35 Interlude: The Red Woman

The figure stared at her in the wicked glow of the flames and, to Melisandre, it was terrifying.

She saw him sitting on the Iron Throne, but the boy who'd been Aegon the Pretender was no longer human. He looked more monster than man. A creature born of shadows and death, a demon from another reality so alien and foreign to her own. She couldn't see the face – it was nothing but a black abyss.

Beneath him was his throne, a mountain both tall and terrible. A twisted mound of razor-sharp iron, barbs and broken swords, slick and dripping black blood. Impaled on the long spikes was Westeros. The Lannister lion, once so proud and golden, was a bloated corpse mingling with fleshy maggots. The Greyjoy kraken laid beside it, impaled by half-a-dozen swords, its many tendrils limp and lifeless. There was the Tully trout, Arryn falcon, the Tyrell rose and the Stark direwolf. There was even a red and white dragon with holes where its eyes should have been. There were others as well: harpies and elephants, tigers and giants and all manner of creatures. Then there was blessed R'hllor laying at the foot of the Iron Throne, feasted upon by crabs whilst seawater wet his hair.

The figure sitting atop the throne laughed, a low and bitter rumble joined by a chorus of voices sounding like the gentle crackling of ice. It smiled at her.

She backed away from the flames, feeling cold sweat form on her skin despite the choking heat of the hearth. In her chambers in Storm's End, it was never dark nor was it ever cold. The walls were too thick to let in the winds that thrashed Stormbreaker Bay and filling the chamber were tall tallow candles. Three tall ones burned upon her windowsill to keep the terrors of the night at bay while four flickered around her bed. More were scattered around the bedchamber that couldn't number more than half a hundred, but it was the hearth that burnt the brightest. Her first lesson was to never let the fires go out or risk losing herself to the darkness.

The red priestess closed her eyes and whispered a prayer to herself before once more staring into the hearth. Visions continued to dance, and Melisandre grimaced. The boy . . . No, it shouldn't be possible, she thought, feeling a growing headache and herself go dizzy. This should never have happened . . .

Or so she thought.

Many a priest and priestess before her had been brought low by false visions; by seeing what they wanted to see instead of what the Lord of Light had shown. A great many proclaimed they had seen Azor Ahai Reborn who would save the world from the encroaching darkness. They'd been wrong. It was Stannis who carried the fate of the world upon his shoulders. The Blackfyre, from what she saw, could only be a falsehood. A being that would turn the faithful against the Lord of Light. A demon that would threaten not only Westeros but the world. The mummer's dragon should be killed before he's established himself. There was something else though. Something beneath the mask similar to that of a Faceless Man . . .

The boy—creature. It would be too charitable to call him a boy, too obscene to call the monstrosity anything other than what it was. That was its form, but underneath was something else entirely. Something that spat in the face of her lord's creation. Withering worms that controlled a body not entirely his own.

The shadowbinder's head pulsed angrily – a painful thump in the side of her skull.

He—it, was too dangerous for all that'd been planned. The priestess knew R'hllor would guide her path, light her way with his sacred flames to prepare Stannis to face the ultimate evil. Her predecessor had taught Melisandre much of what she knew. High Priestess Kinvara said it was a delicate knot they would need to weave, a gentle dance that needed to be performed and even the most minor misstep could create monstrous results. The creature – for that was all it was – was poised to rip it all apart. The fact Melisandre was unable to read him made it all the harder. She had long practised reading both the future and people in the flames. If R'hllor looked favourably upon her, she could even influence their thoughts from a distance. But this creature . . . she couldn't. He was like a shadow on the wall, lacking presence and immune to whatever she tried.

The Great Other. It has to be. The monster is protecting him. Protecting its champion. The Mummer's Dragon, a threat to the world . . .

In the fires, visions danced before her still, gold and scarlet, flickering and forming, melting and dissolving into each other to form shapes strange and terrifying and seductive, ones that formed blissful dreams and dreadful nightmares. She saw a wall of ice collapse into the sea, a grey-eyed king stare forlornly across a snowy field. She saw a massive tower crumble and dark creatures rise from the sea, lidless and gawking, consuming everything they came across in an orgy of destruction. Littering the ground were the skulls of utter countless, skulls crumbling and turning to dust. Two bodies locked together in lust, withering and rolling and clawing each other with cries of ecstasy. She saw a creature of black flame fighting a man of pale mist in a battle that would determine the fate of the world.

