Chapter 201: Prophecy

Nightfall arrived, but Melisandre's room was never enveloped in true darkness.

Dozens of grease candles were placed in every corner, emitting raging fires that resisted the encroachment of the night.

Melisandre, still clad in her scarlet robe, sat before the fireplace with her eyes closed, softly reciting prayers to the fire.

Golden and scarlet flames intertwined, danced, and flickered, gathering and dispersing before her, creating various enchanting and alluring illusions, with a faint trace of horror lurking within.

The red witch trembled all over, black blood oozing from her eyes, scorching hot, and green smoke rising from the ground.

She thrust her hands into the fire, emitting a groan that mingled pain with pleasure.

The flames of delight climbed up her milky white and smooth skin, akin to the warm touch of a lover, carrying desire and fascination.

"Meryl..." A woman's cry echoed in her ears.

"Seven!" A man's voice followed.

Lost in her visions, Melisandre began to weep. Her tears transformed into flames that dissipated into the air before falling.

Knock knock —

Melisandre was jolted awake.

Her eyes snapped open, and the confusion and pain swiftly receded from her gaze, replaced by pious indifference.

When she opened the door, she saw Samwell standing outside.

"Lord Caesar," Melisandre greeted, bowing slightly.

"Were you not asleep, Lady Melisandre?" Samwell asked.

"I seldom sleep," Melisandre smiled and invited Samwell into her room.

"Why? Insomnia?"

"Sleep is the temptation of death, and dreams are the ramblings of the gods. They wish to drag us into eternal darkness,"

Melisandre whispered in a hushed tone. "So, I choose to sit before the fire and pray all night, bathing in the scorching flame of the Lord."

What a peculiar woman, Samwell thought, wondering if it was wise for him to seek her counsel.

"Lord Caesar, I sense worry in your eyes," Melisandre said, her fiery gaze fixed on Samwell. "Tell me, perhaps I can offer assistance."

"I am planning to go to Highgarden..." Samwell considered how to phrase it.

"But you are concerned that the Tyrell family may oppose you," Melisandre finished his sentence.

"It's quite close," Samwell admitted, nodding.

It wasn't that he mistrusted Margaery, but he worried that Lady Olenna and the almighty might not heed Margaery's wishes.

If Lady Olenna became hostile, she might even deliver him as a gift to the Lannisters.

Nevertheless, going to Highgarden was necessary. Developing in Eagle Island wasn't feasible in the long run, as its potential was limited, and the white dragon couldn't become a dominant force on the battlefield within a year or two, despite showing signs of accelerated growth from drinking the keel soup.

If Duke Tywin managed to stabilize the situation in the Seven Kingdoms and had free hands to deal with Eagle Island, Samwell would be left with no choice but to flee in desperation. Thus, he needed the support of the Highgarden.

Samwell had made preparations.

His plan involved visiting Horn Hill first and bringing Lord Randyll Tarly with him.

He also considered reaching out to House Florent of Brightwater Keep, using his father and grandfather as guarantees.

With their backing, even if the almighty was reluctant to marry his daughters, he wouldn't dare to act against Samwell.

However, despite these preparations, Samwell still harboured concerns.

That's why he sought out this red-robed woman.

"I do not recommend you go to Highgarden," Melisandre dampened his enthusiasm.

Samwell maintained a composed expression, as he had come here seeking different opinions. "Why is that?"

"Because I have seen the roses wither in the glow of the flames," Melisandre replied, facing the fireplace and allowing the firelight to bathe her body.

Her cheeks flushed red. "Black blood has seeped into Highgarden, devouring everything. The white castle crumbles under the onslaught of the dark tide.

Shadows coalesce into skeletal figures, grey and white interweaving in the sky, forming a chilling wind that brings death and destruction, extinguishing all flames."

The tone of the red witch's words held an enchanting and magical quality, but Samwell remained unmoved.

He knew that the woman's interpretations of prophecy in the original book often proved to be incorrect. Furthermore, prophecies weren't always guaranteed to come true.

Samwell had personally experienced this when he arrived at King's Landing.

In the sanctuary's flames, he witnessed Joffrey ordering the city's massacre, only for the entire Skyreach city to transform into a graveyard. However, when he personally killed the king, the massacre never occurred.

This realization made him aware that the Lord of Light might not foresee everything.

For instance, the scene of him slaying the king didn't appear in the flames, nor did the scene of him hatching a dragon.

If one were to argue that these two events were unrelated, then it would be a rather convoluted reasoning for why the gods bothered to deliver prophecies.

There was also the prophecy concerning his identity.

Samwell was well aware that he wasn't the reincarnation of Azor Ahai, nor was he born amidst smoke and salt.

As for the burning red sword and the awakening of a dragon from stone, he found them to be rather far-fetched.

"Did everything you saw in the flames actually comes to pass?" Samwell asked.

