Chapter Sixteen: The Red Woman
Morning comes too soon, but it's nice to wake up in an actual bed again. I comb my hair and put it in a braid, then dress warmly and in black before I head outside. I don't intend to stick out too much here if I can help it. After breakfast, Edd shows me where they keep the ravens and how to feed them. They usually eat bits of meat that I chop up, but one yells the word "corn" and Edd laughs when it makes me jump.
"Never heard a bird talk before?" he asks.
"Oh, you'd be surprised," I mutter. I'd like to see him meet a jabberjay. Briefly I wonder if Beetee could ever try sending one through the portal, if just so I can play a harmless prank on Edd as payback. But other than that, he's all right, and pretty helpful. As far as Night's Watch men go, he's one of the few I'm already fairly sure I can trust to be alone with me. He makes a lot of dry comments and is fluent in sarcasm. I think he and Johanna would get along well.
After I'm done flicking handfuls of meat bits at birds, I head back down to the courtyard, where Shireen and Gilly come find me and show me to the library. On the way there, Shireen is very apologetic as she confesses that Buttercup escaped her room last night.
"That's all right. I woke up in the middle of the night and he showed up at mine," I assure her. "I don't know how he always finds me."
"I'm glad he did. I think he missed you," Shireen says with a smile.
"Nah, he just knows I get night terrors sometimes," I say.
Shireen looks surprised at me. "You do?" she asks. "I shouldn't have taken him with me then. I didn't know he was your protector."
"I'll be fine," I say, dismissing it. "One of us ought to tell him he doesn't need to worry about me when he has a princess to protect now. Makes him sound like a knight."
Gilly gives a grin. "Ser Buttercup," she says, all proud and regal.
This makes Shireen giggle. "It suits him," she says. And it absolutely does not, but that in itself makes me laugh too.
I know he can't come into the library of such an old castle, but we do spot the great and noble Ser Buttercup mousing to his heart's content. There must be plenty of vermin for him to chase in a place like this. Well, good on him for making himself useful. Maybe I don't have to worry about anyone here eating him.
Sam's already in the library when we arrive, sitting at a desk in one of the aisles with a preposterously large book and some scrolls in front of him. He greets us cheerfully and goes right back to pondering over the pages.
"Sam's been in here all morning," Gilly informs me. She adds meaningfully, "He can't possibly be pulled away from his books."
Sam seems to hear the emphasis on the word, as if she's calling them his lovers, and swivels his head around. "The election for the 998th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch is today," he exclaims in his defense. "I'm reading up on its history because I want to be informed. A little research never hurts. Especially if it's important that we elect the right man for the job."
He uses a little emphasis himself there, and Gilly and I exchange a glance because we both know what he means. Not Alliser Thorne.
"How long has Thorne been acting commander?" I ask, straightening some of the books on the shelf while Shireen carries one to the table where Gilly is sitting. I'm content with doing busywork, but Shireen has been giving Gilly reading lessons.
"Not very long," answers Sam. "The previous Lord Commander was Jeor Mormont, but he was killed in a mutiny beyond the Wall. Over at Craster's Keep."
"That's when Sam rescued me," Gilly says proudly. "He helped me escape. Me and Little Sam. It was right after he was born."
I try to think of how old Little Sam looks. A year? A few months? Even that is too long to have Thorne in command, and I've known him a day. Him and his beady black eyes and his lizard mutt hiss and his cruel, thin smile.
Romulus Thread – that's who he reminds me of. I don't trust him.
Shireen and Gilly go over the practice book in front of them while Sam occasionally makes fascinated sounds over his giant tome of Night's Watch history. Meanwhile, I wander through the aisles, tending to the books and scrolls and cleaning or dusting things off where I can. I eventually think to turn on my camera, since the titles alone will probably be of interest to Beetee.
I've already seen a few that win my curiosity. Dragonkin. Fire and Blood. Jade Compendium. My finger, tracing gingerly along the spines, stops at that last one, and I pull it out to take a quick look. Opening it to the middle and skimming some pages, I see a lot of names and places that mean nothing to me, some I attempt to sound out in my head, and then a mention of the Long Night being ended by a flaming sword. My eye catches on the name Nissa Nissa.
I'm wondering to myself how they pronounce that one, when suddenly Gilly gives a triumphant cry. "S!" she says, making me shut the book in surprise. She taps at the page excitedly. "It's an S."
"Very good," Shireen says, beaming at her.
I lose interest and put the book back where I found it. The imagery of a sword plunged through a woman's heart is kind of disturbing, anyway. Another curious hum comes from behind me, followed by a rickety creak of Sam's chair, and I turn to see Sam's head perk up through the shelves.
"Did you know that the youngest Lord Commander in history, Osric Stark, was elected at the age of ten?" he asks us brightly.
