CRESSEN
The throne hall of Dragonstone shook with the shout from the throats of every kneeling lord present. Though they were few and all others had been cleared from the castle, they spoke loud enough that one would think the dragons carved into the stone walls had lent their voices to the men. And their words were the same.
HAIL STANNIS, KING!
Words spoken with anger over the audacity of the Queen-Regent, though Cressen was an old man, and well experienced in the thinking of noblemen of middling rank. Their enthusiasm was not provided by moral outrage. It came from the opportunity for many of their number to regain a place lost to history. Loyalty to the Mad King in the previous war had cost some of them dearly.
Velaryon, Celtigar, Sunglass, Bar Emmon… Old and famous vassals of the Targaryens left without a benefactor of note. No more. The lords of the Narrow Sea and the lords of the Crownlands now had someone to call king again, and they were determined to put him on the Iron Throne, so that they might have the influence and prestige denied to them by the man's own brother.
You're being too harsh, Cressen thought to himself from his perch off to the side, Their loyalty is not only self-serving. It was earned. He looked to Stannis, flanked by two fires, sitting on the throne of dark granite that Aegon the Conqueror had ruled from before conquering the Seven Kingdoms.
The new king was dressed in black and gold, and wore no crown. Instead, he wore an expression of determination, his heavy brow un-knitted and jaw relaxed. He is pleased, Cressen knew, and could not help but feel the same way despite himself. Despite the message he had in his robes, delivered by raven not an hour earlier.
Selyse and Shireen were present too, their own perch on the opposite side to that of Cressen's own. The king's wife seemed to glow with pride as she beamed at the assembled lords, the king's daughter only looked to her father worriedly.
It is a terrible thing when a child has more sense than their mother, Cressen thought, as he regarded the pair. The red woman stood over them, as tall as Selyse easily, though far more comely. Red silk wrapped tightly over pale, clear skin, and a ruby tied around her throat… Even the lords could not help but steal glances. But only Cressen himself looked at her with the suspicion she deserved.
"My lords!" Stannis declared, "I thank you for your loyalty and good sense. Together, we shall assure the rightful king shall always sit on the throne, and the depravity of the Lannisters will be remembered forever. Our enemies are doomed."
A cheer went up. The King frowned at the interruption, briefly.
"We have much work to do. These are my commands; ready your ships, rally your men-at-arms, prepare for war."
The King glanced at the red woman. What has she said to him? Cressen thought, What happened to the boy and the man who valued wise counsel and would never have fallen for a foreign witch's prattles? He could not believe it was the same reason many of the other lords would have paid her mind; a face and a body.
"And heed this; by the time we may move, much may have changed already. The coming war shall not be short. Tywin Lannister is no fool, even if his bastard grandson is. And his treasury is full of gold. This will require all our strength. Go now, I expect to hear of your preparations soon."
The lords rose as one, gave their bows and withdrew from the hall. Stannis quickly signalled for Ser Davos Seaworth to stay behind, and for Cressen to join him by the throne. Selyse quickly took Shireen out of the hall, but the red woman stayed behind, hovering at three paces from the King. Begone, witch.
"My king," Ser Davos said as he approached, "What do you need of me?"
"My ravens to the Stormlords have gone unanswered," Stannis said, with a look to Cressen, "And no one has word of Renly since he left King's Landing. We know he has not returned to Storm's End, but nothing else."
"Much of the Crownlands are now loyal to Lannister gold," Ser Davos said with a sniff, "The Queen was spreading it around for years. Perhaps Renly is having trouble escaping them." It could have happened that way, but Cressen knew the former smuggler better than that. He was searching for a good reason why the king's brother might not have returned to Storm's End, but wasn't so stupid as to dismiss the possibility that Renly was dead or had done something infinitely more unwise.
"My brother is a fanciful fool," Stannis said through gritted teeth, "But he had a significant retinue with him, and the Tyrell boy. He escaped. If I had to guess, he makes for Highgarden, to sit out the war. I just hope his friendship with the Tyrells keeps him from being held as hostage against me."
"The Tyrells have no love of the Lannisters, my king," Cressen said.
"Nor of their rightful king," Stannis replied, "And it is not yet the time to declare my claim to the greater realm. The Starks do not march, and Lady Arryn's instability troubles me. She has not sent her son as her husband promised, and word from Gulltown is she has not left the Eyrie since arriving."
"The time to declare yourself will come," intoned the red woman, "That, I can promise." Her voice was deep and warm in an accent that could only be from the furthest end of Essos. No wonder men and women fall for her tricks.
But the King was unimpressed. There was hope yet. "Be sure to tell me when the time does arrive," Stannis said, "In the mean time, I have need of your sailing and smuggling talents, Davos."
"For what, your Grace?"
"I need sellswords and sellsails. Tywin Lannister has deep pockets. He may prolong war with gold, by way of buying men and ships from Essos. You have contacts among such men yourself, I would buy them first."
"Unwise, my lord," Cressen interrupted, "Such men cannot be trusted. The Lannisters could bribe them to betray us."
