanted to call her back as he watched her hobble after Baalun, leaning heavily on her cane. He wanted to go after her. But anger and shame fought such a fierce duel within him that he remained rooted to the spot.

He did not know how long he stood there, but the cold finally drove him back inside, and Baalun's message sent him walking down to the Great Hall.

His bout with Jena left him ill at ease, but he refused to answer the concerned questions of his children as they awaited the westermen.

It was a relief when they finally trudged into the Great Hall. Titus stepped forward with the other assembled nobles. Most of them flocked towards Lord Gerold Lannister, so Titus sought out his bannermen instead.

The first man whom he greeted was an white-haired landed knight who had fought with Damon Lannister against Quentyn Ball during the first Blackfyre Rebellion. After exchanging a few pleasantries, and after they'd commended each other's service, the old knight went to accept bread and salt from the Targaryen servants.

He spoke briefly with another landed knight, this one much younger who did not recognise him, before he found himself face-to-face with a well-groomed man in his middle age.

He wore a very elaborate sigil on his surcoat. It was a checkered field, consisting of purple and white squares. Inside each square was a gold circle, which Titus could only assume were coins. Much to his surprise, he could not recall which house boasted such a sigil.

"Good day," Titus declared as he held out his hand. "Lord Titus Dondarrion."

The man dutifully clasped Titus' outstretched hand and shook it. "Lord Everard Payne."

"Well met," Titus declared, perhaps a little too jollily, but he was feeling embarrassed at having nothing to say to this man. "I hope that winter has not been too cruel to those in the west."

"Certainly crueller than any winter I've seen in my lifetime," Everard admitted. "My castle is overrun with smallfolk. I made sure to bring a number of them with me to King's Landing. Let the crown feed them while I'm here, heh."

Titus felt his respect for Lord Payne rising. "Very gallant of you, my lord."

"Oh, well," the younger man began, seemingly disarmed by Titus' compliment. "Truth be told, it was my wife who suggested it." He spoke as if he feared his wife might overhear and suspect he was taking credit from her.

Before Titus could reply, a voice called out. "Darling, who are you speaking to?"

Everard Payne's head snapped towards the speaker as if he'd been struck. "Allow me to introduce you!" He gestured to Titus. "This is Lord Titus Dondarrion." At this, he turned back to Titus. "Lord Titus, this is my wife, Lady Leto."

Titus' blood had already run cold before the westerman introduced his lady wife. He had already recognised her as she'd approached them. She was six feet tall, a rare height for women outside of the Summer Isles and Leng. She was also broad and imposing, with a prominent bust. She had a mane of golden-brown hair, streaked with grey. Titus guessed that she was past forty by now.

When she'd heard his name, she had stopped mid-stride; her mouth fell half-open as she stared at Titus.

Leto Crakehall… He had visited Crakehall on one of his tours as a traveling justiciar. He had presided over the murder trial which had introduced him to Ollo and Miru. During the night, Leto had snuck into his bed and spent half the night in utter debauchery with him. Some time later, Lord Crakehall had brought complaints regarding Titus to the Iron Throne, including that he'd despoiled Leto. Her testimony affirming the accusation had played its part in Titus' resignation from the small council.

Titus had resented her, but also understood such an action. He had been careless with her affection, despite his own attraction to her. Ever since his journey to the Summer Isles, he had let go of any anger he might have felt towards her. What worried him was her own feelings towards him.

"Darling?" Everard Payne was unnerved by Leto's frozen stance.

Titus tried to glean what was going through her mind, but Leto was a mystery to him, even after she spoke in a flat tone.

"Lord Titus." She stepped forward and held out her hand. Following custom, Titus bent forward and kissed it. The chaste nature of this reunion was in such odds with how they'd become acquainted that he found himself forcing back a wild urge to laugh.

"I never thought to see you again," Leto observed guardedly.

"You knew him from before?" Everard Payne might have been suspicious, but his tone seemed more curious in an innocent way.

"I first met him when he served as Master of Laws," Leto explained. "And when I last saw him, he'd executed my cousin with his own sword."

Titus nodded slowly. "I remember it well."

Lord Payne shot Titus an astonished look. "Why on earth did you do such a thing?"

"I did it to avenge a child whom her cousin had violated," Titus answered, relishing the look on the younger man's face. He turned to Leto. "She is here, as it happens."

Leto looked about her in surprise. "Is she?"

"Miru," Titus called, until she answered.

"Father?" She approached him with a curious countenance, until she beheld Leto Payne.

"Gods," Leto exclaimed breathlessly, "how you have grown."

Miru gave a shy curtsy. "I'm pleased my lady recalls me."

"How could I forget? You were in my prayers for years." Any hostility or coldness which Leto might have had seemed to have dissipated.

