Shireen dragged her hand across the floor she was laid upon, shivering as her fingernails gathered grease under her fingernails. Above her, she saw a thick ribbon of silver sunlight blooming upon the opposite wall from her large window. It was circular, the size of a grown man in circumference, and lined with thick ivory panes.

The room had not been warmed since she had arrived, but in truth Shireen preferred that. The cold was her friend now, though it tormented her relentless during the night, it was better than the fire. Occasionally, someone would pass with a torch under her window and she whimpered as the rusty glow. Even, what she suspected was two days after the incident; she couldn't even bear to have a candle in her room. It was discomforting to lie in the darkness, especially after she he had been blinded so fiercely by the ritual, but it seemed to be the lesser of two evils at this point.

Her skin felt scratchy from being covered in ashes, but she had not had a chance to wash. Every time someone came into the room she would seize up in a panic and start crying again. Then she would remember Father and his indifference, the witch and her evil smile, those soldiers and her silence, Mother and her screaming…

Whenever she thought of Mother, there was small bud of happiness that swelled inside her, which also served to enhance her pain. Mother loved her – she had spent years telling her she was sinful and shameful for the House Baratheon, but when it truly mattered, Mother had come through for her. She was the one who had run through the soldiers to try and reach her, whilst her Father stood by and let her burn. He told me he loved me. That he wasn't ashamed of me and he was proud of me. He handed me over to the witch to burn. He's a liar.

Now Mother thought she was dead. She'd never have a chance to make amends with her, to talk pas their differences together. Mother was probably in agony thinking she had been too late to help her. "Mother," Shireen moaned quietly, rubbing her fingers against her hands, trying to find the little stag the Onion Knight had given her. It must have burned in the fire, she thought sadly. Whenever she thought of the stag, she thought of the Onion Knight and how he wasn't there. Would he have stood by like Father and let her die? Or would he have tried to save her?

Maybe that's why Father sent him away. Because he knew he'd protest against the burning and try to save her like Mother tried. He might have succeeded as well – Mother was sickly and weak, but the Onion Knight was a solider, seasoned and experienced, who could command the loyalty of some of the men. He wouldn't have stood by and let her burn. Will he stay by Father's side when he learns what happened? Shireen thought. He'll be gone for weeks. He probably won't hear about what happened until he returns to the Camp. She wished she could have said goodbye to him properly.

Then, for the first time in days, the door clicked open. Like window, it was made of thick ivory, and oval shaped. Flinching, Shireen bunched herself into a small ball and shrunk into a corner. It was the boy from earlier – she still didn't know his name – carrying a tray with a large water jug and a bowl filled with fruit. She eyed it suspiciously, feeling sick at the thought of having anything these Red Priests brought to her inside her body. They said they didn't want to hurt her and that Melisandre was their enemy, but she still couldn't trust them.

"I brought you some food," he said gently, setting it down on a small table next to her, and then backing away again. When he was close to the door, he knelt down on the hearthrug in her room and rested his arms on his knees. "Aren't you hungry? You haven't eaten in over two days." Shireen didn't speak, only eyed him warily. With a soft sigh, the boy shifted on the uncomfortable floor and met her gaze evenly. "I understand you're scared, Shireen. I don't think I could handle what you've been through either, but… you cannot stay here forever. Most of my friends might choose to be gentle with you and simply tell you that Asshai is no place for you to heal, which is true. But I feel like you deserve to know that although Melisandre has been banished from Asshai and our Temples, she was one of many who place too much sanctity within King's Blood." Shireen shivered, scratching at her skin, wishing she could drain all her damned King's Blood from her body. "Fear not, Shireen, these people will not act upon their beliefs with the freedom and disregard Melisandre displayed. For they are few to the many that live here and will not risk the wrath of our High Priests and High Priestesses to try and take you by stealth."

"Why do they want to kill me?" Shireen sobbed. "I haven't done anything to them. I never did anything to her. Why did she want me dead?"

