Cayn

"This is a farce."

Cayn nodded in agreement as he and his master knelt before the heart tree in the Red Keep's godswood.

As usual, winter's presence ensured that the alders, elm, and black cottonwoods were utterly bare. The godswood was a maze of blacks and browns, devoid of any colour beyond those few defiant pines which had been planted over the years. There was little shelter from the sky above, which meant that scattered snowflakes drifted between the bare trunks and branches.

The heart tree had also shed its leaves during autumn; now, not even dragon's breath was growing at the tree's base, as it usually did.

Cayn glanced at Lord Bloodraven, whose red eye was fixed on the spot where a face should have been carved into the tree.

"A true weirwood does not yield to the seasons," he resumed scathingly. "Weirwoods endure through the worst winters with their leaves intact."

"Aye, my lord," Cayn murmured.

Lord Bloodraven sighed restlessly. "Do you remember when we went to the wolfswood?"

"I do." Cayn had been a man grown, and a proven member of the Raven's Teeth. King Maekar had sent Lord Bloodraven north on a royal tour of the North, alongside Prince Aegon. It had seemed a fitting choice, for Aegon was familiar with the Starks of Winterfell, and Lord Bloodraven was a fervent worshipper of the old gods.

Whilst they'd been on that tour, Lord Stark had taken the prince and the Hand on a long hunt in the vast northern forest known as the wolfswood. It had been untouched by Andal invaders, and not even the First Men had been able to clear it of the weirwoods which still prospered among the countless lesser trees.

Cayn had marvelled at the wolfswood, almost as much as he'd loathed the reason for their presence in it. Ever since he'd first begun skinchanging in his dreams, he had abhorred eating the flesh of animals. He had skinchanged into several of Lord Stark's hounds to thwart their hunting, as well into any deer or boar which came too close to the hunting party.

"That forest was ours, once."

Cayn was jolted out of his recollections. "My lord?"

"We were petty kings of the wolfswood," Lord Bloodraven explained patiently, "until the Starks drove us out of the North. We became river kings instead. In fact, I once found a text which claimed that the Blackwood kingdom reached as far as the Blackwater Rush, if that can be believed."

Cayn, who had no trouble believing such a thing, thought back to that glorious moment in the Great Hall, when Titus had been forced to lead a cheer among the lords, hailing Lord Bloodraven's triumph against the latest Blackfyre plot. Has he finally come to his senses?

After a moment, the pale lord smiled crookedly. "Not a month goes by when I don't wonder what we did to earn the Winter Kings' ire. Were we too ambitious? Were the Starks too proud? Did we side against them in battle?" He sighed again. "The Bracken feud I understand all too well. But I spent half my time at Winterfell seeking out the truth of my family's exile. I looked through records, I visited their godswood, I even slipped down into those crypts which they guard so jealously. But all for nothing." His grin faded. "Truth be told, I sometimes wonder what might have been if my family had remained in the North."

Cayn said nothing to that. He hadn't expected such a statement, least of all from a man who had spent much of his life making war upon Bittersteel.

Lord Bloodraven seemed to sense Cayn's mood. "More and more, the dreams are turning colder. Deep snow, blinding flurries, breathing mist, rivers of solid ice, mighty weirwoods wherever I turn… what does that mean if not the North?"

"Does that mean you wish to reclaim the wolfswood for yourself, my lord?"

Lord Bloodraven looked disappointed. "Don't be absurd, Cayn. Those lands were lost so long ago that even the North has forgotten about it. And besides, would you really advise me to make war upon House Stark?"

Feeling foolish, Cayn shook his head.

"Nay," Lord Bloodraven emphasized. "The gods alone know what happened between my family and House Stark. And they have never seen fit to share it with me. Still, there remains the matter of these dreams. What else could they mean?"

A thought entered Cayn's mind, but he was loath to speak it aloud, in case Lord Bloodraven agreed with it.

Instead, he suggested something else. "Mayhaps it isn't really about the lands you lost, but the title."

Lord Bloodraven's jaw twisted as he seemed to grind his teeth. "I have said it before, and I will say it again. I will not pursue the Iron Throne."

"Not even if the lords themselves present it to you?"

