The sky unleashed a relentless downpour as Jon stepped off the ship, accompanied by Prince Oberyn, now disguised in Captain Waylock's ill-fitting attire. Despite the mismatched clothes, a hat concealed Oberyn's identity effectively, masking the Dornish Prince's dangerous allure.
Jon envied Oberyn's hat as rain cascaded from the heavens, obscuring the view of the walled city. He tightened his cloak around his neck and forged ahead along the main road leading out of the port, guided by the knowledge that Melisandre awaited him somewhere along its path.
After five minutes, the rain abated a little, though it persisted enough to obscure the surroundings. Jon could discern the hilly cobblestone road ahead. The buildings, constructed of muddy brown or grey stone, blended with the dreary weather, while the streets felt wider and less oppressive compared to King's Landing, likely due to the shorter buildings.
"Do you know the way?" Oberyn inquired.
"The Gull and Net," Jon said.
"We're going the wrong way," Oberyn declared. "Follow me."
"You're familiar with this city?" Jon queried.
"I know all the finest inns and brothels. What more do I need?" Oberyn retorted.
Jon paused. "The woman we're meeting. She's beautiful, but she's a red priestess of R'hllor."
"Ah, so I shouldn't attempt to fuck her, lest she siphon away my essence," Oberyn acknowledged.
Jon's brow furrowed. "How did you know?"
"I've travelled far and wide. I forged six maesters links at the citadel and while in Essos, I became acquainted with various religions practised there. I understand the ways of priestesses and their desires. I assure you, I can resist her charms, no matter how enchanting," Oberyn assured him.
They turned right, then left, eventually arriving at a sizeable establishment adorned with a sign depicting a gull and a net. On the doorstep, Oberyn emptied the water collected in the brim of his black hat, while Jon shook his cloak, ran his fingers through his now longer wet hair, away from his brow and eyes to clear his vision, and wiped his now stubbled face. By the time he reached Winterfell, he hoped to resemble his usual self, with long hair and beard, just as Sansa liked him.
The inn's common room bustled with heat, crowds, and clamour, as if the entirety of Gulltown sought refuge from the dreadful weather within its walls.
Jon scanned the room, searching for the proprietor or someone in authority, when an elderly woman, her hair grey and her eyes clouded blue, approached.
"My Prince," Melisandre's voice emanated from the aged woman. Jon gazed at her in astonishment, but it was Oberyn who responded.
"Do I know you?" Oberyn inquired.
Jon realised the misunderstanding. Melisandre must have concealed herself in some magical guise, leading Oberyn to mistake her reference to "Prince" as directed toward him.
"You appear quite different, my Lady," Jon interjected.
Oberyn looked at Jon incredulously. "I thought you said she was beautiful," he muttered.
"She's using magic to disguise herself," Jon explained, then turned his attention back to Melisandre. "Shall we proceed to your chambers?" he suggested.
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Despite the coin paid for the room, Melisandre's accommodation was sparse. A modest cot, a table with two chairs, a roaring fire accompanied by a blazing brazier—Jon recognized it as Melisandre's—along with four sizeable chests that Jon doubted she had taken with her. Despite the darkness of the wooden walls and the dust-filled air, the room felt somewhat illuminated between the brazier and the fire.
The smoke irritated Jon's eyes, and he sneezed from the dust assaulting his nose. Nonetheless, the warmth and dryness were welcoming. Hastily shedding his cloak and doublet, Jon stripped down to his tunic and breeches to facilitate the drying process. Oberyn followed suit, while Jon observed Melisandre removing a ruby-adorned bracelet, akin to her necklace. In mere moments, she transformed back to her resplendent self.
"Here, towels, my Prince," she offered Jon and Oberyn towels to aid in their drying off. Once they had rid themselves of the dampness, Melisandre presented them each with a goblet of red wine. "I'm afraid it isn't the Dornish red you prefer, Prince Oberyn," she remarked.
Oberyn's brow furrowed. "How do you know who I am?" he inquired.
"I possess knowledge of many things, Prince Oberyn. While some may be mystical, on this occasion, it was not magic that revealed your identity. Your distinct Dornish accent and your assumption that I addressed you as 'Prince' gave you away. Considering there are only two Dornish princes, Prince Oberyn or Prince Doran, and the well-known fact that Prince Doran is confined to a chair most of the time, therefore you must be Prince Oberyn," she explained, her smile gleaming.
"I've heard you have something for me," Jon addressed Melisandre.
She nodded and retrieved an item from a drawer on the bedside table, handing it to Jon. It comprised two letters and a set of keys, both sealed with the blue mockingbird wax emblem, the sigil of Littlefinger's house. Jon unfolded the first letter and perused its contents.
