A Knight's Armor
"My lord, look at this armor—it's beautiful."
Camillo ran his hand over the bright silver breastplate, admiring the golden thread carvings on the chest.
The armor fit Cole perfectly. He had grown taller over the past year, estimating himself to be around 1.75 meters now. Not particularly tall by Westeros standards, but he still had at least five more years to grow. With proper nutrition, reaching 1.8 meters seemed likely.
The finely crafted steel plate armor was plated with gold and silver on the outside, lined with soft wolf fur on the inside. Despite its intricate design, it wasn't overly heavy. Underneath, Cole wore an inner layer of leather, followed by a black velvet brocade shirt. The shoulder and arm joints were reinforced with articulated guards, while the curved pauldrons extended down to protect the joints.
From the upper thighs to the knees, a layer of chainmail provided flexibility, while the waist was guarded by an iron skirt designed like overlapping lobster scales. His legs were encased in long steel-plated boots.
Draped over his shoulders was a black cape, embroidered with the sigil of a white bird with wings spread wide, fire spewing from its beak.
Wearing the armor was a complicated process, one that Camillo struggled with at first. He had initially been assigned to oversee the training of 200 new recruits, but the next day, he found himself assisting Cole's personal servants instead.
At this point, he was more familiar with the armor than Cole himself.
It was a masterpiece—both a symbol of status and a formidable defense. The craftsmanship was undoubtedly the work of a master armorer, and the price had to be over a thousand gold dragons, based on the new coinage system introduced by Petyr Baelish, the kingdom's Master of Coin. This was, without a doubt, the finest armor Cole had worn in Westeros.
And yet, it was merely a spare suit of armor intended for Renly Baratheon.
A Summons from Stannis
"Lord Julius, His Majesty summons you."
A member of Stannis's guard appeared at the doorway.
Cole nodded in response and made his way toward the study in Storm's End. The King of Dragonstone and the Stormlands was a busy man—especially after taking control of the castle.
Handling letters, overseeing justice, inspecting the army, managing logistics, and discussing strategy—Stannis was involved in every detail of his campaign. He had little personal life, and even less interest in entertainment.
"Your Majesty, Ser Julius is here," Stannis's servant, Davon, announced softly.
Stannis looked up from his work. Though his demeanor remained as cold and rigid as ever, his complexion was noticeably better than it had been on Dragonstone.
"Come in. Davon, bring him a chair."
Cole nodded in thanks as the servant placed the chair before Stannis's desk.
The king studied the young knight before him. Short silver hair, sharp features, and striking blue-violet eyes—deep as a starry night. There was no trace of childishness in his face anymore.
This was the man who had taken Storm's End with ease.
Rumors had already spread that he commanded an army of white birds that flew over the walls to seize the castle.
Stannis set down the parchment in his hand. "Lord Celtigar has been complaining. He says he's been eating nothing but salted fish for two days. You burned all the food in the castle. And since we left most of our baggage train behind on Dragonstone to march quickly, it will take several days to transport supplies for ten thousand men."
Cole's eyes flickered with helplessness. Didn't I burn the food precisely to force the garrison to surrender?
"Your Majesty, I recall there is still food in the castle cellars."
"Today's rations are the last. By tomorrow, I won't be able to feed the army." Stannis's voice was firm. "I've ordered Lord Montford Velaryon to send his fleet to bring supplies, but he says it will take at least two days."
The two men exchanged looks, then fell into silence.
Half of Storm's End's current garrison was made up of surrendered troops. If food ran out, unrest was inevitable. Even if the fleet arrived on time—assuming there were no storms or enemy blockades—the situation was precarious.
After a long pause, Cole finally spoke. "I know where we can get food."
Stannis frowned. "I don't like being kept in suspense, Ser."
"A farm," Cole replied simply.
Stannis's expression darkened. "I will not steal from civilians to feed my soldiers."
Cole shook his head. "No, Your Majesty. I never said anything about robbing them."
A Different Approach
Leaving the study, Cole exhaled deeply before making his way to his quarters. There was work to be done.
After retrieving his twin swords, he sought out Camillo within the castle. "Gather the men," he instructed. These were his personal guards—the ones who had fought and bled to take Storm's End. A dozen had died in the assault. Their numbers had since been replenished with warriors who had proven themselves in battle.
While Camillo carried out his orders, Cole made a stop at the maester's quarters, requesting parchment and ink.
Fifty knights, clad in gray-white armor and white cloaks bearing the sigil of the burning bird, soon assembled in the courtyard. Most were capable riders, so Cole had them mount up—one warhorse and one packhorse per man.
For every fifty knights, there were at least as many men needed to support them with logistics.
Camillo, now in full armor, rode alongside Cole as they left Storm's End.
Passing through the great gates, the column of knights rode swiftly toward the farmlands. A white shape flickered in the sky above—a bird, watching them from afar.
As the sound of galloping hooves echoed across the fields, the farmers fled in fear.
To them, an army was nothing short of a plague. They knew battles had been fought recently, and where soldiers roamed, trouble followed.
