Titus

Toko Reyaan had been the Sealord for ten years; now he was fifty years of age, five years younger than Bellaria. Like many Braavosi, the Sealord was a kindly and clever man, and he considered hosting to be one of the most sacred of duties. Every time that Titus had visited him, he was accorded a tour of the palace, including the Sealord's considerable menagerie of animals.

Beneath the palace's largest dome lay the most fascinating sight which Titus had ever seen in his long life. Trees from across the known world had been planted in various sections of the menagerie, giving the illusion of each animal's natural home. The dangerous animals were unchained, but their enclosures were spacious pits from which they could not climb out. The birds and gentler animals had no such restraint, but it was still best not to get too close. There were tall giraffes who made not a sound as they grazed the tops of trees. Monkeys clambered up and down those same trees, but there was one group of monkeys that barely moved. They hung from branches with wicked-looking claws that were shaped like hooks. Parrots and other birds contributed to the monkeys' choruses. Titus never failed to marvel at the sights, especially the fearsome manticore, the small striped tigers who bore their young in pouches, the walking lizards, and the lone direwolf who made most hounds look like puppies.

At dinner, Titus dined on lean ostrich meat which had been spiced with coriander seeds from Dorne, garlic from Pentos, and three kinds of pepper. Titus had never eaten anything so delicious in all his life, and the Sealord knew it. He always made it a point to know his guests' preferences.

His source for Titus' preferences was sitting with them, tucking into a plate of roast octopus. Sadog Dondarrion had risen far since he'd first come to Braavos. Titus had used his connections with the Iron Bank to give his son an apprenticeship within it. Sadog had not only shown his gift for numbers and figures, but also a shrewd mind when it came to investments. Nowadays, he wore the purple robe and purple hat of an Iron Bank representative. He also carried an ebony cane inlaid with gold, while his artificial leg was made of ivory and silver.

As food and discussion were shared between those at the table, note was also taken of the musicians who performed in a corner of the dining hall. They were Pentoshi, but they performed music from across the Free Cities.

"You do us great honour, Excellency," Bellaria complimented the Sealord after the second song was played.

"The honour is mine, I assure you," came the pleased reply. "It is not every day that I seat the Black Pearl's sister and a war hero at my table."

It was bald-faced flattery, Titus observed sardonically, and entirely unnecessary. Bellaria's sister had not been the Black Pearl for seventeen years. In fact, he had dined with the current Black Pearl - Bellaria's niece - only a week before, and she was already training her own daughter to inherit the title from her.

As for 'war hero'… Titus saw little good in dredging up that business. It had been years since he'd fought, and he no longer recalled any songs which had mentioned him or his exploits. He still trained with weapons on occasion, but he preferred to keep fit with brisk walks through the city.

The Sealord suddenly leaned back from his plate and dabbed at his bald head with an elaborately embroidered napkin. His expression turned sombre.

"I confess, I have been shamefully remiss. I meant to express my sincerest regrets for the death of King Maekar Targaryen."

Titus had been expecting this. He took another bite of ostrich and savoured it as the Sealord continued.

"He certainly proved his worth as a king, and I have no doubt that your realm will mourn him for many years."

Titus inclined his head at the kind words, delivered in such a heartfelt manner.

"Your pardon, Lord Titus, if this is impertinent, but do you have an idea of who will succeed him on the Iron Throne?"

Titus pondered the question, just as he'd pondered it long before he'd set foot in the Sealord's palace that day. After another moment, he swallowed his bite of food. Much of his knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms had come from letters that Jena had written him, or from Leroya and other ship-captains who often sailed to Westeros.

"Maekar had four sons," Titus explained. "Two of them predeceased him, but they each sired a child before they passed. The third son is a maester of the Citadel, so he will presumably have no claim to the throne."

Toko nodded slowly. "The king's grandchildren will be very young, then?"

"Yes," Titus confirmed, "but that does not mean Aegon will take the throne. There is precedent for child rulers in Westeros."

"So, a council of regents would rule in their stead," the Sealord murmured, "led by the King's Hand?"

Titus felt the delicious food souring in his stomach as he thought of the current Hand.

He'd first become acquainted with Brynden Rivers as a young man, when Brynden had been little more than a boy. Even then, Brynden had been a power in King Daeron's court, wielding it as much as the king allowed. It had been Brynden's machinations which had forced Titus to condemn himself before the king in order to save two innocent lives. After his return from exile, Titus had once again clashed with Brynden in the midst of the Blackfyre Rebellion, especially when Brynden had inadvertently revealed just how much of the rebellion had played out through his own machinations.