Shuddering, the shadowbinder felt her eyes water and strain under the weight, but she continued to stare, and the flames withered and danced before her, beautiful and terrible all at once. She saw a face. It was R'hllor in his purest form, come to warm the faithful and punish the faithless and all those who failed him. The face twisted and warped. Another face took shape and it was pale with eyes blue and bright as stars. Just looking at it made Melisandre feel the cold like she was outside in the winds of the bay. She shuddered and blood trickled down her thigh, black and smoking. That was when R'hllor gave her a slither of his power, and the fires inside her grew, an agony, an ecstasy filled Melisandre, strengthening her. Shimmers of heat rose from her skin, tracing patterns insistent like a lover's hand. She heard the creature's voice, a soft and gentle crackle that made her hair stand on edge. Mocking. It was then she realised she was weeping, and her tears were fire. They burned, they smouldered, but it was a good heat. A pleasurable heat.

Snowflakes swirled from a dark sky and ashes rose to meet them, the grey and white dancing around each other as flaming arrows arced above a wooden wall and dead things shambled silent toward a massive castle manned by death's legion. The wind rose and white mist came sweeping in, impossibly cold, and one by one the fires went out. Afterwards, only silence remained.

The fire crackled slowly then, dimming as the hearth lost its power.

Melisandre took a sip of breath, her ruby burning hot against her throat. She would need to stop him. Stop them all. There were some in the Red Temple of Volantis who believed it was House Targaryen that was destined to fight the Great Other. That because they were fire made flesh and managed to bend dragons to their will, they were R'hllor's chosen. That Daenerys Targaryen had managed to rebirth dragons, it was her and not Stannis. Melisandre couldn't agree. Despite being regarded as little more than rumours, it was agreed dragons still resided in the Shadowlands of Asshai and had originated there and not Valyria, nor were the Valyrians the first people to tame them for use in warfare. That honour belonged to the Ancient Empire of the Dawn, great they were at their prime, and dreadful they were at their fall. Not even the Dragonlords at the height of their power even came close.

While the Blackfyre might be her king's greatest danger other than the darkness itself, King Stannis was surrounded by other enemies. The treacherous Lannisters, the Tyrells, and then the Starks. Throughout her days in the Red Temple, the priestess had studied scrolls detailing the Lord's Chosen and saw Stannis in her flames as the warrior of fire leading the fight against the darkness. The flames did not lie nor did the comet. The red star bled as darkness gathers and Azor Ahai will be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake the dragons of stone. The bleeding star had come and gone, and Dragonstone was the place of smoke and salt. She had seen him in her flames with Lightbringer in hand and fighting the armies of the Great Other. Her king without his shadow, leading the armies of men against the darkness. He needed to be tested though. That was certain. R'hllor had aided him with taking Storm's End but Stannis needed to humble his heart. He will march against the faithless and be stronger because of his defeat. Those around him would disagree and Stannis was still sceptical, but they'll soon see the truth and listen.

Brushing down her crimson dress, Melisandre left her chambers and found King Stannis in the maester's tower, leaning over messages recently received from the Reach. Despite the custom of many Westerosi lords garbing themselves in plush silken doublets with Myrish lacing, fancy cloaks and glittering jewels or precious metals wrought in the shapes of heraldic beasts, Stannis wouldn't look out of place as a household servant. His Grace was plainly garbed in wool and oiled leather. His circlet of red gold, though splendid and lending him a certain grandeur, was laid to rest at his side.

Her king didn't look up at her but in the corner of the room young Devan smiled shyly and politely dipped his head. His cream squire's doublet was embroidered with the flaming heart of Stannis Baratheon sewn on the breast and the boy had proven himself loyal and true to both the king and the god he served. The lad took great pride in serving as a king's squire, but it wounded Devan in that he won't fight like many of his peers. That was for the best. Devan wasn't skilled with the sword, and many squires will fall to Lannister and mercenary blades. Melisandre could do that much for Ser Davos. While she mistrusted the Onion Knight for his refusal to see the truth of R'hllor, his loyalty to King Stannis was not in doubt and she could at least use her influence to protect his younger son.

"Devan," Stannis said, not looking up. "Please offer her ladyship a drink."

The boy bowed his head, "Yes, Your Grace. My lady, do you desire some Arbor Red?"

"Water would suffice." The boy poured her a cup from the stone jug by the window and brought it to her. She thanked him, took a sip, swallowed and gave the boy a smile. It caused Devan to blush. The boy was half in love with her. He fears me, he wants me, and he worships me. The water was refreshing. After long hours studying the flames, her throat was raw and parched as the Red Wastes.