"Well well," Lord Payne mused, staring at the burn marks across Miru's face. He seemed bereft of words, but he was spared the need to speak when a man in Payne livery called for his attention.

Leto remained, turning from Miru to Titus. "So, you did keep that promise, then."

Titus inclined his head silently. He could not begin to imagine what Leto meant by that statement, or what she must be thinking of him.

Something seemed to strike Leto, for she turned back to Miru. "Did you call him 'father'?"

"I did, my lady," Miru answered simply. "He has been my father ever since he rescued me."

Leto turned back to Titus. A storm of emotions seemed to be brewing behind her eyes, or perhaps Titus simply wanted to believe that she shared his own state.

Before anything else could be said, Lord and Lady Oakheart hailed Leto. After only a second's hesitation, Leto turned away from Titus and Miru, both of whom made their way out of the crowd.

"Well," Titus exclaimed shakily. "I suppose that went better than I would have expected." He turned to Miru. "Thank you for saying those words."

Miru gave him a half-smile. "I only said them because they were true."

There were tears in her eyes, and in his own as well.

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In 101 AC, the great council was so vast that only Harrenhal could comfortably host them. It had been held in the height of summer, convened by Jaehaerys the Wise himself.

No gathering would match it until more than thirty years later, when the boy king Aegon III had nearly been slain by a vile conspiracy which had infiltrated the Red Keep. The subsequent great council had been lesser than the first, partly because the kingship hadn't been in question.

Nearly a hundred years had passed since that council. Like the second, it was being held in the Red Keep, but it was every bit as important as the first one.

The tables and chairs were arranged in a strange formation. It resembled a circle which had one flat side. Titus sat with Jena on the end of this flat side, along with the claimants and their closest supporters. It was deemed unnecessary for Maegor and Vaella to be present due to their ages. Titus was relieved, as he doubted poor Vaella would help her cause by being pushed into addressing such a host of lords and ladies.

Of Titus' children, only one was permitted to attend the council. Sadog was a purple speck on the other side of the warped circle. What do we even call this shape? It's no circle…

The great lords of Westeros also sat on the flat part of the circle, whether they publicly supported someone or not. Tyrell, Lannister, Hightower, Baratheon, Arryn, Martell, and Tully made a pretty picture with their colourful regalia. The High Septon sat with them as well; his crystal crown shimmered and shone in the light of half a thousand torches.

At the centre of the main table was Brynden Rivers, formerly Hand of the King and Master of Whispers. The Valyrian steel longsword Dark Sister was at his side, while the hand-and-half sword Blackfyre lay before him on the table.

It still astonished Titus to see it lying there. He knew that it had been reclaimed from Haegon Blackfyre, but it was still a surprise to see it back in House Targaryen's possession. As there was no king to wield it, the sword was unclaimed, but he didn't like how it lay in front of Brynden when he already possessed the other Targaryen sword.

"Lords and ladies," Brynden declared. His voice boomed and echoed in the hall as everyone else sat in silence. "We are assembled to determine who shall sit upon the Iron Throne!" He indicated the ugly monstrosity which loomed above them all.

Suddenly, there was a screeching sound as a chair scraped against the stone floor. The High Septon arose and began to loudly pray. Most of the lords and ladies bowed their heads respectfully as the old man beseeched the Seven to watch over these sacred proceedings.

Titus did not follow suit. His eyes wandered idly as he waited for the haranguing to cease. For the briefest of moments, Titus' gaze fell upon Brynden Rivers, who looked back at him with a malevolent amusement.

Finally, after the prayers ended, Brynden spoke again.

"We will hear the case of the first claimant," he announced. "Princess Kiera Targaryen will speak on behalf of her daughter, Princess Vaella!"

All eyes turned to Kiera as she rose to her feet. Thanks to a small gap between the tables, she stepped into the centre of the partial circle.

"By the laws of the Seven Kingdoms," Kiera called out, "the eldest son will inherit his father's titles! Daeron Targaryen was the eldest son of King Maekar! He was the acknowledged heir for the near entirety of his father's reign!" She turned her body in a circle, so that her eyes scanned all those present. "Every man and woman here acknowledged him as the Prince of Summerhall!"

She turned back to the main table. "And is it not true, lords and ladies, that a daughter may also inherit her father's title in the absence of sons? Are we not sitting in the company of several women who rule in their fathers' stead? Daeron's title was never granted to another man, and he never sired a son. His daughter stands to inherit Dragonstone, and now she stands to inherit the Iron Throne!"

Titus was deeply impressed with Kiera's eloquence and passion. However, even as Kiera continued to speak, it seemed to him that most of the nobles in his line of sight were unmoved by her speech. By the time she sat down again, many had the gall to appear bored.

