Aenys

Ever since he'd guessed that the Black Bolt had returned to King's Landing, Aenys had instructed his crew to prepare for departure at a moment's notice.

The moment came in the form of his bird. It was unmistakable, as was the royal seal of House Targaryen. The sun had almost finished setting when a crewman spied the raven perching on the bow, croaking loudly for her master.

Thankfully, the moon was full, the sky was bereft of clouds, and there was a strong westerly wind. Thus it was decided that the Tyroshi galley - whose name translated to "Leviathan's Bane" in the Common Speech - would set sail at the hour of ghosts.

Aenys had forced himself to sleep until then, but his dreams were restless. He dreamed of his mother, of the Golden Company, of skirmishes in the Disputed Lands alongside his brothers.

It had been a terrible time, but he hadn't admitted it, even to himself. Bittersteel, ever the implacable taskmaster, had never tolerated any bellyaching from the men under his command, especially not from Aenys or his brothers. "You carry your father's legacy," Bittersteel would tell them when they faltered or struggled. "Is this what he died for?" He wasn't present in Aenys' troubled dreams, but his words seemed to echo over his head amongst the clouds.

He was eventually jolted into drowsy wakefulness by Agnellio, the ship's captain. His family had served the House of Adarys for at least four generations. As boys, Agnellio and Aenys grew up on the Adarys estate following Aenys' exile from Westeros. As men, Agnellio had captained one of the ships which had transported Haegon Blackfyre's army across the Narrow Sea.

"What is it?" Aenys mumbled as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. "Are we there?"

It was a stupid question. He had hoped that he'd slept through the voyage, sparing him from the terrible anticipation which he knew would seize him.

"I'm afraid not, my prince," Agnellio replied with a grin. His long hair and beard were dyed a deep blue colour to match the sea which he loved more than any woman. "The sun will be rising very soon."

Sure enough, the black night was purple, heralding the approach of dawn.

Aenys pulled himself out of bed. "Very well. I have work to do." Agnellio left him in peace as he ate a hasty breakfast and got dressed in an old pair of breeches. He'd aside his best clothes for his arrival to King's Landing.

As he took a moment to appreciate the changing sky, Aenys thought of all that he had discussed with Titus and Leroya Dondarrion. Thrilled as he was to have won Titus over, he was now beset with concerns regarding what would come next.

To his credit, Lord Titus had not been naive either. "Many of them will be inclined to reject you out of hand," he'd acknowledged as they sat together on the Black Bolt's deck. "Wars leave long memories, after all."

"Are you saying I must seek their forgiveness?" Aenys had inquired.

"Nay. That will do little to endear you," Titus allowed. "Most of these lords will see such humility as a weakness. Those who support you will be repulsed and those who hate you will treat it as a weakness. Acknowledge what happened, but leave your judgment and forgiveness to the gods. In fact, you should certainly speak of them. Piety will assist your cause."

"Aye, but more than that, it is strength you must show," Leroya interjected. "And also wisdom."

"In short," Aenys replied, feeling overwhelmed by the fervour of their council, "I must be a second Conciliator."

Titus smiled at his tone. "No easy task, especially for a Blackfyre."

A queer thought had entered Aenys' mind, prompting him to address Titus. "We swore to speak truthfully. So tell me, Lord Titus, if your sister was not married to Baelor, was there ever a chance that you might have supported my father?"

"I was Baelor's man long before he fell in love with my sister."

"And if you hadn't been?" Aenys persisted.

Titus had thought silently for a moment. Finally, he'd offered his reply. "I cannot imagine what my life would have been like in those circumstances. But I will say this, ser. I liked Daemon, to a point. I might have even admired him if I'd had the chance to get to know him better. When I learned how much of his life had been warped beyond his control, I pitied him for a long time after. I even convinced myself that I understood him and sympathized with him."

"Is that why you spoke those words?"

"Partly, yes," Titus had replied. "But also to honour his request."

Aenys hadn't expected that. "I don't understand."

And so Titus had told him of the death of Ser Garrison Dalt, and how Titus had stood vigil for him in the Sept of Baelor for an entire day. He spoke of how Father had visited him in the evening, accompanied by Fireball and Bittersteel. They had drunk rum together in honour of Garrison.

