"Renly's army will defeat me at King's Landing, so you advised me to go to Storm's End, where the boy with two swords will take his head. This is the first prophecy you spoke of, my lady." Stannis regarded Melisandre with a stony expression. "My lords and knights all counsel me to march on King's Landing."
"Yes, Your Grace. Light casts more than one shadow, just as the Holy Fire revealed to me. But no matter what, your army's march to Storm's End is the will of the Lord, and Renly is doomed to fall."
"I hope your Lord of Light has not deceived me."
After leaving the hall, Melisandre stepped out of the castle and made her way toward the camp.
At that moment, Cole was returning from patrol. Camillo, who was stationed in the camp, approached to help him remove his armor.
"You are my adjutant, not my squire, Camillo."
Camillo only laughed. "My lord, I've heard that a maester's adjutant tends to his daily needs. I figure a knight's adjutant should do the same."
After a few days together, Camillo had reverted to his usual attitude. Cole was not an overbearing noble, after all. Of course, no one in the camp dared to truly test him—not after what happened two days ago.
A young soldier had tied up a prostitute, and Cole caught him during his patrol. The man hadn't been satisfied with simply taking her for free; his attack had been brutal. By the time Cole and his men arrived, the woman was barely alive. Stannis had already outlawed prostitutes in the camp—and on all of Dragonstone, for that matter.
No matter how much the man begged, Cole ignored him. When he tried to draw his sword in desperation, Cole knocked it aside with ease and drove a short blade through his throat.
His ruthlessness had silenced any doubts among the recruits.
"My lord, Joss got his hands on a fat cow and is roasting it. He's been waiting for you to return." Camillo spoke as he helped Cole out of his armor.
Cole raised an eyebrow. "Fat beef? How did he manage that?"
"You know how clever Joss is with his hands. He won it gambling with the mercenaries next door."
Joss was a seasoned gambler. When he was first conscripted, he had been caught in the middle of a bet. Now, he served under Cole.
"Would mercenaries really wager something like that?" Cole pulled off his gloves.
"Armor, at first. They lost two sets, but it wasn't enough to cover their losses, so they handed over the fat cow they'd just bought. It's a fine one. I saw it sizzling myself. I heard they pooled their coin to afford it."
"Gambling is one thing, but don't push them too far."
Cole didn't need to ask—his men had clearly set a trap for the mercenaries. But mercenaries lived by scraping by however they could. Raising money for fresh beef before marching to war wasn't unusual.
"We took over a dozen men to collect the cow." Camillo grinned.
Since the cow was considered private spoils, Cole wouldn't force them to share it with the rest of the camp.
"Go buy some wine from the merchants." He tossed Camillo a few silver stags.
"Aye, my lord." Camillo snatched the coins and hurried off.
Cole made his way to Joss's camp, where a large fire crackled. A thick wooden spit had been driven through the cow's body, slowly roasting it over the flames.
"Oh, Lord Cole!" Joss scrambled to his feet.
"I hear you've got a fat cow." Cole smirked, eyeing the roasting meat.
"Waiting for you, my lord. I saved the best cut for you."
Grinning, Joss pulled a blackened sausage from the fire and handed it to Cole with a flourish. "I roasted this myself—seasoned with salt."
Cole took one look at the sausage and almost laughed. The thing was massive. A bull's pride, no doubt.
"I have no use for it. Give it to Camillo."
Joss blinked. Weren't noble lords supposed to enjoy these sorts of things?
"Let me cook something else for you, my lord. I'll show you how to properly grill beef." Cole returned the bull's piece to the flames.
"Then we'll have a feast!" Camillo returned, wine in hand.
Cole sliced the beef, stuffing it with an assortment of wild herbs. On their own, the plants were tough and bitter, but as seasonings, they added depth to the meat's flavor.
The cow roasted from afternoon to night, with the men carving slices as they cooked. With beer in hand and laughter all around, it was a proper soldier's feast.
Cole didn't stay too long. Once he had eaten his fill, he left the men to their revelry.
This was the way of the camp. Undisciplined, perhaps, but what else could be expected? These men were about to risk their lives in battle. Why shouldn't they enjoy themselves while they could? The nobles drank, danced, and sang—why should the common soldiers be any different?
"Ser, a man dressed as a priest is looking for you."
Camillo found Cole by another fire. After his patrols, Cole always walked among the men, listening to their stories and sharing his own. He had learned it from Maester Aemon—how to know his men.
That was why, despite only being here a few days, he already felt familiar with them.
