Cayn

The Targaryens had always defined themselves by their dragons. The entirety of Dragonstone was a collection of stone dragons, great and small. The Great Hall was shaped like a huge dragon lying flat on its belly, with its entrance being an open maw, teeth and all.

After he passed through it, Cayn kept himself hidden behind the ornately carved black stone. He regarded the three princesses atop the wall before taking note of Ser Niall Crane where he stood by the top of the stairs. Any eavesdroppers would be deterred by his gleaming armour and his gauntleted hand upon his sword hilt.

The wind was strong too, meaning that Niall would be unable to overhear any part of the princesses' discussion. Jena was too clever to allow even a Kingsguard knight to overhear what she had to say. That did not deter Cayn, however, for Jena had either forgotten or overlooked what he was capable of doing.

A passing seabird served his purpose easily enough. Cayn sat himself down on the ground before shifting his consciousness into the seabird's little body.

Even after years of honing his skill at skinchanging, he was still astounded by the feeling of flying. It was a sensation which nothing else could replicate, short of riding a dragon in the old days. But he had no time to enjoy himself. With a few squawks, he landed the bird on the parapets not far from Vaella, who was too busy looking at whales to heed him. Jena and Kiera sensed nothing amiss as they continued to speak of making Vaella the next ruler of Westeros.

The thought was amusing and quaint. Vaella was eleven, but she had the mind of a child half her age, with no sign of maturity in sight. It also amused him to hear how convinced Jena was of a conspiracy against her. That ought to be expected, Cayn thought to himself. Old spinsters have little else to enjoy in life, after all.

Still, one part of their conversation was enough to jolt him out of his jocularity. Allies and supporters.

He thought of who might rally to Vaella's side. The list was very short, but it included a man whom Cayn had tried to forget about for years.

The thought of Titus' return awoke a storm of emotions inside of him. Releasing the seabird, he got up and strode back into the Great Hall.

It was the most sullen feast that he'd ever witnessed. He doubted many were actually mourning Maekar; the dead king was known for being a charmless man and a harsh judge of other men. Still, Cayn had liked him well enough. He had been the sort of man that Da would have admired.

Prince Aegon was putting on a brave face, telling his children stories of their grandfather. His sisters were joining in, either confirming or correcting their brother's account.

Maester Aemon was quieter, pouring more water into his goblet as he nibbled at a piece of bacon.

Prince Aerion's widow, Princess Daenora, whispered with her mother, Princess Alys. Cayn did not doubt that they were discussing how to fight for Maegor's claim to the Iron Throne.

Around the tables walked six knights of the Kingsguard. With Ser Niall Crane watching over the three princesses on the wall, the others were here, where the rest of House Targaryen was assembled. There was Lord Commander Pelleas Darry, the Demon, and Ser Morholt Staedmon, the Greatheart. Both had earned these monikers for their heroism during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion. There strode Ser Ruggan Darklyn, who had been King Maekar's squire during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion. There stood Ser Tomard Costayne, who had first joined the Kingsguard during the Spring Sickness which killed King Daeron, more than twenty years before. There was Ser Sagramor Toland, one of the few Dornishman to serve in this prestigious order. Finally, Ser Duncan the Tall hovered over Prince Aegon and his family, smiling at the prince's words.

Lord Bloodraven sat with Shiera, at one end of the table, separated from their neighbours by three seats. They both ate as modestly as Aemon, speaking not a word between them.

By some magic which Cayn did not like to speculate about, Shiera Seastar looked almost exactly as beautiful and youthful as she had when he'd first met her. It was a strange and unsettling thing, especially since thirty years had passed in that time. However, something had changed nonetheless over the years.

"What is it?" Lord Bloodraven asked him softly as Cayn slipped into a chair beside him.

"Jena is plotting again," Cayn answered. "She and Kiera are going to try and put Vaella on the throne."

Lord Bloodraven rarely laughed, and his smiles were enough to make most men shudder. His thin lips curled at the corners, even as his voice became dismissive and contemptuous.

"Let them," he whispered, then gave Cayn a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Well done all the same."

Cayn nodded his thanks, but frowned. "My lord," he began again. "I think she will try to summon Titus Dondarrion back to these shores."

The pale lord's smile widened, and a rush of air left his nose. "She is welcome to try," he assured Cayn. "And as far as I'm concerned, Lord Titus is welcome to return."

Cayn felt angry and alarmed all the same. A flood of memories were crowding his mind, many of them he'd thought he'd forgotten or buried. They were cruel and kind alike, and not all of them were about Titus.

"Come now, Cayn," Lord Bloodraven said encouragingly. "Would you not welcome the chance to send him away in disgrace?"

Cayn frowned. "Have you foreseen that, then?"

"I do not need dragon dreams to see that outcome." The pale lord slowly stood up. "If ever he once had any power, it was expunged a long time ago. His return will be as brief as his last attempt."

Cayn recalled that last attempt very clearly. He had avoided the marcher knight, and so far as he knew, Titus had done the same. That had been a long time ago now, and he'd been convinced that Titus had learned his place.