"Your father wished to pay his respects, even though he didn't know Garrison at all," Titus had explained. "After I toasted Garrison's memory, he remarked that I ought to speak the words when he died. It was a small jest, and I doubt Daemon remembered making it, but I never forgot that night."

Much to his shock, Aenys found himself moved by the story; so moved, in fact, that he'd had to feign an itch to cuff his eyes.

If Titus had noticed, he gave no indication; instead, he'd resumed speaking. "I never knew your father well enough to judge him, but no matter how good of a man he might have been, I would never have supported his war for power. Nor could I justify how many died in that terrible war."

Aenys had not forgotten that answer. It had remained with him since Titus had left, and continued to haunt him after the Leviathan's Bane left the Scatterlings behind under the bright moon and twinkling stars.

As the ship pressed on, Aenys remained in his cabin and wrote a letter to his children. He went over everything that had happened to him since leaving Tyrosh.

He wrote of the sights he'd seen, both on the Narrow Sea and on the Scatterlings. He wrote of his meeting with Titus and Leroya, though he withheld the details of his tryst with Leroya and her captain of archers. "You did not grow up on the Summer Isles, and you are poorer for it." He shook his head and smiled at the thought of Leroya's words. He wished he'd had more time with Leroya to learn more about her.

Finally, he wrote about his journey to King's Landing, and of his hope to win the Great Council's support to become King.

Aenys had become a father later than his brothers had. It hadn't seemed necessary when he was younger; Haegon was crowned king, he'd become a father at seventeen, and he had three living brothers besides. Aenys had thought little of his own line in those days, preferring to devote himself wholly to his family's cause.

That had changed with the collapse of Haegon's bid for the Iron Throne. After the Golden Company's retreat to Essos, Aenys went to live with his aging mother in Tyrosh, determined to make her last years as peaceful as possible. Bittersteel had thought it absurd, but he hadn't protested too much; he was preoccupied with Haegon's heir, Daemon, and resuming command of the Golden Company.

It was during those years with his mother that Aenys wished to give her new grandchildren. Thus, he had wed a distant cousin to the Adarys family.

Villia Quaynis had been a sweet-natured young woman whose plain features had left her with few options beyond her elder cousin. Still, their marriage had been happy enough; she had devoted herself to him and bore him five children. He, in turn, had been dutiful and - so far as she knew - faithful to her until her dying day, when their sixth child's birth had proved too difficult for mother or child to survive. As for Lady Rohanne, she succumbed to illness and infirmity just five months after his twins were born.

Recalling his mother, Aenys felt himself become melancholic again. He usually fought against this feeling, as he'd always been taught to do, but this had been the same mood he'd been in when he'd won over Leroya. Mayhaps this state can be trusted?

As he read over what he'd written to his children, Aenys couldn't help but think it a dry account. Leroya would doubtless have a good laugh over it. What would she have written? Whilst he pondered that mystery, his gaze went to his tattoo.

When he was twenty years of age, even as Bittersteel had founded the Golden Company, Aenys and his younger brothers had sailed to Volantis. Ostensibly, they had gone there to win over the three Triarchs, but that mission was quick to end in failure. Before they'd gone back to Tyrosh, they'd visited the western half of the city. As they'd gotten drunk in a sordid brothel, Aethar suggested that they all tattoo themselves. "The black dragon," he urged, "it's our sigil, isn't it? Let's show our devotion properly!"

Unfortunately, the three of them had been unable to properly describe in what they wanted, so they'd settled for three dragon heads in black ink. Aelyx had gotten the tattoo on his back, Aethar's was above his knee, and Aenys had gotten his tattoo on the inside of his forearm.

It had been an impulsive decision, but it had meant something special to them at the time. Aenys had seen it as a tribute to their father, and their pride in his legacy. Now, as he stared at the tattoo on board the Leviathan's Bane, with Aethar long dead alongside their brother Haegon, Aenys was at a loss trying to recall what this tattoo had meant to them. Would Father have been proud of us? Would he have disapproved of us being branded like slaves? Then again, he reckoned dryly, the name "Blackfyre" had itself been a brand of sorts. Mayhaps that's the real reason why we got these bloody tattoos.

He'd seen very little of Father during that first rebellion. Apart from Aegon and Aemon, who had served as squires, it was determined that Daemon's family should travel apart from him, should anything go awry. Thus, they had parted ways with Daemon at Antlers, slipping into the Riverlands and moving from one castle to the next.

