Cayn

Since the Vulture Hunt's conclusion, Lord Titus had returned to Westeros for just three visits. The first two were so brief that when they were combined, Titus had spent less than two weeks in the capital before sailing away again.

Cayn had avoided his presence for the entirety of those first two visits, determined to avoid a confrontation. He hadn't trusted himself to be civil; it was painful enough to think back on his time with Titus. Some memories had driven him into wild flashes of heightened emotion before he'd learned to suppress these outbursts.

When he'd first encountered Titus, he'd been a homeless waif in the streets of White Harbour. At seven years of age, he'd been alone for more than half a year since he'd fled the man who'd married his widowed mother. The last he'd seen of them both was when his drunken stepfather struck his mother with such force that she'd fallen down and hadn't got up again. Cayn had fled, desperate to avoid her fate, but not before he'd vowed to return and avenge his mother's death, as Da would have wanted him to do.

Titus had taken him in, appalled at the boy's condition, and had offered to take him in as a squire.

"Don't want to be no knight," Cayn had defiantly declared. "Knights are Seveners." That's what Da had always called men who embraced the Andal faith.

"Not all knights," Titus had assured him. "I've met several northmen who were knighted for valour, and they never stopped praying in godswoods afterward."

Cayn had acquiesced, but not because of that reasoning. Titus had been a kind man, and Cayn had been won over by the stories of his conduct during the Blackfyre Rebellion. Lord Titus had gone to help put down the Skagosi until he was brought south again to bring down Daemon Blackfyre. Lord Titus had been a fair man, a good man, or so Cayn had thought.

He was no longer sure when he began to suspect that Lord Titus was not so admirable as he'd first seemed. Perhaps it was when he took former Blackfyre supporters' sons as squires. It might have been when Titus had dismissed his skinchanger dreams as mere nightmares, best to be ignored and forgotten until they passed. Perhaps it was the first time that he'd spoken ill of Lord Bloodraven, and warned his wards against ever crossing paths with "that monster", as he'd called him. Even as a boy, Cayn hadn't been able to comprehend why Titus would speak so hatefully about the man who slew Daemon Blackfyre, who'd protected the realm from Daemon's followers for years even before the rebellion had begun.

The final straw had been during the Vulture Hunt, when Titus had discovered Cayn's affiliation with Lord Bloodraven. He'd flown into a rage and attacked him, just as his stepfather had done.

"I'll not strike you," he'd once told a very young Cayn. "That is my promise to you, lad. My father often beat me. I saw him beat my sister and my mother too, and it only taught me how to hate him."

Cayn had needed no further lesson on how to hate; he'd already learned that lesson from his stepfather. Still, Cayn had been struck by his Da before the rebellion. Da had only done it as a mere punishment for wrongdoing. Cayn might have hated it in the moment, but he could understand it now. His stepfather, meanwhile, had been a cruel man who'd taken joy in the beatings; any child could have seen the difference between the two men. Lord Titus had desperately attempted to be one, but had finally revealed himself to be the other after all.

Now, he stood before his former master for the first time in more than twenty-five years. His dark red hair had turned grey and white, but his eyes were still green. He stood with a slight stoop now, but he still seemed hale for his age.

Blood and bones, Cayn cursed inwardly. I'm older now than he was when I last saw him. That unsettled him even more as he stepped forward.

"Hello, Lord Titus," he declared in a quiet tone. "It's been a long time."

Before him, Lord Titus' eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "Cayn?"

"Aye," he affirmed. He hoped that Titus did not try to embrace him; he was not prepared for such familiarity.

Thankfully, the old man was too diffident for such a bold action. He simply stood where he was, gazing upon Cayn with mingled surprise and apprehension.

A part of Cayn couldn't help but enjoy that countenance. I'm not a boy any longer. No man will ever thrash me again.

"I've missed you," Titus murmured softly.

Cayn was disconcerted by that declaration. Nothing could have truly prepared him for an attempt at reconciliation. "I trust that you've prospered?"

A half-smile crossed Titus' face. "As you have, by the looks of it."

If that was meant to be jest or flattery, Cayn did not have the heart to acknowledge it. His eyes wandered to Titus' belt. "I never thought to see you without your sword."

"Nor did I," Titus admitted. "I used to jape that I was Doom's master, and I think I might have even believed it once in my life. It made me proud; proud and blind." He shook his head. "I have learned many lessons since we last parted ways."

"We both have," Cayn replied, unable to suppress the sourness from his tone. "I have learned a great deal since the Vulture Hunt."

Titus' face fell at those words. A long sigh left his lips. "It was a terrible time in my life," he admitted. "I behaved abhorrently, and I will not defend myself or my conduct."