Despite Titus' own appointment to the small council at Baelor Breakspear's invitation, Brynden Rivers had continued to accrue power for himself. Eventually, his efforts to undermine Titus had contributed to Titus being forced to resign from the council. With the deaths of Baelor and his sons, it had been Daeron's second son, Aerys, who'd ascended the Iron Throne. Brynden had ruled the Seven Kingdoms in all but name, holding two positions on the small council at once.

Titus had hoped that Maekar, who had never loved Brynden, might set things right once he became king, but Brynden had remained as Master of Whisperers and Hand of the King.

The Sealord's elbows were on the table, and his fingers were steepled in front of his nose. "Do forgive me, Lord Titus, but you have not answered my question. How will the realm decide who shall become king? And which of them do you think will succeed?"

"I imagine that a great council will be held," Titus replied. It would hardly be the first one held in the history of House Targaryen, but the prospect filled Titus with anticipation. There could be no predicting just how far the consequences of such an assembly would go, for good or ill.

"Would you be kind enough to inform me what this great council entails?"

"The first time a great council was called, it was held in the castle of Harrenhal. The most powerful lords of the realm assembled there to settle the succession crisis regarding House Targaryen. They spent fourteen days discussing as many claims."

"Fourteen?" The Sealord made an exasperated noise. "I trust that there won't be as many claims this time?"

"Truth be told, I do not know," Titus replied. "There may be other claims presented to the council."

"And speaking of this council, would it include those men who hold a high place in the realm's administration?"

There it is. From the corners of his eyes, Titus could see Bellaria growing tense and glancing at him. "I'm sure they would be in attendance, Excellency."

The Sealord did not fail to notice Titus' subtle emphasis on "they." However, he remained silent as Sadog spoke up instead. Although he had learned four different languages, and had grown up in the Summer Isles and Braavos, he still spoke the Common Tongue with a distinctly Westerosi accent.

"Father, there is no need for humility. You have been the ambassador to Braavos for more than ten years. You were on King Daeron's small council. You are a respected figure in this city!"

Titus shook his head. "I thought I warned you about putting your father on a pedestal, Sadog."

"Be serious, please," Sadog urged him. "What happens in Westeros will have tremendous effects elsewhere. Why should Braavos not have representation?"

Titus hesitated. He knew what Bellaria must be thinking, but he was unwilling to see the truth of it on her face. He focused on Toko's inquisitive face. It was clear that he shared Sadog's sentiments.

"I will have to think on it, Excellency," he answered. "And besides, I do not even know if I will be welcome on the council."

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"Of all the nerve," Bellaria grumbled as they sat in their barge, passing down the canals away from the Sealord's palace. "How could our son just sit there and urge you to return to that bloody cesspit?"

Titus could not help but laugh in astonishment. It took a great deal for Bellaria to speak so angrily, and she rarely spoke so foully about an entire region. Westeros, however, was a sore spot for her, and Titus fully understood why.

Twelve years before, Titus and his growing family had sailed back to King's Landing for the funeral of his old friend, Ser Willem Wylde of the Kingsguard. Maekar, now king after the death of his childless brother Aerys, had invited Titus to resume his seat as Master of Laws. Titus had refused, but he had accepted Maekar's offer of ambassadorship in Braavos.

It had been a brief visit, but Bellaria had been repulsed by Westeros. Granted, she'd been predisposed to mislike it after what she'd learned from Titus, but the reality had been far worse. The sights and smells of King's Landing had appalled her, as had the manner in which Westerosi people viewed prostitutes, among other things. Worst of all had been the reactions given when it was known that Titus had renounced the Seven and embraced Bellaria's faith, of which she'd once served in Ebonhead's temple of love.

"I am being serious," Bellaria reproached her husband. "You cannot mean to say that you are amused by Sadog's request."

"It was not his request, darling. He was speaking for the Iron Bank," Titus answered patiently. "What else would you have expected him to say?"

"Very well," Bellaria conceded, though she still seemed ill at ease.

Titus put his arm around his wife, who leaned her head against his. The sweet smell of her perfume, combined with her own natural scent, filled his nostrils. He sighed contentedly as he put his other hand in her lap. "I have no wish to go back to Westeros. You know that."