"They can be trusted to fight for gold once contracted," Stannis responded, "They do so yearly in the Free Cities. And it is Your Grace, now."
Cressen bowed his head in apology, trying to ignore the red eyes of the red woman boring into him. What do you want from me?
"I shall bring men and ships, your Grace," Ser Davos confirmed, "Including my own from Cape Wrath, such as they are."
"Good. And once you have sent swords and ships, I would have you learn why the stormlords are not answering their king, and have them pledge their strength to ours."
Ser Davos' face curled. "They are lords, my king. I'm just a smuggler to their eyes. Someone of higher worth may be a better choice to speak to them."
"You are of higher worth, and the king's messenger besides, they will hear what you have to say and hear it in my voice," Stannis intoned gravely, "I could send a boy of ten to deliver such a question, and I would expect the same answer from the lords. I am the king. I would have them recognise it or reveal themselves as false."
"Yes, Your Grace," Ser Davos said, not mollified, "I will do as you command."
"I know you will," Stannis replied, "Now go…"
Cressen quickly intercepted Ser Davos' arm before the knight could leave, almost being dragged to the ground in doing so. The knight quickly steadied both of them with his mutilated hand, surprised at the movement.
"If I might, my king, two letters arrived from Castle Black that are… strange," Cressen said with a deep breath, "They talk of matters of great import if true. I think you might value the counsel of a worldly man in reading them, and I am sure Ser Davos such a man."
Stannis' brow moved ever so slightly upwards, his curiosity piqued. "Very well."
His stomach turning at what he was about to say, Cressen bowed his head again and retrieved the raven scroll. "Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon both write to say that the Free Folk are assembling an army… And the dead are rising north of the Wall, turned into the slaves of the White Walkers returned again."
A silence fell over the hall that felt like it lasted for an hour, the stern blue eyes of the king boring into Cressen. He wonders if I have lost my mind.
"What?" Stannis snapped, grabbing the raven scroll, "Is this some sort of jape?"
Cressen shook his head slowly. If only it was. "The letter states explicitly that it is not and is genuine," he replied, "Chieftains showed up with some strange foreigners to negotiate moving the wildlings south of the Wall. They brought one of the resurrected dead to show the Lord Commander. Maester Aemon's letter goes into great detail about it."
He held up the other scroll, only to have it plucked from his fingers by the red woman, her eyes seeming to glow slightly. What business has a shadowbinder with the far North? he asked himself.
"They say dead men are rising north of the Wall?" Ser Davos asked, "Even if that is true, what do they expect us to do about it? I can't believe they would send this message to every great house."
"They haven't," Stannis said, his eyes moving from side to side as he read the rest of the letter, "The Night's Watch want to buy dragonglass, and half this island is made of it. They say it is only weapon other than fire or Valyrian steel that can kill the wights and the Walkers."
Ser Davos shook his head in disbelief.
"If I might suggest allowing them the dragonglass, my king," Cressen said, "Mayhaps they tell the truth. It is certainly possible. I have never considered Maester Aemon to be a foolish or frivolous man, he is well regarded even today at the Citadel."
"Jeor Mormont is not a fool either," Stannis agreed, "Even if his son is."
Cressen tried to remember what Mormont's son had done to earn the title of fool, but failed. Ten years ago I would have remembered such a thing at once.
"They could have discovered a superstition or obsession of the wildlings with the substance, and wish to profit from it," Ser Davos suggested, to Cressen's approval, "Does it really matter if it's for fighting dead men? No reason we can't profit too. It's well known the Watch haven't received the bounty of the realm."
"As well they shouldn't," Stannis replied, "It is the dumping ground for rapers, thieves, bastards and spare northern sons. What is the point of the Starks being Wardens of the North if they rely on such men to defend them from wildlings?"
Cressen frowned. "Your Grace, men did not build a wall hundreds of feet high to defend against wildlings that cannot even build a catapult. But Ser Davos may be right too. It is impossible to know soon. Ravens can take weeks to reach that far north at times."
A curious look came over Stannis' face. One that Cressen had never seen before. The sight of it scared him. What has happened to you, my boy?
The king looked to the red woman. "Well?" he said in a demanding tone, "Maester Cressen says it is impossible to know the mind of the men of the Night's Watch for weeks. My wife claims you have sight beyond sight. You predicted certain events before, what say you to this challenge?"
Cressen felt sweat begin to drop down his neck, feeling like ice. Predict certain events? What events?
The red woman did not reply, but smiled, holding out her lovely hand towards the king and looking at the letter from Lord Commander Mormont. The king placed the scroll in her grasp. She took both it and the scroll from Maester Aemon, and dropped them in the fire to the right of the throne. She did not take her eyes off the flames, as they rose higher than the two slips ought to have allowed. Cressen swore the ruby at her throat glowed slightly.