Lord Bloodraven snorted with suppressed laughter. "Very well. If they nominate me, and they cast their votes for my name, then I will sit the Iron Throne." He turned to Cayn with a mocking smile playing round his mouth. "And now you have seven days to convince those lords, thanks to our late Grand Maester."

Cayn made a sour face at those last six words. It should have been a celebratory time, given that another one of Daemon Blackfyre's brood had been slain. But the High Septon and the survivors of House Targaryen insisted that the city should mourn Grand Maester Piato instead.

It galled Cayn that the traitor was not revealed for what he'd been. He had enjoyed seeing the shock and horror on the old man's face when he'd brought Aenys' hacked-off head into the Great Hall, just as he'd enjoyed watching Titus not only see the head for himself but also have to play his part in Lord Bloodraven's farce. Why shouldn't Piato suffer his own disgrace? Why should death spare him from his rightful punishment?

Lord Bloodraven had been deaf to Cayn's pleas on the matter, but he couldn't help airing his grievances once again. "They weep for a traitor."

As he expected, the pale lord refused to indulge him. "His treason was not confirmed. And now it never will be, I suspect."

Cayn was livid, but mostly with himself. He had arranged for the seizure of the Tyroshi ship which had brought Aenys to King's Landing, as well as the arrest of the ship's crew. After Aenys' execution, and the adjournment of the Great Council that day, Cayn had gone back and scoured the Tyroshi ship for documents, letters, anything which would benefit Lord Bloodraven. But it seemed that Aenys had been clever enough to conceal any evidence that Piato had been his correspondence.

"We should have put Aenys to torture," Cayn growled.

"Mayhaps," Lord Bloodraven allowed. "But time was not on our side. And I imagine Aenys would have proved very difficult to break. Say what you will about those Blackfyres, but they never lacked dedication. Or courage."

You are only killing a man. Cayn couldn't help but reflect on Aenys' last moments. He had certainly been brave, once he'd accepted the truth of his situation. Cayn had felt cheated by that; he wanted to see Aenys quivering, begging to be spared, sobbing aloud as death came for him, just as Cayn had seen so many others die during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion.

"That will be all, Captain," Lord Bloodraven drawled as he turned his attention back to the oak tree before them.

Cayn strode from the godswood, frustrated and yet relieved. Lord Bloodraven's concession was lightly made, doubtless because of how unlikely it was that the lords of Westeros would nominate him of their own accord. But any sliver of hope was better than none; Cayn had overcome terrible odds with less hope than this.

He was still pondering how he might campaign for his master when he was confronted by an apoplectic Miru.

"*"*" *"* "*" *"* "*" * "* " *" *" *" * "* "* " *" * "* "* " * "* " *" * "* " *" *"*"*"*"*"* "*"* "

For all his posturing before Miru's self-righteous tirade, her last curse - thick with odium and choler - continued to echo in his mind the following day.

He did not think that the old gods would listen to Miru's words; from memory, she had been an obnoxiously pious worshipper of the Seven. But he could not slough off her curse, nor her accusations.

It was no great shock to him that Shiera Seastar had preyed upon Leroya. Shiera had misliked Titus and his family for as long as Cayn could recall, and she had never shied away from wreaking her mischief.

Thus, on the following day, Cayn went beneath the earth, seeking out the old passageways which he'd first trod at the behest of Shiera's guards.

It was not long before he encountered them. Their malevolent grimaces were enough to make him put a hand on his sword hilt. "I have a message for the lady Seastar, on behalf of Lord Bloodraven."

The guards scowled at that, but they did not challenge Cayn's assertion. Instead, they simply turned round and escorted him the rest of the way, until Cayn was once again stepping into the Seastar's lair.

Dressed in a white robe, Shiera was sitting at her desk, reading from some dusty-looking scrolls. When she looked up, she arose from her chair, picked something up off her desk, and approached Cayn. "I was beginning to wonder when you would return. I have a gift for you."

Taken aback, Cayn kept his reaction as wooden as possible. "What sort of gift is that, my lady?"

Shiera's hand arose, clenched into a fist as it held an amulet aloft.

It was another dragon, carved similarly to the one which Lord Bloodraven had provided to Cayn. Runes were arranged into ornate designs all across the dragon's body, which had been painted a multitude of colours.

