She stared at the flames as they licked around the wood in her hearth. The Seaworth boy stood at the entrance to her tent, standing guard, protecting her from the cold clutches of winter and everything that it brought with it. The monsters and ghouls in the darkness, servants of the Great Other. They clamoured around him, they called for her soul, they threatened to hurt her.
She saw one of them whenever she looked into the flames now. An old man sat on a wooden throne. He blocked her from seeing the truth. He blocked her from seeing Stannis, or Jon Snow, or even Davos Seaworth. Their fates were unknown to her, all because of this accursed servant of darkness.
There was another, one closer to her, one that she could hear when she slept, one that she thought that they had lost, nae, wished that they had lost. The fool.
When they left the Nightfort under the orders of the sly traitor that had killed Jon Snow, the fool had been nowhere to be found. Little Shireen had cried at the loss of her friend, but Melisandre had let out a sigh of relief. The fool scared her. His songs and his visions were those of darkness, those of death. He saw the Great Other, and he sang for him.
"Where do crows go when they find themselves dead... I know, I know... I know, I know... Where do wolves howl whence they lose their heads... I know, I know... oooooh I know."
Those had been the words that he had sang when he returned to them along the Kingsroad south. He had appeared from nowhere, dancing through the thicket of trees that they passed through, like a ghost on the wind, the breath of darkness and winter still upon every word that he sang.
"Where does the kraken go when waters freeze... I know, I know... Where does the lion escape from the heat... I know, I know..."
His voice haunted her every waking moment. It was all that she could think about. Something about the way that he sang had changed. It was more definite, as if he knew what was coming better than she did. As if he could see the deaths of those he talked of.
"When the shadows come to dance... When the shadows come to play... The traitor dies in a king's name... When the shadows come to play..."
That had been what he sang at last night's dinner, dancing behind the little princess as the Red Woman tried to sup with Queen Selyse and her lord uncle.
"The fool grows more and more intolerable by the day. I do hope your husband doesn't intend to keep him around when he takes King's Landing."
Those had been the words of the old man.
"Shireen likes him. Whilst she is young he should stay. She might get lonely without him."
"She relies on the fool too much. Let her spend time with young lords and ladies. Jon Umber had a granddaughter her age, if I recall."
"Jon Umber is in a Frey cell. We are not welcome at Last Hearth. They are a half family of traitors, remember, uncle?"
"Aye, I recall your opinions on the Umber men."
"Not just their men. If I had my way then my husband would have marched on their castle and extinguished their line, as an example to the North. It was that wretched bastard that convinced him otherwise."
It had been Jon Snow, hadn't it? It had been he that stood up to Stannis, and he that gave him an army in the men of the mountains. Snow, that was what the flames had shown her. She had been wrong. It hadn't been him, it hadn't been Stannis.
The flames tickled her fingers as she reached out to them, desperate to absorb whatever it was that they were trying to tell her. Why couldn't she see? What was it that they didn't want her to know? Had she let herself down by being wrong about the Snow boy? Was that it?
"Under the water dead men sing... Under the water dead men come... Through the weeds and through the seas... Under the water they ride..."
The fool was singing again. It was another nonsense song, no doubt. But still the words chilled her to the bone. The dead men sing? What could he mean? There was blood and darkness on the lips of this child. Blood and darkness that would come back to harm them all, no matter how much Axell Florent lamented it.
Then she saw something. At long last the flames showed her. She couldn't quite make out what it was. A large man crouched over the body of a small child. Then there was a woman stood at the prow of a ship, looking out at lightning crashing down on a thrashing sea. The last vision was more chilling.
A blotchy faced boy stood in between two bone white trees, his lips wet and his nose broad. The chilling thing about him was his eyes. They were like little chips of ice in the middle of his face. Eyes of winter and eyes of cold. Eyes of darkness. He was coming. He was coming. He was coming.
She rose from her crouched position then, but the sight of the boy's cold eyes on her didn't leave. It was almost as if... Had he seen her? Had he been watching her back? How was that... Was he... They had to move.
He was coming.
"Seaworth!"
She called out to the boy at the entrance to her tent, and he stepped in almost straight away. He had clearly been waiting to be called.
"Send for Queen Selyse and Lord Axell, as well as for Ser Brus and Benethon. We should have knights here too."
