A fire burnt in the hearth across the room, but the little girl shied away from it. She was curled in a large, draped chair, far enough away that none of the heat from the flames could touch her, and the embers that skittered across the stone died before they could reach her.
Except for the light coming from the hearth, cast red and orange about the room, there was only darkness. A tall, thick door barred with iron strips loomed on one wall, shut tight, but there were no windows. No sign of the outside world. She wondered if they were going to leave her here forever.
After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the bolt on the door slide back, and it opened with a deep, ominous creak. She expected to see more of the men in dark tunics, with the grotesque flames tattooed across their faces. They were the ones who caught her, who brought her here. The girl shuddered as she recalled their lean strength, carrying her away from the scarlet lifeblood seeping into the cobblestones. The sight of her parents, struggling, futile.
But the man who came through the door, alone, it would seem, looked nothing like those men. He was tall, with a thick body; more like a soldier than a holy man. And yet he wore priest's robes, ruby-colored, draped across his shoulders. His skin was red too, but not the bright red of fire or blood - a deep, earthy red, like clay. It made his face seem like a weathered stone.
She glanced at the man, but could not bring herself to look at him directly. She kept her eyes downcast and in the shadows.
"It's all right, young one." His voice was deep, but gentle. "I know this must seem like a horrible dream to you. But you are safe here, in the house of R'hllor."
The girl stared intently at his rough hands, that were laid upon the arm of her chair. She said nothing, numb with uncertainty and dread.
"What is your name?" the priest asked, with a smile.
When she got up the courage to look at his face, the girl noticed that the fire was dancing in his eyes, but it was with a comforting warmth, instead of malice like she had expected. She did not move, but her muscles lost some of their tension. She said, quietly, almost surprised at the sound of her own voice - "Melisandre."
The man nodded, and strode over to the fire, which had begun to fade and sputter. He put another log onto it and muttered something under his breath. A prayer, perhaps? Melisandre did not know.
He spoke again, this time to her. "What do you know about the Red God, child?" The flames, tended by him, rose up and flickered even brighter than before, so that they brushed the stone top of the hearth, reaching into the chimney.
The girl stared wide-eyed at them, frightened again. "Nothing. Not really. I've seen priests in the square, with their nightfires…" She shook her head. "I've heard your words, too. 'The night is dark and full of terrors.'"
"Hmm," mused the red priest, giving her a thoughtful look. "And do you know what that means?"
She shook her head. Her family...The girl's heart fluttered, almost ached. They had never prayed to a god. Not the Red God, not the Westerosi gods, or the gods of Slaver's Bay and the Summer Isles. She had never known a faith. Had never even thought about it, really. That was for her older brothers, for the beggars in the squares, clustered around nightfires with awe on their faces.
The man had his back to her now, and it almost seemed as if he were on fire, the light moving up and down his robes, casting dancing shadows across the floor. "Many, perhaps including yourself, see fire as a tool for destruction. It decimates wood and forest, blackens stone, ravages flesh. One of the first lessons a child learns is not to reach out for the candle. Stay away from the hearth. Beware the sconces on the walls. But they know nothing, Melisandre," he said, and her name sounded strange, foreign to her, as he said it. "From the charred ashes of the forest grow new trees, stronger and more beautiful than the last. Over the ruins of a burnt castle are laid the stones of a new generation. A field that was once burned may yet grow the most beautiful flowers."
From the side, the little girl could see the ghost of a smile cross his face as he stared into his flames. And he turned to her, then, hands behind his back.
"Do you fear the darkness, child?"
She shrugged.
"It is the long night that you should fear. When all other lights go out. When your nightfire dwindles down to embers and ash. But as long as we are here - we, the vessels of R'hllor - the darkness cannot touch us. Do not shy away from the moving shadows," he told her, drawing closer now. "They will dance for you. Where there is light, there are shadows, but they cannot hurt you. Keep your fire burning, and true, black darkness, will not come. As long as there is light, he can protect you."
Everyone needs more baby Mel in their lives. R'hight?
