Chapter 6 – The 26th day of March, 299 years after Aegon's Conquest
Ser Allister Thorne walked down the gangplank, unsteady after the long sea voyage.
It had been two months since they had left Eastwatch. The Talon was a fast enough vessel, but too small to be truly comfortable on the high seas. At least they had avoided the worst of the storms. Looking down, the old knight tapped the jar with a finger, eliciting fresh twitching from the half-rotted hand inside. They had encased it in ice at the journey's start but the blocks had melted by the time they were rounding Widow's Watch. It had started to decay faster then, even as it showed signs of 'life', convulsing incessantly night and day. By now the flesh on the small finger had melted away entirely around the tip. The bone made a queer scratching noise as it scraped against the dusky glass. More than once, Thorne had been tempted to throw the cursed thing into the sea and head for home, but no. He had come too far to fail in this mission now.
Two other black bothers went with him, while the captain moored the ship. They had passed swarms of galleys just two days earlier, the bulk of the royal fleet sailing for Sharp Point and, rumour had it, Casterly Rock beyond. The docks were half empty now, allowing them to tie up to a pier half a mile from the Mud Gate. They hadn't gone a dozen paces on land however when a voice called out through the cool evening air.
"Ser Allister Thorne."
Thorne stopped. Standing above him was a man dressed all in white, leading a small squad of Baratheon guards. At least, he was almost all in white. A fiery heart sigil was pinned to his chest, as with all his fellows. Ser Allister blinked. He hadn't expected any welcome, let alone one of the Kingsguard.
"Aye? And who might you be ser?" he asked, trying to hide his surprise.
"Ser Godry Farring. His grace instructed me to welcome you to the city."
Another surprise. He had no notion Stannis even knew of his journey. "His grace is expecting me?"
Ser Godry took a few steps towards him, his escort following. "His grace left the city three days past, marching against the rebels in the west. However, you can meet with the Lady Melisandre tonight. She is most interested in what you have brought."
Ser Allister frowned. "I am unfamiliar with…the lady Melisandre."
"She is the King's Mistress of Whisperers Ser. Closest confidante of the king and queen both. She is expecting you, if you will come with us now."
His frown remained in place. "Very well. I will see her."
Ser Godry turned and led them through the capital's labyrinthine docks. He thought they would head for the Mud Gate, but instead they were led upriver. After ten minutes they entered a dinghy alleyway. At its end, just short of the city walls, was a modest stone building, with a yard surrounded by wooden walls topped with spikes. They glinted yellow, while shadows danced on the surrounding walls from what must have been a large campfire within. Ser Allister paused at the entrance. He had never been here, but realized what it must have been. "This is the temple to the red god, is it not? The lady wishes to receive me here?"
Sed Godry turned to face him. "The Lady Melisandre is a follower of the Lord of Light, and there are many prying eyes in the city ser." He turned to the other black brothers. "You may wait outside." Ser Godry pushed open the gate and headed in. Cautiously, Ser Allister followed.
The nightfire was impressive, a pile of glowing logs taller than a man, with flames that reached twice as high again. In his heavy furs, Ser Allister felt uncomfortably hot. Maybe two dozen men and women were scattered on benches around the perimeter. Some were talking or sharing the remains of supper. Others seemed to have knelt in silent prayer. Most were staring at the fire itself, as if the flames were giving their very own sermon. A few eyes turned to face the newcomers, but Ser Godry strode past them confidently. Moments later he was pounding on the door of the temple itself. A heavy lock clicked and they were admitted.
Most of the interior space seemed given over to storage, of both food and firewood. They headed down a narrow corridor. At its end there was another door. Ser Godry knocked. A woman's voice, scented with the accents of the east, said 'enter'. Ser Godry held it open for him.
Ser Allister took in the scene. It was a modest study, with another fire burning in the corner. A desk was covered with scrolls, ink and parchment. A thick rug had been laid over the stone floor, and tapestries hung from the walls. Ser Allister caught a glance of great dragons and wyverns, of mountains of fire and a boiling sea, before his gaze fell on the woman behind the desk. He found himself pausing in the doorway. Whatever he had expected, it was certainly not this.
The Lady Melisandre was seated, but standing he suspected she was taller than he was. She was dressed all in red, but her garments did little to hide her figure. Heavy breasts over a slim waist. Her face was heart shaped, and not only her hair but her eyes as well were a deep copper red. Perhaps it was twenty years on the Wall, but he did not remember seeing any woman half as comely.
"Ser Allister" she crooned, as if he were an old friend. "Please ser, take a seat. You must have had a long journey."
"You are the King's Master of Whisperers?" he demanded, trying his best to hide his discomfort.
"Mistress, ser. I have no cock between these legs, so far as I'm aware."
Ser Allister felt himself flush. He held the jar tightly in his hands. "Whoever you may be, the Lord Commander instructed me to lay this at the feet of the king, not any of his servants."
"The king has already ridden west. I'm afraid you must deal with servants ser."