The boy nodded to her, and waited for a few seconds before leaving. He was half in love with her, she knew that. His father would most definitely not approve. She worried for Lord Davos, even if he did not do likewise for her. The man was important to Stannis. Stannis needed him. Davos Seaworth had a role left to play, she had seen it in the flames. The flames never lied to her.
The last she had seen of him he had been on a ship, cutting swiftly through the waves to try and outrun a storm. That had been two weeks ago, before they left the Wall. After the Karstark girl's wedding to the wildling. Since then, her visions of the Onion Knight had been blocked, which was of little concern to the queen and her father. Neither wanted him to live.
They saw the man as an upstart and a fraud. Maybe he was, maybe he was jumped up from where he should be. It was he that had brought Stannis to the Wall, he who had saved the crows, not Axell. It was he that Stannis had chosen as his Hand and his conscience. No, Ser Davos was of more importance to Stannis' cause than old Axell.
The two knights arrived first, as she had expected. The queen had made a habit of arriving late when she was summoned to places, as she believed that it was the queen who should do the summoning. Her uncle would be with her, of course.
Ser Benethon was the first of the men to arrive. Benethon had been born and raised on Dragonstone, back when the Mad King had ruled. He was in his forties, but still in good shape, with blonde stubble around his chin, and a lined, and weathered face. He carried his family's ancestral sword, Throatcutter. It was no Valyrian sword, and little better than ordinary steel, but he cared for the blade.
Ser Brus Buckler was everything that Benethon was not. He had been raised in a castle as the nephew of a lord, had received martial training from a young age, and had grown fat with the luxuries that he had been afforded. Their stay at Eastwatch and the Nightfort had certainly been taxing on him. His hair was bronze, and he was clean shaven.
Both had been followers of the Andal gods before she arrived, now they, along with Farring, were her most devoted knights. They looked into the flames with her many a night, but they saw little. This always disappointed them.
"You called for us, Lady Melisandre?"
That was Brus talking, in a voice that was slow and thick, like honey, but less sweet. He was not a bright man, but he was a pious one.
"I called for the Queen and Lord Axell, too, Sers. You may sit."
Neither of them did. Benethon was a man that preferred to stand, Brus she was more confused about. She was so distracted by the two knights that she didn't spot that Devan Seaworth had returned with them. He was the only one that sat. He chose a spot by her fire, and stared into the flames.
It was a few minutes more before Selyse Baratheon and Axell Florent graced them with their presence. The two of them had stern faces, which she thought was unusual. It was not often that Axell didn't come across as jolly. He usually wore a smile on his face, but not today. Today he resembled his niece more than he did himself.
Selyse's face was pinched and harsh, with an edged chin and a sharp nose. Her eyes were pale, and there was the thinnest line of hair on her top lip. Her voice was indignant when she spoke.
"You called for us?"
"I did, my queen. I have seen something in the flames."
It was Axell that spoke next. His voice was stern too.
"And what, pray tell, did you see?"
"I saw a boy."
There was silence for a few seconds, then Axell spoke once again.
"You called us here to tell us that you have seen a boy? What reason do you possibly have for thinking that this is urgent news."
She could hear the fool in the distance, singing about shadows and stags, dancing with Princess Shireen, no doubt.
"His eyes, Lord Florent. His eyes were as cold as ice and he saw me through the flames. He is coming. I don't know who he is, but he is coming."
"You are scared of a boy? Is he a pawn of the Great Other? Why would he coming here? We are only a few days from my husband's camp. We are safe here."
Melisandre wasn't as sure. She had seen the smile on that boy's face. He had darkness in his soul, and he was definitely coming. It was as Axell Florent started talking again that she heard something else.
Silence outside.
The fool had stopped singing.
Then there were cries and calls of terror. She could hear the sound of steel on steel outside. Three men stepped into the tent, all dressed in rags with chinked swords drawn. They were all dirty.
One of them charged at Ser Benethon, a smile on his face as he did. Melisandre could make out his rotted teeth. Benethon could barely move his hand to his sword before he was sent flying. Buckler had a worse fate, beheaded by one of the other men. It was Axell Florent who, in a braver act than she had ever seen from the man, stood between the intruders and her, his niece and Devan. He was unarmed.
"Stand aside, old man. Let us get at the women folk."
That was the last of the three speaking. He had fair hair and a boyish grin. He was younger than the others. He may even have been comely, had it not been for the soiled clothes and stench.
"Skinner and Alyn can share the pinched one. I will try my turn in the arse of the other."
"Is this the boy you saw, my lady?"