It had been boring and tedious for Aenys, but also terrifying. Mother had always made it clear that their lives hung by a slender thread, and they must not grow careless. Thus, Aenys and his siblings had their Valyrian hair dyed brown as they were hosted by House Blanetree, Terrick, Shawney, Perryn, Bracken, and finally House Upcliff in the Vale.

Father had occasionally crossed paths with them in the Riverlands, in between his various battles. The visits had been brief, no longer than two or three days at a time, and Aenys had never been able to spend a single moment alone with his father.

It had taken him a very long time, as well as the deaths of his elder brothers, to look back on that part of his life with a critical eye. He'd spent so long worshipping the reputation of Daemon Blackfyre, wearing his parentage like a badge of honour, that he could hardly imagine his father as a man.

He had spent a good amount of time wondering why Titus' story of Ser Garrison and Father had driven him to tears. Only after the dawn ended, as the sky and sea had turned from blood-red to blue, did he understand why.

Would that I had such a memory of Father, Aenys lamented bitterly. Would that I could have felt the full effect of his admiration and pride. I am his son, but somehow Titus Dondarrion knew my father better than I did.

Eventually, he went back to the letter that he'd written for his children. He would still have it sent to them, but now he took up five fresh pieces of parchment, determined to write a more personal address to each of them.

The first was to his eldest son, Aenar. It had been a fanciful choice to name him after the Exile, who'd established House Targaryen on Dragonstone and saved his family from the Doom of Valyria.

He'd been tempted to take Aenar with him as his squire, just as Father had taken Aemon and Aegon, but he couldn't bring himself to risk his son's life on such a dangerous venture. Now Aenys began his letter with an apology for missing his son's twelfth name day, promising that he would make it right when they saw each other again. The words felt empty to him, so he put that letter aside to revisit it later.

Instead, he began work on the letters to his three daughters. By now, Rohanne was ten years old, while Larra and Daena were eight. Once again, he felt a sense of shame at how little he could summon in the way of speaking to each of his girls. After the deaths of his wife and mother, Aenys had noticed the girls' deepening gloom, but had felt ill-equipped to address it. He found himself once again falling back on promises to make things right. They need a mother, he admitted to himself. Not for the first time did he consider making a strategic marriage if he became king, and not for the first time did he dismiss it. He had been educated on the history of House Targaryen, particularly the plight of Queen Rhaenyra. Any second wife will look upon my children with envy rather than love.

Finally, Aenys began a letter for his youngest son, called Daemon for his grandfather. He was known as Daemon the Younger, to distinguish him from Haegon's heir. By now, the boy was six years old, as old as Aenys' brother Daemon had been during Father's rebellion. It was an eerie feeling at first, until Aenys reminded himself of his own situation. I'm not sailing to war. I'm sailing to address the Great Council. There is nothing to fear.

Still, he did not like the states of these letters. What would Father have written to me, if he'd had the chance? What would he have written to his sons and daughters?

He could ask himself that question a hundred times, but there wouldn't be an answer. Best wait until after the Great Council makes their decision. He would be more sure of what to say after that.

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

For the remainder of the voyage, Aenys went over his speech to the Great Council. He spoke as a mummer might do in a play. He tried to imagine what they might ask of him, and how he might answer them.

Therefore, it felt like no time had gone by when the call went up above his cabin. "Land," they called out, followed by cries of "Westeros."

Once again, Captain Agnellio knocked upon Aenys' cabin door to personally give him the good news.

"Massey's Hook," he explained eagerly. "Would you like to see it?"

A chill went through Aenys. He'd landed at Massey's Hook during Haegon's rebellion. He and Aethar had seized the peninsula as a stronghold. When Bittersteel, Haegon and Aelyx' divisions were delayed, however, they had retreated to their ships. After several days of raiding the coastline and evading loyalist ships, Aenys and Aethar had rejoined the others in the Bay of Crabs. From there, they'd gone as far as Maidenpool before meeting three armies converging upon them from the Vale, Riverlands, and Crownlands. It had been there where the rebellion had ended.

