The map table in the great hall stretched over 50 feet long, its widest section nearly half that length and its narrowest part less than four feet across.
Upon it, the entirety of Westeros was laid out in remarkable detail. Crafted by skilled artisans after Aegon the Conqueror rode his dragon across the Seven Kingdoms three centuries ago, the table depicted mountains, rivers, and valleys with striking accuracy.
The circular hall was filled with knights and lords, summoned by King Stannis to discuss the next step in their campaign.
Three earls of the highest rank sat closest to the king. The eldest among them was Lord Adrian Celtigar of Crab Isle, his house sigil—a lavishly detailed red crab—adorning his attire. A joyless man, he was infamous for contradicting others, often breaking the flow of discussions with unexpected opposition.
The most vocal proponent of an immediate assault on King's Landing was Lord Montfort Velaryon. Though not of pure Valyrian descent, his long golden hair and striking features made him stand out. He argued that the city's defenses were weak, presenting a rare opportunity to strike. With Dragonstone's fleet, he claimed, they could sail unchallenged to the city's towers and lay siege before reinforcements could arrive.
The last among them was a fourteen-year-old boy, Ser Durran, Bar Emmon, Lord of Sharp Point. Though young and overweight, he bore his title with solemnity. A devout follower of the Faith of the Seven, he had been seen weeping in silence when Stannis ordered the destruction of the Sept's statues.
The hall was divided between those urging for immediate action—led by Lord Velaryon—and those in favor of caution, with Lord Celtigar at the forefront. The elder lord argued that they should remain at Dragonstone, allowing Renly and the defenders of King's Landing to weaken one another before making their move.
Stannis observed the debate with his usual stern expression, though inwardly, he felt a familiar frustration. His most trusted advisor, Davos Seaworth, was absent, and those who remained offered little in the way of true counsel.
Velaryon was too reckless. Celtigar was overly cautious. And Bar Emmon was still just a boy.
Ultimately, the decision fell to Stannis alone.
"With our army, we need only surround King's Landing for a few days," Velaryon declared. "The dwarf and the boy king will have no choice but to surrender. Their grain stores won't last."
Stannis ordered him to lead the fleet and enforce a naval blockade, ensuring that no merchant ships could enter the city.
"Tywin Lannister's army is at Harrenhal," Celtigar reminded them. "They could reach King's Landing in days. If we fail to take the city quickly, how will we hold it?"
"Tywin?" Velaryon scoffed. "He couldn't even deal with a Stark boy."
Indeed, the latest reports from the north suggested Robb Stark had dealt Tywin a significant blow. Underestimating his young opponent, Tywin had suffered a humiliating setback, forcing him to withdraw his forces to Harrenhal. Meanwhile, Lannister troops were stretched thin, trying to hold both Riverrun and their scattered positions in the Riverlands.
His brutal tactics had sown resentment among the lords of the region, prompting the Tullys and their bannermen to rally against him. Riverrun had nearly fallen back into their hands, and had it not been for Ser Kevan Lannister's quick thinking—sealing the gates and sending urgent ravens for aid—it might have been lost entirely.
A column of Tywin's cavalry, dispatched to reinforce their forces, had been ambushed by the Northmen, suffering devastating losses. It was only then that Tywin realized the siege had been a feint. Robb Stark had divided his forces again.
When Tywin finally moved to crush the Northern army, he found nothing but empty camps. The Stark forces had already withdrawn past the Neck, vanishing into the familiar terrain of the North.
Tywin had vastly underestimated his enemies, believing war to be a simple means of replenishing House Lannister's dwindling coffers. The gold mines were dry, and conquest seemed the only solution. He had used revenge for Ned Stark's execution as a pretext to pillage the Riverlands, but his greed had only left him in a precarious position.
Now, with Robert Baratheon dead, his sons divided, and the Iron Throne in turmoil, Tywin faced a greater crisis than he had ever anticipated.
A sharp knock on the map table silenced the hall. Stannis had no time for Tywin's troubles—his immediate concern was Joffrey in King's Landing and Renly, who was steadily marching toward the capital.
Renly was the greater threat. The combined forces of the Stormlands and the Reach formed a tide too great to ignore.
King's Landing itself was crumbling from within. Taking the city was not the challenge—holding it against Renly's forces was the true battle. Even if Stannis took the throne, how would he defend it? Would he be forced to endure another siege like the one at Storm's End, waiting for another smuggler to bring him onions?
The capital had no natural defenses beyond its walls. Without dragons, it was vulnerable to attack from all sides.
Stannis made his decision.
"Summon all our forces. We march on Storm's End."