"If Titus and Jena wish to make spectacles of themselves," Lord Bloodraven muttered, "I will do nothing to impede their attempt. They have always wished to see me as the bane of their lives. The cause of all their woes. Like so many other fools across the realm." His droll tone had shifted. He sounded bored and irritable as he spoke of his own evil reputation.

Cayn could understand that. Lord Bloodraven had spent all his long life fighting for House Targaryen and the realm, even when other men might have forgotten what that meant. He had smoked out and decimated the Blackfyres and their supporters. He had ruled while Aerys had locked himself in the library. Maekar, who had once hated Lord Bloodraven, had made peace with him and recognised how much he needed such a man to hold the realm together. And he does it all for a realm of ingrates.

Lord Bloodraven strolled off towards the privy without another word.

Cayn might have left too, but a soft voice spoke to him first.

"You are a loyal man, Cayn."

Cayn turned to Shiera and nodded his head. "You honour me."

A small smile stretched across her heart-shaped face. "Honour," she echoed. "Is that why you are so devoted to Brynden?"

Once again, Cayn nodded his head. Cayn had long ago learned that the best strategy to deal with Shiera was to humour her and not to react to her mischief. The latter was sometimes difficult to do, for Shiera had always enjoyed toying with those around her. She seemed to thrive on chaos; the more calumnies were told about her, the better pleased she was.

Something flickered in her eyes. "Tell me, how long has it been since you left the North?"

Cayn frowned. "It has been a long time." He suddenly saw Titus Dondarrion standing before him, kneeling down with a concerned expression. "How long since you last ate, lad? Do you have a mother? A father?" Maric was before him again, looking at him with loathing, then fear, just before Cayn's fist struck him.

He deliberately slowed his breathing, as Lord Bloodraven had taught him when he was still a lad, unable to control his emotions after all he'd been through. In through your nose, then out through your mouth.

"It is remarkable how much of the North remains within you," Shiera was saying. "Even the way you speak the Common Tongue."

"I wasn't aware that I still had my White Harbour accent," Cayn replied.

"Not that," Shiera explained. "I mean the way you speak. You speak words as if each one cost you a copper star. You say little, but when you do, there is weight to your words that few others possess."

Cayn was discomfited, but he did his best not to visibly react. Let Shiera have her fun.

Shiera leaned forward. Her voice became brazenly sardonic. "You do not hide your feelings as well as you think you do."

"From you?" Cayn answered, too stung to keep quiet. "I'll wager nothing is hidden from you."

Shiera's grin faded away. Her voice became weary, and there was a flash in her eyes which almost betrayed her age. "You overestimate my powers, Cayn. Why, if I were as powerful as some fools believed, I would have a far firmer grip over your master."

Cayn tensed, repressing the urge to look for Lord Bloodraven.

Whether she noticed Cayn's change in mood, Shiera continued on in that soft voice. "You know what is about to happen, don't you?" One of her fingers flicked upward to point at the nearest Targaryens.

"Aye," Cayn confirmed.

"They will squabble," Shiera whispered. "The lords will choose whom they support, of course, and all the while, the true king will deny his own claim."

"Who?"

Shiera rolled her eyes contemptuously. "Mayhaps you are a fool after all. Would that you had as many brains as the true king has eyes."

Cayn felt a jolt go through him. He leaned forward and lowered his voice as far as possible. "Lord Bloodraven cannot claim the throne!"

"Why shouldn't he? He ruled the Seven Kingdoms in all but name when Aerys was king. That was their arrangement when Daeron died. Aerys would pursue his own pleasures, and Brynden became the realm's true protector."

Cayn wondered how true that was; Aerys had certainly shown little interest in the everyday matters of kingship, but he did not shirk all responsibilities of the crown. Shiera plays games, he reminded himself. She always loves to play games.

"Brynden has proved his worthiness a thousand times over," Shiera continued, "but Maekar's pride would never have allowed Brynden to succeed Aerys."

Cayn looked about them to make sure nobody overheard what Shiera was saying.

"What troubles you, Cayn? Do you fear what I am saying?"

"I fear what others might think of what you're saying," Cayn hissed, unable to keep the consternation from his voice. "If Maekar was still alive, he'd have burned out your tongue!"

Shiera smirked, but only for a moment. "Maekar is dead, and I am speaking only to you. Do you dispute my words?"

"Of course not," Cayn answered tersely. "But what does this have to do with me?"

The ageless woman leaned forward, her mismatched eyes glinting in the candlelight. "I cannot persuade him to pursue what he truly deserves," Shiera confided. "I might have done it once, but… anyway, he refuses to speak of it. Mayhaps you can put it in a way that he will listen?"

Astonished, Cayn leaned back. He certainly believed that Brynden would make a better king than any of Maekar's heirs, but this sort of talk was dangerous. House Targaryen would not quietly lie down and acquiesce. Or would they?

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He was still pondering Shiera's request the following day, as they sailed away from Dragonstone back to King's Landing.