Cole glanced at Camillo, who still had grease on the corner of his mouth. "A priest?"
He didn't recall knowing any priests. With a frown, he turned—only to find himself staring at a woman in red.
She was draped in flowing crimson robes, her graceful form evident beneath the fabric. A large red gemstone gleamed at her chest, its deep glow catching the firelight. Her hair was a river of flame, and her gaze was as still and cold as polished glass.
Cole had a rough guess the moment he saw the red robes.
"Ser Cole?" She smiled softly.
Cole eyed her warily. "That's me. What do you want?"
"Perhaps we could talk."
Cole shook his head. He was uneasy around people like her. Who knew what she could see? What if her Lord of Light had shown her his white dragon?
He had no interest in whatever she wanted.
"I don't know you, my lady. And I'd advise you to stay away. I executed a rapist just two days ago."
She only smiled, a knowing, almost amused expression.
"I come bearing the king's orders."
Cole paused. "If His Grace has orders, he would send a herald bearing the crowned stag."
With a flick of her wrist, she pulled a banner from beneath her sleeve.
Cole was momentarily speechless. Damn it, Stannis, since when do you hand banners to women?
It wasn't that Cole had any personal prejudice, but this era certainly did. He wasn't the only one taken aback—many knights and lords nearby exchanged uneasy glances. A red-robed priestess as a flagbearer? It was a public humiliation.
Cole exhaled slowly. "Well then, my lady flagbearer, what orders does His Majesty have for me?"
She glanced at Camillo standing behind him.
Cole waved him away. "Satisfied?"
She rubbed her delicate hands together and stepped forward. "You are not loyal to the king, ser."
Her tone was accusatory.
Cole met her gaze without flinching. "Of course not. I've never sworn fealty to anyone."
"You are a man who values oaths, then. Our king values them as well. You are alike." She suddenly reached out and stroked his cheek. "The prophesied one will not fight alone. He needs your help."
Cole recoiled, slapping her hand away. "Mind yourself, my lady. I don't believe in your so-called Lord of Light. If he wishes to save the world, let him. I'll stay out of the way, but don't drag me into it."
Instead of anger, Melisandre laughed. "A lost lamb will always find its way to the Lord's embrace."
She walked toward a nearby torch, her eyes entranced by the flames. Then, in a hushed voice, she murmured, "Look into the fire, child. Tell me what you see."
Cole's gaze flickered toward the flames. In them, he saw a vision—inside a straw tent, a bloodstained dragon egg lay cradled in a man's arms. A woman wept.
A chill ran through him.
"You bear the scent of blood magic," Melisandre whispered at his ear. "Faint, but present. A curse, born of kin's blood."
Cole's stomach twisted. He thought of his dreams—those damned dreams.
"I have seen strange things," he admitted.
Melisandre's eyes narrowed slightly. "What have you seen?"
Cole hesitated. "A scale. I stand on one side. On the other, a pegasus, carrying a long-braided man."
The moment the words left his mouth, he clenched his fists. He had fallen into her trap. So this is how she gathers followers—whispers, visions, and riddles. No wonder she's built a 'Queen's Party' around her.
His voice turned cold. "Priestess, what do you want? You're wasting your time with me. You'd be better off asking the Lord of Light to grant Stannis victory. That would be far more useful."
"He will win," she said with absolute certainty. "He is the prophesied one. The moment he drew Lightbringer, it was foretold—he will lead the world through the Long Night."
Cole let out a quiet chuckle. "The warrior against the darkness, is it? If your god speaks of the true enemy, they are beyond the Wall. The ones who fight them are there, not here. If you're searching for a savior, you should start in the North."
For the first time, something flickered in her expression—uncertainty, perhaps even doubt. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared.
Still, she remained steadfast. "I can avenge you. I can find the one who cast blood magic upon you."
Cole raised an eyebrow. "And what would that cost me?"
"Your loyalty to the king. Help him win this war."
Cole laughed outright. "And what makes you think I can guarantee victory? If one man could turn the tide of battle alone, what would we need an army for? Why don't you simply use your magic to ensure victory?"
As he spoke, he studied her face closely. He knew Renly had died by her magic—blood magic, most likely, drawn from Stannis himself.
But her expression remained unreadable, unmoved.
Cole's tone shifted. "Tell me how to counter magic. I'll do what I can, but I can't do it alone. You'll have to convince His Majesty."
She regarded him for a long moment. Then, she nodded. "Very well."
Cole extended a hand. "Then we have an agreement."
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