Titus paid little attention to the other claimants as they were introduced. A sour-faced Princess Daenora Targaryen spoke haltingly on behalf of her infant son, Maegor. Prince Aegon stood before the council and spoke for himself, speaking softly and courteously.

Remarkably, Aemon had not even bothered to attend the council. In his absence, Rycherd Tyrell got up from his chair and spoke of Prince Aemon. Titus kept his eyes down as he ignored the southron lord's blustering. What a waste of wind for a man who is already a sworn maester.

It seemed that he was not the only one who thought so. Lord Kalf Stonetree stood up in the middle of Tyrell's speech and turned to the main table. "This is a farce! The prince is a maester! He's not even bloody here to speak for himself!"

"Silence," Lord Gilbert Tully shouted. "You cannot interrupt another lord when he speaks!"

"True enough," Brynden Rivers agreed. He pointed a finger at Kalf. "If you or any other person should speak out of turn, we will have them ejected at once."

Kalf sardonically sat down and crossed his arms as Lord Tyrell resumed.

By the time that the claimants had been introduced, hours had passed and everyone was fidgeting.

Brynden waited for the assembled maesters to finish scratching their quill points against parchment before speaking again. "There is time yet before supper. Is there any matter we can resolve before we adjourn for the day?"

"Perhaps we can discuss the first claimant," Lord Symond Hightower proposed. "I imagine there is little enough to be said."

"Mind yourself, windbag!" Jena interjected angrily.

Hightower and a number of others expressed their surprise and outrage at Jena's words, even as Titus and Kiera quickly sprung up in her defence.

"SILENCE!"

All were quieted by Lord Commander Pelleas Darry.

"Peace, everyone," Brynden called out, standing up with both arms raised. "We will get nowhere with all this squabbling. We must conduct ourselves as befitting a great council."

Very regal of you, Brynden. Titus felt his lip curl as he watched Brynden exude an air of authority over the most powerful men and women of the Seven Kingdoms. He thought of Jena's theory and wondered how much of this council was functioning to push Brynden's own claim.

He had little time to ponder, for Lord Lyonel Baratheon, known as the Laughing Storm in his youth, raised his hand high in the air. "On the subject of Princess Vaella, I wish to point out that Daeron predeceased his father. None of us dispute that he was King Maekar's heir, but when he died, was Vaella acclaimed by the king as the new heir?"

It was a good question, Titus grudgingly admitted to himself. It cut apart through Kiera's rhetoric.

When Kiera seemed to falter, he raised his own hand. "Lord Lyonel, was anyone else acclaimed by the king's heir?"

"That is no answer to my question," Lyonel retorted.

"Lord Lyonel, you are forcing a moot point upon this council," Titus countered. "The king did not name a new heir, which is why we are all assembled here!"

Murmuring broke out amongst the council until Lord Commander Pelleas Darry called for order.

"My lords," Jasper Arryn called as he stood up. "I propose that we turn our attention to the claimant herself. Is she worthy of the throne?"

Titus' heart sank.

"Grand Maester Piato," Brynden Rivers suddenly broke in. "Is it fair to say that you are familiar with Princess Vaella Targaryen?"

All eyes turned to the grey-haired man, who looked ill at ease. "I am," he replied after a clearing of his throat.

"And is it not true that the princess is - if the expression may be allowed - simple?" He was calm and collected, with the same courtly politeness to his voice which Titus had grown to hate when he was on the small council.

After a moment, Piato gave his answer with no small measure of reluctance. "From what I understand of men's nature, the princess appears to be simple-minded. However, I also wish to add that she is a lovely girl with a sweet temperament."

"Her virtues are noted," Gerold Lannister intervened brusquely. "Nonetheless, I propose that we dismiss Vaella as a claimant."

"Why?" Jena sat up as tall as she could manage, glaring at the westerman. "On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that she is not fit to rule," Gerold answered. "And on the grounds which were first laid down by the Great Council of 101 AC."

Titus sighed. Once again, the council were going to turn down a female claimant in favour of a male relative. He had expected it, but the alacrity of this decision astounded him. He might have been relieved at the notion that his role was finished, but the anguish emanating from his sister made it painful.

"We shall put the matter to a vote," Brynden declared. "All in favour of dismissing the princess Vaella, raise your hand!"

Titus kept both hands in his lap, as did Jena, but desperately few lords and ladies followed suit. Around them, arms reached upwards like spears above an army of soldiers.

"Very well," Brynden observed. "Princess Vaella's claim has been dismissed." He turned to Kiera and inclined his head silently.

Titus wished he could get up and ram Brynden's self-satisfied head against the table, until his face was reduced to pulp. Instead, he sat stone-faced and watched Kiera silently return to her seat beside Jena. Both wept silently as their eyes blazed with repressed fury.

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"I should have realised," Jena hissed. "He played us all for fools!"