Silence, save for the crackling in the fireplace. "I know 'S'," Gilly says.
Of course, I did not know this, so as Shireen murmurs encouraging words to Gilly in the background, I round the shelf and wander into the aisle where Sam is sitting with his book. "Does that mean Jon could do it?" I ask.
"He could," Sam says immediately, his voice hushed but eager, as if he's been thinking the exact same thing. Then he falters with an uncertain smile. "I don't know how he'd feel about it, but…"
"Better him than Thorne?" I finish for him.
His face shows silent yet expressive agreement. But before he can add anything, Gilly, who has been commending Shireen on her teaching skills, says loudly, "Very patient!"
Looking distressed, Sam glances over his shoulder at the girls again. "I only said that the more time you spend practicing, the faster you'll be able to read—"
"That's all right," Gilly interrupts, straightening in her seat. "We're doing just fine. I'm sure you and Ostrich Stark have a lot to talk about."
I grin, but nicely try to cover it up. Sam turns back to his book in defeat. But we're both impressed when Shireen tells us she learned to read at the age of three. "Who taught you? Your mother?" he asks.
"No. Old Maester Cressen did," Shireen replies. I still can't decide what maesters specifically do. Apparently heal and teach. "I had a lot of time to practice. My mother kept me inside, because…"
As she trails off, I look over at her in concern, and the light from the window illuminates the scarred half of her face. I immediately dislike Selyse that much more. Somehow, I doubt her hiding Shireen from the world was out of any sort of protectiveness.
What she has is something called greyscale. Gilly, who is from north of the Wall, had two sisters who died from it. Shireen was cured of it when she was a baby, which mystifies Gilly. Apparently whatever it is, it's contagious and usually a death sentence. Bad enough for Gilly's father to keep her sisters in a hut and forbid the others to go near them.
"Did you ever see them?" Sam asks gravely. He's actually stepped away from his desk, the story is that unnerving.
"Only once, at the end," Gilly says, her voice quiet. I take a couple steps closer to the table to hear her, even though I want to shrink back against the corner of the wall. "They were covered with it. Their faces, their arms… they acted like animals. My father had to drag them out into the woods on a rope."
"What did he do with them in the woods?" Shireen asks. I silently plead with Gilly not to answer that question.
The merciful sound of footsteps on a stone staircase kills the silence. Shireen takes one look and hastily gets to her feet. "Mother."
I feel Queen Selyse's chilly presence behind me before I even turn around. Pale, frosty eyes that are not looking at her daughter, but directly at me, as if sizing me up.
"The Lady Melisandre is asking for you," she says, far too calmly, and glances at Sam and Gilly. "You two. Take her to her."
Gilly obediently grabs her book and stands up. "Your Grace," Sam acknowledges her with a nod, before leading the way up the stairs. I echo it politely, quick and quiet, though I throw Shireen a look over my shoulder. One that screams, uh-oh, the Red Woman? Help!
She smiles in sympathy. I think she's in for it too. We're not even a few steps up the staircase before I hear Selyse say, "You need to stay away from those girls…"
I roll my eyes. Me, I can understand, but why Gilly? She's a wildling? So far I've met two wildlings, and I've liked them a whole lot better than Selyse.
"What does the Red Woman want with you?" Sam wonders, glancing back at me curiously as he and Gilly lead me out into the courtyard.
"I don't know," I say honestly. I really don't, which is unsettling. The icy Selyse who sends me away is barely an issue compared to the fire ant Melisandre summoning me. She knows something and I don't know what, which puts me at a disadvantage.
We come to an area with a round tower looming a hundred feet above it, which Sam calls the King's Tower. This is the part of the castle where Stannis is staying. I wonder if he's still talking to Jon in there. He probably is, because Sam and Gilly guide me to a nearby building that is closer to ground-level. Sam knocks, opens the door, and announces me, then nods for me to go right in.
I step into the room and feel the strangest wave of déjà vu. This isn't the study from back home, but there's a desk and a fire and Melisandre standing by the window, her hands clasped neatly in front of her dress. Dismissing Sam with a nod, she waits for him to close the door, then smiles at me and takes a few slow steps forward after I do.
"I think we'll make this whole situation so much simpler if we agree not to lie to each other," Melisandre says. "What do you think?"
I feel the chill trapped in the room with us, and the one that runs up my spine at the familiar words, arranged too perfectly in order to be a coincidence. But just like last time, I refuse to let it freeze me.
"All right," I say, taking another couple of steps forward. "Let's start with you telling me how you could possibly know me."
"The Lord of Light knows you, girl," Melisandre answers. "I know only what he tells me."
Suddenly her eyes brighten, and she sweeps across the room to me. I force myself not to retreat more than half a step. At least she doesn't stench my air with blood and roses when she invades it.
