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The crowned stag banner of House Baratheon fluttered in the sea breeze, snapping crisply against the wind.
Waves crashed along the winding coastline, splashing against the shore. Sunlight broke through the clouds, scattering golden light across the water's surface. Boats drifted in the distance, voices carrying on the wind. Some men stepped from their vessels onto the soft sand, leaving footprints that vanished as the tide washed over them.
A group of fishermen returning from their day's work pushed their boats back toward the sea, laughing and talking among themselves, the sea breeze tugging at their damp clothing.
"What is that?"
Far in the distance, only a glint of light and scales could be seen.
The fishermen looked where the man pointed, and the vague speck grew larger. A bird? No, a hawk?
Then they saw it clearly—a monster, its shadow flashing past.
"Dragon!" someone screamed.
They watched as the beast soared toward the castle, its wings vast enough to blot out the sun.
Silver flashed through the air, and blood sprayed across the stone floor.
The guards' swords chopped down simultaneously but were blocked by Cole's blades, crossed into a defensive fork.
Cole spun, his swords dancing in a deadly spiral. Men fell to the ground clutching wounded limbs, their screams filling the chamber.
A spear thrust toward him. Cole rolled sideways across the Painted Table. When he came up, he stood directly above "Westeros," towering over everyone.
Spearmen surrounded the table, trying to trap him in the center.
The soldiers tightened their formation and jabbed their spears toward him in unison.
Cole raised his swords—one forward, one back—and swept them outward, cutting through five or six spear shafts at once. Seizing the momentary gap, he leapt down from the table, his blades becoming a hundred shadowy arcs.
Amidst the howls and screams, he moved like a shadowcat among sheep, evading every thrust while striking with lethal precision.
Suddenly, a space cleared around him. Except for those lying wounded on the ground, no one dared approach.
Cole shook the blood droplets from his sword grooves and swept the room with cold eyes.
His gaze was like that of an enraged lion, forcing men to step back involuntarily.
Davos stood behind the guards, a sword clutched awkwardly in his hand. When had he last fought in battle? The palm with its missing fingertips could barely grasp the hilt.
Five. They had lost five guards already, all wearing armor and shields. And only moments had passed since the fighting began.
Cole's dark clothing made the blood look black and terrifying.
Yet he remained uninjured, moving like a fish through water among the swords and spears.
Davos heard Ser Axell Florent's angry roar as he shouted for his men to charge forward, while he himself remained safely behind the door frame.
Ser Axell had been the castellan of Dragonstone for more than ten years. Davos still remembered the threats the man had made when the king had summoned him to court.
Axell believed he should have inherited the position of Hand from his brother, the traitor Lord Alester Florent.
As castellan of Dragonstone for a decade, his authority here was second only to the king's, and the soldiers were accustomed to obeying him.
A soldier raised his sword and rushed forward, only to have Cole's blade pierce his throat with surgical precision. Cole pushed hard, using the dying man as a shield against the others.
The soldiers who had gathered together fell back.
He was too formidable. No one present could match him in single combat. Davos doubted there was any knight in the Seven Kingdoms who could.
The names of Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer and Barristan the Bold flashed through his mind—knights renowned throughout the realm.
Cole moved toward the window. The Chamber of the Painted Table had several large windows offering an unobstructed view of the sea.
"No matter how skilled he is, he cannot defeat every knight and soldier in the castle," Davos thought. After all, a man's strength has limits, and Davos wanted no more bloodshed.
Though Davos couldn't read, he had wanted to hear Cole's explanation for himself. Axell had read the letter to him, the castellan being far more familiar with Dragonstone's affairs than the Onion Knight.
As Cole himself had said, why would he come to Dragonstone if he meant to betray them?
Seeing Cole step onto a chair and then the windowsill, half his body already outside, Davos shouted: "Don't do anything foolish, Cole! There's a cliff beyond that window!"
Cole looked back with disdain. "The foolishness is yours, not mine."
He turned toward the open air.
"Enough, you fools!" A commanding voice roared from beyond the door.
A man entered, wearing a grayish-white robe, looking pale and thin. In his hand, he carried a longsword inlaid with a square ruby, flames dancing along its blade.
Gods be good—in so short a time, his hair and beard had turned completely gray, his eyes sunken into dark hollows.
Soldiers and knights knelt as one, saluting, "Your Grace."
Stannis Baratheon strode angrily into the chamber, surveying the bleeding bodies with disgust.
"I sleep for a time, and look what foolishness you commit."
Davos stared at his wrathful king. You slept too long, Your Grace.
Stannis turned his gaze to the Onion Knight. "Smuggler, you'd better have a reasonable explanation for this."
"Come down, Cole," he said, turning his head. "Do you think your king is dead and wish to follow him to the grave? I live and breathe still."
Cole tilted his head, clearly uncertain of the situation.
Through the doorway, a figure in red approached slowly.
Cole glanced at Stannis, considering his options, then finally jumped down from the windowsill.
He walked toward Stannis, sword still in hand, as Melisandre glided to the king's side.
"Your Grace, permit me to arrest this traitor," Ser Axell stepped forward.
"I believe the traitor is you, Axell," the king replied coldly.
Axell's face froze in panic. "Your Grace, I swear by the gods, I have never betrayed you!"
"You hunger for power just as your brother did." Stannis snorted. "Were you disappointed to find I hadn't died?"
"Your Grace, I harbor no such thoughts! My Lord of Light is my witness—it was He who revealed Lord Snow's treachery to me."
"Then you can contemplate the will of your god from the dungeon." The king ordered, "Disarm him and take him below."
The soldiers hesitated, and Stannis sneered, "Does the king's command no longer hold sway here?"
The farce ended, and the bodies were carried out.
The white beast that had landed on the castle roof lingered only a moment before taking to the sky again, but many had seen it nonetheless.
"I have read your letter," Stannis said to Cole. "Sheathe your swords. As long as I draw breath, no one will harm you."
Cole glanced at Melisandre before sliding his twin blades back into their scabbards.