"It is King's Blood," the boy explained carefully. "It is one of the greatest sacrifices to R'hollor and the Great Other that can be offered. It can give life, take life, prevent disease, win wars… and has been used for centuries by us, though recently less stock has been placed upon its potency, especially if the sacrifice is not made willingly. Melisandre, however, seems to have run into some very good luck when she used your cousin's blood…"

"My cousin?"

"Yes, your cousin," the boy looked at her quizzically. "Oh, you didn't know. From what we have been able to discern from third parties, Melisandre captured a bastard son of Robert Baratheon several months ago. She filled three leeches with his blood and gave them to your father: he then threw them into the fire whilst chanting the names of three enemies: Balon Greyjoy, Robb Stark and Joffrey Baratheon. When two of them died, it seemed your father was convinced of its power so he commanded the boy to be burned, but your friend, Sir Davos, saved him before she could."

"I didn't even know about that."

"No, I don't suppose you would. If it means anything to you, most of us don't believe Melisandre's magic was responsible for their demise – from what we can gather from correspondence with other Priests, both the King's died as a result of long-term plans that came into their initial fruition before Melisandre and Stannis's burning of the leeches."

"But he was convinced of the magic?"

"Yes. We believe so. Do not get me wrong, King's Blood and that of others is an exceptionally potent ingredient in magic, but Melisandre has neither used it with respect for the human life given to the Lord nor to our religion. She refuses to acknowledge the doctrines of consent of the sacrificing party, which is something our religion places great value upon. Without consent, the magic may still work, but it may come with crude retribution."

Shireen stopped scratching at herself, taking deep even breaths. "So you saved me because…?"

"Because your death was not necessary, not matter what Melisandre or your father may believe. It was cruel, monstrous and, we suspect, the act of an ambitious woman using her influence to remove political and personal obstacles between herself and Stannis Baratheon."

"Obstacles?"

"The world knows that Selys Baratheon is under the control of Melisandre, but she has not yet managed to completely overwhelm Stannis Baratheon. What is less commonly known was his affection and love for you and your own aversion to Melisandre, which were kept private family affairs. Our Priestess in Westeros deduced those facts from observing your history through the fires: it is part of her practice to unravel private histories of individuals who are connected to the Lord of Light. As you would have grown older, your personal relationship with your father may have influenced him. A likely outcome of that influence may have been he directed more attention to your advice, which may have resulted from Melisandre's loss of power. As well as removing your future influence, she also bound Stannis to her in a more personal fashion. She has now bound your father to her through your death – his sacrifice of you for the sake of Melisandre's cause means he is now thoroughly invested in her. For the sake of the daughter he has sacrificed, he will remain constant to the doctrine he sacrificed her for, otherwise what he has done will have been meaningless. He may also likely loose the trust and respect of many other advisors who despised Melisandre, like Sir Davos Seaworth. Sending him away was a calculated manoeuvre by Stannis to ensure had the least opposition possible, but when he returns Sir Davos will likely not remain with him, and if he does, he will never trust Stannis fully again."

Every word he said made Shireen want to weep. Knowing what Father had condemned himself to, what he had condemned her to. Why did he do it? He could have found another way to get what he wanted? "The Onion Knight did not know?"

"We believe not. We foresaw your death the evening following his departure. It seems like a reasonable assumption that Stannis would remove his strongest opposition to Melisandre from the camp before he attempted your death."

Shireen nodded, swallowing in her dry throat, rubbing it raw. "So what happens now? He thinks I'm dead."

"And it will remain that way for your own safety," he replied. "Once you are rested, bathed and strengthened we will smuggle you from Asshai and deliver you into secure hands. Afterwards, your life will be in your own hands." The boy stood again, slowly, walked towards Shireen, picked up the food tray again and passed it into her hands. "I know you're in pain, Shireen. Your family and the people who swore to protect you have betrayed you. But you still have so much to give to this world, and that is why we saved you. Now you won't be able to help yourself and anyone if you don't push forward. You won't be better from a good meal, sleep and a bathe, but it will be a start. So come on, eat up while these are fresh from Astapor. There's a warm tub of lavender-scented water waiting outside for you. You can bathe whilst eating if you prefer, I can call in some younger female apprentices to help you if you wish. We have some robes for you to change into."