I hereby authorise Lord Jon Whitestark of Queenscrown to clear out the premises which I own, 28 Osgood Hill, on my behalf, for I am relocating my offices to another location for security purposes.
Lord Petyr Baelish.
Jon set the letter aside and opened the next one.
Jon,
I've included the keys to Littlefinger's premises along with a letter of authorisation for you to clear it out. The keys were enclosed with this letter.
Once you've emptied the offices, I need you to investigate what holdings he has with the Iron Bank. I suspect that Littlefinger's wealth surpasses that of all Westeros combined. We must uncover where his funds are stashed, and swiftly too, as Littlefinger must meet his end before he weds Lysa Arryn. The mere thought of marrying, my aunt, let alone fucking her on my wedding night turns my stomach.
Jon winced at Arya's words, knowing some of it was an underhanded and insulting reference to Jon's previous relationship with Dany. Although Arya's predicament was very different. He continued reading:
But I digress. I plan to journey to the Eyrie and then Braavos. There, I'll seek to withdraw all my funds to prepare for winter. On the return voyage, my ship will meet its demise, and Littlefinger will perish with his riches. I'll write to Father with all the details to ensure this unfolds.
I wish I could attend the Northern council, but it seems my absence will extend longer than expected, as I've been appointed as a judge for Tyrion's trial.
The address for Littlefinger's premises is 28 Osgood Hill.
Best of luck, brother.
All my love,
Arya
Jon folded the letter and retrieved the sodden map from his saddlebag, scanning it for Osgood Hill. Fortunately, it wasn't far from the Gull and Net.
"What does it say?" Oberyn inquired.
"It provides the address for Littlefinger's offices, along with a personal family message," Jon replied. "But before we empty his premises, let's order some food and allow our clothes to dry a bit," he added, turning to Melisandre. "My Lady, have you gleaned anything of interest in your fires?" he asked, seeking to appease her. He knew she wouldn't take kindly to what lay ahead.
Melisandre positioned herself next to the brazier, with Jon and Oberyn observing. She gazed into the flames for several minutes, a sight that almost lulled Jon to sleep. He had gotten little rest since departing Queenscrown.
"I see battles, many of them. And I see a union, involving a Kraken and fire," she began, her smile fading into a solemn expression. "This union will take place in the Godswood of Winterfell."
Jon's heart raced with panic. "Will the Godswood burn, with Theon trapped inside?" he blurted out.
Melisandre chuckled and shook her head. "No, the Kraken will wed a woman with hair like fire. A former lover of yours in your previous life."
Jon was taken aback. "Ygritte?" he ventured.
"If that is her name, then yes, he will wed her in the Winterfell Godswood," Melisandre confirmed.
"Is there anything else?" Jon inquired.
Melisandre's expression darkened. "A mountain of gold and a mountain of wheat," she said, her frown deepening. "Death, a great deal of death." She looked up with a tinge of fear. "Your death, betrayed by someone close to you."
Jon's stomach sank at her words. Not again, he thought.
"When that time comes, I must be at your side to bring you back. You must lead us through the long night," Melisandre continued.
"Do your fires foretell I will be the one to lead us through the long night?" Jon asked, struggling to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. It felt like a rehash of what she had told Stannis.
Melisandre nodded. "Indeed. But first, you must find or forge the weapon. The one that will aid you in vanquishing the Night King. Lightbringer."
"Do you really believe he is Azor Ahai?" Oberyn interjected, his gaze shifting towards Jon as he spoke to Melisandre.
"He is Azor Ahai reborn. The Prince that was Promised," Melisandre asserted, her voice exuding unwavering confidence.
"And his wife is Nissa Nissa?" Oberyn inquired.
Jon arched an eyebrow. "Nissa Nissa? Who is Nissa Nissa?"
"In the legends, it took Azor Ahai three attempts to create the sword Lightbringer. The first he tempered with water, but the blade shattered. The second time, he tied to temper it, he caught a lion and thrust the sword into its heart, only to witness the steel fracture once more," Oberyn told him.
"Like you do," Jon frowned.
"It's the next part you won't like," Oberyn interjected. "On his third try, Azor Ahai summoned his wife, Nissa Nissa, and begged her to bare her breast. Plunging the sword into her living heart, he melded her soul with the steel to birth Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes. Henceforth, Lightbringer remained imbued with perpetual warmth," he concluded, much to Jon's horror.
"I'm not killing Sansa!" Jon argued.
