Cayn

The sun hadn't fully risen when the guards released Cayn from his cell. He maintained a calm composure, determined to conceal just how badly affected he was from being stuck in a cage like some animal.

He was surprised by how many guards there were. At least ten were crowding in the narrow corridor outside his cell. "One of you would have sufficed," he japed. "I have no intention of resisting."

"It isn't only you," one grunted as he fumbled with the lock on Cayn's cell door. Several of the other guards were already walking down the corridor towards other cells, keys in hand.

Cayn wanted to see who else was going, but his assigned guard was not interested in indulging his curiosity. Thus, when the man drew his short sword and beckoned Cayn to walk out, he willingly put his hands behind his back and walked out of his cage. The guard followed behind him, keeping his distance while ensuring that Cayn was in range of a sword-stroke should he make one false move.

Amused by these precautions, Cayn spoke aloud as he walked. "I was beginning to wonder when we would set out. It's been far too long since I last visited the North. How about you, Gorlim?"

"Never been," answered the guard, "and may the true gods keep me from that icy hell."

"I shall allow you that utterance," Cayn declared airily. "Southrons are right to fear the North."

"Good riddance to you, then," Gorlim grumbled. "Now keep moving, and no more lip from you!"

Cayn rolled his eyes, but he obeyed as he ascended the main stairwell. When he reached the ground level, he instinctively glanced at that part of the floor where Aenys Blackfyre had knelt for the last time. His blood had long been cleaned up, much to Cayn's chagrin. No doubt Aegon has ordered his body parts removed from the gates.

He was not the first man to arrive. More than two dozen others were already assembled there, not counting the men-at-arms who eyed them warily. Most were still in chains, but based on their ugly scowls and hateful eyes, Cayn reckoned those restraints had been well-earned. Many of them glared resentfully at Cayn, who knew full well that it was the Chief Gaoler who had granted him the privilege of being unrestrained.

It didn't take him long to glean what was happening. "So," he drawled to Gorlim, "the king is emptying his dungeons, then?"

Gorlim did not reply, but that didn't matter. Cayn did not need his confirmation of the truth, he was only toying with the unhappy man.

Eventually, Cayn saw some friendly faces; like him, the nine other Raven's Teeth who had willingly surrendered were unchained, though they were still closely monitored.

Cayn inclined his head. "Good to see you again, lads."

"Likewise, Captain," Colwyn replied cheerfully. After Cayn had stepped forward, Colwyn had been the first man to follow suit. "Had a nice stay, then?"

"Very accommodating, they are," Cayn answered sardonically, nodding to the terse-looking Gorlim. "I can only hope that the Wall is half as pleasant as these lodgings."

Colwyn and the others chuckled, but their mirth was quickly interrupted by the gaunt-looking Chief Gaoler.

"Out you go," he commanded in his baritone voice, "outside, all of you!"

Cayn knew him very well. Nicol bore a similar pallor to Lord Bloodraven, but his hair was an oily black colour rather than white. He was the third son of Lord Colin Cave, and while he'd originally been sent to the Citadel to be a maester, he'd left for reasons that Cayn had never learned. In any case, he'd served as a captain of the Raven's Teeth for ten years before he'd lost his right hand in the Third Blackfyre Rebellion. Ever since, he'd replaced his hand with a false one made of brass. In the low light, it seemed red to Cayn's eyes.

He and the fifty-odd others obeyed Nicol Cave's command; due to chains and the crowded numbers, they slowly shuffled out through the twin front doors. Once outside, their guards arranged them in two columns, but did not lead them away.

Cayn soon discovered why. The doors opened once more, and out stepped Lord Bloodraven, accompanied by the Chief Gaoler himself, as if he were an escort rather than his guard.

He was freshly garbed in mail and leather painted black, with his sigil of the pale Targaryen dragon emblazoned on his front. He did not look like a prisoner at all, much to Cayn's satisfaction.

Nicol Cave led Lord Bloodraven to the front of the columns, then gave him a short bow. "You have my gratitude, my lord. The city will recall your many services."