"Is he watching now?" she asks, red eyes searching mine. "The one who sent you."
"Beetee?" I try to remember if I turned my camera off since the library. It allows him to see the world live, but if he misses it, he can see the footage after I've ended it. A recap of my current Games. "I don't know. Maybe."
She smiles, pleased with the answer, the possibility. Then she has the courtesy to draw back so that she's a little less in my face, though she's still studying it.
"Katniss Everdeen," she says thoughtfully. Her smile finally fades, but her eyes grow wider and more terrifying as her expression turns to one of enthrallment. "They called you the Girl on Fire, and yet I see something cold in you, perhaps put there by Snow..."
Melisandre trails off, then, allowing me to linger over the last word, the knowledge that she's not just making a pretty metaphor. I think this Lord of Light has been telling her a little too much. Her expression settles into satisfaction, though there's a hint of curiosity that never fades as she turns and strides to the other side of the room. I follow her a few steps, but while she's not looking, I inspect my devices. The camera is on. I make sure to have audio working too, so that Beetee will experience this Red Woman to the full effect.
"Last night, you left the scene of the burning," she says matter-of-factly, and I barely have a second to panic and look up before she goes on. "You retrieved your bow, you climbed to a high point, and you aimed an arrow at Mance Rayder's head. Yet you did not shoot." She turns back to face me. "You hesitated. Why?"
My mind is racing. If she knows, then maybe Stannis knows. Or would she keep this knowledge to herself, as presumably she has with everything else that she knows about me? Maybe, since I have only been granted an audience with her and not the king himself, I am safe. But how safe can I be with this woman, really?
But, as with Snow, we have agreed to honesty between us. "I didn't want to get Jon in trouble," I say.
She opens her eyes a little more, tilting her head as if my answer confuses her. "You didn't want him to get in trouble," she repeats. "So you allowed him to shoot Mance for you. And now he must answer to the king. Is that not considered trouble?"
"I didn't know he was going to shoot Mance," I say defensively.
"You didn't?" Melisandre presses. "Then you would have let Mance burn?"
"No!" I blurt out, surprising myself. She keeps fixing me with a probing stare that I don't like, and it's getting me confused and agitated. "I mean... I don't know."
"You wouldn't," she agrees. "Because that is not who you are. Mockingjay."
I flinch at the word, the way it slips so accusingly from her mouth. All I want to do is leave this room. "I was the Mockingjay. Not anymore," I tell her, and turn towards the door. "You want a Mockingjay, look to the one who fired the arrow. I came here to get away from all that."
Melisandre's voice follows me. "You came here to die."
Her words stop me in my tracks. I pivot slowly, my heart beating a bit faster. "No, I didn't." I feel my face flush.
It's not true, is it? I hate being an open book. It's not fair if even a woman in another world can reveal my own secrets to me. Maybe, at first, that was one of the reasons I agreed to try the portal. But it ended up working after all. I made it through, and I was more than all right with that. It's like I said to Jon, I couldn't die if I wanted to.
"To be reborn, then?" Melisandre suggests. "To rise from the ashes, and revive a wounded heart?"
"To find a fresh start," I say, quoting Beetee. "Somewhere the word 'mockingjay' wasn't supposed to follow me."
"And yet you chose it as your sigil," she says.
I frown, feeling defensive, even though I know she has a point. I want to tell her it was Gilly's idea, since she saw my pin. But the pin itself is damning, and any protests I think of seem childish in my head. Instead, I sullenly hide the pin by moving my braid in front of it.
Melisandre regards me solemnly, though there's a smile in her eyes that tells me she knows she's won. "The Mockingjay isn't something you can run from, or a mere title you can shake off," she says. "It's the combining of two different forces to create something unexpected. Something so powerful that no one can stop it."
What? Are we still talking about the role, or does she mean the actual bird now?
"The fire is in you, Katniss," she says. "The rebellion is in you. It's in your blood. From the moment your merchant-class mother left her home to marry a man from the Seam. You are the result of that union. The coal black feathers and the white beneath the wings."
"Does your Lord of Light go around telling you about everyone's parents?" I ask, not wanting to let her know she's shaken me. Or maybe she does know. Maybe her Lord of Light has told her that too. "Why don't you tell Jon who his mother is? I'm sure he'd appreciate it more." I turn and stride for the door, yanking it open. "He's the one you're looking for, not me."
I don't care if I haven't been dismissed. I don't care what she or her Lord of Light wants from me. Whatever it is, I didn't sign up for it. Beetee didn't send me through that portal just for some witch to sink her claws in me.
As I burst through the door and march down the wooden staircase, I notice Jon in the distance talking to Sam. My dramatic exit makes them both stop and glance in my direction, and Jon gets a look on his face that I can't quite decipher from this far away. Is that surprise? Distrust? Ambivalence? He's just spoken to Stannis, and I'm wondering if that has something to do with it when I hear slow footsteps just above my head.
