Brightroar
"And so he survived," the Red Priestess was telling the tale. "The Lord of Light has plans for him. For us all, I dare say."
Sansa felt uneasy. The Red Priestess had brought her brother back from the death, but she'd also sensed tension between her and Arya. It seemed this Red Woman brought strife and discord wherever she went. That did not bode well, despite the hope that now did begin to grow once more.
"I fail to see the significance of this," she finally stated out loud. "We have Valerian steel. Not enough, I grant you, but will yet another sword bring us what we need?"
"This is no mere sword, Lady Sansa," Melisandre replied. "Not when wielded by the right person. And Gerion Lannister is the first to survive the trials of the Smoking Sea."
"That we know of," Sansa muttered. Her opinion of Lannisters had not improved over the years. And had taken another hit not too long ago.
"It was said of Euron Greyjoy too," Ser Davos said, addressing her remark. "So he cannot be the only one, nor the first." Sansa noted his eyes were fiery as he looked at the Red Woman. I'm not the only one who dislikes her, she thought.
Tyrion laughed heartily at that. "Every other word that came out of that man's mouth was a lie or a boast," he stated.
"We cannot hope to defeat the Night King without it," Melisandre said, returning to the question of Brightroar. "Though the flames remain unclear as to who should wield this sword."
"Surely a Lannister," Ser Jaime spoke up. Sansa had expected nothing less from him.
The Red Priestess looked at him with a piercing gaze. "Mayhaps," she said, "but the Lord of Light does not follow the rules of us mere mortals. Rather we should follow him, for the night is dark and full of terrors."
Sansa could see the three Lannisters mutter amongst themselves. The Lord of Light did not favor Lannisters after all, she thought, and she began to warm up to this new god.
"You promised me she'd be executed!" Ser Davos roared. It was just him and the Starks now. Not even Daenerys was present in the Great Hall. Sansa was surprised at the vehemence. Ser Davos was generally a soft spoken man. "You promised me! You promised me justice!"
"I understand," Jon tried to calm him. "I understand your concern, but we cannot. The priestess might be needed before the end. She has returned with a purpose; even knew she might die at our hands."
Her sister, Arya spoke up as well. "She is untrustworthy," she said. "She may know things, but she also gets it wrong. We have Bran. We should trust him, not some Red Woman."
"I disagree," their brother said. "I simply do. The circumstances have changed. We cannot afford to kill or execute anyone, not with our numbers. Every man, woman and child counts and so do Priestesses. Even ones as dark as her."
"We do not know what the future holds, mayhaps," Ser Davos said, "but we know she won't bring anything good."
"Ser Davos," Jon said. "It was you yourself who asked her to revive me," he nearly begged. "Surely you must see that circumstances today are even more dire than they were back then."
"That was I before I knew what she had done," Ser Davos said. "She burned Shireen. The nicest and kindest child I've ever known, for nothing. For her visions in her horrible flames." He stalked out of the Great Hall.
"I did promise him," Jon sighed. "He is right to be angry, but there will be no execution. She has brought us some hope, when we most need it. Perhaps her Lord of Light does use the most flawed of servants…."
"I'm sure Varys would agree," Bran said. "And Thoros of Myr, and The Hound."
"A Lord of Light with dark servants," Arya giggled. "Sounds like the Many Faced God to me."
"The Many Faced God will have his share of offerings," her brother, that had acquired the third eye, remarked, "before all this is over."