"The protection which you desired," Shiera declared. "Brynden cannot so much as touch you if you keep this in your possession. You will conceal yourself and those about you from his prying gazes. His magic will be useless against you too."

It was a long-winded explanation, and utterly unnecessary. It was the exact same sort of charm which Lord Bloodraven had put into the necklace which Cayn wore on his person day and night.

"I thank you for this gift," Cayn answered carefully, "but I must decline. I am not worthy of such a gift."

Shiera's expression darkened as her voice became waspish and spiteful. "Spare me these false courtesies. You may be wearing my brother's dragon, but I can still smell one of your lies. Why should you refuse me?"

"It will not take long for Lord Bloodraven to notice that protection," Cayn explained, hoping that this half-truth would be satisfactory. "And he will not take kindly to such a countermeasure by his own captain."

"Is it his revenge that you fear?" Shiera enquired scathingly.

"I have nothing to fear from him," Cayn retorted, stung by her sneering tone. "Which is why I have no reason to wear that amulet!"

Shiera rolled her eyes before pivoting to toss the amulet back onto her desk. "So," she began again as she turned back to face him, "why have you come back?"

"Lord Bloodraven told me that he will accept the kingship if the council chooses him."

Shiera's expression changed, and a new light shone in her mismatched eyes. "Very clever," she exclaimed softly. "He knows how to send a message."

"Message?"

Shiera's countenance instantly became impatient. "What did I tell you before? He is confident in his being despised and feared. I've known him all my life, and he was like that even as a boy. The least of the Great Bastards in everyone's eyes, especially compared to Daemon Blackfyre. How could any boy stand next to Daemon, much less a scrawny boy like Brynden, pale as the weirwoods he worshipped? He decided long ago that he would be despised and feared on his own terms, and he learned his lessons well."

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He was not sure how reliable Shiera was, but he was in no hurry to confirm any of this with his master.

Shiera had begun pacing restlessly, meanwhile. Her voice was lower, more thoughtful. "I will have little chance to persuade those holy fools to abandon Aemon. I hear they've been harassing their candidate ever since he first refused them."

"We can still try," Cayn remarked. "Lord Bloodraven has his supporters." He thought of Lord Daemian Velaryon, who was a fervent ally to the pale lord after decades of working together on Aerys and Maekar's small councils. He thought of Lady Marya Fell and Lord Hector Connington, whose fathers had fallen in battle under Lord Bloodraven's command during the Third Blackfyre Rebellion. Lord Errold Flint and Lord Rory Locke would also support a man who worshiped the old gods, and they might persuade Tolman Manderly to do the same.

"Not enough," Shiera bemoaned. "He already threw away his chance to become king. He was content to make a fool of Lord Titus and terrify the Blackfyre supporters. He could have forced them to prove their loyalty by endorsing his kingship!"

Cayn agreed with that sentiment, but he would never have spoken out against his master. "That makes no difference. We will find a way. And even if we don't, we can support Aegon instead. He will surely keep his uncle as Hand of the King."

"You should want more than half-measures," Shiera observed with casual contempt. "Brynden is growing senile if he shares your sentiments. But I have not forgotten Daeron's dreams. I have not forgotten the bolts of lightning which struck down the white dragon!"

She did not specify what that meant, but Cayn did not need such an explanation. "What harm can Titus and his children do to us now? They have no more support. The Blackfyre supporters hate them as traitors, while the others look down on them for deception." It was this which had been Lord Bloodraven's masterstroke against Titus; Cayn still recalled the way that so many lords on the council had regarded the old stormlord as he'd been made to debase himself and his reputation.

Now, however, Shiera made a noise of incredulity. "Do mine ears deceive me? Has the cat finished playing with his food already?"

Cayn shook his head. "I took my vengeance, and I took my rewards. All that's left is for the Dondarrions to leave these shores in shame."

Shiera leered knowingly. "Shame? Aye, certainly. But more than just shame, thanks to my efforts."

Even as he recalled Miru's furore, Cayn stared at Shiera with growing revulsion. "Is it true, then?"