Outside, another individual passed by the window with a torch, causing Shireen to flinch back into the wall once more. For the first time since she arrived, however, she hated how the fire made her afraid. It felt like the witch had won whenever she flinched away from the light. "You say that R'hollor, who you worship with fire, is the god of light and life."

"Yes."

"Why do you worship your god of life with such a destructive force?" Shireen mumbled quietly. "I was always so afraid to ask her why?"

"You need not be afraid, Shireen. This is an educational city as much as a centre for our religion, and I have asked similar questions myself during my early days," the boy smiled. "Fire does destroy it is true, but it is also one of the greatest modes of rebirth across all known mythologies, religions and even our very history. From her husband's funeral pyre, the Mother of Dragons gave life to her children. Even you, one day, will see the day you were pulled through a fire portal as your rebirth. Fires can also destroy the darkness and bring the light. Wights, creates of death and darkness, are destroyed by fire. Whenever I think of the misuse of R'hollor's sacred power, it sickens me, but we must persevere, so light will conquer the darkness." The boy patted her hands gently, shifting off the bed again. "I will send my friends in with your bath. When you are finished, they can escort you to Quaithe's chambers. She is one of our High Priestesses and will explain everything else to you."

Xxxxxxxxx

As Shireen finished scrubbing the ash and grease from her body, alone, she watched as the lilac bathwater turn gritty and cool with the dirt that oozed from her body. She'd been dirty for so long, she'd forgotten how badly she smelled. It was strange how soft her skin felt now she was no longer riding across rocky forests and walking through fire. Stepping out of the bath, Shireen gathered the pale black dress embroidered with lace around the steep neck-collar and under-arms of the gown. It felt strange wearing something so fine as silk and lace – usually she just wore wool and cotton, despite her status, to protect her from the harsh weather of the Dragonstone and North.

The Red Apprentices who had come to help her seemed placid enough, but Shireen still didn't want them in the same room as her while she bathed and changed her clothes. Her fingers trembled whilst she strapped on the dress belonging to the Red Priests, but when she finished she remembered to steel herself before they re-entered. No matter where she was, Shireen was still a Baratheon Princess and she should command authority as such.

After she had announced she was ready, to her surprise, Shireen was not led through the door, but through the window. Her room, it turned out, was on the ground floor and could be operated by unlatching locks on either side of the window. It rotated open with ease, one in front, one behind her, and they stepped out into the midday, not that there was much of anything. As far as she could see, the sky was overcast with a soft grey cotton palette, the sun abstract.

They walked for nearly half an hour between the domed houses, temples and curved towers, some of which looped for at least a mile across the city. Like her companions, the city was silent. Everything was cast in deep shadow, some crevices so dark it was if they opened up to the depths of hell. Eventually, they came to a short building, probably no higher than three meters, but had several, thin towers sprouting out of it. Her companions lit a torch from a small bonfire at the front and escorted her inside, taking tactful care to keep it away from Shireen, for which she was grateful. They led her through several corridors, possibly towards the back of the building, after which they pushed through a door and led her up set of large, steep stairs. At the top, rather than a platform with a door, they had to climb through a trapdoor. Rather than show her inside, however, the girl in front stepped aside and gestured for Shireen to go through on her own.

Although her feet wanted to run straight back down the stairs, she carried on, twitching away from the dull heat the torch gave off from the girl's hand, and entered the room. Inside were the boy and four others, who may have been the same individuals she had met before. This time, however, only one wore a mask. The other two, like the boy, were wearing robes stitched from strips of red fabric weaved together in hexagonal patterns. The first man was tall, broad and exceptionally muscular with black skin and curled thick hair, wearing a firm and deeply upset expression, whereas the other was short, wiry and pale yet seemed to carry an inner strength. By contrast, the woman was much calmer, highlighting the softness behind her long, thin features. After looking at her for a little longer, Shireen remembered that she had been the one who carried her to her bedroom whilst she was having a panic.

