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Battle of the Kings
The
comet
’
s
tail
spread
across
the
dawn
,
a
red
slash
that
bled
above
the
crags
of
Dragonstone
like
a
wound
in
the
pink
and
purple
sky
.
The
maester
stood
on
the
windswept
balcony
outside
his
chambers
.
It
was
here
the
ravens
came
,
after
long
flight
.
Their
droppings
speckled
the
gargoyles
that
rose
twelve
feet
tall
on
either
side
of
him
,
a
hellhound
and
a
wyvern
,
two
of
the
thousand
that
brooded
over
the
walls
of
the
ancient
fortress
.
When
first
he
came
to
Dragonstone
,
the
army
of
stone
grotesques
had
made
him
uneasy
,
but
as
the
years
passed
he
had
grown
used
to
them
.
Now
he
thought
of
them
as
old
friends
.
The
three
of
them
watched
the
sky
together
with
foreboding
.
The
maester
did
not
believe
in
omens
.
And
yet
.
.
.
old
as
he
was
,
Cressen
had
never
seen
a
comet
half
so
bright
,
nor
yet
that
color
,
that
terrible
color
,
the
color
of
blood
and
flame
and
sunsets
.
He
wondered
if
his
gargoyles
had
ever
seen
its
like
.
They
had
been
here
so
much
longer
than
he
had
,
and
would
still
be
here
long
after
he
was
gone
.
If
stone
tongues
could
speak
.
.
.
Such
folly
.
He
leaned
against
the
battlement
,
the
sea
crashing
beneath
him
,
the
black
stone
rough
beneath
his
fingers
.
Talking
gargoyles
and
prophecies
in
the
sky
.
I
am
an
old
done
man
,
grown
giddy
as
a
child
again
.
Had
a
lifetime
’
s
hard
-
won
wisdom
fled
him
along
with
his
health
and
strength
?
He
was
a
maester
,
trained
and
chained
in
the
great
Citadel
of
Oldtown
.
What
had
he
come
to
,
when
superstition
filled
his
head
as
if
he
were
an
ignorant
field
hand
?
And
yet
.
.
.
and
yet
.
.
.
the
comet
burned
even
by
day
now
,
while
pale
grey
steam
rose
from
the
hot
vents
of
Dragonmont
behind
the
castle
,
and
yestermorn
a
white
raven
had
brought
word
from
the
Citadel
itself
,
word
long
-
expected
but
no
less
fearful
for
all
that
,
word
of
summer
’
s
end
.
Omens
,
all
.
Too
many
to
deny
.
What
does
it
all
mean
?
he
wanted
to
cry
.
"
Maester
Cressen
,
we
have
visitors
.
"
Pylos
spoke
softly
,
as
if
loath
to
disturb
Cressen
’
s
solemn
meditations
.
Had
he
known
what
drivel
filled
his
head
,
he
would
have
shouted
.
"
The
princess
would
see
the
white
raven
.
"
Ever
correct
,
Pylos
called
her
princess
now
,
as
her
lord
father
was
a
king
.
King
of
a
smoking
rock
in
the
great
salt
sea
,
yet
a
king
nonetheless
.
"
Her
fool
is
with
her
.
"
The
old
man
turned
away
from
the
dawn
,
keeping
a
hand
on
his
wyvern
to
steady
himself
.
"
Help
me
to
my
chair
and
show
them
in
.
"
Taking
his
arm
,
Pylos
led
him
inside
.
In
his
youth
,
Cressen
had
walked
briskly
,
but
he
was
not
far
from
his
eightieth
name
day
now
,
and
his
legs
were
frail
and
unsteady
.
Two
years
past
,
he
had
fallen
and
shattered
a
hip
,
and
it
had
never
mended
properly
.
Last
year
when
he
took
ill
,
the
Citadel
had
sent
Pylos
out
from
Oldtown
,
mere
days
before
Lord
Stannis
had
closed
the
isle
.
.
.
to
help
him
in
his
labors
,
it
was
said
,
but
Cressen
knew
the
truth
.
Pylos
had
come
to
replace
him
when
he
died
.
He
did
not
mind
.
Someone
must
take
his
place
,
and
sooner
than
he
would
like
.
.
.
He
let
the
younger
man
settle
him
behind
his
books
and
papers
.