Cayn frowned. He had occasionally tried to imagine how he might have confronted Titus, what he might have said. It had been an empty exercise, for he could never decide how Titus might speak to him in such circumstances. Eventually, he'd abandoned thoughts of Titus; he hated what a hold those memories still had over him, how they could light such a frenzied fire in him.

"Do you seek forgiveness, then?"

Titus hesitated as he seemed to consider Cayn's question. "I would never expect forgiveness," he answered somewhat tactfully, "and indeed, it has been a long time since I gave up hope of requesting it from you."

Cayn might have pressed him on those words, but he was hesitant to pry further. It was disconcerting and disarming enough to have him speak so humbly and complacently.

"Tell me," he began again, "you speak of that terrible time as if you have left it behind. What makes you so sure of that?"

"A just question," Titus admitted, "but if I gave you the full answer now, we would miss all of supper."

"Is it true that you went to the Summer Isles, then?"

"It is," Titus answered, "but I live in Braavos now."

"They were calling you an apostate when you last visited," Cayn recalled. "I recall hearing about that."

"I do not regret leaving the Faith," Titus replied. "The god and goddess did more good for me in half a year than the Seven did in almost forty years."

Cayn gave a mirthless half-smile. He had always hated the judgmental and arrogant religion which the Andals had stamped upon the face of Westeros.

Titus' eyes flickered down to the elaborately stitched sigil on Cayn's front. "Did he send you?"

"I'm not here by his command," Cayn answered. It certainly was the truth; Lord Bloodraven had only asked him to do this. "What reason would he have to send me to you? Vaella has already been rejected. Princess Jena's plot is finished."

Titus considered that with a thoughtful expression. "I suppose so. But then why, Cayn? Why now?"

Behind his back, Cayn's hands were clenched. "Because I thought of what my Da would think if he knew I hid from you like a coward."

Titus was taken aback by the force of Cayn's answer, but his surprise quickly way to sympathy. "I'm sure he would be proud of you, Cayn."

Anger surged through him, but Cayn restrained his wrath before speaking again. "And you? Would you be proud of me?"

Once again, Titus seemed to be bereft of an easy answer. A guarded look came over his visage as he glanced down at the chalk-white dragon on Cayn's chest. "I will not lie to you, Cayn. I have no love for your master."

"Aye, I understand that," Cayn replied. "And truth be told, I have doubts."

"Doubts?"

"Aye," Cayn affirmed. "I have seen and done many things in Lord Bloodraven's service. I have seen how he protects the realm from terrible threats. It is a grave burden that he must bear, and it has taken a toll upon him."

Titus said nothing to that, but he was visibly intrigued.

Before Cayn went on, he stepped forward and lowered his voice to the softest whisper he could manage. "What worries me more is that Shiera Seastar is pressing her brother to claim the crown for himself."

"Will he?" Titus whispered in reply.

"I do not know. Lord Bloodraven has always been a dutiful servant to the realm, the foremost of any others. But it has taken a toll on him, I see it every day. I also see how Lady Shiera fears for her position if the wrong king is crowned. If her lover sat on the Iron Throne..." He made a shrugging gesture. "Lord Bloodraven is worthy of that seat, but he has too many enemies, and they would not hesitate to brand him a usurper."

It had taken him quite some time to decide just what to say to Titus. Lord Bloodraven had offered advice, but Cayn felt he still knew Titus best. The man was no fool, and he would suspect something amiss if Cayn had played the penitent runaway who missed his former master, or if he'd feigned hatred for Lord Bloodraven. Instead, he tried to frame Lord Bloodraven as Titus had viewed the traitor Blackfyre; a good man duped by his friends into making a decision with disastrous consequences. Cayn had always loathed such narratives, but now it served his purpose to play into them.

"Aye, that might be so," Titus murmured thoughtfully. Then, he gave a sigh. "It matters not, I suppose. I think my part in this council is coming to an end."

"You're leaving?" Cayn was genuinely surprised. "So soon?"

"I don't know yet," Titus answered. "For Jena's sake, I'll stay with her until this matter is closed. What else can I do?"

That was, indeed, the very question which Lord Bloodraven had been curious about. That had been the reason why he'd approached Cayn and asked him to speak with Titus. For his part, Cayn was relieved. It was difficult enough having this discussion; the sooner Titus went home, the better.

"I must go," Cayn whispered. "Lord Bloodraven will be expecting me soon."

Titus nodded, but as Cayn turned to leave, he spoke again. "Cayn, I must ask you something."

Cayn halted mid-stride, and forced himself to glance back over his shoulder. "Well?"

"Are you content?"

Cayn was startled into turning back to face Titus once again. "Content?"

"Aye," Titus answers. "I don't expect you to forgive me for my betrayal. But do you still believe you did the right thing?"

