Titus

They had left two hours after the meeting with Piato, sailing quietly into the night as most were sound asleep.

For the rest of the night, and much of the morning, the crew and passengers slept in shifts so that everyone got an adequate amount of rest. Titus took the first shift of rest, then he stood in for Leroya whilst she slept.

It was moments like this when he missed Ollo. The man had proved one of his most devoted followers, and a dear friend besides. He alone of Titus' men had been willing to leave Westeros and travel to the Summer Isles with him. From there, he'd been Titus' right hand man on countless voyages, taking command of sailing the ships. Titus had always seen that he was amply rewarded, including the rank of knight. "Ser Ollo of the Narrow Sea" had been his official title, but he'd soon abandoned any knightly titles in favour of 'Captain'. He'd never married, though he'd certainly had his share of bastards. Five of them served the Dondarrions in various capacities, but none of them were currently on the Black Bolt.

"Was it Ollo who showed you these isles?" Titus asked his daughter when she awoke and rejoined him on the deck. A cold wind blew away any warmth that the sun might have given them, so they were dressed in furs.

"Indeed," she affirmed cheerfully. "My third voyage as a cabin girl."

"Was that the one where Ollo nearly lost an eye to that Lysene cutthroat?"

"No," Leroya corrected him. "That was the fifth. The one when he took me to Ebonhead." Her face seemed to fall for the briefest moment. By the time Titus had blinked, she became garrulous once more, grinning once again. "Is it true that his longaxe used to belong to Baelon Massey?"

"Aye," Titus answered. He had personally commissioned it for Baelon from the master armourer Seppo whilst he was Master of Laws. It had been a substantial work of black steel, with a broad and bearded blade. Baelon had been absurdly proud of the weapon, as was Ollo when he took ownership of it.

"Shame that the Valyrians made so few axes out of their steel," Leroya quipped. "What about Valyrian steel bows?"

Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from the crow's nest. "Isles on the horizon!"

When Titus looked up, he saw the crew member waving her hand to those on deck. "Dead ahead!"

As Leroya waved back in acknowledgement, Titus looked at her again. "Do these isles have a name?"

"Dozens of them, I'll warrant," Leroya replied. "My favourite is the one that Summer Islanders use. They call them the Scatterlings."

Titus wondered if he'd imagined that expression on his daughter's face, even as she spoke again.

"The first time Ollo took us here, we had a run-in with Oorlog the Scarlet Goat."

"Who was that again?" Titus asked.

"He was a pirate king from Qohor. He tried to seize the Scatterlings for himself and take tribute from any ship that dropped anchor there. Ollo didn't take kindly to that demand, so he pretended to leave and made common cause with Black Solly of Doquu and Derek the Bear. Later that night, we slipped back and set Oorlog's ships aflame. Ollo had the archers cut down the pirates as they ran up on deck."

"And where were you when all that was happening?" Titus asked sternly. Leroya would have only been twelve at the time.

Leroya rolled her eyes. "Ollo ordered me to stay behind. When I tried to sneak off, he and Lwandle tied me to a chair in my cabin."

Titus laughed at that, clapping his daughter on the shoulder, even as she pouted at his mirth. "Oh, don't give me that look, you earned that measure."

Leroya gave a disgruntled harrumph, tossing her long braid off her shoulder.

"Tell me more about these Scatterlings," Titus asked her as the sun broke through the clouds again.

"They've been a haven on the high seas for as long as men could sail ships," Leroya explained. "I don't know when, but men and women set up a corsair town like those on the Basilisk Isles. Except that the Free Cities and Westerosi seldom bothered to take the Scatterlings."

"Why not?"

"Too small to matter, I suppose. They're never warm, and the trees that grow there aren't worth cutting down. There's plenty of fish, birds, and seals to hunt, but most fishermen shirk the Scatterlings. There's a year-round market on those isles, though. Inns and brothels too."

Leroya spoke on and on about the sort of men who inhabited the Scatterlings, the stories she'd heard, the people she'd met. After the sun had gone well past its peak in the sky, the Black Bolt came upon the Scatterlings themselves.

Although the Scatterlings seemed to be mostly inhospitable to settlement, ships were anchored wherever it was possible, or else they were pulled onto the few beaches. Scores of sailors sat beneath the shade of gnarled and twisted pine trees, while others sat on the rocky outcrops with fishing lines. As they went past one island and another, Titus could see Summer Islanders, Rhoynar, Ibbenese, ironborn, as well as every sort of person who lived along any part of the Narrow Sea. Several men and women hailed the Black Bolt, whose crew returned the greetings.

