The rain's chill dripped down the length of his spine, soaking through semi-dry clothes before they could splash down into the lagoon waters below. Each stroke through the water was desperate, the stormy weather raining heavily down onto the city of Braavos. Stone streets became slippery and vacant. Not even a desperate merchant trying to sell their last cockle could be seen. Though, there was very little to be seen as the rain was a sheet as it fell, leaving Robbie and Donoros running blindly through Braavos moving on nothing but their memory. Only did they still until the warmth the Outcast Inn surrounded them. The roar of both people and the fire welcomed them as they stood like drowned rats in the doorway, the water dripping from their clothes and leaving puddles on the floor. Robbie was met with a disapproving eye, Ma's brow raised up high as her lips were pressed into a firm line.

"I'll clean it up," it was a boyish promise with a grin that brought no indication of if or when the mess of water would be cleaned from wooden floorboards. With heavy steps, Robbie lead the way up into the second floor of rooms, and to the tiny one, he called his own. Dry clothes were piled in heaps at the foot of the bed, they would be large of Donoros, but they would be dry.

" Come to me, you sure that's what she said?" Donoros raised a brow, as he worked at the ties on his shirt.

Robbie peeled off his shirt, his head nodding back to flick off the wet curls that stuck to his face. His jaw was slacked, his tongue sliding over each of his teeth as he let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah, that's what she said," he confirmed, leaving out that she had something more. Something he hadn't quite made out on his own. Besides that, he had told Donoros everything. The darkness that had weighed heavily on him, the woman's beckoning call, and the struggle to breathe when he had been pulled from his sleep with a desperate gasp.

"Sure it wasn't one of those girls from the Satin Palace?"

Robbie groaned, his eyes going wide. He knew exactly what Donoros was trying to suggest. "No," he scoffed, shrugging into a dry shirt, "it wasn't one of the Palace girls. I don't know who she was. I just heard her." His head hung low, his head aching with frustration.

"It's probably nothing," Donoros wanted to shrug it off, to go down into Moroggo's and drown in a pitcher of ale, but Robbie continued to press. Robbie wanted answers, answers he wasn't able to provide.

"You're probably right," he sighed out, defeated. Even as he still felt the lingering burn in his chest, there was very little they could conclude beyond it all being a coincidence. "Com'on, if we slip out the back and through the alley, we shouldn't get too wet-" and he wouldn't get stuck cleaning the mess by the door.

Low-hanging rooftops and canvas canopies over windows only left drops of icy rainwater to drip down their necks as long strides carried them through the empty streets that surrounded Ragman's harbor. Boots were soaked through as they splashed through puddles, and hair stood up on end as his skin was left prickled by the cool embrace of the autumn wind. The rallying call of those keeping out of the rain beckon to them, erupting out of the crowded tavern doors. They were greeted with laughter, smiles, and waves from familiar faces but they didn't linger long. They pushed past dry, plump bodies of those who had been there long before the storm had taken the land. They were greeted by a busty, red-haired barkeep, offering them each a frothy ale for each hand before they slipped into the table that had been undoubtedly theirs since they were old enough to drink.

It was in the back of the tavern, their backs to the wall as to watch the chaos unfold around them. Mummers sang a sorrow-filled song that was met with broken glass that demanded a cheerier song. The whores that moved from table to table, weren't the beautiful girls that greeted Robbie on the dock this morning. No, these were Happy Port's girls with their frumpy cotton gowns that hung low to the floor to conceal thigh-high boots. Robbie wrinkled his nose at the sight of them, he had much more expensive taste when it came to whores, but Donoros, he wasn't picky. The slender sailor was eyeing up each woman as she sauntered past. Donoros' prying eye would land him in the brothel before the night was through, splurging all his earnings from his time at sea on a couple of girls before he was set to sail as a moneyless sailor once more. Shaking his head from side to side, he let out a low chuckle before indulging in the taste of stale ale.