There was evil in the eyes of this boy, but a man's evil, not that which she had seen in the other's eyes. His had been cold like winter. This newcomer's were brown, like the bark of the trees of the Wolfswood.
"Do I need to tell you to stand aside again, old man?"
The three of them had gathered again, a few feet in front of Axell.
"I am Lord Axell Florent, Hand of the Queen to Selyse Florent, rightful Queen of the Iron Throne-"
"The ugly bitch is a queen? Mayhaps Skinner or Alyn can give her little, royal bastards that she can raise speaking all the right way."
"Stand off them, Damon."
The one called Damon looked behind him, and then moved aside. Melisandre tried to choke back her shock when she saw the man standing in the entrance to the tent. It was the boy from the flames. He was fleshy and broad, with blotched cheeks, and the same ice cold eyes.
He wore a jerkin of pink. It was cleaner than what his companions were wearing, which suggested that he was their leader. The fair haired one clearly didn't want to get on his wrong side.
"As you say, Lord Bolton."
There was something wrong with that. Stannis had told her that Roose Bolton was a tried and tested battle commander, not a young boy. She had seen Bolton in the flames when she had asked. This must be his son. Axell Florent reached the same conclusion alongside her.
"The bastard?"
That comment didn't go down at all well. The boy charged at the man and knocked him to the floor with a shoulder and elbow to the chest. Axell ended up on the ground, wheezing from the attack. His assailant crouched down next to him.
"That would be Lord Ramsay Bolton, to you. I am the trueborn scion of House Bolton, the heir of Lord Roose Bolton, Warden of the North. You are my prisoners. Who are you?"
"I am... Lord Axell-"
That comment saw Axell Florent take a kick in the stomach.
"I said, who are you?"
Axell spit blood out on the ground before he spoke again.
"I am your prisoner."
"Excellent."
Ramsay Bolton rose from his interrogation of the old man that now lay at his feet. Axell did not look well for wear, yet none of the gathered men rushed to his aid.
"Grunt! Bring me the girl!"
Another dirty man stepped into the room then. This one was taller than the others. He had two prominent scars on his face, both faded with age. He wore the same dirty rags as the lesser companions. There were chains around his neck, and he grunted as he moved. His back was bent, and his arm bent around to hold it.
Under his other arm was the squirming form of a little girl. Melisandre knew at once that it was the little princess. What had happened to her guards? Had they been caught off guard as Ser Benethon and Ser Brus had been? Were they dead too?
"Hand me my daughter!"
Selyse stepped forward, and Lord Bolton turned his chilling eyes onto her, instead of the new arrival and the little princess.
"I don't think so, traitor queen. I think the girl will serve a good purpose as a warning to those of your companions that survived. I don't see any of them living very long, but at least we can give them a spectacle first."
He turned away from the queen and back to his men.
"Grunt, Alyn, Skinner. Take the girl. Fuck her in front of the other prisoners. This will be her first time. Make sure she has fun, she is royalty, after all."
A wicked smile came onto the face of the one with rotting teeth. Melisandre could smell his foul breath from here. It was like a cross of sour milk and raw meat.
"As you say, Lord Ramsay. She will be treated with all the courtesy that we possess."
The three of them left the tent then, leaving the fair haired youth as the only man backing up the one who called himself Lord Bolton. Had Stannis mentioned Roose Bolton's bastard to her? He had called the boy a vile upstart and a symbol of a bygone time in the history of the Boltons.
"How could you do this? She is the daughter of the king!"
Ramsay put his finger up at that.
"Wrong, traitor queen. She is the cousin of the king, and she has been declared an enemy of the realm. Plus, my men need rewarding for their loyal service. Giving them you would hardly seem a fitting reward, you ugly bitch."
Ramsay walked around the tent, looking around, before stopping and staring at the fire. A smirk passed over his face as he did.
"So this is where Stannis' famous red witch see premonitions of the future. Sounds like she could have done with looking a bit harder this morning."
That caused a laugh from Damon. He had a sing song laugh. It didn't fit his person.
He walked over to the desk and chair that Stannis had given her, seating himself in the fine wood. It had been a gift for her before they left Dragonstone, bought from the Temple to R'hllor in Volantis. She disliked seeing this boy seated in it. He seemed out of place, as if this was designed as an insult to her god.
"Damon, bring me the boy."
Damon grabbed Devan Seaworth by the shoulder. Selyse didn't move to protect him as she had her daughter. Why should she? This was the son of Davos Seaworth. She cared little for the smuggler.
