Melisandre 1

281AC

She kicked her feet over the rocky shore, feeling the salty breeze impact against her as she watched the fireflies dance through the air in the night. Their lights flashing in hypnotic dance in the air above the coast.

She hadn't been near the ocean since the Old Woman had bought her, way down in Volantis. She had been weak then, uninitiated. The Red God had not yet spoken to her in the fire. She had not yet wandered the world in the Old Woman's footsteps.

When she had been Melony, she had worn rags, been a pathetic mewling thing. Like the other children on the street. Now she wore a plain red dress that hugged her skin tightly and served at the Old Woman's call. Staring into the fire and speaking of the visions the Red God gave her, for the Old Woman was blind.

Well, perhaps not entirely. The Old Woman walked with a cane but never needed help knowing where to go, her footing was as sure as Melisandre's, for the Red God gave her sight. The Old Woman spoke much of the Red God, and of prophecy, but never of herself. Melisandre did not even know her name, only that she was ancient, and that when they visited the temple in Braavos the priests there cowered away from her.

They had gone there for her initiation, just a few weeks ago, and even now Melisandre felt different as if she were possessed of a different soul than she had been before. The darkness which had clawed at her skin and scoured her of impurity had altered her at such a level, her hair now fell straight down her back, her eyesight was sharper. When she had taken a new name all that had been Melony had been left behind.

Now though, they waited by the small, rocky cove, waited for the dirt that the Old Woman said was coming through her prophecy.

The Old Woman said that the world was broken, the prophecy snapped by the birth of the living other in Westeros, that the Great other had born his own self into the world in mockery of R'hllor, and broken the cycle just as the Red God was meant to rise from the ashes. She said that all the Red God's Priests in Asshai had gone blind at the sight when the flames burned bright with the anger of their god.

She didn't understand why the Red God was angry, but she was sure she would in time. Someday she would be the Old Woman, and little girls would wonder at her. Such was the cycle as the Old Woman had said. Such was the nature of all things, as one died a new one took their place.

As her mind lingered on the nature of the cycle, she felt the swift crack of the Old Woman's cane against her back. "Up girl. No more musing. The Clay approaches." The woman's voice spoke through teeth cracked and yellowed with age. " We must claim it now, and begin to shape it before it can set."

She glanced up and saw that indeed, a battered ship bearing a three-headed dragon on its sail was coming to port in the rocky cove, rowing, as its mast was splintered, perhaps by a storm.

She climbed to her feet and followed the Old Woman who was already making her way down the path.

When they reached the shore where the boat had stopped she saw that three people had already stepped onto the land. One woman, a big man in armor, and a silver-haired young boy, the woman had a bundle of blankets clutched to her chest, which Melisandre saw was likely a baby.

As they approached, the man raised a sword towards them as if that would ward the Old woman away from where she wanted to be.

"Who Are You? Step no closer hag, and Identify yourself." The man spoke in High-Valyrian, albeit with a thick Western accent.

"Who Am I? What does it matter to you?" The Old Woman said, leaning on her cane so as to appear weak. It was a trick she used often, but it was one that worked.

The man, to his credit, did not lower his guard. "Please, just leave us be, I don't want to shed an unarmed woman's blood on this night."

The Old Woman laughed as she wrenched her teeth from her mouth, it was a disgusting sight, but one that Melisandre had seen done once before, though then she had only used one tooth."That is your mistake then."

The man rushed forward, trying to wing as the old woman threw her teeth into the ground with a flash of fire, and even as the man moved to attack her, the teeth began to spew fire from the ground, forming three blazing skeletons whose bones seemed to dance with shapeless shadows, their toothless jaws chattering as they pounced upon the man before he could strike the Old Woman. They bit at his flesh and tore at his body.

The woman with the baby screamed, even as the young boy cowered behind her, and the blazing skeletons turned from the dead man to their new prey, before the Old woman directed them elsewhere. "No. The Clay must be preserved. Burn the ship for your tribute."

The skeletons seemed to laugh, throwing themselves into the wooden craft and turning it almost instantly into a beautiful conflagration. If only the sailors would stop screaming and realize that it was a blessing to die for R'hllor. They were truly saved as their souls would be at his side now.

Even as the ship burned the Old Woman walked forward, her boney hand reaching forward towards the maid, who was huddled to the ground over her young charges, before she stopped, turning her sightless gaze back towards Melisandre. "Girl. Come serve your God."

"Yes, mother." She said, stepping forward. For the Old Woman preferred that she call her mother, though the Old Woman's womb bore only shadows. Melisandre drew out her knife and gloried as the hot blood of the young maid flowed out onto the stone, her corpse collapsing onto the crying and cursing boy and the screaming baby. Their wailing unbecoming of the clay that the Old Woman had chosen.

"Bring them to me." The Old Woman said, and she nodded, kicking the useless maid off of the two, and grabbing the young boys' wrist with one hand while the other scooped up the baby. The boy protested, trying to run, but she was older and stronger and brandished the knife towards him with the arm that clutched his sister, and he relented, crying and cursing all the way in the tongue of Westeros.

She brought them before the Old Woman, who looked them over with the same eyes as she held at a butcher's. Melisandre watched with interest as the old woman reached out with her boney claw, squeezing the cheeks of the baby. "This one is fresh clay. She will be your charge. Girl. You will Shape her as fits her role."

Melisandre felt a thrill run through her at the responsibility, the opportunity to serve the Red God, and she barely heard as the Old Woman turned to the boy, who had been cursing the both of them in between his tears, calling for the knight who lay dead and glasses eyed not ten feet away from them to kill them.

His mouth was covered by the old woman's hand, and Melisandre could swear that the fires of R'hllor burned in her old, blind pits. "You, little one, have already begun to set." The old woman threw the clay to the floor at her feet. "You need to be broken, shaped, and formed once again. You will be mine."

Melisandre smiled as the baby in her arms began to suckle at her thumb, even as the Old Woman knocked the child on the head with her cane, snatching his young body so that they might leave this place and wander once more.

It was good to serve the Red God.