Titus walked alongside his sister as they entered her chambers. They had the apartment to themselves as Kiera had taken Vaella to the battlements so she could watch the sunset, with Ser Niall Crane guarding them. For his part, Titus had told Sadog to inform his siblings what had transpired that day.

"Shall I arrange for food?" Titus asked Jena as he held the door open for her.

"You can go down to the hall and eat," Jena told him as she hobbled to her bedchamber. "I have had enough of this terrible day."

Titus felt wretched as he followed her, assisting her so that she lay down on the bed. "You ought to change out of those clothes," he advised, but she had already begun to weep.

"Jena," Titus implored, kneeling beside the bed as Jena sobbed aloud.

"Oh gods," she gasped. "I am so sick of it all. Sick!"

Titus held her hand as her breathing slowed down and her weeping subsided. "There was nothing else to be done."

Jena blinked rapidly as she turned her head to face Titus. "I've been thinking about Mother. More and more, with every passing year."

Titus said nothing; he scarcely seemed to breathe as he listened to her.

"She was so miserable," Jena went on. "I remember that as clear as day. Even her smiles were just a mask. She would force a smile on her face with me, but she never laughed. I don't think I ever heard what her laughter sounded like." She looked at Titus. "Why weren't we enough to make her happy? Even for a moment?"

Titus closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I don't know, Jena."

He wished she would cease speaking of their mother. But now that she had begun, it seemed that she could not stop.

"I don't even remember what she looked like. My own mother. I never thought I'd ever grow old enough to forget my mother's face, but there it is. I can't recall her face, her voice, sometimes I even forget her name. But no matter how old I get, I always recall that misery which she carried with her. What sort of legacy is that for someone to have? What would she think of me, that this is the part of her that outlasted everything else?"

Tears were running down her cheeks. She was breathing faster, causing her body to shake.

"Jena," Titus urged, but he was weeping too.

"I always feared becoming her," Jena went on. "I was so scared of turning out like Mother! Married to a man she hated, burying her own children one by one…" She needed to stop in order to breathe, gasping raggedly from grief and age. "I thought I was blessed when I married Baelor! I thought I was the luckiest girl in all the Seven Kingdoms! When Valarr and Matarys were born, when Baelor came back from the war, I thought I would be so happy! And it was all for naught!"

"It wasn't!" Titus was standing now, towering over her. "Your happiness was real! Baelor was real! His life was not in vain! Neither was yours!"

Jena did not seem to hear him. "I used to wonder why I was kept alive. The truth is they spared me out of spite."

"Why would the gods spite you?"

"Not them," Jena snapped. "Bloodraven and Seastar! You were right about them all along, Titus. They cursed our family when we stood in their way. They killed those whom we loved, they took our children from us, and then they left us to grow old and alone."

"We are not alone."

He was no longer weeping. Along with his melancholy, he suddenly felt anger possess him, steeling his resolve.

"We have each other. We always had each other. And we still have living children. Did you forget about them? Have you been reading none of my letters? I have a life in Braavos. I have a wife, and I have seven children. One of them has grandchildren. And I still have a sister. A sister whom I always hoped would come and join me."

Jena shuddered as she dabbed at her eyes. "Do not ask me to run away, Titus. I have not changed my mind."

He was not finished. "Do you remember the shadow city?"

Jena frowned at the question, but did not answer.

"When I lost Coryanne, Aliandra, Garin, Chayora… I was determined to drink myself to death in a tiny tavern. But you and Willem came to find me. You begged me not to give up. You begged me to live for you, for my goodbrother, and for my nephews." His voice was sad, but also reproachful. "Will you not do the same now?"

Jena was weeping again. For a moment, she seemed stricken with remorse, but the moment was fleeting. When she spoke again, her voice was firm. "I cannot flee my home, Titus. I cannot just run away and let them win!"

"What will you do, then?" Titus demanded. "What is there left to do?"

Jena had no answer to that, except to sigh and turn away from him. "You should eat something. The council is resuming tomorrow."

Titus felt miserable as he departed from her chambers. After he ordered a servant to send for Jena's maids to assist her with going to bed, he plodded out of Maegor's Holdfast, wondering how he could persuade Jena to give up this lost cause.

He was still lost in his own thoughts when he sensed someone standing before him, concealed in the shadow of the torches. He halted and peered at the figure.

"Who are you?" Titus called out. He suddenly wished that he had a weapon at his side.

The man stepped forward into the light. He was in his forties, but he was still lean of build. His hair was still a dark colour, with only a few grey hairs scattered across his head and beard. He wore the pale dragon on his black livery, but there was no hostility on his visage. He seemed to be a stranger, but there was something about the way he looked at Titus that he felt deeply uneasy.

"Hello, Lord Titus," the man spoke softly. "It's been a long time."

Titus felt an icy chill go down his spine. "Cayn?"