He gazed at the sea, a solemn expression on his face. Legend claimed the Storm King, seeking to defy the gods' fury, had woven the Children of the Forest's magic into the immense castle walls. The storms themselves were said to be quelled here, the gods' rage merely lingering over the waves, unleashing its wrath upon sailors far offshore.
Humans often shrouded historical figures in myth, and Cole couldn't deny the existence of gods in this world. He'd witnessed omens in the flames, though their meaning remained a mystery to him. Even Melisandre, who proclaimed herself the Lord of Light's voice, frequently misinterpreted R'hllor's intentions.
He moved from the window back to his desk. "Regardless, we must find him, even if it's just a corpse." Cole settled back into his chair. "We've lost Dragonstone. It's clear the next 'storm' will bear directly down on Storm's End.
We must live up to this castle's name and halt any storm that threatens destruction. The King trusted us with this duty before he died, so defending Storm's End is now your duty and mine."
The Onion Knight nodded.
"In King's Landing, I forged an alliance with Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne. Dorne will be our ally from now on, so we should move quickly to secure the loyalty of all the lords in the Stormlands," Cole continued. "Davos, I know you're always eloquent.
I'd like you to take Storm's End's decree to the various castles in the Stormlands. We will prepare Storm's End for King Stannis Baratheon's funeral, and I expect them to be there."
The king had also tasked Davos with persuading the nobles. He sailed his ship, the Black Bess, north along the coast, passing through Gulltown, the Fingers, and the Three Sisters. He was met with a mix of courtesy and neglect; most nobles, knowing he was Stannis's envoy, avoided him.
"Tell them I am the one in charge at Storm's End now. If they are willing to attend the king's funeral, I can overlook their past actions." Cole picked up Winter Night, a sword he'd found a hilt for in the armory. With a slight movement of Cole's arm, the sword was half unsheathed. "If they have forgotten who their lord is, I will personally lead an army to visit them."
A flicker of worry crossed Davos's eyes. "Will my identity be..."
Cole and Davos were not highborn, and now held such elevated positions. How could the highborn lords of the Stormlands possibly be willing to submit to them?
"You are now the King's Hand, appointed by the King before his death. Do not diminish your authority. Your duty is simply to convey my words. If they try to make things difficult for you because of your background, ignore it. Then I will show them that force is far more effective than their noble blood. Of course, I will have Camillo accompany you with a team of fifty cavalry to ensure your safety."
Noble? Was Targaryen blood enough?
After a moment of hesitation, Davos accepted the task. Stannis had made him Hand of the King, but he knew nothing of governing a castle or a kingdom, and he could barely read.
The death knell echoed over the castle, a mournful sound chiming three times, announcing the king's passing. The Onion Knight walked out of the study and through the hall. In the corridors, he overheard snippets of conversation from the grooms, servants, cooks, and soldiers. They didn't recognize the simply dressed, outspoken Hand of the King.
Davos heard an old groom say, "I heard the cathedral in King's Landing also rang three times for the king."
"You fool, King's Landing is ringing the death knell for that imp king," another groom corrected him.
"Then for whom is the bell ringing now?"
"King Stannis, of course."
"Gods damn it, how many kings have died already?"
"Who knows? Anyway, a king, just like a soldier, dies when he takes a knife."
He thought of an old Valyrian proverb: All men must die.
The Onion Knight stayed only one day. After packing his bags the next morning, he began to carry out the tasks Cole had assigned him. He wondered, "Should the King's Hand be at the mercy of the Prince Regent?" He didn't understand. When Stannis's eyes had glazed over, his pupils losing their color, Davos had been left with nothing but endless confusion.
On the training grounds, the knight named Camillo had assembled a cavalry of about fifty men. The flag bearers on either side of the knight held two banners: one was Julius's flaming white bird, and the other was the crowned stag restored to black.
Davos was certain the Stormlands nobles would prefer the latter. But were there any Baratheons left in the castle? If the letter they had originally circulated, exposing Cersei's incest, was correct, the only legitimate Baratheon heir would be Shireen.
This was a disciplined cavalry force with standard equipment: white bird round kite shields, armed swords, plate armor, and even matching barding for their horses. The horses lined up neatly in two ranks, pairs of solemn eyes peering out from under their half-covered helmets.
"Your Grace, Hand of the King." The knight, also of common birth, walked over to him. He was much younger, and Davos knew Cole himself had knighted him.
"I'll spare you the trouble for the rest of the journey, Ser Camillo," the Hand of the King said. They had already become familiar with each other during the voyage.
The soldiers guarding the gatehouse lowered the drawbridge for them. The main tower offered a full view of Storm's End. From here, one could see the entirety of Shipwreck Bay and the ant-sized figures in the town outside the castle. From here, one could even see the Red Mountains, which separated Dorne, the Stormlands, and the Reach.
For thousands of years, the Rhoynar and the Andals had fought endless battles in those mountains, breeding deep resentment between the peoples on either side. Prince Martell had stationed two armies at the Boneway and Prince's Pass, keeping the Stormlands' border under constant threat from Dorne.
Cole hadn't easily dispatched troops to deal with those traitors because of the pressure from Dorne. If the Dornish had taken advantage of the civil strife in the Stormlands and decisively sent troops, the consequences would have been self-evident.
The army originally assembled in Midsummer Hall had been ordered to move to the Boneway before Cole set out for King's Landing, to counterbalance the threat of Dorne. Fortunately, that worry no longer existed. When Davos returned, Cole would surely have made full preparations for war.
He turned his attention to the Narrow Sea. Daenerys Targaryen, his blood relative. In the brothel on Silk Street in King's Landing, Prince Oberyn had confided Dorne's plan to him: supporting the distressed Targaryens was their original intention.