Titus glanced at his daughter at the third of these instances. The Scatterlings were a known nest of thieves, pirates, and smugglers; it was the sort of place where Leroya's reputation was worth more than twenty ships of the Royal Fleet. "When were you last here?"

"Five months now, I think," she replied. "I suppose I left an impression," she added with an air of playful innocence.

Titus did not doubt it. He suddenly recalled another matter which had been on his mind whilst trying to sleep. "The hour of ghosts," he remarked.

"Sorry?" Leroya glanced at him in confusion.

"You told us to meet you at the hour of ghosts," Titus observed. "Meanwhile, Grand Maester Piato was absent from supper."

"True enough," Leroya replied with a straight face. "I had to speak with him. Why else would he trust you with his news of Aenys Blackfyre?"

"It must have taken a lot of convincing," Titus observed, "if you needed four hours to do it."

Leroya grinned slyly. "Well, I also gave my… what did he call them… my confessions?"

Titus rolled his eyes. "You really are incorrigible, do you know that?"

"I do," Leroya answered cheerfully.

At that moment, Xalonyay approached them from the front of the ship. "I see his ship by the trading post." She pointed to an island which lay to the north-east. It was the largest of the Scatterlings and even boasted a small mountain of sorts. The great slab of black rock rose above grass-covered hills and clumps of trees. Thanks to Leroya, Titus knew that it was known as Mavuso's Peak in the Summer Tongue., named for a Summer Islander who'd lorded over the Scatterlings as a pirate king.

A small sound on the southern side of the island made for a natural harbour, which had been almost entirely settled along its edges. When they entered the sound, Titus beheld buildings of wood and stone all around him.

Titus had released Piato's raven as the sun had begun to rise. He'd seen the black bird shoot upward into the rosy sky before flying to the south-west as the Black Bolt had followed in its wake. Attached to its leg was a scrap of parchment urging Aenys to fly the Blackfyre sigil from his ship so that they might find him.

Whether Aenys had received the message or not, there was the three-headed Targaryen dragon, coal-black on a red field, the inverted colours of House Targaryen's infamous bastard house.

The Tyroshi ship which flew that sigil was elegant and gaudy. Its sails were vermillion, scarlet, and pale green. The ship's crew eyed the Black Bolt as it drew up. As always, Leroya's ship bore the iconic purple sails of Braavos and flew the sigil of House Dondarrion from every mast. Titus had told Aenys to look out for the Dondarrion sigil as a forewarning. No surprises, Titus thought to himself. He knows we've arrived, and we know he awaits us.

That did not clear his mind of doubt. From his place on deck, Titus peered at the Tyroshi. How will I know which of them is Aenys? He still had no answer to that. He tried to recall Daemon Blackfyre in his mind, but his recollection was hazy. He hadn't laid eyes on the man since he lay dead on the Redgrass Field. I'm almost twice as old now as I was then…

The moment was drawing near, Titus felt a deep sense of foreboding and doubt. He still fretted whether he could believe Aenys' words. Sadog was right in saying that it was easy for some men to lie. And for such a one as Aenys, he was surely well-accustomed to deceit.

The treacherous cannot trust.

Titus shook his head irritably, as if he might expel Brynden's old words out his ears. He would not sink to that vile man's level.

As the Black Bolt found space between the Tyroshi ship and an Ibbenese whaler, Titus saw several of the men disembark down the gangplank and curiously observe them from the light-brown beach. Their hair was dyed a variety of shades and colours which made Titus feel dazed to look upon. But there was no mistaking the man whom he sought.

Aenys Blackfyre seemed to step right into Titus's hazy image of Daemon and make it clear. He was very tall, standing somewhere between Leroya and Ser Duncan in height. His shoulder-length hair was the silver-gold of House Targaryen, just like his father's had been.

As he and Leroya stepped off the ship, Titus managed to glean some differences between this Blackfyre and his famous father. Aenys was older by some twenty years than Daemon had ever been. He had also grown a beard, which was more silver in tone than the hair on his head. He appeared to be weaponless, but Titus could sense that this was a man who had spent his life fighting battles and skirmishes.

When the tall man saw Titus, he stepped forward whilst keeping his hands visible and open-palmed. Titus did the same, whilst Leroya had left Doom back in her locked cabin. He briefly wondered whether she carried some hidden weapon, but it was too late to question her.