"The Targaryen stole my fleet," Stannis began unprompted. "The Lords of the Narrow Sea left last night, slew my men on guard, then took their levies and ships with them. They never were polite enough to inform me they had deserted or what side they'd taken, but it would be a mummer's folly to believe they had chosen to side with the Lannisters. I ordered Davos to inspect the damage and list how many ships I had lost, and he put the final count at four-and-sixty. Proper warships and cogs carrying much-needed supplies." He gritted his teeth. "It was fortunate they failed to burn the rest of the fleet at port. One doesn't have to think too hard about what was passing through their heads."

"Dragonstone?" Melisandre was confused but couldn't let it seep into her voice. Power was an illusion and one needed to cloak themselves with it to give off whatever they wanted to show the world. If even one suspected and the doubt spread, the whole illusion would evaporate like smoke.

"I left Ser Axell Florent castellan of Dragonstone. He wasn't my first choice for holding the castle and there were better men who are loyal and true like Ser Rolland Storm. But I needed all true men with me in taking Storm's End. Ser Axell was unprepared for the Golden Company who, with their Triarchy allies, destroyed the few ships remaining and stormed the isle. I hold no doubt he resisted all he could but that wasn't enough. Dragonstone can stand against armies many times her number, but the garrison was lacking men to properly defend her walls. It was only a meagre force and all I could afford."

"We still hold Storm's End and the Stormlands, my king. Should you need men, you can always demand your lords give you their forces. They cannot refuse you."

Melisandre didn't trust Stannis' army nor the fickleness of his lords. Most of the Reachmen and Stormlanders were disloyal, having bent the knee to His Grace but having served under the traitor Renly's banner first. Even the Florents – who had more reason than any other to side with Stannis on the outset – called the younger brother king. Now they're pushing for lordship over the Reach. Such a thing was likely considering Stannis' dislike of the Tyrells who had dismissed all demands and were instead waiting with their army at Bitterbridge. King Stannis was an ember of faith in a continent rife with corruption, but the darkness was prepared to snuff him out. The Triarchy had blocked their ability to hire mercenaries from the Free Cities so unless Dorne joined their cause or more Reachmen side against the wishes of House Tyrell, the Stormlands was his best hope.

"I have sent ravens to my bannermen, but it seems my ravens fall on deaf ears. The Stormlands have never been as fertile nor as rich with men as the Riverlands and the Reach. It is a hard land, full of forests and hills and swamps. The men here are tough and well versed in that of war. Especially on the Marshes where they honed their craft against the Dornish across the Red Mountains for countless generations. My father, before he died, told me a single Stormlander is worth four men from any other kingdom. I know that is not the truth of it. A man is a man, and there are many great as well as feeble warriors on all sides. Yet . . . there are many houses who have not sent their full levies but instead wait to see what way the winds blow. I can ill afford to waste time persuading them as my brothers might have done, nor can I threaten without the risk of them crawling into the lion's claws. I will need to persuade them, but I confess to not having Robert's tongue nor a way with words as Renly had. The best way to convince my lords is to take King's Landing. They might claim I am no king for I do not sit the Iron Throne, but they'll have no excuses when King's Landing is mine. Once that is done, they'll have no choice but to add their strength to my own and march against this so-called Dragon of the East."

The red priestess watched the king's face when he said 'dragon.' King Stannis had in him the blood of Old Valyria and the blood of kings pumping through his veins and with that he had their magic. "They are your kin, Your Grace. The pretender Daenerys is at least."

"Renly was kin as well." The king's face tightened at the mention of his brother. "The girl should know I am Westeros' king. She has no right to the Iron Throne. It was King Aegon the Second who was the rightful king and not his half-sister Princess Rhaenyra. It was decided at the Great Council of King Jaehaerys that the closest male comes before the daughter. Even if House Targaryen didn't lose the crown to Robert, she has no claim to the Iron Throne whilst I breathe, regardless of what her rabble of sellswords proclaim."

"She claims otherwise, and has dragons," Melisandre stated, feeling her voice tremble slightly at the word. She thought about the bastard boy, Edric Storm. He'll be needed to birth those dragons of stone. That'll be our only way to deal with the four mounts of the false dragon.

"She claims to have dragons," Stannis gritted his teeth. "My lords speak of such and how I should bend the knee or bind my time. But binding my time will be handing my crown to the girl. The longer we wait, the larger those beasts of hers will grow. After taking King's Landing I will need to deal with her before those creatures can take the field. They should be little more than hatchlings now, easily killed by a man with a sword or bow."

