II.
The halls of the once-great keep were shrouded in darkness, each twist and turn of it's blackened stone feeling more foreign to her than the last. It was only in moments like these, as she made her way to the throne room, that she allowed herself to long for the familiarity she had known in Meereen. There, from the top of her pyramid, she had heard the people cry out for her—their mhysa. Their chants had been as intoxicating as a siren's song, but in this place, the only sounds that met her were the echoes of the mismatched footfalls of her escort.
Daenerys allowed the wretched organ beneath her breast one last painful thump. She would always ache for the love her people across the Narrow Sea had once shown her. However, there was some small comfort in the knowledge that, in time, she would know that favor once more. Though the newest hearts she aimed to win felt as strange and foreign to her as the halls of Dragonstone, it seemed as if the first of them had sought her out.
As she stood before the heavy, guarded doors, she again felt like the meek scrap of a girl she had been under Viserys thumb, still afraid to wake the dragon. The memory was enough to make her forget, even if only for a moment, that she was the dragon. However, when the doors parted before her, and she was granted entrance to the seat of her ancestral home, she forced herself to swallow the feeling. With her Unsullied and her advisors at her back, the Red Woman would know only of her strength.
"Queen Daenerys, I was a slave once, bought and sold, scourged and branded. It is an honor to meet the Breaker of Chains."
Though the words, spoken in High Valyrian, roused a smile from the dragon queen's countenance, she allowed herself a moment's pause before responding. The woman before her, the red priestess from Asshai, stood tall and unwavering. Adorned in the scarlet garments of her order, she seemed to shine like a garnet amid the dreary stone. However, there was something about her that seemed almost weary, as if the fire inside of her had died out long ago. Daenerys could see it in the way she held herself and how the polite smile she offered never quite seemed to reach her eyes.
"The Red Priests helped bring peace to Meereen," she answered, her hands clasped firmly before her as she bowed her head in greeting. "You are very welcome here." The dragon queen's mother tongue came from her with ease. There was something almost musical about it, and it felt pleasant against her lips. The harsh, guttural tones of the common tongue had always left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. "What is your name?"
"I am called Melisandre."
Again, Daenerys felt her head dip in greeting. In the mere seconds she had been in this woman's company—with her red hair, red robes, and a voice like fine silk—the dragon queen's interest had been piqued. Though she would never breathe life into the admission, the Mother of Dragons found herself yearning to know more of her as she yearned for the love of her people. Though it mattered little, she silently mused that perhaps that was the true power of the red priestess. The smile she wore, still lifting the corners of her mouth, faltered only slightly when Varys spoke from her side.
"She once served another who wanted the Iron Throne." There was anger in his voice, a thinly veiled urgency to be rid of her. When the Red Woman turned her eyes on him, he felt the thrum of his heart quicken to hold her gaze. "It didn't end well for Stannis Baratheon, did it?"
At this, Melisandre's features dropped. She gazed into the empty space at her feet as if the secret to undoing what she had done was written in the stone. "No, it didn't."
Daenerys felt a surge of anger twist her stomach into knots. Had she not bore witness to the way the Spider's words robbed the Red Woman of any of her lord's light left in her eyes, she might have even heeded his unspoken warning and sent her away. She had held no love for the Usurper's brother or the entirety of House Baratheon, to be sure, but the eunuch was once again testing her patience. He would know the full power of her fury by the morrow if ever again he dared speak to a guest of the queen in so crass a manner.
"You chose an auspicious day to arrive at Dragonstone," she began, her eyes never leaving the Red Woman as her head turned slightly in the Spider's direction. "We've just decided to pardon those who once served the wrong king." It was in equal parts a reprimand and a reminder of their time spent in the Chamber of the Painted Table.
In surrender, he bowed low at the waist. His bald, powdered scalp shone in the candlelight for a long moment before he rose again. Though the admonishment prompted high color to rise to his cheeks, he would not challenge the wishes of his queen so openly—even if she chose to break bread with witches, swines, and thieves.
