37 Ch. 6 Tension
I carefully watch as Melisandre's words die in her throat when I correctly identified her. To be honest, I'm not sure which of us is more stunned. Her, for finding someone that should have no means of being able to name her. Or myself, for the Red Woman wishing to speak with me.
I make no outward change or gesture, but I locate every weapon within the tent and its proximity to me. If the Red Priestess is trying to remove one of Stannis' obstacles early, then I'll do my best to make sure she accompanies me into the dark.
A subtle flutter of joy flashes over Melisandre's smooth face. I'm fully aware of the slight shift in weight towards her right foot as she tilts her head at me. My heart may not be racing, but the sudden adrenaline pumping in my veins isn't helping me stay calm.
"May I ask how you know my name, my lord," Melisandre lightly asked in a honeyed voice. The corner of her mouth softly raising in an alluring smirk.
From everything I can see and read from her, I don't think she means me harm. If this would have been any other follower of R'hllor, it would be easy to believe they approached me for some sort of recruiting campaign. But this is Melisandre.
Time to play the Game.
"You are not the only one that has seen things, priestess," I vaguely state.
An odd sense of contentment falls over me as I watch Melisandre's smirk evaporate into thin air. I take note of her ancient and deep eyes taking on a calculating look, as she sends her piercing gaze at me again.
"Squires," I loudly call out.
I take note of the confusion and curiosity warring over the Red Woman's face at my unexpected call. As if she knows the order will not pertain to her, Melisandre steps away from the tent flap so as not to be in the way for the approaching squires.
As two older teens enter the tent, I immediately grab their attention. "Roll up the tent front and send for Captain Slate," I command.
Both squires scurry to fulfill my order as one of the Legionnaires that was guarding my tent runs off into the crowd. Melisandre and I ignore the boys as they steal glances at her during their short task.
"I am betrothed to Princess Myrcella," I said as I waved my hand at the opened tent side. "It would not be appropriate for us to be alone, especially since I was in the midst of removing my armor."
"Do I frighten you so much that you desire to remain armored?" Melisandre asked with a coy smile.
After waving the squires to stand outside of range to eavesdrop, I intently stare into Melisandre's eyes. They remind me of pools of blood, and yet that I don't find that image disturbing.
"From what I've seen, you are someone to be cautious of," I boldly state.
Melisandre lets her smile drop. "Understanding what you see in the sacred flames is an art that few will ever possess," Melisandre earnestly said. "Allow me to guide you, to teach you how to see the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed," she all but begged.
I tilt my head to the side before giving it a slight shake. "I did not see my visions in a fire, priestess," I lightly said, so that my voice wouldn't carry.
Melisandre seems to become embolden by my words, as her generous chest fills with pride. I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious how Melisandre's necklace is able to turn her true form into the stunning woman standing before me. The image of a decrepit old hag climbing out of a bath banishes any possibility of impure thoughts about the Red Woman.
"I knew it," Melisandre whispered to herself. "You are the Lord's Chosen, the Warrior of Light. You are Azor Ahai come again," the priestess said with reverence.
All thought escapes me at those words. Melisandre should be at Dragonstone, waiting for Stannis to arrive. She is supposed to believe Stannis is the Prince That Was Promised...
This is a more significant butterfly than I anticipated.
Focusing on the present, I ignore what should have been. "You are mistaken, priestess," I deny with surprising calmness. "I was not born amidst salt and smoke. In fact, I was told the day of my birth was an exceptionally pleasant morning."
Captain Slate arrives at the edge of the open tent and remains standing quietly. I keep my eyes fixed on the priestess of R'hllor, but I can sense the tension building in the nearby Legionnaires. It's not hard to figure out these men are aware of what my guest is. I doubt Melisandre would live very long if I gave my men the order to kill her. I also don't deny at least some of my men would die executing that order.
Entirely undeterred by her surroundings or my comment on the origins of my birth, the Red Woman gives me a fond smile. "You have yet to fulfill that prophecy, my lord, but you will," Melisandre cooed in a seductive tone. "Soon, on a battlefield, you shall be reborn, amidst salt and smoke and blood. The Lord of Light is never wrong," she finished with more confidence than she had any right to.
The mention of blood caused a spike in tension around my tent. Death was but a single word away, and all present understood that fact. The popping of knuckles on sword hilts was a clear indication of my soldiers' thoughts.
Slowly moving so that my men could see her empty hands, Melisandre carefully stepped to the edge of the tent opening. Pausing to give me an awkwardly comfortable look, the Red Woman looked deeply into my eyes. "The one whose name may not be spoken is marshaling his power. The living need you to stand against this great evil and prevent the night that never ends," Melisandre stated with conviction.
"I will give you time to come to terms with this burden, my lord," Melisandre said as I was opening my mouth. "Take care, my lord, for the night is dark and full of terrors," the ancient sorceress said before gracefully walking away.
At the questioning look from my guards, I shook my head. The men pried their hands off their sword hilts and returned to scanning over the passing crowd.
Doubt instantly pours into me. Doubt of what I thought I knew, and doubts if I should not have given the order to kill the Red Woman.
"My lord," Captain Slate's urgent voice came from behind me.
"Not now, captain," I effortlessly deflect his pending question. "Armor my horse," I order the squires. The elder of the two teens takes on a perplexed expression. "I intend to enter the melee," I answer. "I need to hit something."
