"Your Highness Shireen, I leave Ser Duncan the Tall in your care."
Fully armed, Cole knelt and placed the wooden knight into the little princess's hands. He would be gone for the next few days, preparing to take command of his troops.
Shireen frowned but nodded sensibly, clutching the wooden figure. "You'll come back with Father, won't you?"
"Of course," Cole reassured her. "I am the knight assigned to guard you by the king himself. Until another takes my place, my sword will protect you—just as the Kingsguard protects the king."
After bidding farewell to Shireen, Cole made his way to the military camp beyond the castle walls. He passed through Dragonstone's great stone gate, which yawned like a dragon's open maw, and descended the winding path that snaked around the hillside.
At the foot of the hill, where a small coastal village clung to the shore, the military encampment sprawled before him.
He would only return to the castle when duty demanded it. From this moment forward, he was a soldier of Stannis's loyal army, and Stannis was his direct commander.
The camp was a sea of noble banners, sigils fluttering in the salt-laden wind.
Cole found himself pondering whether he should create a family crest of his own. But what would it be? He dared not take the dragon as his sigil—what of a white bird instead?
Setting the thought aside, he strode into the camp corridors. A patrolling knight on horseback rode up to intercept him, his gaze filled with thinly veiled disdain. A sworn knight of House Velaryon, no doubt.
Cole stated his name and purpose, and the knight jerked his chin toward a distant section of the camp before riding off without a word.
When Cole finally arrived at his assigned unit, his disappointment was immediate.
The numbers were larger than he'd been told, but the men themselves—fishermen, farmers, and peasants—were a sorry sight. Gaunt, underfed, and clad in patched rags, they clutched harpoons, wooden spears, and rusted tools, ill-suited for war.
In contrast to the trained household knights and sworn swords of noble houses, these men looked more like lambs being sent to slaughter. No one expected much from them.
Cole sighed heavily.
His soldiers seemed to grow worse with every campaign.
The last men he led, the Flame Men, had at least included skilled fighters, some of whom could even form cavalry. But these recruits? Their only real use was to bolster numbers and serve as fodder.
"I am Cole. I have been sent to take command of this company. Who is in charge here?"
His voice cut through the restless murmur of the camp, but no one stepped forward.
Silence.
These men had been conscripted by force, abandoned here with no oversight, no rations, no order. Someone had tried to resist, but the severed head nailed outside the camp made the consequences clear.
Cole exhaled, then raised his voice again.
"I need ten men now."
His plan was simple: divide them into smaller groups for better control.
But his command was met with nothing but blank stares and silence.
He was about to press the issue when—
"Ser knight… I… I will serve you."
A voice, hesitant yet determined, broke through the hush.
Cole turned toward the speaker.
A thin, wiry young man stepped forward, pushing through the crowd. His hands were bony, his tunic threadbare, and his hair unkempt. Though a head shorter than Cole, his eyes, though small, were remarkably clear.
Cole smiled.
"Your name?"
"Camilo." The young man bowed his head slightly, his voice timid.
"Very well, Camilo. From this moment, you are my second-in-command. I will pay you one silver stag per day until the end of the war."
The moment Cole promised coin, the camp erupted into noise.
"Ser knight, I'll serve you too!"
"I am willing, my lord!"
These men were simple folk—farmers and fishermen from Dragonstone. Conscripted, unpaid, and forgotten. Their lords had only bothered to provide them with rations, and even those had dwindled.
Now, under Cole's command, feeding and supplying them became his responsibility—at his own expense.
Dragonstone's treasury paid him a meager three silver stags per day, barely enough to cover his own meals by noble standards. He would need to negotiate for more.
Fortunately, he had made friends among the castle's inner circle.
The castle's treasurer—a bald, gaunt drunkard—frequently snuck off to drink with the castle's cooks, and Cole had joined their gatherings more than once. He was no great talker, but he could hold his liquor and had earned a reputation for cooking excellent fish.
Why Stannis entrusted a wine-addled man with his finances was a mystery, but perhaps literate men were scarce in his service.
With Camilo as his deputy, Cole set him to work selecting ten men to serve as squad leaders.
As the young man hesitated, Cole gave him a firm nod, silently urging him forward.
One by one, ten men were chosen—likely friends or acquaintances of Camilo.
Cole wasted no time. "Each of you will be paid a bronze star per day."
He had just committed two silver stags daily to securing the loyalty of these eleven men. A small price to pay for some semblance of control.
Stepping forward, he met their eyes, one by one.
"Tell me your names."