Instead, Titus straightened his back as he looked into those eyes whose shade of deep purple was virtually the same as Daemon's had been. "Aenys Blackfyre?"

"I answer to that name," he affirmed. "You are Lord Titus Dondarrion?"

Titus was astonished to hear him speak without the slightest Tyroshi accent. Apart from his Tyroshi garb and company, he could have sailed from King's Landing.

He did not dwell on this revelation; instead, he stepped forward and held out his hand. "I am."

Aenys reached out and shook it. "Thank you for seeing me. I was beginning to think the council would ignore my request."

"The council was never informed of your request, ser." He had no idea if Aenys had ever been knighted, but it seemed the most suitable title to grant him. "But for my part, it is good to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise," Aenys affirmed with a respectful nod. I once rode across a bloody field to break his father's army. Now I'm shaking his hand and exchanging courtesies.

Leroya, who had hung back when Titus first approached Aenys, chose that moment to step forward and offer her own hand to shake. "Well met."

"This is my daughter, Leroya." Titus took a moment to enjoy the surprise in Aenys' eyes, both at her approach and at the kinship between her and Titus. Then, he shook her hand whilst giving her a small smile, which she returned.

The smile did not leave Aenys' face as he turned back to Titus, though his tone became apologetic. "I understand this is an… unusual place for such matters as ours."

"No need to apologise," Titus assured him. "I would also fear for my safety if I was flying that sigil." He pointed to the black dragon on red where it flapped proudly in the cool breeze.

"Thankfully, Bloodraven's reach is not long enough to touch us here," Leroya quipped.

Aenys stretched his lips in polite reception of their lighthearted remarks, but then his countenance became solemn. "All the same, I do not think I would have accepted this invitation if any other man had sent it."

Titus was taken aback by that notion. "What am I to House Blackfyre after all these years?"

"You spoke the words over my father's body."

There were some things which Titus, no matter how many years passed, was unable to forget. He could still recall the words he spoke for Daemon; he'd spoken them half to spite Brynden Rivers and half to honour a man whom he'd pitied. Would that you were here, Ollo. How you would have laughed over this.

Titus suddenly felt uncomfortable, as if he were being put under scrutiny by Daemon's son. "I assume that you were also told which dragon I fought for on that day?"

"I was," Aenys confirmed, but he did so without malice. "That is why your gesture was so noteworthy to me."

Titus nodded hesitantly. "I cannot say that I was a friend of your father's, but I did admire him."

"And yet you still fought against him?"

Once again, Titus was struck by how Aenys asked his question. He seemed more curious than anything.

"I swore oaths to Daeron Targaryen. His son was married to my sister. I could not forsake my honour and duty, much less my family."

Aenys nodded thoughtfully, even as his expression turned melancholic. "My mother never forgot your sister."

Titus was surprised; as far as he knew, Rohanne had never answered any of Jena's letters.

As if he could sense Titus' thoughts, Aenys spoke up again. "Mother had much to grieve in her life. It made her bitter and cold, and she thought her friendship with Jena was a betrayal of Father's memory. Then she began to wander in the last years of her life. She would speak to the dead instead of the living. She spoke to Father, my brothers, her own mother... but she spoke to Jena as well, sometimes, as if she was another ghost."

Titus sighed shakily. Leroya, standing beside him, instinctively put a hand on her father's back as if to steady him.

Aenys went on. "But she would sometimes regain her senses, too. She wrote Jena this letter before she passed." He slowly reached into his satchel, pulled out a sealed scroll, and held it out for Titus to take.

For a moment, Titus was silent and immobile, staring at that piece of parchment and thinking of all that might have been. After a moment, he accepted the scroll and tucked it into his pocket.

"My thanks," Titus told Aenys quietly. "But we have much to discuss."

One of the Tyroshi crew suddenly interjected, speaking to Aenys in the Tyroshi tongue. Titus was rusty in that language, but he understood enough to glean the man's intent.

"You may choose where we speak, ser," he urged Aenys. "I only ask that Leroya accompany me as a witness."

Aenys seemed impressed by Titus' comprehension. "Have you been to Tyrosh, Lord Titus?"

"A long time ago, aye. Before your father's war, in fact. I was with the Stormbreakers for a few years."

"Ah," Aenys acknowledged. "Valiant fighters. Most of them march with the Golden Company now."

That made sense to Titus. He knew that Bittersteel had created that mercenary company to unite the Blackfyre exiles from Westeros. Why shouldn't other Westerosi join their ranks?