These were the very people who had long depended on Storm's End. Cole led his men straight to a modest sept in the heart of the farmlands.
The priest came out immediately—a short, rotund man in a gray robe, a long chain adorned with the symbols of the Seven draped from his neck to his waist.
He trembled as he approached, his voice unsteady. "M-my lord, to what do we owe this visit?"
Unlike the common farmers, the priest understood the shift in power. Storm's End had a new master—and this master had turned to a foreign god, rejecting the Seven.
He feared this was not a mere visit.
Cole dismounted and strode past him into the sept without a word.
A King's Summons
The priest hesitated before following Cole into the sept. He knew what the knight was capable of, but his presence here today wasn't to purge the followers of the Lord of Light.
"I need you to gather all the villagers here at the church," Cole instructed.
The priest's thoughts raced. Is he planning to make an example of me? "Sir, that will take time," he replied cautiously.
"I'll have my cavalry assist you. I'm in a hurry," Cole said as he found a place to sit. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over a handful of maple leaves, then reached for his ink and quill.
The priest obeyed, leading the knights from house to house to summon the villagers. Meanwhile, Cole used the ink to write symbols on the leaves—Chinese numbers, repeating from one to nine.
It took half an hour for the crowd to gather in front of the sept. Hundreds of villagers stood outside, murmuring anxiously among themselves. Nervous glances darted toward the mounted cavalry, who had formed a perimeter around them.
Cole stepped forward, holding up the marked leaves. He scanned the crowd, then raised his voice.
"Silence, gentlemen and ladies."
The murmuring ceased.
"I am Cole Julius, commander of the garrison at Storm's End. A message has arrived from the Citadel—the long summer is ending. Do you know what follows a ten-year summer?"
A hush fell over the villagers. Many exchanged uncertain glances. Some hadn't even realized summer was coming to an end.
"This will be a harsh winter," Cole continued. "Have you stored enough food? Do you have warm clothes for your children? Have you prepared fodder for your livestock?"
A ripple of unease spread through the crowd.
"Commander, how long will the winter last?" someone asked worriedly.
Cole shook his head. "No one can say. Only the gods know. But the maesters believe this winter will not be short."
The villagers fell silent, their fear growing.
"Perhaps you are unprepared," Cole acknowledged. "But our great king, Stannis Baratheon—the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms—will not stand by and let his people starve."
A few villagers perked up at the mention of the king.
"And that," Cole said, raising the leaves and parchment in his hands, "is why I am here today."
He let his words hang in the air before continuing.
"His Majesty Stannis is the most honorable king in Westeros. This document bears his personal seal and serves as proof of loyalty. Those who bring food to Storm's End will prove their devotion to the king."
The crowd remained wary.
Cole smiled slightly. "And as a reward, those who answer His Majesty's call will receive double compensation in seven days."
That got their attention.
The honor and loyalty of nobles meant little to them—but double the reward? That was real.
Cole saw the shift in their expressions and pressed forward. "His Majesty will only provide for one thousand people. Those who prove their loyalty first will be the first to receive food and protection throughout the winter."
"I'll donate food!" someone shouted.
Cole turned. Ah, the priest. No surprise there.
He accepted the priest's offering and immediately announced, "The first to donate will receive double the reward now." He then handed over twice the amount in coin.
That was all it took. The villagers, already on edge, surged forward.
Cole quickly imposed order. "Form a line!"
He handed the parchment to the priest. "Record the names and amounts of each offering."
Leaving ten cavalrymen behind to maintain order, Cole led the rest of his men to the next village.
The Harvest of Loyalty
By evening, food began arriving at Storm's End. Stannis had prepared well—he ensured the first donor in every batch received an immediate double reward. The tactic worked wonders.
Rumors spread quickly. The sight of grain-laden carts entering the castle reassured the soldiers and bolstered Stannis's reputation among the Stormlands. Cole also instructed the priest to share stories of Stannis's fair judgments and strict but just rule.
If any priest refused to cooperate, well… Cole had his own way of handling "pagan thieves."
He did not return to the castle that night. Instead, he continued moving between villages. The farmers must have reserves. Renly was not a cruel lord—he wouldn't have starved his own people.
Though this food wouldn't sustain ten thousand men indefinitely, the steady supply boosted morale. It also made some of the more uncertain villagers believe that Stannis had the full support of the Stormlands.
The next morning, after spreading the decree at another farm, Cole prepared to return to Storm's End. The message was out now. As long as Renly's army hadn't arrived yet, food would keep flowing in.
Twice the reward might not seem like much, but for farmers, it was a risk-free way to gain wealth and favor. The only real danger was bandits, which was why Cole assigned patrols to act as scouts.
An Unwanted Guest
"My lord, we caught a sneaky one. Might be an enemy scout," a guard reported.
Cole glanced at him. "Oh?"
The camp was farther from Storm's End than he liked. He had already ordered his men to stay vigilant, so an unknown scout was concerning.
"I'll take a look."
The guard led him toward the captive. As Cole approached, his brow furrowed.
There were two figures—one large, one small.
A child?
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