It had been a terrible battle, one which Aenys still saw in his nightmares. It had been a reckless and foolish gamble, and they'd paid a frightful price for their folly. Nearly half of Bittersteel's precious Golden Company had been slain, wounded, or captured. Of the rest, Aenys and Aelyx had managed to get them onto the ships, but a Targaryen fleet was waiting for them when they sailed back to the sea. Another third of their ships were lost before they broke through the trap.

All of this went through Aenys' mind, but he gave no voice to it. Instead, he curtly shook his head. "Nay. I have work to do. Let me know when we reach King's Landing."

"You won't have to wait long for that," Agnellio assured him. With a nod of his head, Agnellio went back to his duties, leaving Aenys to prepare himself.

Quivering with anticipation, he dressed himself in his best clothes, determined to give the best impression possible. He'd already had his hair and beard trimmed on the Scatterlings, so that they would at least be orderly if not washed. Then, as he heard the cries announcing their destination, Aenys Blackfyre went above deck to look upon Westeros for the first time since he'd left it at four years old.

Compared to the Free Cities, King's Landing was hardly the most grandiose place which Aenys had ever seen, nor was it the most magnificent or even the cleanest. Yet he felt his breath taken away as he stood upon the deck and stared at the looming city. The Leviathan's Bane seemed to glide across the water, giving him the chance to drink in the sights. What struck him most of all was the Red Keep, rising far above the Blackwater Bay.

Tears left his eyes, and he was too overwhelmed to restrain his emotions. He felt every one of the thirty-seven years he'd spent in exile. He thought of all the battles and skirmishes he'd fought in the Disputed Lands and other parts of Essos. He recalled Haegon's rebellion, put down before they could lay eyes upon this city.

A shout from the crewmen caused him to recover himself. A galley was approaching them, flying the flag of House Targaryen. Reflexively, Aenys turned to look up at the Blackfyre banner which flew from the Tyroshi mast. He hadn't wished to sneak his way into King's Landing, not after he'd been granted permission to come in peace.

A man aboard the galley leaned over the side and shouted a greeting at the top of his lungs. "Who approaches the city?"

"Aenys Blackfyre!" He took out the scroll and waved it over his head. "I have accepted the council's terms for my arrival!" He felt a sudden thrill of fear as he hoped the man could see Bloodraven's personal seal.

The man stared at the parchment for what felt like an eternity, then he straightened his back and gave a nod. "Take your ship to that spot there!" He gestured to an empty space along the docks.

Much to Aenys' delight, he recognised one of the ships already anchored there. "Make for the Black Bolt," he told Agnellio, who turned and shouted orders to his crew.

Aenys moved to the ship's prow, seeking out Leroya and Xalonyay on the Black Bolt's deck. He also noticed a small crowd beginning to form along that part of the dock. Small wonder, he thought. When was the last time that they saw a black dragon on a ship's mast?

When they were nearly at the dock, Aenys saw them emerge onto the deck. Their tall figures were garbed in bulkier clothes than they'd worn on the Scatterlings, but Leroya's purple cape was unmistakable. He couldn't help but recall how that silken garment had clung to her body in her cabin.

Leroya's mouth was stretched into a smile, showing off her white teeth. As she down the gangplank, waving her arms toward him, her purple cape wafted behind her, carried about by the breeze.

Not far behind her, Xalonyay was calling out to him. She was darker in tone - ebony where Leroya was nut brown - and her hair was bushier, sticking out from behind both her ears and above her brow. One of her shoulders was slightly higher than the other, making for a loping gait as she walked towards the end of the dock.

After the Leviathan's Bane was secured to the dock, and Agnellio arranged for the gangplank to be set in place, Aenys stepped off his ship to where Leroya and Xalonyay were waiting.

"Well met again," Leroya declared as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Welcome back to Westeros."

"At long last," Aenys remarked hoarsely. The way Leroya was smiling, she seemed to understand what this moment meant to him, for she kissed him on his other cheek.

"Should we kneel before you?" Xalonyay asked cheekily as she put a hand on his forearm. "We can wait until after you're crowned, of course."

Aenys' throat was dry as he wondered if he had time to dally with them again. They had been the most voracious lovers that he'd ever known. It wasn't just their beauty, or their explorative natures, but the way they so confidently embraced their desires.

With no small effort, Aenys shook his head. "Mayhaps later. For now, I must needs make my presence known to the Great Council." He turned to Leroya. "Where is your father?"