"After the long summer, darkness will fall heavy on the world. Stars will bleed. The cold breath of winter will freeze the seas. And the dead shall rise in the North. In the ancient books, it's written that a warrior will draw a burning sword from the fire. And that sword shall be Lightbringer. Not all versions of the story require Nissa Nissa," Melisandre explaining the rest of the prophecy.
"I'm not Azor Ahai, and I'm not killing Sansa!" Jon asserted, his heart weighed down by conflicting emotions. If he were indeed Azor Ahai, he would either have to sacrifice Sansa or witness her fall to the army of the dead. As far as Jon was concerned, neither was a viable option.
"The prophecy might not be as literal as the texts suggest," Oberyn interjected, offering a glimmer of hope.
"If Lightbringer has already been forged, why does Azor Ahai need to make it again?" Jon questioned.
Melisandre opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Oberyn draped an arm around Jon's shoulder. "See, it might not be all that bad after all."
Though not a drinker, Jon downed a full goblet of wine after the revelation. Not because he believed himself to be prophesied Azor Ahai, but because the story shook him to the core, and he was furious with Melisandre for even raising the possibility.
Jon had reached his limit; he wanted Melisandre out of his sight. As he rose from his seat to deliver his instructions, she stood waiting, hands folded in front of her, a small smile gracing her lips.
"I want you to return to your temple in Volantis. Gather your priests and priestesses. The long night won't arrive for at least another four years. Come back then, and we'll make our preparations," Jon commanded. "I'll ensure a ship is prepared for you."
"There's no need. I can arrange that myself," Melisandre replied. "I must return sooner than you command, to be with you when you are betrayed," she added.
"How do you know when the long night is coming?" Oberyn inquired.
"Some of the Starks have green dreams. The Targaryens are dragon dreamers. I possess the abilities of both," Jon explained. "I know when it's approaching."
"I will do as you ask, my Prince. Though I may return sooner to ensure you're guided through your trial," Melisandre bowed her head.
"If I am to ascend the throne, you cannot proselytise in the Seven Kingdoms until after the long night has passed," Jon cautioned her. What he hadn't told anyone was if they succeeded, he would abdicate and return to Queenscrown with Sansa and his family.
"At your command, my Prince. But before I leave," Melisandre turned around, gesturing towards the chests at the foot of the bed. "Two of those belong to you. The flames told me you would need one each to clear out the contents of Lord Baelish's premises."
"Thank you, my Lady," Jon smiled, then turned to Oberyn. "I think we should go before we lose daylight."
Oberyn frowned. "I thought we were going to have something to eat."
"Fuck that! I've lost my appetite," Jon snarled.
Jon and Oberyn donned their outer clothes. Having been hung next to the fire, they had dried out considerably, though still damp in a few spots. Once ready, Jon and Oberyn each picked up a chest and headed for the door, which Melisandre opened for them.
"My Lady," Jon nodded respectfully.
"I wish you good fortune, Jon Snow," Melisandre smiled before closing the door behind them.
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By the time Jon and Oberyn arrived at number twenty-eight Osgood Hill, the rain had ceased, and the squawking of seagulls filled the air. The small terraced house resembled every other building on the street: constructed of greyish-brown stone, two floors high, with a slate-tiled roof and a single downstairs window. Jon placed the chests on the ground and tried to look through the window, but they were shuttered from the inside, blocking any view inside.
With no one in sight, Jon retrieved the keys from his pocket and attempted to unlock the door. The blackened iron keyring held four keys, and it took Jon three tries to find the correct one.
The door appeared unused for months. Swollen by the rain, the black wooden door resisted Jon's efforts, requiring him to use his shoulder to force it open. Eventually, it yielded, and Jon almost stumbled into the dark and dusty room. He opened the shutters of the lone window, but it offered little illumination. It seemed nobody had tended to the windows in years.
Oberyn followed, dragging the two chests inside, their scraping leaving marks in the dust. Once the door was closed, Oberyn opened one of the chests to reveal four candles and a tinderbox. Within minutes, all four candles were lit, casting light into the room and unveiling its secrets, or lack thereof.
The cramped room contained only a table, a chair, an empty fireplace, and a set of wooden stairs leading upward. There was no other exit. Jon estimated the space couldn't have been larger than twelve square feet, and he suspected the room upstairs would be much the same.
"You wait here," Jon whispered to Oberyn, though he couldn't quite explain why; something felt off.
Oberyn placed one of his candles on the table and drew his sword. "If anyone comes looking, do you want me to give them the letter or kill them?" he inquired.
Jon handed him the letter. "Let's handle this the proper way. If anyone comes knocking, tell them we're here on the orders of Lord Baelish."
"Why does Littlefinger want his premises emptied?" Oberyn pressed as Jon approached the stairs, pausing at the bottom step.