Sitting hunched over, his elbows rested against the wooden tabletop, his skin warming in the ambiance of the bar. He lost himself in the songs, singing along when he found that he knew the words - thought he was sure his pitch was far from pleasing to those who surrounded him, though they were too drunk to care. It was as his muscles loosened and the haze that came from ale took him, Robbie began to feel uneasy as if a pair of prying eyes had been watching him as if he was a whore himself. He brought his ale to his mouth, taking a long sip that ended in a heavy gulp as it ripped down his throat. Pale eyes darted from table to table, his hand gripping at the mug so tight he thought it might crumble beneath his strength. The singing that had put him at ease, was not leaving his mind into a mess of chaos. Chairs clamored against the floor, a woman's laugh was shrill to his ears and there was a fight that took the attention of the room. Many egged the fight on, some throwing their ale at the brawling men and others tried to pull them apart. Most watched on, but there was a single pair of eyes that gazed across the room, completely fixated on Robbie in his seat. There you are. His brows furrowed over his narrowing eyes, taking in the sight of the unwavering gaze.

The woman in red sat in the shadows, the dancing flame of candles bringing her features to life with their golden glow. Her eyes were like two glimmering emeralds, precious and captivating as they watched him. Long red hair hung down over slender shoulders meeting the dark red gown that cloaked her frame. His jaw slacked at the sight of her, she was beautiful - as most Red Priestesses seemed to be. Robbie held her gaze, his elbow reaching out to nudge the firm ribcage of Donoros. It wasn't often the worshippers of R'hllor found themselves in Ragman's Harbor without preaching the call of their Lord of Light. A casual nod directed Donoros to the Priestess who laughed to himself.

"You into religious girls, now?" Donoros teased, his hand raising to flag down the barkeep for another round of ale.

"She's watching us."

No, she's watching you.

Just you.

"Let her," Donoros shrugged, "I'll show her what a real god looks like." It was cocky confidence only a sailor could have, one that had his rising from his seat to approach her himself - but she had him beat. The woman in red gracefully stood from her seat, her lips muttering to the man who sat at her side but her words were lost on the room, too quiet for any other to be heard. She moved through the room, with her head held high, giving no option but for others to step aside and clear her path to him.

"Donoros Maegar ," her voice was low, sultry, and commanded to be heard in the gentlest of ways. It chilled Robbie's blood as it course in his veins, her words echoing in the back of his mind. Her voice was all too familiar, as it had haunted him in his dreams.

Come to me-

It had sent Donoros back into his seat, his face left frozen with confusion. They didn't make a habit of crossing paths with Red Priests, but if they had, he would have remembered her. Donoros glanced to his friend out of the corner of his eye, his tongue slipping out to run over dry lips. "I don't believe I have the honor of knowing your name," his words were coy, and hoped they hid the uneasiness that rested deep in his gut.

The corners of her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, her eyes leaving Robbie for but a moment to gaze over his friend. " Melisandre," her answer was simple, her head bowing as she spoke oh so slightly. She watched as his lips parted, to offer some vulgarities she was sure, but she silenced him with the simple raise of her hand. "If you could leave us-"

Her elegant hand came down to rest at the back of Robbie's chair, keeping him in place as his legs stretched out to leave. It wasn't Donoros she wanted to speak to, it was the man with the dark curls and piercing eyes. The one build strong and barrel-chested, handsome and reserved. The son of a king.

Donoros pushed up from his seat, leaving it askew as he disappeared into the crowd in search of a whore to warm his bed. Robbie looked on after him, his jaw slacked. A part of him feared to be alone with the mysterious woman, and he contemplated getting up to leave but he begged to know the answers to too many questions. Questions only she could answer.

"You," Robbie's words were a low growl, " I don't know you. "

"But I know you," Melisandre hummed, lowering herself down to take the seat that had once belonged to Donoros. "The Lord of Light shines down on you-"

"I don't believe in your God," or any God, his parents were never ones to practice their faith.

