MELISANDRE

The path wasn't decent at all. The grass was waist high. Small pebbles were scattered all over. It was her choice to avoid the Kingsroad. Not a smart decision after all.

The winds of winter blew fierce and strong.

Her black mare was wearing out every day. Its pace was getting slower and its body incredibly frail. No matter what, it wouldn't eat the grass. She herself hadn't eaten in many days and was just as strong as her horse. The only thing that kept her going was the fire inside her.

The rays of the morning's sun reflected on her ruby as she saddled her horse to a tree. Leaning against it, she closed her eyes. Where am I going? she thought. You are worthless, a voice inside her head said.

Melisandre opened her eyes for a second and then shut them again. You failed your king, the voice said. Burned his only daughter thinking that the Lord of Light would favour you. And what was the result? Defeat and death.

I should have stayed with Godfred, she realized. I would have spent the rest of my days in peace. But no, the Lord of the Light told me to head west and I obeyed my false god. Godfred was always right. 'The only god present is the one that resides in your heart' he used to say. She stroked the ruby in her necklace. It felt warm on her fingers.

There was a sound. Horsebeats, she knew. They were coming closer every second. Swiftly, she unsaddled her horse. "Wait," a voice called. She turned around. Two men wearing grey armour were horsed.

"Who goes there," one of them spoke.

"A weary traveller," she replied. "Leave me be and I will let you live."

"She's tough," the other man snickered.

The first one got down from his horse. "Our king will decide what to make of her." He grabbed her hands and fastened a hempen rope around them.

"Now come!" he ordered her. Melisandre was too weak to fight back.

She could not say for how much time they travelled but it certainly wasn't a pleasurable experience. The horsed soldier dragged her through the rocky grasslands till her legs were sore.

A camp loomed just ahead of them. A gigantic tent was set up in the middle surrounded by many others. A few people laughed at her as they made their way into the big tent.

A bearded man sat on a featherbed surrounded by a handful of soldiers. His eyes glinted as he saw the Red Woman enter.

"Disappointing," he said in a gruff voice. "Is this the best wench you could find? Shame on you bastards!"

"She's not a wench, King Euron," the soldier replied politely.

"The who in the seven hells are you?" Euron Greyjoy asked.

Melisandre did not reply.

Euron stared at her ruby for a long time. She saw his eyes shine with excitement. "I've heard stories about how you won wars for Stannis. You are just like they described. Kissed by fire."

Melisandre hadn't expected him to say that. "I don't know what you are talking about."

Greyjoy snickered. "Where do you come from?"

"Seagard," she replied hastily.

"And who are the lords of Seagards?"

"The Crakehalls," she replied quickly.

"The Mallisters," Greyjoy corrected. "I guess I've proved my point."

Melisandre felt her stomach sink. Two Greyjoy soldiers were blocking the entrance. If only they would move…

"They say you can see the future in the flames." Greyjoy pointed at the brazier closest to him. "Tell me what you see in those?"

"It does not work like that," she replied.

"I don't give two shits about how it works," Euron implied lifting his sword.

Melisandre gazed into the flames.

"My niece and nephew," Euron said pressing his fingers on his temple. "They ran away before I could kill them. My nephew Theon has the best claim to the Saltstone chair. Help me find them and I'll keep you alive. Fail me and your blood will be dripping off my sword's end."

"The kraken will come to claim what is his by right."

Euron smirked. "As I expected. What else?"

"The old maester will struggle as the black wizards engulf him." Godfred, she realized suddenly. A tremor of dread slid through her.

Euron Greyjoy shook his head and raised his sword. Melisandre shut her eyes tightly and waited for the bite of the cold steel. But nothing happened. When she opened them, she saw him cutting the rope around her hands.

"What about the old man?" Greyjoy asked her.

"Nothing." I need to save him. She took a deep breath. "I ask of a favour."

"Ironborn don't do favours," Greyjoy replied.

"Then let me go!"

"You're never leaving," Euron stated.

"Then cut my throat and be done with it," she flared. "Or I'll do it myself." She grabbed a dagger from the table and pressed it on her neck.

Euron Gryejoy's smile vanished. "Fine! If the mission of killing my nephew goes flawlessly, I'll think about your favour."

She lowered the dagger, still thinking about her lover.