"In this world or the other, Miss Everdeen, there is no escaping it," Melisandre's voice calls out, too loudly for my taste. I check over my shoulder, and she's standing there at the top of the stairs, hands clasped elegantly as always. When she meets my eyes, she gives a dignified nod. "You will always be the Mockingjay."
I shake my head at her and look forward again, descending the rest of the stairs and moving swiftly across the snow. I don't know where I'm going at the moment, just away. Away from Melisandre and her impossible knowledge. Sam and Jon still seem to be deep in conversation, but Jon's eyes meet mine, and despite the look he gave me, I feel I'd be a lot safer with him, so I pick up the pace.
"What's the Mockingjay?"
The nearby voice gives me a jolt, but when I turn my head, I find myself instantly calmed by the sight of Davos Seaworth.
"Didn't mean to startle you, milady," he says.
The Onion Knight, as Shireen so fondly refers to him. She tells me he's her father's Hand, as in Hand of the King, or right-hand man. While I don't know what to make of Stannis, Shireen likes Ser Davos, and for now I trust her judgment.
"It's all right," I tell him, and look back at the building to see Melisandre disappearing inside again. "It's just that my meeting with the Red Woman left me a little on edge."
"Aye, believe me, I can understand that," Ser Davos scoffs, and I can't help but grin. He probably has to deal with her a lot more than I do. "What is that? The Mockingjay. Why did she call you that?"
We've started walking side-by-side. I guess we're following Jon and Sam. Men have started gathering in front of one of the buildings up ahead, and even more are riding on horseback through a gate. That's right, Sam mentioned this earlier. They must be getting ready to vote for the new Lord Commander.
"It's a bird from my country, Panem," I answer. "There used to be these birds called jabberjays, bred for war purposes by the Capitol. But when their usefulness backfired, they were released into the wild to die off. Before they did, they mated with mockingbirds. The mockingjay was never supposed to exist, so back home, they're seen as a symbol of rebellion."
"Rebellion," Ser Davos echoes. "That would explain it. You were seen leaving the burning right before Jon Snow did. Then you climbed up high and prepared to shoot the prisoner yourself. If Jon Snow hadn't fired first, it would have been you who prevented King Stannis's order from being carried out." He raises a gloved hand for display, and I can clearly see the fingers are shorter than they should be. "I should tell you, Stannis has his own way of showing mercy to lawbreakers."
I stare at the nubs on his hand. Well, that confirms the fact that he used to be a smuggler. I guess it is more merciful than District 12's standard punishment for stealing. But another thought occurs to me. If Davos knows, then Stannis does, and that would explain the expression on Jon's face from a couple of minutes ago. Turning my gaze ahead, I catch Jon throwing a glance over his shoulder. It's clear we both know that he knows, and I don't want to deal with that just yet.
Slowing my pace, I turn my eyes to Ser Davos. "No one deserves to die like that," I say quietly. "I know I'm new here and all. On my list of 'Things to Do While You're in Westeros,' questioning kings wasn't one of them. But neither was watching another person burn to death like it's some spectacle."
Ser Davos's features soften, though I think he tries not to let them. "We're at war," he says. "Times of war mean you'll have to see a lot of hard things and make a lot of hard choices. Mance Rayder made his."
I press my lips into a firm line. Yes, he did. In the end, he chose fire. That only upsets me more.
"But where do you draw the line?" I ask. "I mean, when it comes to war, is there one? For what's acceptable to do to another human being? If you knew what people are willing to sacrifice for the sake of war… what or who they're willing to burn…" I bite down on the inside of my mouth, seizing the emotions that have balled up in my chest and releasing them in a frustrated sigh. "Why fire?"
A shadow of something crosses Ser Davos's face. It passes, but reluctance breaks through his hardness as his voice turns hollow and gruff. "The Red Woman says that death by fire is the purest death."
My eyes widen as his words sink in. Anger ignites in my chest and flares white hot, burning through my blood, and I seriously consider that maybe it's a good thing I didn't shoot Mance. Maybe the arrow I spared should go straight through Melisandre's heart.
I swallow it down, the fire and the bile and the blood from my cheek. "Oh. Well, lucky for my little sister, then," I mutter, and storm off ahead of him.
Is that why she's so obsessed with me? The Girl Who Was on Fire? The key word there being was. I wonder if her Lord of Light told her that most of the flames that touched me for the sake of that nickname were fake.
But Melisandre is right about one thing. Everything that Snow has done to me has left me numb and cold.
If she wants my fire, I resolve to give her only ice.
A/N: Thanks so much for the follows/faves/reviews! ZainR and Gs, glad you enjoyed the top of the Wall bonding from last chapter as much as I did. :D