Chapter Twenty-Four: Wildfire
A/N: I honestly can't thank you enough for your support. Yes, it's been months since I've updated. Things have been quite difficult at home and I haven't had as much time to write as I used to. But I'm getting back into it now, and wanted to thank everyone who has followed, favourited and reviewed.
This chapter was hard to write, mainly because I spent an eternity wondering whether the first scene was believable or not. But you'll just have to let me know in a review, won't you? ;) I hope you enjoy!
The Red Woman could go many places without being seen. She had managed to evade Stannis's fate – Stannis, his head on a spike in King's Landing. It was not a fate she had wished to share, and so Melisandre had ventured south. The man she had invested her effort into had failed. So now, she focused on a new target: the blood of the dragon. The Targaryens in the south. She could go many places unseen, but here, she showed her face for them all to bear witness.
The dragons did not like or trust her. Melisandre glanced at them as they hissed threateningly. The largest, Drogon, approached her with smoke billowing from his nostrils. He was a magnificent beast to behold, and Melisandre was curious, having never seen a dragon before. His skills were the colour of deep obsidian. She almost reached out to touch him, for the heat of his scales would not burn her. But when Drogon hissed again, she thought the better of it. Heat would not kill her, but the flames of a dragon were not ordinary flames.
"What do you want?"
It was the Targaryen boy. It was better than Melisandre had hoped for – the girl Daenerys would prove more difficult. She had more control over the dragons. But out in the frigid night with Aegon Targaryen, she was certain that she could sway him, as she had once swayed Stannis. This boy had once been put forth as the Prince Who Was Promised. The flames had been silent since Stannis's death, but could this be the one the Lord of Light had spoken of? Perhaps Stannis had been a mere trial, a farce for her to overcome.
"Your Grace, if you will allow me to introduce myself. My name is…"
"I know who you are." Aegon's violet eyes were smouldering. Melisandre had not met Rhaegar Targaryen, but she had heard of his legacy. That he was a kind man, softly spoken and rarely angered. The boy who stood before her was not Rhaegar in the flesh. In fact, she dared to compare to his grandfather, Aerys, or his uncle Viserys. Madness and greatness. Passion and pride. Fire and blood. "The question is, do you know who I am?"
"Of course, Prince Aegon." Melisandre said demurely, taking slow steps towards him. She did not know enough about this Targaryen boy to know how he would react to her. "I am here to offer myself as an ally to your cause."
"An ally?" Aegon's raised eyebrows and sceptical tone did not bode well. "Why would I trust you? You betrayed Stannis Baratheon by leaving him to his death."
He glanced to the dragons, and Melisandre understood. She knew why the flames had been silent. It was not because this boy was the Prince Who Was Promised, but rather because he wasn't. That legacy had been lost when Stannis had been executed. The boy before her was nothing but another pretender.
Fire cannot kill a dragon. But wildfire can.
With that thought in mind, Melisandre drew the small pot of wildfire from her cloak. She was always prepared. She always had a plan. And now she could see what Aegon truly was, her plan involved destroying the Targaryens. She did not fear fire, but she would be a fool not to fear wildfire. She had brought the wildfire as a last resort, uncertain as to whether normal fire could burn a Targaryen.
Melisandre drew her arm back and hurled the clay pot, however Aegon's violet eyes flashed. He seemed to sense that she was going to do something, for he dropped to the ground and the clay pot sailed over his head. Instead of striking the Targaryen prince, the clay pot smashed against the jaw of the largest dragon, Drogon.
Flames instantly burst forth and the emerald fire licked at the dragon's scales. Aegon pushed himself to his feet, eyes wide with something like horror as Drogon's agonised screech rent through the camp. It would appear that no creature, not even a mighty dragon, was immune to the sheer heat of wildfire. Rhaegal and Viserion drew away from their brother, watching in silence as his colossal wings spread and he took to the air to try and rid himself of the flames.
Melisandre knew that Drogon was doomed. The pain in his high-pitched screams and the way the fire lapped greedily at his scales assured her of that much. As the largest dragon twisted and howled in the air above them, Aegon turned his furious gaze upon Melisandre. She braced herself, wondering what she could expect from the boy. Whatever it was, she would be able to withstand it. Violence, poison…she had survived those things before.
Then Aegon turned to the dragons and uttered a single word that chilled her to the bone.
"Dracarys."
The dragonfire was upon Melisandre so quickly that it took her a moment to protest. She felt the pain of the dragon dying in the sky. She felt the heat tearing and consuming her flesh. She screamed as Drogon's body shook the earth when it hit. Through the flames, she thought she could see Aegon's eyes glittering, thought she could hear him laughing.
Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.
The swell of her pregnancy was more prominent than ever. Mella could not help but smile as she rested her hands on her stomach, marvelling in how her belly had grown. She was five months into the pregnancy, and it frightened her to think that in only a few short months, she and Robb would have a child together. Being a mother had always been something that was expected of her – that wasn't the concern. Her worry stemmed from the fact that there were many who might wish her and her unborn child harm.