"I do," she answered softly. "I just hope that His Excellency will accept 'no' for an answer."

"I doubt he will challenge the Seven Kingdoms on my behalf," Titus japed, prompting a laugh from Bellaria. The rest of their journey felt pleasanter after that, even as the sky became a myriad of purple and red with the setting sun.

Their steward - a squat, broadly built man called Alexios Galba - awaited them when their barge returned to their estate. "Welcome home, Lord Titus. Lady Bellaria. I trust all is well with the Sealord?"

"Very much so," Titus replied. He did not wish to go into detail on what had been said.

Matthias and Lotho were seated at a small table, playing a game of cyvasse whilst Chatali was lying on a couch with a book in her hands. All three arose to greet Titus and Bellaria when they strode into the room alongside Alexios.

"Are the children asleep, then?" Titus asked Chatali.

"They are," she answered.

"Pity," Titus lamented. It had become a habit of his to read his granddaughters stories to help them go to sleep. "Mayhaps Leroya and Baalun can wake them up again?"

Chatali rolled her eyes. She, like Belakka, was well accustomed to her elder sister and younger brother's antics. As a child, Chatali had only been too happy to make mischief alongside them, but she had left such pursuits behind as she'd embraced her roles as a merchant and a mother. Just like her mother and her aunt, Titus often thought.

"Thankfully, they are still out," Chatali told her father. She suddenly seemed to recall something, then turned to Bellaria. "Incidentally, the shipment from Lorath has arrived. Should we have Roya pass it on?"

There was a soft knocking at the front doors. Titus glanced at Alexios, but the steward was already walking back to answer the call.

"I think not," Bellaria answered their daughter. "She and Baalun only just came back. We can give this shipment to Piegro and his crew."

Chatali shrugged. "Roya and Baalun will soon grow bored, Mama. They might go sailing off on their own whims again if you don't give them a task."

"They are free to do that if they wish," Bellaria insisted, "but I won't send them away so soon."

"Did they say if they would be sleeping here tonight?" Titus asked Chatali.

"I didn't ask," Chatali answered with a smile. "I'm sure they wouldn't have known the answer anyway."

"If I might interrupt?"

All three of them turned to Alexios. The steward handed Titus a scroll, still sealed with wax. The seal was the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

Astonished, Titus took it with a murmur of thanks. He felt the others' eyes upon him, especially Bellaria's.

Brother,

You once swore to return to the Seven Kingdoms when Baelor recalled you. I am recalling you now, in his stead.

I have no doubt that you've been told what has befallen us, so you will surely know of the great council. It is being assembled now to decide who shall sit the Iron Throne. I will not be permitted to sit upon it, and I have no one left to represent me. No one except you.

If ever you loved me, then come back to my side. There are urgent matters which I must discuss with you, matters which cannot be written down. But if you still wish to preserve Baelor's vision for the realm, then you have this one final chance. It may already be too late.

I beg you, do not abandon me again. You are my last hope.

-Jena

Titus felt a tempest of emotions rising up inside of him. He was frustrated that Jena was calling him back to Westeros when he'd had every intention of refusing to go. He was livid that she would speak to him of abandoning her, when he also felt a terrible guilt for precisely that same reason.

"Titus?"

Bellaria was regarding him with a fearful eye. He felt another wave of emotion hit him as he realised what he had to do now.

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"I have no choice."

They had retreated to their chambers to avoid anyone overhearing them. The city was warming again, so they stood on their balcony beneath the night sky. The city glittered beneath them thanks to torches, lanterns, and other such lights.

Bellaria was reading Jena's note. She said nothing, and although her face betrayed no emotion, Titus could have sworn that she aged a year or two as she read his sister's words.

"Abandon," she exclaimed scandalously, then looked at Titus. "What a terrible thing to say! After all the times you begged her to come to Braavos?"

"Terrible, mayhaps, but not wrong," Titus answered quietly.

Bellaria seemed to stare at him in alarm. Then she put the letter down and placed both her hands on Titus' face. Her fingers were warm, and her eyes were wide with concern. "You have come a very long way from the man I first met in Ebonhead," she insisted. "If you had not come to the Summer Isles, if you had remained in Westeros, it would have destroyed you."