"If he leaves his sensitive documents in one place too long, Varys's little birds will sniff them out. I'm doing him a favour by relocating them to Winterfell," Jon explained.
"And why the interest in Winterfell?" Oberyn probed further.
"Lord Baelish has connections to the Tullys and intends to marry Lysa Arryn," Jon replied. "He prefers not to keep his secrets in the same kingdom as his residence," he lied. Sansa would be proud of him for coming up with such a story, although he didn't like lying to Oberyn.
"And what do you get out of this... deal?" Oberyn inquired.
"The Vale," Jon replied, turning to ascend the stairs with a candle in each hand.
Upon reaching the upper floor, Jon encountered a surprise. There were two wooden doors. Opting for the leftmost room, situated above Oberyn and the entrance, Jon used his elbow to press down the latch with his elbow before he entered.
Inside, he found four large cupboards, a table, and a hearth. Placing the candles on the table, Jon opened the shutters to allow more light into the room. Retrieving the iron keyring from his belt, he approached the cupboards, all secured with the same key. Upon unlocking them, Jon discovered a collection of letters and books.
He decided to take everything he could find, therefore Jon hurried back downstairs, retrieved one of the chests, and filled it with the books and papers. As he worked, he caught snippets of voices downstairs. Stopping to listen, he couldn't make out what was being said in the room below. He moved to the top of the stairs to investigate but was met with a grim sight: a lifeless body sprawled on the floor.
"Didn't you give him the letter?" Jon inquired.
Oberyn shrugged. "He claimed he couldn't read and drew his sword. We need to hurry."
With no other options, Jon nodded and hurried back to the room to continue filling the chest. Oberyn dashed upstairs with the other chest to assist. "What about that room?" he called out.
"I haven't checked it yet," Jon replied.
"I'll look," Oberyn decided, entering the adjacent room.
Jon was focused on organising the papers when he heard Oberyn curse from the next room. Concerned, Jon rushed over to investigate. "What is wrong?" he asked.
"Look at this," Oberyn beckoned him over to a cupboard.
Jon peered inside and beheld a large box filled with gemstones—diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires—jumbled together like pebbles. On another shelf, lay at least twenty sizeable gold bars, similar to those below.
"Was this door locked?" Jon inquired, to which Oberyn shook his head. "I wonder why."
"Either this is booby-trapped, there are hidden guards about to attack us, or whatever is in the other room is more valuable than this one," Oberyn suggested. "Here," he handed Jon five gold bars from the cupboard, the weight surprising Jon.
"How in the seven hells are we supposed to carry all of this?" Jon exclaimed.
"With great difficulty, I would say," Oberyn replied with a smile.
They packed both chests with letters and gemstones, endeavouring to disperse the weight to facilitate easier transportation. Fortunately, they were near the port, where they could load the chests onto the ship.
Once satisfied that they had collected all the paperwork and valuables, Jon and Oberyn carried the chests downstairs. As they made their way outside, they were confronted by four burly men who jammed them back into the room.
"We have authorisation from Lord Baelish," Jon asserted, holding out the letter Oberyn had returned to him.
"Fuck your paperwork, it's fake," retorted one of the men, sporting a missing front tooth.
"I assure you, it is not," Jon argued.
"Listen to that," the man said, but Jon heard nothing.
"Hear what?" Jon inquired, puzzled.
"Nothing," the man grinned, leaving Jon perplexed.
"I don't understand," Oberyn remarked, glancing at Jon.
"That paperwork is valid when the bells toll," the man declared.
"What bells?" Jon inquired.
"The ones announcing King Tommen's death and Littlefinger's ascension to the Iron Throne."
That was when Jon realised they were in trouble. Drawing Longclaw, he watched as Oberyn armed himself with his sword and dirk, preparing for the impending attack.
The room proved too cramped for six combatants. With limited space, only one opponent could engage Jon or Oberyn at a time, providing them with an advantage. It became clear within moments that they were superior in skill to their adversaries.
Jon's opponent relied on brute strength rather than finesse. However, strength alone was not sufficient. Jon possessed speed and precision in abundance. As the man swung his sword, Jon easily deflected the blow with Longclaw. Seizing the opportunity, Jon struck, his blade slicing through the man's chest, blood oozing from his wound, and felling him.
Meanwhile, Oberyn dispatched his foe just as quickly, before moving on to face the remaining attackers. In a matter of seconds, they too met their demise.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," Oberyn exclaimed, sheathing his sword and lifting one of the chests.
Jon followed suit. "You don't need to ask twice."
They left the house, making their way to the port where their ship awaited them.