"Please. Lady Melisandre! Queen Selyse! Please!"
The queen's silence was stoney, and there was nothing that Melisandre could do here either. She had to wait and see what cruel fate this psychopath had in mind for such a young boy. Would he give the boy to Damon? Would he take the boy himself? Devan was slight, as his father. She wasn't sure he could take whatever this man had in store for him.
"You're the traitor Hand's whelp, are you not, boy? Davan Seaworth, was it?"
The boy snivelled at that and muttered something under his breath.
"What was that, boy?"
"Devan. My name is Devan."
Ramsay smiled at that. It was an ugly smile. His lips were too thick and fleshy, and his cheeks too blotchy.
"Devan... Devan... I don't like the name, unfortunately. We might have to change it when we get back to the Dreadfort."
This threat seemed to mean more to Damon than it did to them. The fair haired man guffawed at the comment from Ramsay. Lord Bolton had to shoot him a glance to make him be silent once again.
"I lost a pet recently, Devan. Did you have a pet wherever your father raised you? Don't answer that. I don't care. The point is, I need a new pet. I can't decide who it should be. My last pet was a lot like you. His father was an upjumped lord too. Should I stick with what I like, or should I try something... new."
Devan didn't answer, preferring to stay in silence, staring down at his hands. Damon grabbed him by his brown hair and yanked him so that he was facing Ramsay.
"You're a boring boy, Davan Seaworth. I don't think you will be my next pet."
Devan let out a sigh of relief, causing Ramsay to smack him across the face.
"Being a pet to the Lord of Winterfell and the trueborn scion of the Dreadfort should be an honour, boy! Reek saw it as such!"
The boy had lost his temper. His eyes remained as cold as they were before, but now his face was even more flushed than it had been before. He drew a dagger from his belt.
"Your father is the traitor king's Hand, yes? He is the knight of cut fingers? He has the gold pin that they give to Hands, yes?"
He was behind Devan now. Damon had made way. Devan was crying, but not loudly. He was trying to be brave. Ramsay pushed him from the back, slamming the side of his face down against the desk.
"Maybe you can ask your father for his golden hand to replace the one you lose today."
The knife moved through the air quicker than any of their eyes could follow. There was a thud as it hit the desk, then a few seconds of Devan sobbing, before those sobs turned into screams. Ramsay and Damon laughed at the boy's pain. The rest of them looked on with shock. A maester rushed in.
"I- I heard screaming, Lord Bolton. Is there anything I can do?"
"Yes, Medrick. Take the boy and bandage his stump. Makes sure that he lives. My father will be most disappointed if he doesn't, and you know what that means for you."
The maester nodded silently, and took the boy by the shoulder and led him out. Devan was still sobbing and wailing. He was only a boy, and this reinforced that. Ramsay Bolton had destroyed the young boy's life.
"The Maester disapproves of you, my lord."
"Ever since my dearest first wife bit her own fingers off, I know. The people of Hornwood don't seem to appreciate the generosity that I show them."
Ramsay then walked back over to them. His knife was dirtied with Devan's blood, but he didn't sheath it. Instead he held it threateningly, reminding them that he wasn't done, that there was more pain for him to deal out here. He bent down next to Axell.
"You didn't cry over the boy, my lord. Do you not care for him? It would be cruel to just let the boy hurt and not heal the truth. Would your lord of light approve of such callousness?"
"The boy... The boy means little to me."
"Then maybe I should help you understand the pain that he is currently feeling. Put your hand out, prisoner."
"No... Please..."
Axell was kicked in the stomach for a second time. Ramsay knelt back down.
"Was I asking you? Put your hand out."
Axell's hands were shaky as he put his left hand out in front of him. He tried to hold back the sobs, not wanting to sound like Devan had before Ramsay took his. He failed, and all that happened was that the sobs were slightly muffled. Ramsay smiled at this pain.
"I'm going to do it now. Prepare yourself, prisoner."
Axell straightened his back and prepared. Ramsay's hands were quicker than her eyes. She didn't even see him move, but in seconds Axell had his hands by the right side of his head, and he screamed as Devan had. His Florent ear lay on the floor next to him, and blood poured out of the side of his head.
"Damon, get Medrick. This man is dying. He needs a Maester to look after him."