Jose, Haidir
"Very good. I appoint you all as acting officers," Cole declared. "Each of you will command twenty men. Now, go and choose your recruits. If anyone is left unchosen, I will replace you."
The ten newly appointed leaders, who had been basking in their selection, suddenly scrambled into action, rushing to gather their men.
Before long, the disorganized mass of recruits was divided into ten separate groups. However, several dozen men remained unchosen, standing awkwardly at the edge.
Cole stepped forward—these men would be under his direct command.
Camilo, now serving as Cole's adjutant, accompanied him to Dragonstone's treasury to request funds. Stannis was their king, after all—feeding his soldiers was his responsibility.
The treasurer, a balding, gaunt man reeking of stale wine, handed over twenty gold dragons—Cole's entire military budget.
How he spent it was his own business. He could pay his men, buy food, or arm himself, but it was clear this wasn't nearly enough to properly equip even a hundred soldiers, let alone two hundred forty-seven.
His true task was likely just keeping these men in line—ensuring they didn't desert before battle.
Stannis's army was a patchwork force.
Among the 6,000 men gathered, only 2,000 were true soldiers—Stannis's personal troops and those of his loyal lords. The rest were a mix of conscripts, mercenaries, smugglers, and even pirates.
Cole wasn't without duties. He was responsible for patrolling a section of the camp—a task that, at least, gave him an excuse to explore.
One of his first stops was a merchant's tent, where he purchased grain—enough to feed his men for ten to fifteen days. The cost? Ten gold dragons.
It was nothing but coarse grains, the kind used to feed pigs in peacetime. But he had no choice—his funds were limited, and he certainly wasn't about to provide fish and meat for peasants.
Returning to his section of the camp, Cole did not distribute the food immediately. Instead, he appointed one of the fastest recruits to oversee logistics and cooking, a small reward for his efficiency.
Soon, fires burned, and thick porridge was ladled into wooden bowls.
As they ate, Cole observed their faces—they weren't soldiers. They were here for one reason alone—to eat. None of them knew if they'd survive the war. If they did, they'd simply be sent back to their fields and fishing boats.
Cole ate with them, scooping the same rough grains and watery stew into his mouth.
It shocked them.
Even among common soldiers, knights ate better food, drank fine wine, and slept in comfortable tents. Some even kept official prostitutes for company. But here was their commander, eating the same slop and sleeping in the dirt beside them.
He caught their stares and smirked.
"What? Surprised?"
Camilo, seated beside him, hesitated before stammering, "I… It's just surprising that a lord would eat the same as us."
Cole looked into the fire.
"I'd rather have roasted meat and wine, too. But more than that, I want you to survive the battlefield."
The recruits fell silent.
With ten gold dragons left, Cole set out to arm his men.
A decent iron sword cost thirty silver stags, but at that price, they were barely more than sharpened iron rods—dull, ugly, and crude. Ten gold dragons wouldn't even buy him seventy swords, let alone armor.
Even knights weren't fully armored, unless they were sworn men of a noble house.
Mercenaries, who made up a separate camp of over a thousand men, brought their own weapons and armor, making them a mid-tier force compared to the elite personal troops of noble lords.
Tywin Lannister, for example, commanded 4,000 personal troops, half of whom were cavalry—a true army.
Stannis had only 600 standing soldiers, the professional warriors of Dragonstone, who formed his personal guard. Their banners—the crowned stag on a field of flame—fluttered at the heart of the camp, marking Stannis's command tent.
Cole's men? They weren't even foot soldiers. If needed, they'd haul supplies and repair armor—that was the true role of fresh recruits.
The next day, Cole visited the blacksmith, purchasing twenty iron swords.
With the remaining funds, he bought iron-tipped spears—essentially wooden poles reinforced with a sliver of iron. They were cheap, but they were weapons.
At least now, everyone had something to fight with.
To supplement rations, Cole organized fishing parties—a common practice among armies on the march. Soldiers were often sent hunting, and his men could do the same.
Every morning, he led simple training drills—mostly thrusting exercises with spears. He didn't demand too much. These men wouldn't be proper soldiers, but at the very least, they needed to follow orders.
At noon, he divided duties:
One group fished. One group cooked. The rest helped transport supplies.
Cole patrolled personally, keeping twenty swordsmen at his side. These men—the tallest, strongest recruits—received extra food, mainly fish. They weren't true warriors, but they were the best he had.
Cole knew one truth—no man fights alone.
If battle came, he needed people to protect him.
And so, he chose them carefully.
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