"He is up at the castle, I expect," came her answer.

"Has the Great Council been assembled, then?"

Leroya shrugged. "I haven't been up there yet." Aenys thought he sensed a bitterness in her tone, but the thought went away as he looked up at the Red Keep again.

"It's even more beautiful than I imagined." The words left his mouth before he'd fully registered them. A strange euphoria seemed to have seized him, so that he could almost have whooped for joy.

Instead, he turned back to Agnellio, who had not yet disembarked. "Wait for me here," he told him in the Tyroshi tongue.

"You do not want anything?" Agnellio inquired, puzzled.

"First we'll see how this council session goes," Aenys replied. "Keep my things safe until I send further word."

After Agnellio affirmed his order with a salute, Aenys turned back to Leroya and Xalonyay. "Would you do me the honour of escorting me to the Red Keep?"

"Gladly, Your Grace," Xalonyay replied, doing a crude impression of a curtsy as Leroya giggled. Her amusement suddenly halted as a scream sounded from the nearby crowd. Aenys heard the noise too, and turned his head to see what was happening.

The assembled men and women were scattering as a considerable number of armed men marched towards the Leviathan's Bane. Most of them wore gold cloaks, apart from the man in front. He was dressed in black, with the Targaryen dragon in chalk-white upon his front. One of the Raven's Teeth, Aenys thought warily.

As the black-clad man approached, Aenys saw that he was close to himself in age, with a few grey strands amidst his dark brown hair.

"What's going on?" Leroya's eyes were wide, and her hand was on Doom's hilt. Xalonyay was quick to put her own hand on Leroya's, as if she wished to stop her from drawing her sword.

Aenys, who was unarmed, kept the palms of his hands in plain sight. He gave the Raven's Tooth a courteous nod as he approached. "Good day, ser," he said.

"I'm no ser," answered the newcomer. His voice was calm, and one of the corners of his mouth was curled upwards, but his brown eyes told a different story. They were blazing with a malice that made Aenys wish he was carrying a weapon.

Still, he stayed calm. He had followed the terms issued by the council, and so he was under their protection. "As agreed," Aenys began, "I have come in peace to this fair city." He nodded to the embroidered white dragon. "I take it you serve Lord Bloodraven?"

"Indeed." The man's voice became harsh. "My name is Cayn. And by my lord's authority, I charge you to come with us." His eyes flickered over to Leroya and her crew, several of whom were on the dock while the rest were poised on their ship.

Aenys misliked his tone, but someone else spoke up before he could work out his answer.

"Charge?" Leroya was glaring at the newcomer. "What sort of talk is that?"

Xalonyay suddenly looked upon Aenys with a horrified expression. "Flee!"

Before Aenys could react, Cayn moved first. His hands were covered by leather gloves, but for the briefest moment, Aenys noticed that they were also adorned with metal studs. And by then, it was already too late.

Aenys was unprepared as Cayn's fist collided with his stomach. All air seemed to leave his body, while none seemed able to enter it. The strength left Aenys' legs as he collapsed onto the dock, doubling up as pain seared through him. For a moment, the world no longer seemed to exist.

Only the screams around him broke through his stunned disposition. Wide-eyed, desperately trying to breathe, he saw that he was not the only one to have collapsed.

Xalonyay was sprawled across the wooden deck, her open eyes staring at nothing. A spearpoint had been thrust through her neck with such force that the point had gone clean through her. Blood seeped out of her open mouth, even as she twitched and writhed her final death throes.

Numb from pain and horror, Aenys looked up and beheld a mad chaos unfolding. Gold cloaks and Summer Islanders were grappling with each other. Leroya had drawn her sword, but two men had put their hands on her, each trying to secure one of her arms. She might have shaken herself loose if she was not fixated on the fallen Xalonyay. Even with Aenys' own pain, he shuddered to hear the wail of grief and rage which Leroya let out. Before she could recover herself, a third man of the City Watch struck the back of her head with a club, driving her to her knees as the sword clattered from her hand.

Aenys turned to his left, where the Leviathan's Bane floated in the water. The gangplank had been knocked away, and Tyroshi men were hacking at the ropes which kept the ship secured to the dock. Aye, run, he thought fleetingly. Take my words back to my children, too. Tell them what you saw. Let the world know what happened here.

