Ten-year-old Emmelyne Stark wandered the woods surrounding Winterfell in silence. She wore no cloak, despite the chill of the winter air. Winterfell, in all its aspects, was a cold place. But when winter came… winter froze kings in their castles. Babies were born and died all through the midst of a single winter. Smallfolk shivered themselves into dreamless sleeps as the wind whistled through the cracks in their homes. Soldiers died on the field, not cut down by men, but cut down by the ice, their swords brittle and cracking.
But Emmelyne was warm. She didn't know how or why, but the cold did not affect her. She stopped in front of a tree, letting her fingers graze along the bark. There was no ice, as the earlier trees had had. This tree was not cold, like the others. This tree was warm. She wandered deeper, taking care to test each tree. The deeper she got into the forest, the warmer the bark grew.

Finally, she reached a clearing. The clearing, unlike the rest of forest, was bare. No snow lie on the ground, and a brilliant fire roared in the middle of it. There was a man, handsome in all respects, but there was a weariness about him as he stoked the fire carefully, prodding it with a jeweled cane. "Ah, Emmelyne. I've been waiting for you," he said, his voice thin, barely a whisper.

"How- - how do you know my name?" Emmelyne questioned.

The man turned to face her, a tight-lipped smile spreading across his face. "Dear child, the Lord of Light knows all," he replied.

There was a kindness in his voice, and a warm feeling consumed the girl. "Who are you?" she questioned.

He chuckled. "They call me Vyreo."

Emmelyne stepped closer. Vyreo moved his jeweled cane away from the flame, leaning on it heavily as he moved toward her. "You're hurt?" Emmelyne questioned hesitantly.

"No, dear child. I'm old, and will die very soon. But I have one last thing to do before I die," he said.

"What do you have to do?"

"You are the one, Emmelyne Stark. You will be R'hllor's new messenger. You are young, dear child, but there is the warmth inside you. Do you feel it, Emmelyne?"

She nodded slowly, drawing closer to the fire. The flames licked the sky, fiery tongues lashing through the clouds. There had been a time when Emmelyne had dreamed of a fire like this, but these dreams were filled with despair. This fire was joyful. This fire was perfect.

She took a moment to take in Vyreo's appearance. He seemed young, though his face was wrinkled and creased like old leather. He was dressed head-to-toe in red robes. His hair was short, white in color. At his throat he wore a glistening ruby, glowing in the firelight.

A thought seemed to click in Emmelyne's mind. This man was a Red Priest. Old Nan had told her tales of Red Priests once. But they were terrible stories. These men were demons in disguise. But Emmelyne didn't understand how this kind man could be a demon. "Does your father know you're out here, dear child?" Vyreo asked her.

"No," she admitted.

She'd crept from the castle in the dead of night. As she looked around, she began to realize that the sun was starting to rise above the clouds. Vyreo smiled again. "Come, sit by the fire, Emmelyne," he instructed.

She did as told, and instantly her warmth grew, until it almost felt like she were roasting alive. But when she breathed, her breath came out a cool mist. Vyreo sat beside her, letting his robes spill out around him. His pale skin glowed red. "You must let the light consume you, Emmelyne. Become one with the flames," Vyreo whispered, though unlike her, his breath left no cool mist.

She let her hand wander close to the fire, fearing that it would burn her. She began to think this strange man could read her thoughts when he said, "Do not be afraid of the fire, dear girl. It will not harm you."

"Why am I here?" Emmelyne questioned.

Vyreo's hand curled around her shoulder. She looked at his hand, bony and pale, paper-thin skin stretched across the bones. These hands were smooth, completely different from other men's hands Emmelyne had seen. Men in Winterfell's hands were calloused from work, tough and thick like tanned leather. When Emmelyne looked up at Vyreo, he was laughing, though no sound came out. She feared he had gone mad. Old Nan sometimes told stories like that, about men who had grown old and wild, like the Mad King Aerys Targaryen.

Vyreo finally stopped, tapping his jeweled cane against the dirt. He made a soft sound of contentedness, letting the ghost of a true smile grace his pale pink lips. "The flames want you, Emmelyne. They yearn for you. You will be the one, the Prince that was Promised… or, Princess… that was Promised," he offered.

His pale fingers moved to the ruby, and he unclasped the leather collar that contained it. His hands were shaking as he handed Emmelyne the jewel. When she looked at him now, she found herself shocked. His face had turned from the handsome man who had greeted her, to the wrinkled and kind face of Maester Luwin. The name left her lips, barely a whisper. "No, child. Not Maester Luwin. I have taken on the form of him so I can be familiar to you," Vyreo said.

She nodded, smiling at him, her gray eyes glittering with happiness. "Now… I must rest…" Vyreo murmured.

His grip slackened on her shoulder, and he leaned to the side, his jeweled cane lying forgotten in the dirt. He closed his pale pink eyes, and he slept. But Emmelyne stayed awake, gazing into the flames as the shadows of people danced inside of them. She longed to step into the flame and dance with them, but something told her not to.

As the hours slowly passed, she finally allowed sleep to consume her.

She awoke to the sounds of shouting. Her father's voice rang clear above the other men. "Emmelyne!" he cried

Her hands were shaking as she looked around. Vyreo was gone, but his jeweled cane and the glowing ruby remained. She clasped the ruby necklace around her neck, picking up the cane with a small smile. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell rushed into the clearing, a frenzied look in his gray eyes. "Emmelyne," he breathed out.

She hurried to him, throwing her arms around his waist, laughing. "Gods, child, where have you been?" Ned demanded.

"Here, Father. There was a man- - a man named Vyreo. He was kind to me, Father. He- - he told me that I am a meant to be a messenger for… R'hllor? I think that's what he said, at least. I don't know where he's gone… but, Father, he looked like Maester Luwin!" she cried.

"Maester Luwin? Emmelyne, what happened? You've been gone for three days. I feared- -I feared that the cold had gotten you."

She shook her head furiously, black hair shimmering with icy crystals. "No, Father! I was warm. Very warm!"

Ned didn't know what to say. "Let's get you back to the castle," he stated simply.

She nodded, smiling.