Cayn felt his anger resurfacing. "That is a remarkable question for you to ask."

"I mean no judgment," Titus clarified hastily. "I only hope that you are satisfied with the life you have lived."

Cayn was tempted to laugh at that, but he kept his voice cool. "You forget where I came from if you ask me that earnestly. I eat well without fretting over tomorrow's meal, I sleep comfortably without fear of my life, and I have proved my worth as a man and a leader of other men. That is more than I ever hoped to have when I was a boy."

Titus regarded him with a sad expression. "I do recall from whence you came. I could never forget that."

Cayn wasn't sure what to say in response; he simply inclined his head and walked away. He felt his insides twisting with every step, and a stormcloud of thoughts thundered and rattled across his mind.

Without further ado, he made his way across the Red Keep for the Tower of the Hand. It was one of the tallest structures atop Aegon's Hill, casting a long shadow over the Great Yard.

Ever since Aerys was crowned king more than twenty-five years ago, Lord Bloodraven had made his abode in that tower. Cayn had become so familiar with it that he could have traversed it with his eyes closed.

The chambers atop the Hand's tower were almost as lavish as that of the Targaryen king's, it was said. It was one of many rewards to those men who carried all the responsibilities of ruling without ever wearing a crown.

Pondering the burden of the King's Hand, Cayn was reminded of his ploy. He'd told truth and lies alike to Titus, blending them so that even Cayn wasn't sure where the line could be drawn. He wondered whether he'd strayed too close to his own true doubts, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

At the top of the tower, Cayn was greeted by one of the Raven's Teeth who stood on guard.

"He's busy," the guard told him, even as he gestured towards the solar. "Wait for him there."

It was some time before his master was ready, and so Cayn paced back and forth restlessly across the well-polished wooden floor. The windows were closed and a small fire was lit by two servants, so that he was kept warm during his vigil.

Finally, the door opened with a creak as Lord Bloodraven stepped into the solar. He acknowledged Cayn's salute before putting a hand on his shoulder. "How did you fare?"

"I'm not sure, truth be told," Cayn admitted. "We spoke briefly, but he seemed to trust me."

"What did he tell you?" Brynden asked patiently.

"He wants to go back to Braavos," Cayn explained. "He says he will only stay behind for his sister's sake."

Thus he told his master all that he'd discussed with Titus, or as much as he could recall to the letter.

Lord Bloodraven scratched the winestain birthmark on his face. "Do you believe him, then?"

"I do, my lord," Cayn affirmed. "If he is plotting something, then he has learned to lie very well."

Lord Bloodraven snorted at that. "Nay, that I will not accept! Poor Titus was never adept at treachery or deceit. He only ever learned how to lie to himself."

"He did also learn how to tell half-truths," Cayn replied.

"No doubt," Lord Bloodraven remarked with a small smile. "And he taught you well in that regard."

Cayn returned the grin. They had gone over what he would say to Titus, and Lord Bloodraven had been impressed by Cayn's suggestions.

"Nonetheless," Lord Bloodraven resumed, "I suspect that he might be inspired to do something a tad more reckless than comfort his poor sister. He can say what he likes about his pure intentions, but I well recall what sort of man he is."

"What do you think he will do?" Cayn asked.

"Who can say?" Lord Bloodraven mused. "But I have not forgotten Daeron's dream, even if Jena has."

Cayn frowned. "Which dream was that, my lord?"

"The one with the two white dragons," Lord Bloodraven reminded him. "One of them is struck by lightning bolts whilst the other flees to avoid the same fate."

Galling as it was to admit, Cayn could not recall the last time he had discussed that dream with Lord Bloodraven. When he admitted as much, his master simply smiled.

"I don't blame you. It's been quite a long time since I last thought of it. I thought I avoided the matter when it was clear that Titus had no intention to return to Westeros. When I heard that Maekar had died, though…" A shadow seemed to fall over his pale face.

"You think the lightning bolt represents Titus?" Cayn asked hesitantly.

"Who else would it be?" Lord Bloodraven sat down on one of the couches. "I suppose it could be Jena. She did summon Titus back to Westeros, after all. Though I could have sworn she was the purple dragon…" He trailed off as he stared at nothing.

Cayn did not remember what the purple dragon was, or whether it represented Jena. He recalled what his master had said earlier. "My lord, you said that Jena has forgotten the dream. Are you sure of that?"

"I suppose not," Lord Bloodraven admitted after he registered Cayn's words. "Mayhaps she recalls it. I know that foolish boy regaled Jena with the details of his dream. I don't know how much she recalls. She's kept it to herself for a long time if she has."

"You don't think she might have told Titus too?"