They were handsome words, and Lord Bloodraven accepted them with a smile, but Cayn couldn't help but wonder how many would truly lament his master's departure. He wasn't fool enough to think that Lord Bloodraven had been a beloved figure. Not that he cared about love. He had learned long ago how fleeting love was, especially when compared to fear.

Lord Bloodraven was proof enough of that; when he signaled the order to march, the guards obeyed him, even Gorlim. Cayn and the other Raven's Teeth had been placed directly behind him, followed by the common prisoners who'd agreed to go north.

They went through the Red Keep, towards the castle's front gates. Many had gathered to watch them. Cayn saw them peering down from the walls, atop the towers, leaning out of windows, or clustering about their path in groups. Many times, they had to make way for the marching prisoners so that they could continue.

When they reached the front gates, Cayn was taken aback. Aside from the vast crowds of onlookers, more than a hundred Raven's Teeth had been assembled in orderly rows. They held their longbows in a salute when Lord Bloodraven approached, calling out his name with pride. Cayn noticed Einon among their ranks, as well as most of the men who'd served under his command.

More baffling were the two men who stood before the Raven's Teeth. One was Ser Duncan the Tall of the Kingsguard, and the other was Aemon Targaryen. The lowborn commoner was adorned in shining armour and a spotless white cloak, while the prince was garbed in grey robes, with only his maester's chain as decoration. The irony of it was enough to make Cayn smirk, but only briefly.

Lord Bloodraven and Nicol Cave, meanwhile, approached the two and gave small, perfunctory bows.

"Have you come to see us off?" Lord Bloodraven asked, as if he was not a prisoner being sent north.

"We will be accompanying you," answered Maester Aemon.

Cayn stared in astonishment. He also heard Colwyn and the others whispering amongst themselves.

Even Lord Bloodraven was perplexed by that answer. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"His Grace has tasked me with escorting you," Ser Duncan explained, "as well as his brother." His face became flushed, perhaps because he wasn't sure how to speak of Aemon. Cayn didn't blame him. Aemon had spent the entirety of the Great Council denying his claim on the Iron Throne, rejecting royal airs, and refusing to set aside his vows. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense that Aemon was going to the Wall.

Ser Duncan was not finished, however. "His Grace also requested that this was returned to you."

He raised one of his hands, which gripped a sword in its scabbard. Cayn was astonished; he had long ago learned how to recognise Dark Sister by its hilt.

Ser Duncan readjusted the sword so that it rested across both his mighty hands, then he held it out for Lord Bloodraven to take.

"A most generous keepsake," Lord Bloodraven remarked lightly as he accepted Dark Sister. "If you would be so kind, ser, to pass on my thanks to the king for his parting gift?"

"I will," Ser Duncan replied, "and to the queen."

They proceeded to march toward the main gates. Nobody cheered them, but nor were they ridiculed either. The onlookers gazed upon them in silence, and Cayn was uninterested in peering at their faces to guess their mood.

What still astonished him was how little he cared about leaving this city behind. He had never felt a strong affinity for this place as his home. He'd always considered himself a man of the North, even before his service to Lord Bloodraven.

Still, he couldn't help but glance about for a sign of familiar faces. He fancied that Titus and his family would want to look upon him one last time. He had not seen Titus since his confession regarding Maric's death.

He'd spoken far more brazenly than he'd truly felt about Maric. It was true that Maric had betrayed him, but Cayn's betrayal had been far worse. He would certainly be judged for that crime when he finally met his end, as well as his other sins.

May all your nights be long, dark and full of terrors! Miru's curse still echoed in his head, even as he saw no sign of her presence amongst the crowds. Perhaps she and her family have already left?

He noticed that Lord Bloodraven was also looking too, scanning the crowds which he passed as he set off down the Hook. Cayn could well imagine whom he sought, but he was not sure if Shiera's presence would disconcert him more than her absence. He also had no idea of what he would do if Lord Bloodraven discovered the truth.

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Between the freed prisoners and those of his Raven's Teeth who had volunteered, more than two hundred men accompanied Lord Bloodraven on his journey to the Wall. With them went Ser Duncan of the Kingsguard and a small army of troops that King Aegon had summoned.