As Robb entered the tent they shared, the child moved within Mella, and she placed a hand to her stomach upon feeling the baby kicking. However her smile faded as soon as she saw Robb's expression, which was grim. Despite their delight at the prospect of becoming parents, that joy did not outshine the stress that came with being rulers, with battles still occurring around them.
"What's wrong?" Mella swept over to her husband, catching his arm gently so that he looked at her. "Robb, has something happened?"
"I fear for you," Robb admitted, reaching out and tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. It was moments such as this that she cherished – the tenderness that Robb displayed when the cold mask of the King in the North dropped and they were allowed to be themselves. They loved fiercely in private, but in public they presented themselves as a united front. "I fear for our child, for what might happen if your family was to get a hold of you."
Mella bit down on her lip. Surely her family would not want her hurt, as she wished them no harm. Joffrey was the only one who had wanted her dead, and he was gone now. Perhaps in Cersei's mind, Mella had betrayed them – but the lioness who loved her cubs so dearly was not about to harm one of her own, her eldest, even if that girl was Robert's child. She rubbed her husband's arm reassuringly.
"You shouldn't be. You know my mother wouldn't hurt me."
"They wouldn't want you to keep the baby." Robb's eyes drifted to the swell of his wife's stomach. If the child was a boy, he would hold power that many men could only dream of. It would certainly give the Lannisters something to fear. "Your mother may care for you, but not enough to let you keep a little wolf. She would force you to drink moon tea, even you know that."
Mella swallowed hard. It was true – Cersei was a ruthless woman, and if her grandchild could be a potential threat, she would purge the child from Mella's womb and force her to marry a man of their choosing. It made her feel sick to the stomach. Yet she knew she had nothing to fear while she was with Robb. Her husband would protect her from any danger, as she would protect him in her own way.
"We're safe as long as we're together."
"That's just the problem." Robb raked a hand through his dark curls. "My men and I march on Casterly Rock tomorrow. You and my mother are to remain with the camp until our return."
Mella stiffened. It was some fair distance between here and Casterly Rock. Evidently, Robb feared that her grandfather Tywin's men might manage to seize hold of her and use them against him. Yet the thought of remaining at the camp, not knowing how he was, worrying for his safety, disagreed with her. She drew herself up, lifting her chin.
"And what of my men? Are they to accompany you?"
"I would never presume to take them without your authority," Robb said seriously, and Mella knew that he viewed her as an equal. He respected her. She was more than just a wife who would bear his children, she held power of her own, and Robb was aware of that and prepared to ask for her input on matters such as this. Despite the fact that she might not like him going without her, Mella had to confess that the more logical place for her was staying at the camp.
"You have my permission," Mella stated, before she wrapped her arms around Robb and pulled him close. "I will miss you. I will worry for you. I expect you to send me ravens as often as you can."
"Of course." Robb kissed the top of her head.
Quentyn Martell sat in his saddle with a terse frown across his face as he watched the activity in the Stark-Baratheon camp. Since he had joined with his cousin, Aegon had made no secret of his desire to have Quentyn do his spying for him. There was no one he trusted more than his cousin to report to him on delicate matters. Yet as they had drawn ever closer to the King in the North's camp, Quentyn had felt a weariness press down upon him, weighing on his shoulders.
He could barely make out two figures exiting the largest tent, from which the Stark banner flew proudly. A dark-haired man and woman. The King and Queen in the North. Quentyn licked his dry lips as he watched them. Mella embraced Robb and kissed him passionately, before Robb walked over to join with the rest of his men. By the activity that had been occurring since the early hours, it appeared that the main force was to depart the camp.
Quentyn remembered meeting Mella in King's Landing. Many said that she was her father's image, a true Baratheon. But despite the fact that yes, she was spirited as Robert had allegedly been at that age, there was some of Cersei in her. Not the cruelty – no, that had manifested itself quite well in Joffrey. But the fierce determination to protect those she cared about certainly came from her mother. Quentyn respected Mella, and coming from Dorne where women were equal to men, he could definitely see her as a rival – if not just to Aegon, then also to Daenerys.
He watched as Robb and the other Stark soldiers departed the camp. Most likely, it would be few left at the camp – such as Mella and Robb's mother, Catelyn. Grimly, Quentyn surmised that when he reported back to Aegon on this matter, the dragon prince would want to march on the camp. It would be an ambush, any who resisted quickly being put to the slaughter. Yet what was Quentyn fighting for if not for Aegon and Daenerys to claim the throne?
Pushing aside his doubts, Quentyn wheeled his horse around and gestured for his men to follow him, galloping back towards the dragons. Mella may have all the Baratheon fury in the world, but was she any match for the fire of two dragons?