"Mayhaps? But I think not," Lord Bloodraven replied. "If Titus had an inkling that he might be the cause for my demise, he would have returned much sooner. As for Jena, well… a grieving mother will cling to whatever truth is easier to stomach."

Cayn nodded, but his heart was uneasy. He knew how one-sided this feud was between Lord Bloodraven and the surviving Dondarrions. It was ordinarily amusing to think how much the pale lord dominated Jena and Titus' nightmares when they had barely crossed Lord Bloodraven's mind before this business with the Great Council.

Or had they? This mention of the dream left him doubtful once again. "I suppose it is no matter, then, Lord Bloodraven? So long as he leaves after the council is adjourned?"

"That would be ideal," Lord Bloodraven agreed. "And yet, I do not think it will be so simple. These dreams rarely come to nothing, even when they stem from Daeron the Drunkard. I suspect that Titus will find some new mischief to carry out ere this business is resolved. When he does, he may confide in you. Are you prepared to prolong this farce with him?"

"Of course, my lord!" Cayn thought back to the white dragon which had been struck dead by the lightning bolts. It might not mean Lord Bloodraven, he tried to reassure himself. But if not him, then who would it be? And does that make him the white dragon who flees? He could not imagine Lord Bloodraven fleeing from an enemy. This was the man who'd commanded armies in all three of the Blackfyre rebellions, after all.

Lord Bloodraven suddenly regarded Cayn once more through his one good eye. "Has my sister summoned you again?"

"Not since we last spoke, my lord," Cayn answered.

"Good. I imagine she will try to sink her claws in you again, or mayhaps she will prepare some sort of sinister vengeance against you."

Cayn feared as much. He knew full well that Shiera was a dangerous foe, almost as dangerous as Lord Bloodraven himself.

The latter suddenly put a hand in his tunic as he spoke again. "In any event, this should keep her at bay."

As Lord Bloodraven took out his hand and held it out for Cayn to see, his open palm revealed a crude carving of a dragon.

It seemed to be made of dragonglass; its colouring was black with an unmistakable lustre. A thin black cord had been pierced through the dragon's body, making a necklace out of it. Scales had been carved all across the outside of the dragon, or so it seemed until Cayn took the carving and held it closer to his face. The scales were actually symbols of some sort, arrayed in neat rows all along the dragon's body.

"Runes," Lord Bloodraven clarified as Cayn shot him a look of confusion. "Aerys' research was not in vain. He uncovered quite a few arcane secrets for my use."

Cayn well recalled the thirteenth Targaryen king. Aerys had likely never imagined he would become king, but the end of Baelor's line had made it possible. At first, Aerys had been indifferent to kingship and had devoted most of his time to studies. Shiera Seastar had sometimes accompanied him on these endeavours, as had Lord Bloodraven.

It hadn't taken long for the mockery to begin. Men whispered dismissively of a weak king who could not even find it in him to whelp a child on his queen. His closeness with Lord Bloodraven was also mocked; the moniker which Cayn had heard most often was Aerys the Acolyte.

Perhaps it was the discovery of this demeaning sobriquet which had sparked a change in Aerys. He had distanced himself from Lord Bloodraven, preferring to operate alone and hoard his secrets. Moreover, he became more interested in his own authority, overruling Lord Bloodraven as often as he dared. By then, of course, Lord Bloodraven had secured his authority, with Aerys being weak-willed, Rhaegel a prancing halfwit, and Maekar secluded at Summerhall. Still, it was Aerys who had defied Lord Bloodraven's insistence that the captive Bittersteel be executed. The realm had paid dearly for Aerys' wounded pride, as Bittersteel had been liberated en route to the Wall. At least we managed to hold onto Blackfyre this time.

"Those are Valyrian runes," Lord Bloodraven explained as he ran a finger along one of the rows. "And these are of the First Men. Only three times have I seen the two magics combined in this manner."

Magics? Cayn began to see key differences in the runes, but it only sparked more questions in his mind. So, too, did the discovery of what appeared to be a slender streak of silver running from the dragon's head to the tip of its tail.

"That is a lock of Shiera's hair," Lord Bloodraven explained. "It is essential for the spell to work."

"Spell?" Cayn's excitement and alarm grew exponentially. "What is this?"

"It is a charm to protect you from Shiera's magic. So long as you carry it, she cannot harm you, except by her own hand, and I'm sure you could defend yourself from her in such circumstances."

"My thanks," Cayn muttered in relief. "But what if I break this by some mistake?"

"It does not need to be kept intact," Lord Bloodraven reassured him. "So long as you keep a single piece of it, it will protect you."

Once again, Cayn thanked Lord Bloodraven as he put the necklace on and tucked the dragon beneath his clothing. The dragonglass carving was cold against his chest, but it was a reassuring feeling.