For a moment, nothing happened save for the paper of the scrolls being consumed. Cressen began to hope she was a false witch, a woman simply adept at reading the fears and hopes of the sort of person Selyse was. But as his sweating stopped, the red woman recoiled from the fire a step. Ser Davos moved to catch her, and the king shifted his weight. She recovered without help and returned to her place, eyes enraptured by the licking orange waves.
"The Wall and Castle Black have already fallen," the red woman said, with no small amount of surprise.
The king blew out a breath with amusement. "The White Walkers?" he asked.
The red woman shook her head slightly. "No, Your Grace. The foreigners the Lord Commander spoke of."
"Who are they?"
"I see four banners. A snowbear on a field of lillies. An eagle with wings of flame, perched on a harp in a green field. A golden dragon flying in a deep blue sky towards a white sun. A lion with a thick mane, a crown on its head, standing in a field of blood. All of them carry a red leaf of a maple tree."
Cressen baulked. "How could four foreign nobles take Castle Black? Do they have retinues with them?"
The red woman looked against into the fire. "I see them carve through the Wall with fire and smoke, cut down men of the Night's Watch as if they are nothing. It was not magic, I would have felt such a thing before now, but some clever knowledge. Many of the ones you call wildlings are now south of the great barrier."
Cressen did not know why, but he believed the words. He felt his heart lurch, his chest tighten. By the gods…
"I know not these sigils… save perhaps for a crowned lion…" Stannis thought aloud, his eyes briefly glazing over in thought, "But it could not be the lion of Lannister. There are none of that line at the Wall to my knowledge, and certainly none among the wildlings."
Ser Davos made a noise from his throat. Cressen knew he did not want to address the red woman directly, but the Onion Knight had a question nonetheless. "Are you saying the Night's Watch… They are all dead?"
"No. The Watch yet lives. It seems the Lord still has use for them."
Or the foreigners do. Cressen could not contain an outburst at that. "If the Watch lives, their purpose lives and the Wall has not truly fallen. I suppose you shall say we should not send the dragonglass regardless? That our king has other concerns?"
The red woman tilted her head, like he had just said something stupid. "No, the Lord of Light commands it. We must send the dragonglass, and be prepared for more. Once King's Landing and the Iron Throne belong to Stannis of the House Baratheon, we must look to the north. The Great Enemy has indeed stirred from his rest. There is still time to undo his machinations, but it will require the full strength of the Westerosi."
The king stood from his throne, lurching upwards to his full height and over the red woman's own. "How do I know you are telling me the truth? You say the dead are rising, and the North is being invaded by a wildling army led by foreigners unknown to our shores."
"No, Your Grace. The wildlings are led by one of their own, a man in black wool and red silk, a King Beyond the Wall."
Stannis' jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. "It matters not. If the Starks have wildlings to their north, or worse, they may hesitate to march south."
The red woman smiled brightly. "Worry not, Your Grace. The fires have shown that no matter who prevails, your enemies will suffer. The Lord of Light shall shine his light upon the victor."
"I do not believe in gods. My faith has never been rewarded."
"You shall, and it will."
"Answer my question. Why should I believe you?"
"One day, you shall learn the truth of what happened at the Wall, through others. On that day, if what I have said is false, kill me."
Cressen exchanged a look with Ser Davos. The red woman had just talked herself into a bet she could not withdraw. The king sat back down on the throne, and took the red woman's hand. The gesture lacked force, but it was not a kindly touch. "I shall remember that."
"I have no fear of being proven wrong, nor of death, Your Grace," the red woman replied.
Stannis' demeanour softened slightly, and he released her hand. "We shall see." He looked to no one in particular. "Leave me. I wish to be alone."
Alone or alone with her? It was a question that could not be asked. "So be it, Your Grace," Cressen replied, joining Ser Davos with a bow. To the visible surprise of both, the red woman did the same, and followed them out of the hall. Ser Davos made his apologies and rushed off to begin his preparations for the tasks the king had set for him. Without the Onion Knight's companionship to protect him, Cressen attempted to increase his pace to escape the other person present, but the red woman was tall and he was old.
"Maester," she intoned, catching up to him without trying, "My name is Melisandre of Asshai. You would do well to remember the name, and heed the words of the Lord of Light. The night is dark and full of terrors. It draws close for you in particular."
Anger bubbled up in Cressen, out of the deepest part of his soul. "My lady, I shall be long dead before I heed the commands of your strange god."
The 'Lady' Melisandre inclined her head in a nod. "Yes, I believe you shall."
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello all!
As stated in the last chapter, this story has been nominated for the Turtledove Awards for best story in ASOIAF, and the voting has now begun.
If you have an account or are willing to create one, I would invite you all to go to the Alternate History forums or Google '2023 Turtledoves - Best Timeline Based on ASOIAF Poll' to find the place and vote, hopefully for this story. You can vote for multiple stories in this round too, and I would heartily recommend you also drop one for Sunrise by Wings, A Song of Coin and Lamellar by Von Adler, The Weirwood Queen by redwolf17, and A Brother By Choice by GeekyOwl.
Voting ends on March 6th.
Thank you for reading and reviewing