Even as this was happening, he felt the next effect of being gut-punched. He leaned over the side of the dock and retched into the water. For a moment, he was relieved that he saw no blood in the mess he made, until he recalled that this was no comfort.

"Enough! Make an end to this!"

Several hands seized him, yanked his arms behind his back, and secured them to each other with chains and manacles. When that was done, they did the same with his ankles. Aenys wished that he'd had a chance to resist. There might have been some dignity in his capture if only he could have struck one of these brutes. At least he was able to catch some semblance of his breath again.

Cayn stood before him as he was hauled up to his feet and held in place. A cruel smile adorned the black-clad man's face, even as he had picked up Leroya's sword and held it in his hands. Around them, Leroya and several of her crew were similarly being chained.

"D'you know, I thought you'd put up more of a fight than this." Cayn asked as he raised the sword and held the edge close to Aenys' face.

"Why should I? I didn't come here to fight you," Aenys croaked.

"A grave mistake," Cayn sneered, "and your last." He lowered the sword and glanced around, where the other captives were similarly chained. "Take them away, but do them no harm. You know Bloodraven's orders, and woe betide any of you who mistreat them." He glanced at Aenys. "I'll personally see to this prisoner."

It was foolish to struggle or resist; he had no chance of escaping. His manacled ankles were connected by a short chain, so that he could only make half-steps. Aenys looked back to see that the Black Bolt and the Leviathan's Bane were both pushing away from the dock. The gold cloaks did not seem to care, however. Of course they don't, Aenys thought. They have what they came for.

Leroya and her captured crewmen were ahead of Aenys, but he could hear some of them protesting in their Summer Tongue. All around them, sailors and seamen stood on their ships and watched the proceedings in silence.

As the throbbing pain in Aenys' stomach began to numb, he thought of Xalonyay again, speared to death for trying to help him. He was not sure if the tears in his eyes were due to the blow to his gut or for the sight of Xalonyay on the dock.

A panic seized him as he tried to comprehend what was happening. Was I betrayed, or was Titus betrayed? He would never have risked his daughter's life, surely, and she had certainly had no idea of what was about to happen. Where is Titus now? Has he also been arrested?

By then, Aenys saw a line of wheelhouses before him. The prisoners were divided amongst them, with Aenys being hurled into his own. He was unable to stop himself from crying out when he landed on one shoulder, feeling it pop from the impact. Pain seared through him once more as the laughing gold cloaks set him onto one of the benches.

Someone else stepped inside and sat opposite him. The man called Cayn was still brandishing the Valyrian steel sword which he'd taken from Leroya. Aenys stared at the blade, absurdly infuriated at the sight of it in this unworthy man's hands.

"Is this what guest right means in King's Landing?" Aenys rasped.

"Guest right is invoked when you consume bread and salt," answered the Raven's Tooth called Cayn. "You were offered neither."

"Equivocate all you like," Aenys snarled, "but the gods will curse you for this!"

Cayn spat full in his face. "You know nothing of the true gods, Blackfyre. You know nothing of the North, and what true men will do to avenge their fathers. You know nothing of the ruin which your family has brought to countless families."

As the spittle ran down Aenys' cheek, he struggled to bite back his fury and humiliation.

"Ask any of these men who took you," Cayn went on accusingly, his voice thick with loathing and fury. "Ask them of the brothers and fathers they lost. Ask them of their grandfathers, their uncles, their cousins, their friends! Every one of them has stories for you, Blackfyre. Your family name is a curse upon the Seven Kingdoms!"

This will never end, Aenys thought despairingly. More fool me for hoping otherwise. Still, a part of him couldn't help but see Cayn's point. What did I spend so much of my life doing, after all, in the name of avenging my father's defeat? The thought did nothing to comfort him, and so he sat with bowed head, trying not to cry out as the uneven road caused jolts in his injured shoulder.

The wheelhouse slowed as it made a rightward turn. Its windows were shut, so Aenys could only sit in the dark wheelhouse. He thought of Leroya, of poor Xalonyay and those crewmembers who were seized alongside their captain. Will Bloodraven put them to death as well? He was tempted to ask his captor, but he neither expected an honest answer nor wished to show weakness.