The hall fell silent. No one had expected that.
Why Storm's End?
Why march there instead of striking at King's Landing? The question lingered in the minds of many, their confusion plain on their faces as they struggled to grasp Stannis's reasoning.
Even after the meeting ended, the discussions did not.
Some speculated that Stannis sought to restore the ancient Kingdom of the Storm and claim the title of Storm King, reviving the legacy of the Baratheons' distant ancestors. Others believed he intended to punish the Stormlands' lords for failing to declare for him.
In Aegon's Garden, Cole and Shireen sat on the grass, playing at chess while Patchface hopped about nearby, singing nonsense. The past few days had brought more laughter to Shireen's face than usual, her usual solemnity softened by fleeting moments of joy.
In the garden's shaded corridor, Stannis strode forward, his attendants following closely.
A burst of silvery laughter rang out.
"Balerion defeated the ice demons at the Wall! I claimed the divine sword 'Ice Sorrow'—my attack power has increased by ten!"
Stannis slowed his pace and raised a hand, signaling his attendants to halt. He turned and stepped quietly into the garden, moving through the thorny hedges and flowering vines until he could clearly see the two figures sitting on the grass.
Before them lay a map of Westeros, scattered with crumpled parchment, while Shireen moved a small wooden bird across its surface.
As Stannis approached, Cole noticed him first and quickly stood, straightening his posture. "Your Grace."
Shireen looked up in surprise. "Father," she greeted hesitantly.
Stannis nodded slightly before shifting his gaze to the map, its details mirroring the one etched into the map table in the great hall.
Shireen fidgeted, as if caught in some wrongdoing. Even without reason, she looked at him with the same wariness that many others did. His cold demeanor was well known, making even grown men tread carefully in his presence.
Rumors painted him as iron-hearted, incapable of warmth, unmoved by love or sentiment.
Yet, Shireen was the one spark of warmth that remained in his heart. He did not know how to show love, nor could he hold his daughter as others did—her illness made sure of that.
"The map is well drawn," he said at last.
Cole, keenly aware of the effort behind Stannis's words, recognized that he was trying to temper his tone.
"Cole made it," Shireen piped up. "And the wooden knight and dragon too."
She held out the wooden carving in her hand.
Stannis took it, studying the small figure. It resembled a bird more than a dragon, but he said nothing of it. Instead, he asked, "You like wood carvings?"
Shireen nodded, then hesitated before shaking her head. "That's Balerion, Father. And this is Ser Duncan the Tall."
So the Wooden Knight was Ser Duncan, a name she and Cole had given their game piece.
Stannis nodded and returned the carving to her small hands. "Balerion's bones rest in King's Landing."
He did not linger. By nightfall, he had inspected his fleet at the docks before finally returning to the castle.
Standing before the window of the map table hall, Stannis gazed out at the darkened sea. His thoughts drifted back to two battles—one a bitter siege defending Storm's End, the other a triumphant victory against the Iron Fleet.
"What troubles you, Your Grace?"
A voice, smooth as silk, came from behind him.
From the shadows, Melisandre stepped forward, her movements fluid, her red robes flowing like liquid fire.
"What prophecy has the Lord of Light given you?" Stannis asked, turning to face her.
"No prophecy," she said softly. "But the flames may offer a vision to the true king."
She gestured toward the fire. "Come, look into the flames, my king."
Stannis stepped closer, his eyes locked onto the flickering embers. The fire danced—red and white—and then, suddenly, a vision took shape.
A man in a stag-antlered helm stood before him. Renly.
Then, from the darkness, a rider on a swift horse surged forward. A blade flashed—one stroke, swift and final. Renly's helm fell to the ground, severed.
Stannis's breath caught. The man wielded two swords.
Then, as suddenly as the vision had appeared, the flames leapt, breaking the image apart. Stannis took a step back, startled. Though this was not his first time witnessing Melisandre's sorcery, this vision shook him more than the others.
"What did you see, Your Grace?" Melisandre asked, her voice a whisper.
Stannis's expression darkened. "Renly."
"There can be only one king in this realm." Melisandre stepped closer, her voice like a promise. "And the false king must be punished."
His jaw tightened.
He knew what he had seen. The only person who wielded two swords was that boy.
And if that was true… then perhaps he need only take him.
In the days that followed, Dragonstone grew even heavier with tension. Everyone knew the army was preparing to sail.
Among those called to arms was Cole, stunned into silence when he received his edict.
He was to march with the army, tasked with leading a company of fresh recruits.
Their ship was already chosen—the Lord Steffon—and it was clear that Stannis had no intention of leaving him behind.
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