"Is what true? That I've been having my fun with Titus' little brood?" She gave a careless toss of her head. "I taught them just how easily their happiness can fall apart. And it worked! That burned bitch practically ran into your arms when you brought her Brynden's letter. The crippled banker was reminded just how miserable he truly is, and how no amount of money will buy the love which he doesn't think he deserves. And as for that hulking pirate…" Shiera giggled. "I will admit, it's a pity that she survived, but I daresay she won't feel quite as proud as she once did."

Much to his own surprise, Cayn found himself growing wroth. "Miru, I understand. The deception was necessary… but we already won our victory. The attack upon Leroya was unnecessary."

"Must an action always fulfill a greater task?" Shiera gave a careless toss of her head. "Besides, those Summer Islanders need precious little encouragement. And those brutes would have ravished a rotting corpse if their blood was up."

Cayn felt a wave of disgust wash over him; he had always been disgusted by rape, and he readily sentenced men to be gelded for committing such a crime.

"I ordered that no harm befall her," Cayn snapped. "Lord Bloodraven ordered the same!"

"How delightfully ironic," Shiera laughed. "For such a treacherous man, you really are an honourable fool."

Cayn felt himself losing control. He tried to master his wrath, turn it cold instead of hot.

Shiera's cheerfulness faded, and her smile withered. "You despise me, don't you? I can see it all across your face."

"See what you wish," Cayn replied evasively. He was recovering himself, and knew better than to antagonize the Seastar. Moreover, he was surprised that his opinion of her would matter this much.

Shiera was not finished, however. "Do you really put yourself so much higher than I? You who manipulated your former sister and stole that sword from a woman in chains?"

"This sword was mine by right," Cayn shouted. "And as for the rest, it was Titus that I sought to bring down."

"Tell me," Shiera probed in a derisory tone, "did it please you to bring about his great downfall? Did it play out the way you always wished that it would?"

Cayn no longer felt the warmth of the torches. He kept his composure, knowing full well that Shiera wanted to provoke him.

"How many times did you imagine it?" She approached him slowly, speaking loud enough for her voice to echo in the stone chamber. "Did you spurn him with words alone, or did you spit in his face? Did you strike him as you struck your stepfather?"

"Don't call him that," Cayn growled. He couldn't resist; surprise had mingled with his anger. How does she know about that?

"Striking him didn't bring you any joy, though, did it?" She was close enough that he could see beads of sweat running down her lily-white skin. "It certainly didn't bring your mother any joy when she tried to stop him."

"Silence!" How does she know about that? I only ever told… A sickening realisation came over Cayn as he recalled what he'd discovered about Bessie's end. Did she wheedle this out of her somehow?

Shiera did not heed his warning. She simply chuckled softly. "Do you still see him killing your mother? Do you still dream of saving her life? Fighting that brute instead of fleeing like the scared little boy you were? Did ambushing Aenys and executing him make you feel less like a coward?"

The slap rang out, prolonged by the echo and the silence which followed it. Cayn had struck her so forcefully that her face was turned to the side. Her eyes, which had been lit up with malice, suddenly seemed as lifeless as the eyes of her guards.

Cayn had thought he was in control of himself. He had thought he had mastered his wrath. Now he felt a panic rising up within him as he stared at the red mark of his hand across Shiera's cheek. What will Brynden do when he sees this?

A slow sigh left Shiera as she slowly looked back up at Cayn. The smile had left her face, replaced with an expression of what Cayn could only identify as savage misery. "The worst of this is that you cannot appreciate the irony."

He didn't even try to guess what she meant by that. Instead, his mind began contemplating the sort of story she might tell Lord Bloodraven. Fear replaced wrath in an instant. Cayn had seen what his master did to those who bedded Shiera, and he dared not imagine what he would do to Cayn for striking her. The mark hadn't left her face either; it was almost as if his blow had burned her.

"Here I am," Shiera reflected dully. "Helpless to stop these wretched feelings for you…" She shuddered as she put a hand to her burned cheek. "All those men who were prepared to die for just a single night of passion… I finally begin to understand what that feels like. Even when I try to hurt you, the pain rebounds against me." She put a hand on her cheek. "In more ways than one," she added softly.

Cayn had nothing to say. He simply inclined his head with a formality that seemed absurd. "By your leave." With that, he turned and walked back the way he came, his hands clenched together behind his back to stop them from shaking.