Chapter 6 - The Messiah and the Red Priestess (I)

"Manipulation is an essential art for any worthy monarch. My father was a master of this craft - his sweet words and overwhelming charisma made it impossible to say no, even when we knew his requests were questionable. In the end, before we knew it, we were at his feet, worshipping him as a supreme being." - In God-Emperor of the Planetos: The Life of Aenar Targaryen by Princess Alyssane Targaryen.

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Looking into the eyes of the woman in red, Jon knew that behind the calm, elegant, and composed look she displayed was a mad fanaticism that, if he asked, the woman could burn the entire continent without question if she so wished.

Jon looked away from her and focused his gaze on Caraxes, his brother still angry that the intruders had entered his territory. He could see that if there was any sign of hostility towards him, Caraxes would turn everyone to ash in a matter of seconds.

"(Easy brother, we fly at night)" Jon spoke in High Valyrian, his whisper seeming to calm the crimson dragon's wrath, Caraxes took one last look at the ants that had dared to enter his territory and returned to the cave with his heavy footsteps. The entrance to the cave obscured his huge crimson body.

"I have to admit, you're very brave to come to the North in these times of war." Sitting by the fire, Jon commented as he tried to rekindle the fire to cook his breakfast, a rabbit he had caught the day before.

The faith of the Red God may be popular and widely accepted in Essos, but in Westeros they were nothing more than pagans with barbaric rituals, along with their filthy blood and fire magic.

Even if they were killed, no lord would seek justice for them. The south of Westeros despised the old gods, let alone a foreign faith that burned people alive, so the courage of Kinvara and the others was truly commendable.

"Allow me, Your Grace." Kinvara watched as he tried to light the flames, and with a simple wave of her hand, flames appeared on the dry branches of the bonfire. She then sat down beside him, looking at him with a polite smile.

Jon looked at the woman with a silent gaze, narrowed his eyes and spoke in a calm tone. "What do you want from me, Red Priestess?"

"Only what you wish, my lord." Kinvara answered without hesitation.

"If I ask you to kill yourself here and now, will you do it?" Jon also answered without hesitation, his face tinged with a hint of coldness.

"If Your Grace wishes, I will." Drawing a dagger from the sleeves of her dress, Kinvara responded by placing a cold blade against her own neck. The blade sank slightly into her skin, a drop of blood appearing on her white skin.

A smile appeared on Jon's face, the coldness on his face vanishing. "Your loyalty is commendable, Lady Kinvara. But I beg you not to kill yourself, I will need your services for a long time to come. Long enough to see every man grow old and die."

An equally happy smile appeared on the priestess' lips, Jon's words not unlike the most beautiful song in her ears. His words indicated that she would serve him for hundreds of years. How could that not make her happy? Nothing could make her happier than to serve her God for eternity.

Jon looked at the woman who was probably hundreds of years old, she seemed as happy as a child who had just earned her favorite toy. He couldn't help but think how frightening human faith was, but he didn't complain about the benefits he was gaining.

He knew that the Red Faith would be his sharpest sword against the Faith of the Seven; he would destroy that seven-faced religious organization with his bare hands. But to do that, Jon had to make changes to the Red Faith, to make it more palatable to the eyes of the commoners, to remove the image of crazed fanatics burning people.

"I know the purpose of your coming, but you're too early, my conquest will not begin until 296." Jon commented, watching the orange flames as he heard the crackling of branches breaking in front of the flames.

He wasn't lying, it really was the year he would begin his conquest. Instead of staying in the shadows, he would attack Robert Baratheon head on, drawing all the noble houses into a war that would be remembered forever in the history of mankind.

Kinvara couldn't help but notice that Jon was simply brilliant, not at all like a six-year-old boy, but a man in a child's body. What six-year-old boy could conspire against an entire continent at that age? But it only reinforced what she knew about the Son of Light.

He will bring hope when the Eternal Night comes and take humanity to a new level, one that no king has ever reached, even in the mighty old Valyrian Empire.

"The Red Faith is yours, Your Grace. Our swords, our magic, our bodies and our souls are yours." Kinvara rose and knelt at Jon's feet, her voice full of devotion and awe as she dared not look the six-year-old child in the eye.

Behind her, all the Fiery Hand and priestesses knelt with her, waiting for his words.

Standing, Jon looked at the kneeling people, and though he didn't want millions to die in a religious war because of him, the world demanded that he become king.

"I accept your allegiance and the oath that each of you swears to me. I promise to rule with justice and wisdom, and in return I ask for your faith and courage in times when darkness threatens to engulf us." He spoke, his voice grave, calm, and confident.

When Jon finished speaking, everyone stood up and looked at him with excited and fanatical eyes, and under his confused eyes, Kinvara gestured to his subordinates and a man with a silk package in his arms approached.

"Your Grace, this is a gift prepared by the God of Light." Kinvara spoke, taking the silk package and handing it devoutly to Jon, who accepted the gift without a second thought.

He removed the silk that wrapped the gift and a sword appeared in Jon's arms.

It was a beautiful sword, its blade a meter long, no more than two fingers wide. The most beautiful thing about the sword was the blade itself, pale as milky glass, as if the light bathed the sword in its golden glow.

The guard was made of silver, with beautiful intricate patterns in the metal, and there were two rubies at the ends of each guard. The hilt, like the guard, was made of silver with beautiful patterns carved into the metal, and the pommel was a ruby the size of an egg.

It was truly worthy of a sword wielded by kings, emphasizing royal majesty and beauty.

Jon recognized the material, it was meteorite iron, the same material used in the design of the legendary sword of House Dayne from Starfall - Dawn.

However, meteorite iron wasn't exactly the most common metal in the world, especially since it was the only metal capable of competing with Valyrian steel, being even rarer than the latter.

Perhaps sensing his puzzled expression, Kinvara replied in a respectful tone. "This is the meteorite that tore through the skies of Essos on the day the Son of Light was born. We recovered it and after four years of forging, we were able to forge the sword that Your Grace will wield."

Jon nodded and touched the blade with his finger, he couldn't help but feel a connection to the sword, it felt warm to the touch of his finger, despite the cold light it emitted in contact with the sunlight.

"Lady Lya." Jon murmured the name of the sword, his mother's name, he could imagine his uncle's expression when he heard the name of the sword, it would certainly be an amusing sight to watch.

"The Red Faith has my thanks." Jon spoke, still looking at the sword, and the more he looked, the more amazed he became. His eyes even took on a phosphorescent glow that caught the attention of Kinvara and everyone else present.

"Your blade will be stained with the cold blood of the enemy of mankind, it will pierce the heart of the Night King and end the Long Night." Jon spoke slowly, not caring if anyone heard him or not, he wanted everyone to hear him, the divination of his image was more than essential. Any king would do this, he would do it no differently.

Whether it was Kinvara or anyone else present, they took a deep breath as they listened to the prophecy, the eyes of these people could no longer be called pious, they were fanatics in every sense of the word.

If Jon told them to go to King's Landing and kill Robert Baratheon, they would go without a second thought. Afraid of death? In their eyes, death was just a new beginning; after death, they would go to their master's kingdom to continue serving their god, and that's all someone like them wanted.

Jon knew this and manipulated his every word to satisfy the desires of these fanatics. He simply said what they wanted to hear, and they believed him, whether it was true or not.

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