"After a long summer, when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. A warrior shall draw from fire, a burning sword-"

"I know your prophecy," Robbie bit out, leaning over the table, his hands dressing firmly against the rough surface. He had heard priests and priestesses preaching it in the streets since he was a child, each just as clueless but all too curious to know just who The Prince that was Promised was. Through grit teeth he recited what he knew to the woman in red; "Lightbringer's the sword, and a man, Azor Ahai, the prince that was promised shall raise it and bring an end to the darkness."

Since its first declaration, it was said that Azor Ahai and the Prince that was Promised was one and the same. Now, as Merlisandre gazed across the table at the man who looked too much like a Baratheon to be any other man, she knew that not to be true. "And that is where they are wrong. Azor Ahai and the Prince are not one, but two warriors. Two warriors, come together to prevail over darkness. "

Robbie scoffed, a single hand-raising from the table to run over the strength of his jaw, "What fools were we, who thought ourselves so wise!" He mocked her, his chair dragging across the floor with great force as he stood. "I don't know what this has to do with me, or whatever fire priestess magic you did to get in my head but that ends now."

"Sit now Robert," Melisandre beckoned to him before he could move from the table, "the Lord of Light is not through with you-"

"That's not my name."

"Isn't it?" A gentle hand took hold of Robbie's thick fingers, guiding him back to his chair that had been let askew behind him. "Have you not wondered why they chose such a name? Why do you tower over both mother and father, or why you fail to look much like either?"

He didn't speak. Lips remained pressed in one firm line, his icy stare boring into the gentle green hues of Melisandre. Robbie didn't like this woman. Not the way she spoke. Not the way she looked at him. Not what she was implying. Abagal and Vernan were the only parents he had ever known, who was she to imply that his mother and father were anyone else but them?

"Before your time, there was a war that took the lands," Melisandre hummed, her voice dreamy as it reminisced on the past. "Not these ones, not the tales you have been told before, but the lands beyond the Narrow Seas. One fought for love, the other for family and power. Some succumbed to Madness, others were slain in battle and only one prevailed. A new King of the Seven Kingdoms, a new lineage of power. He wed not long after, and soon there was the promise of a Prince. A prince that was said to have died of fever-"

"How tragic," Robbie grit out through grit teeth.

Melisandre's head cocked to the side, her lips pierced together in the slightest of pouts. He wasn't your typical Westerosi boy who dreamed of ruling on the throne of Iron. Did he not know of the lands beyond? The lands of his mother and father. The lands his family ruled? "The true tragedy is the life that was taken from you," her voice was dreamy as she spoke, her lithe frame standing up from her seat at the table so that her careful steps could take her to the back of his seat. A gentle touch met his shoulders, her fingers tracing over his tense muscles as she leaned in to mutter in his ear. " The Prince that Was Promised," there was a sparkle in her eyes as she spoke now with her lips so close to his skin that Robbie thought she just might kiss him, "son of Robert Baratheon and his Queen Cersei Lannister, the true heir of Westeros."

Robbie's head turned, his hot breath washing over her face as he watched her. "It is not possible-" Even as he muttered, he was beginning to doubt the life he had lived. It would explain the features he did not share with his mother and father, and the refusal to take him to Westeros - to take him home.

The Red Woman's lips curled up into a coy grin as she watched doubt creep up onto features that had been so stubborn and stern. Slowly, he would realize he is no sailor's son, but the son of an esteemed warrior. Did the man and woman who raised him to know whose blood ran through his veins? Maybe not, but it was hard enough to see the resemblance - they had to have seen it too, naming the boy after their King and hiding him away in the lagoons of Bravos.

"King Robert Baratheon is dead," she muttered to him, her fingertips digging into the flesh of his shoulders like the talons of a hunting bird, "war has taken the Westerosi people, their loyalties lying with one of four claimants to the throne. The people divided will be consumed by the darkness that creeps down upon them. They need their prince to join with Azhor Ahei, to lead them to the light. They need you to come home."