Cayn didn't fail to note that most were contributed by House Farring, House Buckwell, House Stokeworth, House Sunglass, House Massey, and House Bar Emmon. The heads of those houses were either pious supporters of Aemon, and thus naturally opposed to Lord Bloodraven, or else were suspected of being Blackfyre supporters. It seemed to Cayn that Aegon was more worried about Lord Bloodraven being freed than being murdered by one of these Blackfyre sympathizers. He might even have suspected that the latter was the king's secret hope, if it wasn't for the presence of Ser Duncan. Aegon would never risk that man's life, and moreover, Duncan was not capable of such treachery.

By some miraculous good fortune, or by someone's intent, Cayn had been assigned to the same ship which held Lord Bloodraven. Nearly all the other prisoners had been spread across the flotilla of transport ships which sailed northward, escorted by as many war galleys of the Royal Fleet.

For whatever reason - perhaps the prejudice of their captors - Lord Bloodraven and his followers were denied the privileges afforded them on their departure from King's Landing. Once aboard their ship, the prisoners were closely monitored; they were only permitted to spend two hours on deck at a time, and never more than two men at a time. In order to ensure that nobody could collaborate and conspire, the guards changed the order randomly, ensuring no familiar routine for the prisoners to exploit.

Some time after Cayn had lost count of the days, he and Lord Bloodraven were finally chosen together for the first time. Cayn was relieved, but also alarmed at how his master seemed to have aged five years since he'd seen him last.

"Are you ill?" he inquired.

"Nay," Lord Bloodraven replied. "It is the voyage, nothing more. I was never a man for the sea. Too far from the gods, I'll warrant. But there is something else." He lowered his voice. "The green dreams have taken an evil turn."

Cayn shuddered. "Howso?"

"I have found myself in a wintry forest, more than once. I make my way through the firs and spruce, seeking the heart tree. But instead, I am confronted by tall figures in the shape of men. But they are not like any man I have ever heard of before. They are paler than any man I have ever seen, gleaming like snow in bright sunlight. Their eyes are blue, and their voices remind me of grinding ice."

It can't be… "You don't mean to say that you dream of…" Cayn couldn't even bring himself to speak the last two words.

"It seems that I am," Lord Bloodraven affirmed heavily. "Whatever that means, I cannot say, and I hesitate to guess."

Cayn shuddered, not just because of what he'd been told, but also because of the chilly draft which had been gripping the sea for the last two days.

Lord Bloodraven seemed to share his awareness of the change, for he readjusted the sable cloak which was keeping him warm.

"We have passed the Neck," Cayn told his master.

"I know," came his detached reply. "The North turns the sea itself colder. The Wall will be worse still."

Cayn continued to stare ahead of him, rubbing his hands together. They were beginning to feel quite numb in this weather.

"Does talk of the Wall frighten you? Or was it the dream which unnerved you?"

Lord Bloodraven's question was asked so courteously that Cayn needed a moment to register the challenge in it. He was so stung that he looked Lord Bloodraven in the eye.

"It's the weather, not nerves," he replied tersely. "Winter always leaves me with cold hands."

"I see," Lord Bloodraven replied. Whether he believed Cayn or still suspected him of cowardice, Cayn could only wonder.

"Winter is coming," Lord Bloodraven mused. "The Starks have always known the truth, and I begin to see it at last. It was foolish of me to tarry from my destiny; now it seems that the gods worked through my foes to help me."

The thought of Titus being a conduit for the old gods was repulsive to Cayn, but he did not contradict his master's musings.

The pale lord, robbed of his lordship, gave a long sigh as he stretched his limbs behind his back. His gaze went southward. "I wonder if Shiera will mourn my death."

Cayn frowned as he focused on his fingers. "Surely she will, milord?"

Lord Bloodraven began to chuckle. "You're a good man, Cayn. You always were. Loyal to me beyond any other."

Cayn felt dreadfully uneasy, but he spoke calmly as ever. "You honour me."