"The Lord of Light doesn't have many followers in Westeros, does he?" the queen asked coolly, pushing the anger she had felt aside so that she might continue her audience with the red priestess. She looked expectantly to the other woman with her head canted slightly and one brow quirked. Though she had heard tales and teachings of R'hllor, the Lord of Light and God of Flame and Shadow, she had left her idle wonderings of him in Essos.
Would that she could, Melisandre might have offered her gratitude aloud, but she dared not leave the queen's question unanswered. Instead, she trusted that it shone beneath the glassy surface of her gaze as she redirected it to the Mother of Dragons. "Not yet," she conceded, "but even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause."
At that, Daenerys furrowed her brow in thought. Though her expression retained the neutral indifference of a monarch, the Red Woman's words only served to stoke the flame of curiosity that had risen in her. When she spoke next, her voice was softer somehow, almost reverent. "What does your lord expect from me?"
"The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn."
As smooth as a serpent, the lips of the dragon queen twisted into a smirk. Amusement threatened to break the stoic mask of her countenance, and it was only by the grace of the Seven that she managed to smother out the quiet laughter that burned in her throat. "'The prince who was promised will bring the dawn.'" She clasped her hands together at her navel and theatrically dipped her head in apology. "I'm afraid I'm not a prince."
"Your Grace," sounded the soft voice of her most trusted advisor who had, until now, remained silent. "Forgive me, but your translation is not quite accurate." Missandei stepped forward then, into the light that cast flickering shadows across her bronze skin. "That noun has no gender in High Valyrian, so the proper translation for that prophecy would be: 'The prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn.'"
From his place at her side, Tyrion felt the words slither past his lips before he could think better of them or to stop them. "Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?"
"No, but I like it better." Daenerys fixed her advisors with her cool gaze, first one and then the other, before returning her attention fully to the Red Woman. "—and you believe this prophecy refers to me?"
Melisandre filled her lungs with a quiet inhale before responding. Her eyes, unable then to meet the dragon queen's, stared unblinkingly at the point where the dark grey material of the other's collar obscured porcelain skin. She studied the flash of her throat as she breathed for only a moment longer before offering a small shake of her head. "Prophecies are...dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play, as does another—the King in the North, Jon Snow."
At this, Tyrion felt the color drain from his face. He narrowed his gaze upon the red priestess, almost as if daring her to reaffirm what was already known. "Ned Stark's bastard?"
"You know him?"
The dwarf had the good sense to look somewhat concerned as his queen turned towards him, fixing him under her heavy gaze. "I travelled with him to the Wall when he joined the Night's Watch."
"—and why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this Jon Snow?" Varys asked, his voice yet thick with dislike. "—aside from the visions you've seen in the flames, that is."
Melisandre gave pause for a brief moment, eyes flickering between the dwarf, the eunuch, and the dragon queen. When she was certain that she might speak, she lifted her chin and let her words ring out clearly around the throne room. "As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he allowed the wildlings south of the Wall to protect them from grave danger. As King in the North, he has united those wildlings with the Northern houses so together they may face their common enemy."
"He sounds like quite a man," Daenerys offered, unsure of how she was supposed to react to the Red Woman singing another false king's praises. If the uncertainty had been evident across her features, the priestess gave no indication or acknowledgement of it. For that, at least, she was grateful.
"Summon Jon Snow," Melisandre instructed. It was offered in such a strange mixture of blatant desperation and assuredness that it left Daenerys feeling inclined to do exactly that. "Let him stand before you and tell you the things that have happened to him, the things that he has seen with his own eyes."
"I can't speak to prophecies," Tyrion interjected, stepping forward so that his queen might better gaze down upon him, "or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow, and I trusted him." He stood unflinchingly as she turned to him once more, offering her the gentle smile that oftentimes went unknown to the world about him. "—and I am an excellent judge of character." When the silver-haired girl returned his smile, he took it as permission to continue.
"If he does rule the North, he would make a valuable ally. The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. Jon Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do."
The Mother of Dragons was silent for a long moment, eyes downcast as she weighed her options. Though she held the words of the youngest lion of Lannister in high regard, it was ultimately her fascination with the Red Woman that led her to acquiescence.
"Very well. Send a raven north. Tell Jon Snow that his queen invites him to come to Dragonstone...and bend the knee."