"You do not think to ride one?" Melisandre asked him. "You do have the Conqueror's blood."

"I do, as do many in King's Landing and Dragonstone at this point. This fabled blood of Old Valyria, the blood of the Conqueror. It has done me no good, priestess. House Baratheon has always been loyal to House Targaryen throughout its history. Such a closeness was first broken when the Laughing Storm was spurned by the Prince of Dragonflies who broke his sworn oath and grew so enraged with the shame and dishonour brought upon his house that he renounced his fealty to the Iron Throne and declared himself Storm King. He went into open rebellion against King Aegon which only ended when Ser Duncan the Tall of the Kingsguard defeated Lord Lyonel in single combat. To fix relations between Targaryen and Baratheon, King Aegon betrothed his youngest daughter Princess Rhaelle to Ser Ormund Baratheon. My lord father was brought about by their union."

"I am aware you fought a war against House Targaryen's tyranny, but I would assume your two houses would have been close before that. Prince Rhaegar was your cousin after all."

Stannis turned to her, his face looking like it'd been carved from the same stone as Storm's End, but Melisandre could see a blue fire in his eyes.

"It was House Targaryen's fault my father and mother had died. King Aerys wanted a bride for Prince Rhaegar and one of Valyrian blood to ensure the purity of his house. For years he had searched across Westeros but there were no eligible women he considered enough of a dragon for his son, so he sought a bride across the Narrow Sea. With his distrust of Lord Tywin, my own lord father was chosen for that most honourable duty. Tensions had only been growing between the king and his hand and my lord father expected, should he fulfil such a request, he would replace Lord Tywin as Hand of the King. Despite the three having a friendship born during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, Lord Steffon had always been closer to King Aerys than Lord Tywin. My lord father boarded the Windproud and set sail to Lys, Tyrosh then Volantis, failing to find Rhaegar his bride but instead finding himself a fool meant as a gift for me." Stannis' face tightened even more. "On their return voyage, the Windproud was caught in a storm and sank within range of Storm's End. I was on the wall when it happened whilst Robert was with Eddard Stark in the Vale. I was there to watch the ship break apart and go beneath the waves. A hundred men on that ship. My lord father, my lady mother and a hundred others. All dead. All that remained was the fool. To make me smile and laugh, Maester Cressen said." He let out a sound, half a bitter laugh and half a curse. "A bitter irony, but when have the gods been anything but ironic? I lost both my parents and for what? A halfwit fool who lost his wits and now speaks in riddles. That is what House Targaryen gifted me and my house. If Aerys hadn't sent my lord father to Essos . . . he and mother might still be alive. That, my lady, is why Robert and I had never been close to Rhaegar despite being kin. Robert blamed them for our lord father's death. He would never say anything but if you saw Robert around the Prince of Dragonstone, you would see how much he struggled to keep a pleasant face. And that was before the abduction of Lyanna Stark who was promised to Robert. That had been the final straw for my older brother."

"And what of you, Your Grace? What do you plan to do with the Targaryen pretender?" Melisandre was herself conflicted. Daenerys was a danger but could also be useful. She had dragons Stannis could take for himself and there might be a chance for the girl to instead serve as an ally instead of an enemy. There was always a path to redemption . . .

King Stannis glared at her, the lines deepening in his brow. "When we make war upon them and the girl is at my mercy, I will let her bend the knee or be executed. I will have to either bend the dragons to my will or kill them. If they cannot be tamed I can ill afford for them to remain a threat to my realm. Such are dangerous beasts. Towns will burn, farmers hunted, and their herds consumed in the creature's hunger. They will feast upon the dead and only grow stronger and harder to kill. As king, I cannot afford such a danger to exist in my kingdom. If Daenerys Targaryen is wise and surrenders, I will send her to the silent sisters and far away. Under watch. Westeros can ill afford another Targaryen having a claim to the Iron Throne. If she doesn't, she'll be sent to the pyre."

"And the boy?"

"The Blackfyre needs to die. He is no mere girl but an actual threat. He might ask to join the Night's Watch, but I cannot agree to it. Bittersteel asked to be sent to the Wall and his supporters instead took control of the ship and sailed him to the Free Cities where he escaped and continued to plot against the Iron Throne. I will not make the same mistake as King Aerys the First. I will not allow the Golden Company a chance to regroup and strike Westeros again. If he gets any children with Daenerys, they'll be a greater threat than any Blackfyre before them. When it is done, it'll be the end of one of our houses. Neither of us can allow the other to survive, and you will help me, Lady Melisandre. Just as you helped me before."