"It is not merely an observation," Melisandre replied. "Prophecy is an art, just like any other. It requires mastery, training, and study.

The Lord of Light communicates his will to his chosen ones through holy fire, using smoke, ashes, and swirling flames to speak to mortals in a language only the gods comprehend.

I have dedicated countless years to mastering this art and paid a terrible price.

No one in this world, including my companions, possesses the ability to decipher the secrets that lurk within the flames as skillfully as I do."

'But you still make mistakes,' Samwell thought.

Furthermore, despite Melisandre's lengthy explanation, she didn't directly answer his question. Was she a former spokesperson for a news agency in her previous life?

"A scholar in the Ghis Empire, across the Narrow Sea, once believed that prophecy is akin to a treacherous and sinister beauty," Samwell said, moving closer to the fire.

"She will bring endless pleasure and joy, but just when you believe you've reached the pinnacle, she will sweep away all you possess. Perhaps that is the nature of prophecy.

Every time you think you're in control, it suddenly plunges you into the abyss."

"So, the Empire of Ghis perished," Melisandre commented casually. "They did not believe in prophecy or magic, and they were eventually wiped out by the Valyrians, who controlled the dragons. The lands of the Ghis Empire were left drenched in salt, alkali, sulfur, and dry bones. Lord Caesar, this is what befalls the unbelievers."

"You misunderstand me," Samwell clarified. "I do believe in magic, and I do possess dragons. However, I have always maintained a cautious attitude towards prophecies."

The original book contained numerous prophecies, and Samwell knew that even with foreknowledge of some of them, he couldn't escape his predetermined fate.

For instance, the prophecy regarding Cersei's fate by Maggy the Frog had become an obsession that haunted the queen throughout her life.

She went to great lengths to avoid the prophecy's fulfilment, undertaking many desperate actions, all of which ultimately proved in vain.

It seemed that her struggles were part of the prophecy itself.

"Moreover, you mentioned seeing the withering of roses," Samwell pondered thoughtfully.

"Doesn't that foretell misfortune for me?"

"Not necessarily," Melisandre replied. "However, Highgarden has become an ominous place. Since you sought my advice, I would suggest you steer clear of it."

"Thank you for your counsel," Samwell said.

"But I have my reasons for going."

Melisandre could sense his lack of trust in her. The room seemed to fill with his suspicions like a swirling black mist. However, she remained undeterred.

Doubt is inherent in kings, she thought.

While her initial plan was to ensnare the prophesied prince and make him her puppet, she now found herself willing to continue dancing this intricate dance with him.

"If you insist on going, then allow me to bestow upon you the Lord of Light's blessing,"

Melisandre offered. She moved to a corner of the room, opened a box adorned with intricate patterns, and retrieved a small ruby from within.

The gem emitted a blood-red radiance, almost identical to the one adorning Melisandre's own throat, albeit much smaller in size.

She handed the ruby to Samwell, and as he felt the heat seep through his skin, he realized its nature.

"What is this?" He asked.

Melisandre took hold of Samwell's hand, her lips parting lightly as she spoke. "Lord Caesar, please repeat after me—"

"Lakqumos," she pronounced.

"Lakqumos," Samwell repeated.

A strange echo emerged from the room, worming its way slowly into his ears.

The ruby, held jointly by both of them, suddenly erupted into a dazzling flame.

Light and shadows in the surroundings twisted and rippled like undulating water.

In the blink of an eye, Samwell's stomach protruded, his shoulders and chest broadened, his handsome face grew round and aged, and his smooth black hair turned brown with traces of white.

Melisandre pointed towards a mirror in the room and said, "My lord, this is the Lord of Light's blessing."

Samwell gazed at his transformed reflection in the mirror, eyes widening in astonishment. He now resembled Mace Tyrell, the Duke of Highgarden.

"Is this witchcraft?" Samwell couldn't help but touch his completely altered face.

"Call it charm, illusion, or transfiguration... use whatever name you prefer. R'hllor, the Lord of Light, commands his servants to weave light as mortals weave silk," Melisandre sighed. "

"The Faceless Men employ a similar method to change their appearances."

"A similar method," Samwell mused. "And how do I undo this disguise?"

"After half an hour, it will dissipate on its own. To assume another disguise, simply hold the ruby and recite the spell I just taught you. However, please remember that the power within this ruby can only support three transformations, and we have already used one just now."

"So, I can appear as anyone other than Mace Tyrell?" Samwell asked seriously.

"No," Melisandre shook her head. "This ruby is infused with the blood of Mace Tyrell. Only whispers and prayers can evoke the shadow of this man within you."

Samwell glanced at the red-robed witch, silently wondering when she acquired the blood of the "Almighty " – was it during their time in Skyreach City?

"I greatly appreciate this gift," Duke Mace remarked, displaying a satisfied smile in the mirror. "It is far more useful than those illusory prophecies."

"It is my honour to serve you," Melisandre bowed with a smile.

[END]