Note: This is a heavy one.
CW: Canon compliant character death.
Chapter 11: Loss
Rusted metal, stone walls, damp, dirt, darkness.
This was what Eira faced for days after she awoke.
Occasionally she'd hear low, grunting voices, the thud of fist against flesh, the creaking of doors being opened and shut. But no one graced her their presence.
She'd awoken sore, dirtied in blood, not all her own, with bandages haphazardly thrown on each forearm. The thought that someone had handled her whilst she was unconscious had Eira's heart thumping out of her chest, her hands shooting down to check if her undergarments had been removed, inspecting her cunt, thighs and anywhere that may have been abused whilst she could not fight. Nothing seemed off, these Crow's really did stick to their vows after all.
She wished there was a vow in their stupid rule book about feeding prisoners. Eira spent most of her time now lying in the corner of her cell, eyes trained on the rusted door whenever she had the strength. She kept silent, although she wished to scream and call out for Tormund, for Mance, for anyone who may have also been captured.
After what she believed to be her third day she had taken to licking the damp walls in search of moisture. It reminded her of when she'd gotten sick, back at the Tavern. Father had locked her in the attic with no food or water, in fear she'd scare off the customers with her plague. She thought she was going to die, wished for it. Rain came and she'd dragged herself to a hole in the thatched roof where she could cup her hands and weakly drink the rainwater. She'd believed it was the Gods had blessed her. Eira knew better now, the Old Gods of the Forest were useless, they didn't intervene for anything, it was her God of Fire that was real.
A door clanged open, light steps patterned down the stairs somewhere at the end of the hall, hidden from Eira's view. Not a soldier. Maybe a boy, Eira had seen some young faces in the midst of battle, young like Varl. Poor stupid Varl.
Faintly, Eira could hear swishing skirts. A girl? Girls weren't Crows. Eira sat herself up, crawled over to the gates, wrapping her scratched up hands to the bars and tried to peer at the mystery guest.
A tall woman, in a dark red gown, long hair, the colour of blood, tumbled from the hood, floated down the hall that separated two rows of cells. She was sure it was the person in her vision. She couldn't believe it. Her spy was working with the Crows this whole time. They'd never stood a chance. Eira saw red.
"OI", Eira banged the gate, rattling it loudly. Her voice was weak and rough, it broke through the silent halls. The woman didn't miss a step, as if she hadn't heard a word. She kept walking until she was directly in front of Eira's cell. Slender hands removed the hood, revealing thin brows, narrow light coloured eyes stared down at her haughtily. She was perfect, not a blemish on her face, lips painted like a porcelain doll. Eira felt like a dog, scruffy and growling in its kennel.
Like a dog, Eira found her growling again at the mystery woman. "Spy".
The woman smiled and lowered herself to a kneel, meeting Eira's blue eyes with her own.
"Why yes, I guess you could call it spying." She sounded amused, Eira couldn't imagine why, "I was informed about you by our Lord. To seek you out. New Priestesses need a guide. You cannot expect to stave off the darkness yourself."
"What are you talking about? I don't serve no Lord. There ain't Lords in the North."
The woman smirked again, "No, not a Lord, Knight, or even King we serve. R'hllor. The Lord of the Light. Who you speak to in your flames. You granted you your gifts."
R'hllor.
"H-how do you know this?" The woman smiled.
"He told me. As he told you. You just didn't understand him."
Eira felt shame tug at her chest, her face burned. This woman had spied on her for months through the fire. Her God had sent visions of her. And when she'd finally met her, she was dirty, stinking, in a cage on the enemy's side.
"He showed me you. And an army." The woman smiled and nodded gently.
"I don't get cold. The fire talks to me. Shows me things. I use my blood to catch fire to things."
"Yes, yes. All good gifts. You've been blessed. More than many of the Priestesses back in Essos. That's why I'm here." A smooth hand carefully wrapped around Eira's dirty one, still clinging onto the cell door.
"I need to know why you, some peasant girl in the North, was chosen to bear such gifts." Her hand made soothing circles on top of Eira's own, "I believe you were gifted, to follow our Lord, in the war against the dark forces that hide beyond The Wall."
"The Wights."
"Yes. The Wights."
The woman, Melisandre, told Eira countless tales of R'hllor and the Red Priestesses that lived all over Essos. Children were brought to temples, raised to serve The Lord of the Light, and become Priests and Priestesses themselves. They worshipped their God with fire, sex, and blood magic. Melisandre believed their Lord had been looking to bless a new Priestess in the North, but belief in the Old Gods of the Forest was too strong in Westeros, especially in the North. Eira told Melisandre about That Night, the woman seemed impressed, happy even, that she'd done such a terrible and obscene thing.
Melisandre told her about Stannis Barathaeon. How R'hllor had deemed him Azor Ahai. He would be the one rid the world of darkness for one and for all. That it was his army, Eira had seen in the flames. Melisandre said that their God showed it to her to promise that help was on its way.
The woman had called for guards, they'd let Eira out of her cage up into the Castle. Eira tried to peek past the guards bodies as she was half-dragged across the courtyard, desperately looking for a peak of pale furs amongst the black, a slither of fiery red hair. It was selfish to wish her Giant had been captured. But she missed him. Missed his grumbling, crude chatter, his booming laughter whilst drinking Goat's milk, even his bear hugs she'd find herself trapped in every morning. It had been a long time since she'd seen him.