"Welcome, Shireen Baratheon," she smiled gently. "I did not introduce myself earlier. I am Zhuronga, a Priestess to the Lord of Light. May I introduce my fellow Priests, Yarren and Logi," she beckoned first to the small man, then to the taller one, "Logi's apprentice, Nuski," she introduced the young boy, "and one of our most revered High Priestesses, Quaithe." Unaccustomed to the formal Asshai greeting, Shireen curtseyed deeply to each person in the room as she was introduced.

The man named Yarren, stepped forward with an easy smile gracing his features and, bypassing custom, reached a hand towards Shireen's damaged face. "I'm afraid I was unable to return to Asshai in time to conduct the ceremony that brought you, but be assured I will protect you," he whispered calmly, then shifted his eyes from hers to her cheek, smiling softly. "How brave and strong of you to survive such an affliction." Shireen said nothing, not knowing how to respond to this strange, and quite invasive man.

Steadily, he stepped back in line and directed his gaze to Quaithe, who reached forward to take Shireen's hands. "Make no mistake, Shireen, I am very glad you are alive. Someone so innocent should never have to suffer something to tragic, but I must be candid with you, if only because you deserve it."

"Thank you," Shireen coughed, trying to keep her voice level. It felt odd, standing in this room, with these people whom she couldn't help but feel a reflexive distrust and yet gratitude all at the same time.

"We serve Azor Ahai in the fight against the Great Other, as does everyone here in Asshai. Unfortunately for yourself and your family, Melisandre has misconstrued the prophecy for her own ends. She has, to use the adequate term, manufactured Stannis Baratheon into Azor Ahai for her own ends to gain power. The sword your father pulled from the statues of the burning Seven was not Lightbringer – it could not hold against the fire it was thrust into. He may have ruled in the Dragonstone – a place of smoke and salt – but he was not born there nor in any way did he undergo a ceremonial rebirth that could constitute him being Azor Ahai resurrected. The blood of the dragon runs thinly in his veins. Unlike the Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen."

"The Mad King's daughter?" Shireen prompted, ignoring Logi's snarl.

"She is not mad, she is our saviour reborn. She was born on the Dragonstone and survived the fire of her husband's pyre to birth three dragons from stone – giving life to creatures of stone through fire. The first dragons to live in thousands of years, creatures of fire and magic, and she is the one who commands them." Quaithe halted in her doctrine for the moment, breathing steadily behind the mask she wore. "But she will not be able to command Westeros alone – as much as we have our faith, disciples have always been necessary to guide our saviours."

Shireen swallowed heavily. "A disciple?"

"Those who can aid our Saviour in her quest. Shireen, you are the Daughter of the Stag and the last heir to the House of Baratheon. Forgive me for being blunt my child, but you are the daughter who has been betrayed by her father, the supposed saviour of his people. You know the people of Westeros and with training, you can rally them behind you when your time comes."

"What?" Shireen faltered. "I don't think so… you have the wrong person. Not one of those people cared enough to rescue me from that fire. They held my mother back when she tried to help me. Why would they fight for me? Besides they think I am dead?"

"You must make them fight for you!" Logi spoke deeply. "You will learn how to overcome these obstacles."

"How?" Shireen sobbed. "You say I am a disciple for your Azor Ahai. I have nothing to give to Daenerys Targaryen. My family murdered hers! She will kill me!"

"The Mother of Dragons has forever pitied those who are powerless. By the time you meet her, you will have learned how to make her see that," Quaithe spoke softer now, calming and gentle. "How you will learn, you will see before your time comes." The High Priestess straightened once more, smoothing a tear falling across her cheek away from its path. "Now, go rest child. You have a long journey starting tomorrow for Braavos. Nuski will wake you at sunrise."