The lady motioned to a chair. Reluctantly, Ser Allister took it. Ser Godry remained standing by the door. Melisandre pulled out two goblets and a bottle of wine. She poured and placed one before the black brother. "You have had a long journey. Drink ser. It is not poisoned, I promise" she said, taking a small sip herself.
Ser Allister could not deny her. He drank as well. The wine was good, a deep red. The flavours rolled over his tongue, sweeter than anything he had tasted in years, but it did not look like anything from the Arbor. He examined the bottle curiously. A cluster of strange, colourful symbols was drawn on its side. He managed to make out the words Brown Brothers EST. 1889.
The Lady Melisandre was watching him closely. "Good wine?"
He could only nod. She gave a throaty chuckle. "I would hope so. It is not from Westeros, Ser Allister. Indeed, this wine is not even from this world."
"Not from this world?" he said, finding his voice.
"You must have heard of the flying men by now?" she said, sounding faintly amused.
Ser Allister frowned at her. They had not stopped for resupply once on the voyage south. At Eastwatch the talk of Maidenrings and flying men had been vague. There had been rumours the dragon lords had returned. If not the Targaryens, then another clan entirely, riding grey dragons from farthest Asshai.
"News oft reaches the Wall late."
"Indeed…" she launched into a long explanation. Ser Allister sipped the wine, listening in growing disbelief. "You see ser. More is stirring in the world than you know, but do tell us, what does stir beyond the Great Wall of Westeros?"
Despite his bewilderment, Ser Allister launched into his own tale, of dead men rising in the night and slaying the First Ranger and five others. Melisandre took the jar as he talked, tapping it gently and watching its reaction. By the time he was finished, his wine glass had emptied, and the Mistress of Whisperers had poured him his second cup.
"I will not lie, your tale is most concerning ser" she said finally, as the hand scratched faintly at its glass prison. "Clearly dark powers are rising again. A Second Long Night will fall on the land, and perhaps the entire world is at risk. Only Azor Ahai reborn can stop this menace, it has been prophesized."
Ser Allister frowned. "We need men, with good steel, my lady" he countered. "Steel and fire. The Wall must be reinforced before…"
"Don't worry ser, you shall get your men" Melisandre interrupted. "More than a hundred decided to take the black after the recent battle. The dungeons of the Red Keep are filled to bursting, just waiting for a wandering crow like yourself to take them north."
Ser Allister felt himself flush again. "We will need more than a hundred men, my lady. Before the dragonlords came the Watch had ten thousand, and even that may not be…"
"His Grace will be able to bring his armies to bear once the usurper, Myrcella Hill, has been defeated, and the realm united" Melisandre said again, more firmly. "He is Azor Ahai reborn, his coming heralded by the bleeding star. He wields Lightbringer, the sword of heroes, and it is he who must stand against the darkness, ser."
Ser Allister felt his confusion giving way to rage. "Believe what you will, my lady, but I must still show this to the king himself." He made to take back the jar, but Melisandre clutched it tightly. "I will show this to his grace, and tell him all you have said, believe me, but your place is not here ser. Take your men and return to the Wall. His grace will march north with a united Westeros behind him when the time comes, I promise you."
Ser Allister stood up suddenly. "I did not sail all the way from the Wall to be dismissed by some charlatan" he spat. "I do not know you, my lady. Even if you are the king's new Mistress of Whisperers. I must show this proof to the king himself, or at least the Lord Hand."
Once again he reached for the jar. With a pitying sort of look, Melisandre glanced at Ser Godry, who nodded.
The blow came so suddenly Ser Allister had no time to react. He fell forward, smacking his head on the table. Before he could recover he was forced to the ground, an armoured knee on his back. He had a dirk on his belt, but before he could even reach for it some object had been pushed in front of his face. He felt a hand on his mouth, and in between a queer black substance, like a sort of waxy paper. He realized he could not breathe. He struck out desperately. He felt the handle of the dirk, but then another hand wrenched it away. Someone kept a hand clamped over his mouth, while another pair had swiftly pinned his own. He tried to scream, but even his voice was muffled. It took less than a minute before his struggles ceased…
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Melisandre let go of the dead knight's wrists. Ser Godry too, relaxed and stood up. He held the black 'plastic bag' aloft. It had served its purpose well. A great gift from the flying men, even if they had not quite put it to its intended use. A knife to the back could have served, but there would have been rather more blood, and they needed his cloak clean.
"Ser Godry, his garments" she crooned, touching his neck. The big knight flashed her a toothy grin and began removing his white cloak. She issued further instructions. "Talk to the ship's captain. Inform him that you will be riding west at once, to find his grace and present your gift personally. The road may be long and…dangerous" she said with a smile. "But you must risk it, and I have agreed to provide you with escorts. Tell them not to wait for you. The dungeons are full of men waiting to take the black. They can fill their hold with them, and return to the Wall with all due haste. You will return by another ship."
Ser Godry nodded. As he stripped off, she turned and caressed his face. She pulled him in close, kissing him full on the lips. She reached for his manhood, and felt it hardening. She broke the kiss apart. The knight looked at her longingly.