"Why shouldn't I?" Lord Bloodraven was still smiling humourlessly as he looked back at Cayn. "When I sacrificed my honour for the good of the realm, you did not hesitate to do the same. I might have assumed that it was only for your own revenge, but when the king turned on me, you stepped forward and accepted the same fate. I respect that very much indeed."

"I swore myself to you," Cayn affirmed. "I do not make oaths lightly."

"And now you are following me to the Wall," Lord Bloodraven observed, "even after you helped murder the woman I desired."

Cayn might have been afraid, but the chill seemed to dull his sense of fear. Or perhaps he was sick of deceit, and preferred that Lord Bloodraven had finally given him the chance to speak frankly.

"Did you know about what she did to Barba? To Bessie?"

His master nodded, acting as if Cayn's query was the most natural in the world. "I saw it for myself, in fact. I warned her that it might prove her undoing. That drunken oaf Daeron dreamt of it all those years ago. A pale dragon brought down by bolts of lightning… not that Shiera cared; she went on with her sport. I used to think she was too arrogant to assume that she might ever be held accountable… now I wonder if she truly cared whether she lived or died."

He was speaking almost whimsically of Shiera's ghastly practices, but then his voice became dangerous once more. "You did not need me to answer that question, Cayn. Do not play the fool. You must have known full well that I was aware of her actions. So tell me, how do you conspire with my enemies to betray me, yet still follow me into exile? How does one live as half a traitor and half a disciple?"

Cayn did not have to ponder the answer; he'd had plenty of time for that before this confrontation.

"I am loyal to you, not to Shiera," he replied. "What you did, you did for the realm. What Shiera did, she did only for herself."

Another raspy sigh blew out of those thin lips, which was the closest that he'd come to laughing thus far. "Well said, o lord of equivocation." He folded his arms. "Tell me, if I was willing to overlook Shiera's behaviour, what do you think I would do to anyone that harmed her?"

There was a time when Cayn might have been speechless with dread at such a question, delivered in such a manner. But that time had passed.

"I imagine you would have done the same as I did," he answered quietly, "if Barba or Bessie had slain Shiera as she slew them. If they had slain her so cruelly, so unjustly, would you not have done what I did and more to avenge her?"

Lord Bloodraven's red eye seemed to burn like fire in his socket; that was the only indication of fervency on his passive countenance. When he spoke, it was almost conciliatory in its tone.

"I cannot fault you on that," he remarked. "Truth be told, I marvel at your resolve, Cayn. No doubt that will serve you well when we reach the Wall."

As the ship swayed upon the waves, Lord Bloodraven suddenly took a measured step toward Cayn, and his voice lowered so that it barely rose above a whisper. There was a calm finality to his words, which somehow made his words grimmer than if he'd shouted them in a fury.

"But never forget that you betrayed me worse than any man has ever done, or could ever do. You owe me a great debt, that which you could not repay in a hundred years. Therefore, know this; for as long as it is within my power, I will see to it that you repay me with your service, just as you have pledged."

For the first time, Cayn felt terror building at his back and neck, but he managed to contain it, then dispel it entirely. He was a man of the North, returned to his home, and northmen had long ago learned what it meant to live with endless toil in the harshest of conditions.

"As you say, my lord," he affirmed.

Lord Bloodraven said nothing for a moment, then gave the slightest of smirks.

"You had best acquire some thick gloves," he advised. "I foresee that you will be cold-handed for a very long time." With that, he turned and made his way below deck, leaving Cayn alone in his corner of the ship's deck.

Winter awaited him atop the Wall. He could almost feel the black cloak about his shoulders, feel the snow upon his face, see his breath leave his body in a heavy mist. This is what it means to sacrifice, Shiera. True sacrifice for a higher cause. He could sacrifice his honour and his position to save the realm from House Blackfyre. He could sacrifice his life to serve Lord Bloodraven and the realm. If Lord Bloodraven was truly meant to face the Others…

So be it, Cayn thought fiercely. No matter what awaited him north of the Wall, Cayn would fight against it alongside his master. He was a man of the North. The North remembered who their foes truly were. What greater honour could there be than to face those same foes if he was called to do it?

And so my watch begins.