He thought of his children, awaiting his word in Tyrosh. What would become of them now? The Golden Company, no doubt; where else will they turn? Aenys bit the inside of his cheek so hard that he could taste blood. Bittersteel will hear of my death too, he reflected dully. He would have branded me a traitor if I'd succeeded, but now he will use my murder to inflame the hearts of his supporters. And so the dance will begin anew. He felt tears in his eyes as a dry and bitter laughter left his mouth.

"Something amusing?"

Aenys glanced up at Cayn. "Amusing? Nay. It's bloody risible, is what it is."

Cayn's fist swung once more, landing with his cheek just beneath his eye. So forceful was the blow that Aenys' head and torso flew backward and struck the inside of the wheelhouse. He shouted in agony, from the blow to his face, and also from the pangs shooting up from his shoulder.

He kept silent for the rest of the wheelhouse journey, even as he contemplated what sort of torture he would be subjected to at the journey's end. Fear once again threatened to unman him as he recalled Bloodraven's fearsome reputation. He will relish making me beg. And of course he will. He will know how to break me. Not even Bittersteel could withstand his dark magic.

Finally, the wheelhouse came to a halt. When the door swung open, Cayn took great pleasure in grabbing Aenys by his injured arm and forcibly thrusting him out where grinning gold cloaks were waiting.

Held fast between them, Aenys nevertheless looked about him. They had come to the Red Keep, but it was a lesser gate which awaited them. His was the last wheelhouse to have arrived; men were dragging the captured Summer Islanders through the narrow gate.

Leroya was among them. A thick strip of cloth had been set between her teeth but that didn't stop her from screaming Aenys' name when their eyes briefly met.

Anger surged through him, but he knew it was useless to try and intervene. These men would like any excuse to beat him harder, subject them to worse punishment. So he meekly walked through the gate.

He and the other captives were led down a grim-looking pathway. One either side, spikes were set in place, with severed heads mounted on most of them. The flesh had sloughed off most of the skulls, while others were more fresh.

Is this where my father's head was placed? My brothers'? Aenys did not inquire, preferring not to know the answer. Instead, he focused on the half-round tower which lay at the end of the pathway. He did not need to guess what sort of purpose this building served.

He braced himself as best he could as he was led into the dungeon. The gold cloaks and their captives crowded around the entrance as a sinister-looking figure approached them, flanked by three more Raven's Teeth.

Aenys shuddered to look at this pale face, and that evil red eye.

"Welcome home, Aenys," Bloodraven announced with a humourless leer. "Welcome home."

He did not so much as look at the other captives; instead Bloodraven simply gestured to a large staircase at the far end of the room. "Lock the others away, but do them no further harm. Their use will come later."

Leroya was one of the last to be dragged away. She was shrieking half-formed words as she stared back at Aenys. It made no matter, for all of them were taken down the stairs.

The echoes of their protests were still sounding out when Bloodraven turned back to Aenys. "On your knees."

If I obey, he wins. If I disobey, these men beat me until I kneel. The world had become simple again, and his choice was simplest of all.

Bittersteel's efforts hadn't been in vain. His body was in pain, and he soon grunted as men kicked the backs of his legs before slamming his knees down on the stone floor. But it didn't matter. Aenys was prepared for this. His whole life had prepared him for such moments. His qualms faded away as his fate became crystal clear. There was only one thing which mattered now.

"I believe you have more than earned the honours, Captain," Bloodraven declared.

Aenys felt a final surge of fear coursing through his body, but he had long ago learned how to keep such emotion under control. He had faced death so many times before; at least this would be a clean one.

"Aenys Blackfyre," Cayn declared as he strode forward and planted his feet at Aenys' right, brandishing Leroya's sword. "You will die this day for the crimes committed by you and your family. Do you have any final words?"

Do I? Cursing these men would accomplish nothing; they would only scorn his impotent fury. Besides, Aenys reasoned, their treachery had already laid a terrible curse upon them, whether they believed it or not.

He was of a mind to hail his father, mother, and brothers, vowing to see them again soon. That seemed like an empty sentiment as well, for he doubted they would be pleased with how he'd come to meet his end.

"It appears that he does not," Bloodraven remarked. "Have at it, Captain."

The arrogant triumph in those words were enough to break through Aenys' diffidence and despair. He glanced up at the one called Cayn and gave one last smile. "Aye, have at it. And do try to keep your swing steady. You are only killing a man."