High up in the Castle, Melisandre took Eira into her temporary rooms. She drew a bath, and poured in oils from golden bottles. Eira had never had someone draw her a bath before. Eira dunked her hair into the water, used all the oils she desired, on the side was a clean towel and a dress.
"They're called Red Priestesses for a reason my dear."
It was long, dark red with billowing sleeves. Eira's hair looked as shiny as a polished blade. She smelt of spices. She looked incredible.
She'd thanked Melisandre countless times. The woman merely smiled and invited Eira to worship. They'd split their blood together and the fire nearly hit the tall ceiling of the room. Eira could hear her God's words, R'hllor, and Melisandre translated some of it. Wise from years and years of listening to his words. They ate cheese, bread and meat. They drank blood red wine.
Melisandre left her in the room to rest. She said that she'd be called later tonight for a special meeting with the whole Castle. Eira threw herself onto the giant bed, rolling in it like a giddy little girl. She'd never known such luxury. She'd felt like a princess.
Eira must have fallen asleep on the grand bed, being woken up with a start by a knocking at the door.
"Sorry Miss. Everyone down to the Courtyard now." Miss? Eira giggled, and admired her grand new dress in the large mirror.
She was met by two men in knights' armour at the bottom of the stairs to the courtyard, grabbing her firmly by the arms, reminding her that fancy dress and all she was still their prisoner.
In the middle of the courtyard was a large pyre, probably for burning the dead. Eira knew it wasn't very common to burn the dead, clearly the Crows had learnt a thing or two from the Wildings. Although it was odd to burn so close to the Castle, flesh smelt bad.
Across the pyre, Eira spotted red hair. She lurched forward at a glance of her Giant, standing with a large group of Wildings, amongst them Ygritte's Crow. The hands on her arms tightened, "Stop it girl" one hissed and pressed a boot onto her foot as a warning. She willed her Giant to look at her but his gaze was trained somewhere to her left with an expression of pure rage. Eira followed his eyes, her heart stopped.
Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall, was being marched out by two knights. He was in chains, stripped of his great furs and dressed in black. They marched him slowly towards the pyre, Eira suddenly felt cold, frozen through, as she realised what was about to happen.
"No. No no no no no no no. They can't, y-you can't do this, you CAN'T" Her voice frantic, high pitched squeals like a trapped rabbit. The men around her started to shift, attention drifting from Mance and the man he stood before, Stannis. Tormund finally noticed her presence as the Knight to her left slapped her and held a thick hand around her throat.
"Silence." The words choked out of her.
"Mance Rayder, I hear they call you the King Beyond The Wall". Stannis said, "Westeros only has one King. Bend the knee and I will show you mercy." Mance didn't move, he wouldn't, couldn't. How could this Stannis man believe that a true King like Mance Rayder would ever bend the knee. Stannis didn't even have the throne in Westeros. It was Robert Baratheon, or one of his sons. It would never be Stannis.
"Kneel and live."
"This was my home for many years." Mance spoke, his words cut through the silence and commanded the crowd in a way Stannis could never hope to achieve. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."
The Knights took Mance and tied him to the Pyre. He gazed down at his people, at Eira. How must he think of her at this moment, dressed in these clothes, clean. Did he think her a traitor? Did he not know she too was a prisoner? Kept in a cage up until this day? She willed him to hear her thoughts, I'm sorry I'm so sorry.
"We all must choose." Melisandre sweeped her way in front of the pyre, "Man or woman, young or old, Lord or Peasant. Our choices are the same. We choose Light, we choose darkness. We choose good, we choose evil." She paused, watching Eira with her wise eyes. "We choose the true God… or the False."
A knight handed her a flaming torch, "Free Folk, there is only one true king. And his name is Stannis. Here stands your King of Lies. Behold the fate of those who choose the darkness." She lit the pyre, Eira squirmed in the Knights grip. She wanted to run, to get away, to fight them back and beg her God to let the flames travel away from her King and onto the Crows who dared to speak about the Wildings as if they knew anything about them.
Mance was quiet. Stoic. Up until the flames had risen well past his shoulders. Only then did the great King make noise.
Eira's vision was blinded by tears, she could only see the blurred flicker of flames, and hear Mance's groans of pain.
A whir of a bow.
Silence.
The Knights holding her dropped her arms, she wiped her eyes and saw Ygritte's Crow lower a bow. He'd shot Mance Rayder in the heart, killing the King of the North instantly. Saving him from a long, slow death.
As the courtyard stood stunned, Eira dashed over towards the Wildings but was stopped by a hard flashing out and gripping arm, Melisandre.
"Your place is here Priestess." Eira looked back in horror, wrenching her arm away and staggering to her Giant. Frozen in place, face slack with grief.
She threw herself at him and spluttered out apologies between gasping breaths and tears.
"I didn't know, they tricked me, they took me up to the castle and fed me lies, I'm so sorry, I didn't-, I couldn't-"
The Giant didn't say a word, but wrapped his arms around her as he continued to stare at the burning body of his longest friend.
