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The Iron Throne, covered with sword blades and iron thorns, loomed ominously above. Below it sat Lord Tywin Lannister, adorned with the golden chain of the Hand, his crimson velvet doublet and red cloak inlaid with gold thread and precious gems. A large gold medallion was pinned to his chest, and a massive emerald signet ring gleamed on his finger.
Lord Tywin was tall and broad-shouldered, with cold light-green eyes that surveyed the hall with indifference.
The audience chamber was filled with nobles, wealthy merchants, and knights. All had heard who the king was to receive today.
Yet King Joffrey himself was nowhere to be seen.
A commotion filled the hall until the master of ceremonies suddenly called out in a booming voice, "Lord Cole of House Stark."
A figure in black and gold entered through the bronze oak doors, a gray cloak fastened at his throat with silver clasps. His steps were steady and dignified, with two fully-armored knights following in his wake.
The hall, which had momentarily fallen silent, erupted once more with whispers and murmurs.
"Quiet!" Ser Kevan stood and shouted firmly.
Cole approached the throne, bowed slightly, and said, "Your Excellency, I, Cole, envoy of Stannis Baratheon, King of the Stormlands and the Narrow Sea, greet you."
Countless eyes scrutinized him as he faced Tywin and Kevan seated above.
Ser Kevan was nearly bald, with a very short beard of golden hair.
Seated beside Ser Kevan Lannister was a blonde woman with golden curls, green eyes, and fair skin—Queen Cersei, who stared vacantly into the distance.
Below them sat Varys, and the green-clad woman Cole had met earlier—Margaery Tyrell.
The formidable Lord Tywin responded, "I greet your Storm King on behalf of Joffrey of House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."
"I trust my son Tyrion's reception was thorough. I hope we didn't neglect you," Lord Tywin's clear, powerful voice carried from the throne.
"Your hospitality has been most generous, my lord Hand."
"Beyond requesting your attendance at the king's wedding, did your Storm King send any other commands or suggestions?" Lord Tywin leaned forward slightly.
Cole looked directly at him. "Indeed. In addition to sending his blessings to King Joffrey, my king has entrusted me with an important mission."
"How dare you address the king by his name?!" Ser Loras Tyrell, the Kingsguard standing beneath the throne, shouted angrily. The crowd murmured their agreement.
Cole merely smiled faintly, saying nothing.
Lord Tywin raised his hand, and the noise in the hall instantly subsided.
"Speak," he commanded.
"My lords, do you fear death?" Cole looked at Tywin, then turned his head to address the assembly.
No one answered.
He chuckled softly. "It seems you are all warriors unafraid of mortality."
"Do you think we cower before death like Stannis?" someone called out mockingly.
Cole looked over to see a stout nobleman with a golden tree embroidered on his clothing—a Rowan of Goldengrove.
Laughter rippled through the hall at his remark.
"My Lord Hand, I am heartened to see so many fearless warriors fighting for you," Cole continued, ignoring the derision. "I've heard that Daenerys Targaryen and her husband, Khal Drogo of the Dothraki, are preparing to cross the Narrow Sea alongside Euron Greyjoy, the self-styled 'King of the Iron Islands, King of Salt and Rock.' I trust you are prepared to face them."
"To my knowledge, Khal Drogo commands forty thousand horsemen, and the Ironborn possess hundreds of longships. I wonder, how many knights and warships does King's Landing currently muster?" he inquired.
Cole sighed. "In the Battle of the Blackwater, my king was defeated with diminished forces. Only a hundred warships remain at Dragonstone, while Storm's End holds merely tens of thousands of foot soldiers and three thousand cavalry."
Some in the audience wondered silently: was Stannis truly still so strong?
Of course not, but bluffing cost nothing.
Cole continued, "With our forces alone, we could never hope to defeat the combined might of the Ironborn and the Dothraki. It seems the responsibility of defending the peace of Westeros must fall to you brave lords and ladies.
Although my king cares deeply for his subjects and would gladly fight to the death against these enemies from across the Narrow Sea, he is unwilling to let these marauders invade the realm even as he perishes in battle.
King's Landing has honorable and powerful knights such as yourselves, and I believe you will repel the enemy. This would allow us to retreat northward with clear conscience."
"Retreat north?" Ser Kevan asked.
"Yes. Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, and my king have reached an agreement. During the long winter, we shall protect one another." His eyes scanned the assembly. "I wonder, is Lady Sansa of House Stark present?"
A tall girl emerged from the crowd. She had auburn hair, delicate features, sapphire blue eyes, and carried herself with elegant beauty.
Cole bowed to her. "Greetings, my lady."
The girl hesitated briefly before curtseying in return.
"A king without lands is no king, ser," Ser Kevan remarked.
"The bravery of the warriors of the Stormlands and Dragonstone has been witnessed by all present," Lord Tywin said. "The Dothraki and the Ironborn are merely barbarians of the grasslands and sea. They can be repelled easily enough, but the continent has endured war for too long and requires peace. As House Stark's words remind us, 'Winter is Coming.'
The maesters of the Citadel predict this will be a long winter—five, ten, perhaps twenty years. Only through cooperation can we survive this long night. What say you, Ser Snow?"
Cole nodded gently. "You speak wisely, Lord Hand."
"Very good."
They had left Cole alone for two days before summoning him to the hall today. It was midday when he requested leave to depart.
As the crowd dispersed, Cole strode out with a slight bow.
A figure moved alongside him.
A woman in a close-fitting gown with a slightly open neckline—a dark purple dress with gold-threaded embroidery at the waist.
"Lady Stark," Cole acknowledged with a slight nod.
Her heart was racing. Sansa had once thought Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers, the most handsome man she had ever seen. But that day in the garden corridor, she had glimpsed a face even more striking. He was taller and more comely than Loras, with a gentle, elegant smile and eyes that held a touch of melancholy.
"Ser, you spoke of Lord Stannis and my father," she said hesitantly.
"Indeed. Your father stayed at Storm's End for a time, but he has now returned to the North." He inclined his head apologetically. "Forgive me, my lady, but I have pressing matters to attend to. I must take my leave."
As he stepped past her, he whispered something in her ear.
A glimmer of hope suddenly kindled in the girl's eyes.