"In any case," Aenys admitted, "I am as much a stranger in this part of the world as you, Lord Titus."

"I'm not," Leroya interjected. "I know the best place for us to sit down and talk."

"Very well," Aenys answered. He turned and gave instructions to his crew before turning back to Titus' daughter. "Shall we?"

As the three of them began to walk up the beach, Titus engaged Aenys in more conversation. "Who are your crew, if I may ask?"

"They serve my mother's house," Aenys explained curtly.

"How do your family fare?"

"My brother Aelyx is expecting another child. I heard he intends to name him Maelys if it's a boy."

Leroya chose that moment to ask a question of her own. "And do you have children?"

"Three daughters and two sons. They are staying on their mother's estate in Tyrosh. Their late mother, anyway."

It was a telling detail for Titus to know; Aenys no longer seemed to trust Bittersteel with his children's wellbeing. Or mayhaps Bittersteel no longer considered Aenys welcome. Either way, it proved that this was no Blackfyre conspiracy; Aenys was going alone. He could be lying about all of it, of course, but then he is a very good liar. Either he is speaking earnestly, or he is cunning enough to match Brynden Rivers in a battle of wits. Regardless, that speaks well of him as a future king.

By then, they had entered the large collection of ramshackle buildings which surrounded a sprawling and ragged marketplace. Men and women of every background had gathered to sell their wares and services. Titus fleetingly wondered how much of the merchandise on display had been acquired through ill means.

"This way," Leroya told the others as she led them towards one of the buildings. Even before they entered, Titus guessed that it was some sort of tavern, judging by the prostitutes lounging by the door. One blew a kiss to Leroya, who returned the gesture before going inside.

"Quite a lady," Aenys muttered quietly, but not quiet enough for Titus to miss.

The dark room was windowless, but there were plenty of gaps in the wood for light to stream through. A few candles were lit on the bar, and there was a crude fireplace at the far end of the room.

A grizzled man was wiping off beakers and horns behind the bar; when he saw Leroya, they exchanged a familiar nod before he gestured to an empty table in the corner.

As Titus gingerly sat down upon a flimsy chair, he took a moment to study Aenys' countenance. He was no fool; he had been deceived too many times by those whom he had underestimated or misunderstood. If he was going to endorse a Blackfyre for kingship, then he wanted to make sure that said Blackfyre deserved his support.

Aenys seemed an affable man, to be sure, and good-hearted, but Titus could not forget that this was a man who had been raised, at least in part, by Bittersteel. This was a man who had sailed with an invading army led by his brother, Haegon.

Prior to his departure, Titus had learned as much as he could about Aenys. In King's Landing, that proved very difficult, even with all the assembled noblemen. The only thing which most had to say about him was that he had been an able commander and warrior. When Bittersteel was captured and Haegon was slain in the final battle, it had been Aenys who'd ensured that the Golden Company's retreat hadn't become a disorderly rout.

"What's it going to be then, eh?" Aenys' purple eyes seemed black in that room. He leaned forward on his elbows; that was the only sign he gave which betrayed any uncertainty.

"I suppose we should begin by vowing to speak plainly," Titus observed. He gestured to his children. "My daughter is a witness to my own oath. I swear upon my love for my children, their mother, and I would put all their lives forfeit if I speak falsely today."

Leroya was visibly astonished by the severity of the oath, whilst Aenys only seemed impressed.

"Well said," he remarked. Titus could not be sure if he was making a jape or not.

Aenys leaned back as he made a gesture which indicated the Tyroshi method of oath-taking. "In the name of the Seven, I swear this oath. I also swear it upon my father's memory, and my mother's memory. I swear upon my duty to them as their son. All this I swear, that I will speak truthfully, and will not deceive you with lies or omissions."

Titus was satisfied. He had been around enough Tyroshi to know which promises they held in highest regard.

"To business, then," Titus declared. "But I should say, ser, that I cannot guarantee you will be permitted to present your case."

Aenys frowned. "Then to what end are we sitting here today?"

"Someone needs to offer your name to the council so that they might vote. Think of this as your first test," Titus explained. "Were you to present your bid for kingship to the Great Council, you must needs convince them of your worthiness. Today, there is only one councilman whom you must persuade."

Aenys gave a half-smile. "I have spent a long time pondering my return to King's Landing. And as with all plans, it has not gone the way I expected."

Indeed not, Titus thought with wry amusement. My whole life has been a testament to that simple truth.