"The sea brings fire, brings winged monsters, I know, I know, oh oh oh!"
Patchface's singsong voice echoed through the castle halls early in the morning. Everyone knew he was a fool.
Patchface was a jester, once brought back from Volantis by Lord Steffon Baratheon, Stannis's father. Years ago, Lord Steffon had sailed to Essos on a royal mission—to find a bride of Valyrian descent for Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.
The Targaryens, known for their silver hair and violet eyes, had long upheld the purity of their bloodline through intermarriage. Even Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys, as his queens.
But Rhaegar had no sisters, and so King Aerys II sent Lord Steffon across the Narrow Sea in search of a suitable match. After all, everyone knew the Targaryens had come from Valyria, flying across the sea on dragonback.
Though the Doom had long since turned Valyria into a cursed wasteland, its blood still ran in scattered noble lines throughout Essos.
Lord Steffon never returned.
His ship, the Proudwind, was caught in a storm and wrecked within sight of Storm's End. Stannis and Robert had watched helplessly as their parents, along with over a hundred knights and sailors, perished beneath the waves.
Only Patchface survived.
Three days later, the sea spat him back onto the shore. Some whispered that a mermaid had saved him—such tales were common along the coast, though the learned men of the Citadel scoffed at them.
But the boy who had washed ashore was not the same as the clever jester Lord Steffon had once praised. Something had been lost in the sea, and what remained was a simple-minded fool who danced and sang strange songs that no one could understand.
Now, he skipped through the halls of Dragonstone, the bells on his antlered tin bucket of a helmet jingling with every step.
Trailing behind him was little Princess Shireen.
She, too, was seen as a monster. Half of her face was marred by gray, hardened flesh—a remnant of the deadly grayscale that had nearly taken her life as a child. Though she had survived, the scars remained. And the people of Dragonstone feared her for it.
Most kept their distance.
Patchface did not.
The fool slipped past the castle gates as a guard opened them, darting outside before anyone could stop him. Shireen tried to chase after him, but he was too fast. Left standing alone in the courtyard, she hesitated, then ran to find her mother.
Lady Selyse Florent was a devout follower of the Lord of Light, R'hllor. When the castle guards finally found Patchface, he was dancing on the rocky shore, singing and spinning with his face painted in red and green.
And beside him, sprawled on the wet stones, lay a body.
"The monster in the stone came out, came out, I know, I know, oh oh oh!"
Patchface's eerie chant drifted in the salt-tinged air.
—
In the Chamber of the Painted Table, Stannis Baratheon stood over the great carved map of Westeros, lost in thought. The door creaked open.
His wife entered.
Selyse Florent was a thin woman, with protruding ears, a sharp face, and cold, pale eyes. Beauty had never been her gift, nor warmth. Their marriage was an arrangement, and their bond as frozen as the winds of the Narrow Sea.
"My lord, the great Lord of Light," she greeted softly.
Stannis barely looked up. "What is it?" His tone was distant, as if he had already lost interest.
Selyse hesitated, then tried to smile, though it did little to warm the air between them. "Our daughter, my lord."
Stannis's eyes flickered.
"Her fool picked up another man from the sea."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, his jaw tightened.
The words stirred memories best left forgotten.
"One fool in the castle is enough." Stannis had no patience for nonsense.
"Shireen hopes he can stay. You know our daughter has no friends." Selyse's voice was measured. Though this man was a fool, at least he was not as unsettling as their jester.
"Then leave him here. Dragonstone can support two fools."
Something flickered in Stannis's eyes at the mention of his daughter—a rare softness, fleeting but unmistakable.
"Shireen will be pleased," Selyse continued. "Of course, if you came to see him yourself, she would be even happier."
A silence stretched between them. Their daughter was the only thing that still tethered them together.
Stannis gave a curt nod.
Down on the coast, behind a massive rock, a pale figure lurked in the shadows. Blue eyes, cold and unblinking, watched the men lifting the body from the shore.
Cole saw them carry him away. Then, everything blurred.
Where was he? And more importantly—what had he become?
The answer came when he caught sight of his reflection in the water.
A silver-white dragon stared back at him.
Stunned, Cole lifted a trembling claw to his head, feeling the soft ridges of cartilage beneath his touch. He parted his jaws, exhaling—only a faint mist escaped, not nearly hot enough to cook an egg.
A sudden pang of hunger struck him. His instincts told him to seek out his eggshell, but the sea had long since stolen it away.
Weakness crept into his limbs. Dizzy and unsteady, he took two faltering steps before he could go no farther.
Then, the sound of wings.
Seabirds circled above him, flapping and cawing. Cole's vision swam. His head lolled, and his body went still.
The birds drew closer, their beaks poised to strike.
In a flash, Cole lunged.
Jaws snapped shut around a bird's throat. It shrieked and thrashed, kicking him desperately with its claws. He clenched his teeth tighter, refusing to let go.
It struggled for what felt like an eternity, until finally, it fell limp.
Dead.
Hunger drove him to tear into its flesh, devouring feathers, bones, and blood alike. He swallowed everything, leaving nothing behind.
Only when his belly was full did exhaustion claim him.
Then, a presence.
A great, unseen force surged in his mind, calling him.
Cole closed his eyes—and when he opened them, two visions unfolded before him.
One was the coastline, where waves rolled beneath a pale moon.
The other was an unfamiliar chamber within the castle of Dragonstone.
A shudder passed through him as he realized—this was no dream.
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