The fair haired boy left them, laughing as he did. Axell whimpered on the floor, and Selyse knelt by his side, whispering and crying too. Melisandre didn't remember when she last saw the queen cry. She hadn't when Stannis left for Castle Black, she hadn't when her uncle burned to death.
The maester came, and took Axell away as he had done Devan. Ramsay forbade him from sewing the war back on, saying that he wanted his prisoner to keep it as a memento of their time together, so that Axell would always remember what pain felt like.
"Now, that leaves just the three of us, then. The traitor queen, her red witch and the scion to the Dreadfort. My father has asked for both of you alive, but I don't know whether I can fulfill those wishes. I have plans for both of you."
Ramsay went to Selyse first, putting his right hand underneath her chin, and jerking her head upwards.
"You really are an ugly bitch, aren't you? I wondered why I was told that Stannis Baratheon hated his wife, and now I see it. He probably just couldn't get hard looking at you. Your mustache probably put him off."
"I am the que-"
Selyse was sent flying by Ramsay, as he slapped her across the face. The sound of the crack rang around the tent. He then drove his right boot into her stomach.
"You are nothing worth talking about here. I would give you as an object for my men to rape, but I think they would prefer to have your little daughter for now."
He then moved onto her. She stared into his eyes, hers flashing like flames, his as cold as the winter that he served. She could see them clearer now. They were ice and cold and in them was hatred, but there was something else. Was it fear? Doubt? Something plagued this boy, something important.
"Now, you. You make me understand why he would rather fuck you than her."
His tongue flashed out of his mouth for the briefest of seconds as he moistened his lips.
"I would fuck you here and now, but I have bigger plans for you. You heard me tell the boy that I recently lost a pet, yes? I had two pets before that one. I want you to be my fourth. I've never had a girl before. Maybe the hounds will appreciate you more than they did my last Reek."
He laughed at that, and then quickly grabbed her by the shawl, pulling it from her and revealing her body to the cold. She was kept warm by the Lord of Light, but still she felt a chill in the presence of her kidnapper.
He pressed himself close to her. She could smell his breath as he breathed heavily upon her. She felt his hands on her ass, squeezing and adventuring as he wet his lips once more.
"Yes, I will definitley be glad to have you around my castle."
That was when Damon returned, a smile on his face as he saw his lord pressed against her.
"They are ready for you outside, my lord."
"Excellent. I have quite the treat for them. Come, Reek. We walk now. No, no. Leave your clothes there. That's good."
She walked in front of him, and could feel his breath on her back as she walked out into the cold snows of the North. She hadn't been prepared for what she saw.
There were bodies laid around the camp. Various knights that had stood against the attack. She saw the two Night's Watch men that Bowen Marsh had given them. They were dead. She saw Perkin Follard and Dorden the Dour. She saw Lambert Whitewater and Malegorn. They had been killed, all of them.
Any of the survivors had been herded into a wooden cart. Devan was there, as was Axell. They watched her as she walked, bare naked and with Ramsay's hands on her thighs. The Bolton men called out to her. She saw one man pull out his genitalia.
nearby to the wagon was a large pile of wood. Her men had built it, for that night's fire. She wondered how many of those men had lived. Not many, she imagined.
The little princess was naked when they brought her forth. Her thighs were raw and there was still blood from where her virginity had been taken. She cried as Alyn brought her forward, and as Skinner tied her to the pyre.
"Did you enjoy her?"
Ramsay called to his men, loud enough so that the queen could hear. She was being held back by Damon, who had removed her clothes too. Melisandre pitied Selyse. The Lord of Light did not warm her. She would be cold, standing naked in the biting Northern wind.
"Aye. She squirmed a lot at first, when we first entered her. i think she enjoyed it somewhat by the time that it was done, my lord."
"It was her first time? She hadn't even had it from the smuggler's whelp?"
"She was tight. 'twas her first, my lord."
"And her last, unfortunately. At least she got to try it first. Here that, traitor queen? Your daughter pleased my men very well. You should be so proud of her."
The one that Ramsay had called Grunt came forward then, carrying a large stick with a flame on the end. He used it to light the fire beneath the little princess's feet. The girl wept at the heat, and screamed at the pain. She called for Ser Davos, for her mother, for her father, but none of them would come for her. The men laughed as she wailed. Ramsay didn't. He only smiled his ugly smile, and then he whispered something to Melisandre as he watched the girl burn.
"You have done this more times than I, Reek. Tell me, flesh melts when it burns. Does stone flesh melt too?"