She had seemed so sincere when she'd conspired with him. She'd even sounded vulnerable when she had admitted that she couldn't sway him.

Mayhaps it's another one of her games, he thought again and again. Is she trying to drive a wedge between myself and Lord Bloodraven? Is she trying to disillusion me from him? Is she trying to make me her spy?

He had no taste for such deceptions. It was a strange irony, perhaps, that he served one such as Lord Bloodraven, but he had never been one of his agents or informants. He was a soldier, and he had proved it many times in the Raven's Teeth. After his service during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion, he'd been appointed to a captain of his own company.

He leaned against the ship's side, taking in the smell of saltwater. The south always had milder winters, but he was still careful to avoid being splashed.

"Captain?"

Cayn turned to the man who'd spoken. "What is it?"

Einon was not a tall man, and he seemed shorter because his spine had distorted from years of pulling a longbow. Nor was he a comely man, at least where most ladies seemed to be concerned. Like any who had been chosen to join the Raven's Teeth, however, Einon was a highly skilled archer and utterly devoted to House Targaryen. Nine years before, Einon had participated in a tourney held at the Twins, winning the archer's prize. Before that, he'd been a squire to a hedge knight that had perished during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion.

"Lord Bloodraven wishes to see you," he said.

Cayn went to the ship's best cabin, where Lord Bloodraven had made his abode on the journey back. The rest of House Targaryen had remained on Dragonstone. Lord Bloodraven had offered to organize the council which would decide the next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.

Two Raven's Teeth from Cayn's company guarded the cabin door. When they saw Cayn, they did not hesitate to open the door and stand aside.

He sat upon a crude wooden chair beside a tiny window. It was the only source of light in the cabin, and it took Cayn a moment for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark room.

Lord Bloodraven gestured to another chair. When Cayn sat down, he leaned forward so that the small ray of light illuminated his pale face.

As always, his long silver hair was cast over one side of his face to conceal the missing eye which Bittersteel had taken from him at the Redgrass Field. The other eye was red, contrasting sharply with his white skin. Most would be terrified of this man's face, especially if they had to sit in a dark room alone with him, but not Cayn.

"I had that dream again," Lord Bloodraven announced softly as he and his chair rocked with the ship.

Cayn knew well what sort of dream this was. It had been plaguing Lord Bloodraven for two years now. Just as Cayne was a skinchanger, Lord Bloodraven was that and also a greenseer. He had dreamed of the white dragon slaying the black dragon, and it had later been his arrows which put an end to the Blackfyre Rebellion.

Although Cayn did not share in these dreams, Lord Bloodraven liked to discuss the content of his dreams with Cayn. "You are the only one of my captains that truly understands," Lord Bloodraven confided in him once. "You and Shiera are the only ones I can truly confide in about these matters."

Now, Cayn leaned forward in his own chair. "What happened this time?"

This recurring dream played out in a few different ways, but the crux of it was that Lord Bloodraven found himself before a massive heart tree. Unlike any other heart tree which Cayn had seen, there were three eyes carved into the face, not two.

Sometimes Lord Bloodraven was swallowed up by the gaping maw of the heart tree. Sometimes he was caught in its branches, grabbing him like a hundred crooked hands, digging their wooden fingers into his skin.

"I sank into the tree this time," Lord Bloodraven replied. I found myself pressed against the bark. The bark suddenly became quicksand. Pale quicksand." He shook his head as a shudder went through him.

"I'm not sure what that adds to the dream," Cayn admitted. "We must first figure out what the tree represents."

Lord Bloodraven sighed. "It could be my responsibilities, I suppose. I have seen so many men who gave their lives in the name of duty. Perhaps I must do the same?"

Cayn was alarmed. "Are you sure that isn't too vague of an interpretation?"

"Do you have another suggestion?"

Cayn did not. It irked him mightily that he was so inept at reading dreams. He had spent years dreaming of himself wearing the skins of beasts, and it was only Lord Bloodraven who'd explained to him what those dreams had truly meant.

"It was snowing in the dream too," said Lord Bloodraven, almost as an afterthought. "It has been snowing more frequently in these dreams."

"What do you suppose that means, my lord?"

"I think it is another forewarning," came his thoughtful reply. "Mayhaps I will not live to see spring?"

Cayn shook his head. "A heart tree is not evil, my lord."

"Neither is death," Lord Bloodraven observed. "It is inexorable."

Cayn shook his head. "Mayhaps it is only a warning? Our fate is not carved into stone."

Lord Bloodraven smiled thinly. "You are a good man, Cayn." He gave a steady sigh as he leaned out of the light again. "Perhaps I am mistaken. I have had some measure of success with greensight, interpreting its meanings. But I have also been wrong before as well."

Cayn was relieved as his master's resigned tone faded with each word he spoke. He thought once more of what Shiera had confided in him. Was she trying to test my loyalty? Does she want me to persuade him not to despair over this recurring dream?

"How much longer until we reach King's Landing?"

Lord Bloodraven's question jolted Cayn out of his thoughts. "We shall reach there tonight, my lord."

"Good," he answered. "We have work to do."