"Do this task for the lord tonight. Come to my quarters after."
Another grin, twice as broad and twice as stupid. He had almost finished putting on Ser Allister's black cloak. She went back to the cabinet and pulled out the ruby gem. She wrapped it gently around his wrist, a hardly noticeable piece of jewellery. She closed her eyes and whispered the words of the spell to herself. When she was done, she looked back. Ser Allister Thorne stared at her, as grim and dour as he ever was, if perhaps a few inches taller. "As you wish, my lady. I will return to you later."
The knight left. Melisandre turned back to the dead body on the floor, now reduced to its underclothes. She hefted it up and slid it into a nearby cabinet. Ser Godry would help dispose of it later. Chopped up and fed to the nightfire piece by piece, no one would be any the wiser. A good thing too. Even the most loyal of the king's bannermen would quail at the thought of murdering a man of the Night's Watch.
There are no innocents in this war she told herself, for the hundredth time. She had, by and large, told the truth. To defeat the Great Other it would take all the will of Azor Ahai, and all the instruments at his disposal. But first Stannis had to be secure in his throne, and his subjects would need time to embrace the new red god. When the time was right, the world would be told about the dark servants descending from the North. The flying men were her concern too. Despite all their power, they remained ignorant of magic. Were it to be revealed, they would start asking questions. Questions that would lead to very awkward answers.
She looked in the mirror, seeing her flawless young face, red hair and matching red eyes. Yes, it was better this way. It would be simple if necromancy was but a tool of the darkness, but unfortunately it could be a tool of light too.
She exited the sanctum via a back door. In the stables at the rear, between a dozen whinnying horses, she found the Red Brotherhood encamped.
Lord Beric Dondarrion had arrived back in King's Landing just the day before. She had been fortunate to see him in her fires as well and sent Ser Godry and an escort to bring him in under cover of darkness. Even the flying men should remain ignorant. With him was Thoros of Myr, the only other red priest for hundreds of miles, and thirty followers, all converted to the lord's teachings by now. How could they not be? When their leader had seen the far side and returned, and more than once?
The Lighting Lord sat quietly by a smaller fire, staring into the flames. He was oft quiet these days. His garments hid the gaping scar in his chest, where the Mountain's lance had pierced him, but not the side of his head, where his temple had been caved in by the mace of Ser Burton Crakehall. Twice killed, twice resurrected. Melisandre had questioned Thoros carefully, and judged him true. She had to. A single resurrection was one thing, she could testify to that, but more was unusual. She had heard stories of such, but from well before her time, before the Doom even, when the old powers were much stronger in the world.
Thoros looked up at her as she entered. Their eyes met. He broke the gaze and looked back into the flames. "Forgive me for asking my lady, but…what now?"
She tilted her head.
"What now, ser?" she asked, as if it was a real question. She let the silence hang there. It seemed to take another minute for Thoros to marshal his thoughts.
"Twenty years ago I first came to this land, to convert a king obsessed with fire. I failed…" he trailed off a moment. "I lost hope then. I lost my faith, I admit it freely. I convinced myself that all these gods…they were just stories we told the children, and the smallfolk, to make them behave. Robert became king. I earned his favour. We drank together. We even whored together sometimes. Then Lord Stark sent me off to kill the Mountain. Finally, I thought, a real purpose." He looked over at Beric. "Then he shoves a lance through his heart. I knelt down, and I said the words. Not because I believed in them, but because they were the only words I knew. I gave him the last kiss and then…he rose." He paused, staring into a fire for another long moment. "Our God is the one true god. I know that now. It is no matter of faith."
"Two" she said simply.
Thoros glanced at her. Beric as well. "My lady?" the former asked.
"Two Gods. The lord is real, as is his opponent." Melisandre stepped forward, revealing the jar. "And far to the north, his forces are moving."
The hand skittered within. Beric's followers looked at it in fascination. Several stood up for a closer look, tapping the glass.
"The power that brought you back is also harnessed by the Great Other" she explained, careful in her wording. "Only they can reverse death. A feat performed by a god. But the Lord is more gracious in his gift. Your body is returned to you, but also your mind. The Lord has servants. The Great Other merely slaves." She looked around at Beric's party, at her lord's newest band of followers. "I have sent for Volantis for more of our order, but you should not linger here. There are too many prying eyes, and the flying men in particular must not know."
"Are they not here to help us, my lady?" Thoros asked, confused. "They have great machines of steel and fire, surely a gift from the lord?"
"They are powerful, I do not doubt that, but they cannot match the work of a god" Melisandre explained, with more certainty than she truly felt. "Robert's healing was impressive, but it was just that - the work of talented healers. They have a part to play in Azor Ahai's struggle, but it is still he who must stand against the darkness."
She turned back to Thoros. "Return to the Riverlands. Spread our truth. Burn the Godswoods, burn the septs. Come winter, the whole realm must be united, behind Stannis, the First of his name, Azor Ahai reborn." She looked into the flames. Already she could see the shapes twisting. "The one true king and the last hope in this world."