"Aye," Titus agreed. He well recalled the year he'd spent with Babatunde, the high priest who had been more of a father to him than his own had ever been. "I do not regret my choices. How could I? But Jena needs me. Harsh though she is, she is right that I walked away from her. I could never forgive myself if I did it again."

Bellaria's full lips were pursed; a sure sign that she was biting back an opinion.

Slowly, though, her visage softened again. "I will not ask you to stay. Not if your sister is in such dire straits."

Titus was beginning to feel wretched; he put his hands on her hips, holding on as if he might be torn out of their embrace.

Bellaria continued in that gentle tone, but Titus sensed that her resolve was like iron. "I only ask that you do not take me with you. I can't go back to Westeros, Titus. Not again."

"I know," Titus conceded. "I will not force you to come with me, or anyone else for that matter."

Despite the gravity of their discussion, Bellaria spoke almost derisively. "Don't play innocent with me. You know full well which of our children will go with you!"

Titus could not help but smile at that. He reckoned that Leroya would cheerfully follow him on any mad adventure; the riskier the better, as far as she was concerned. Baalun wouldn't be far behind, of course; he would have followed Titus and Leroya from Asshai to the Iron Islands. Chatali and Belakka would remain in Braavos, as would Sadog and Miru. Titus was less sure about Matthias, but he did not bother speculating aloud.

As he stood there, Titus was reminded once again why he loved Bellaria so much, recalling how she had always claimed all seven of their children as her own. She had first met Titus when she'd become an instructor to Miru, Matthias, and Sadog in the city of Ebonhead. After the wedding, they had grown up calling her "Mother", and she had loved them as much as any of the children whom she birthed.

Bellaria, who still stood as tall as he did, leaned forward and kissed him with a sudden passion. Titus responded immediately, fumbling with her robes and cape.

They always kept a vial of his medicine by the bed. It wasn't long before he swallowed another mouthful whilst they writhed each other and explored their bodies with familiar yet passionate movements. He pleasured her with his fingers and lips, his beard scratching her as she cried out for joy. When the elixir did its work, she went on all fours as he entered her. Then he lay down on his back and watched her ride him, crying out when he could not restrain himself any longer.

By the time they had both achieved their ecstasies thrice over, the night gave way to a bittersweet aftermath. They clung to each other as they'd done before, unable to shake the pall hanging over their bed.

"I don't understand," Bellaria whispered, after they'd lain together in silence for a long stretch of time. "What does your sister expect you to do against her enemies? If they are so ruthless, will they not think twice about disposing of you?"

"If Brynden Rivers could kill me and get away with it, he would have done it a long time ago," Titus assured her, once again speaking boldly to hide his doubts. Daeron is dead. Baelor is dead. Maekar is dead. Who is left to stand in Brynden's way?

Me, Titus thought with that old ferocity which Brynden Rivers had always inspired in him. Who else will do it if not me? Rivers will surely have made enemies, he always did. All it might take is for one man to take that first step, be the one to defy him.

But then he will have every reason to kill me as a warning, another part of him cautioned. It was a chilling thought, and he tried to distance himself from the dread growing inside of him. At sixty-five years of age, he was ill-suited to fight more battles. At least my affairs are in order, he thought laconically.

Years before, he'd set aside portions of his fortune for each of his seven children. He'd contributed further sums to each portion as time went on. Those shares would be given to each child in the event of his death, and each would ensure that all of them would live in reasonable comfort for the rest of their lives, unless they were utter fools.

The manor, the trade business, and the two warehouses would all be owned and managed by Bellaria until her own death, but all seven children would retain an equal amount of ownership between them. Leroya would continue being captain of her beloved swan ship, and she would keep Titus' Valyrian steel sword. Baalun would be entitled to another swan ship which Titus owned. Miru and Belakka already had their own properties, so Titus hoped that all would cooperate with each other and remain a family after he passed.

He didn't want to go. He did not want to leave his wife, his children, his grandchildren, his home, or Braavos. He hadn't been back to Westeros since he'd stood vigil for Willem Wylde, the last of his friends. Nothing awaited him in Westeros but trouble and the chance of death. Jena needs you, he reminded himself angrily. She is the best and last of your kin. You cannot leave her alone in that nest of vipers.

With a jolt, he realised that Bellaria was weeping silently as she held him, and he found tears threatening to escape his own eyes. Both of them knew that it did not matter how much they loved one another, or how foolhardy it was for Titus to return to the Seven Kingdoms. None of it would prevent him from going back.