Chapter 54: Melisandre
"There is only one true god, and his name is R'hllor."
He is the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow.
He is the sun that warms the day, the stars that keep watch through the night, and the fire that consumes all enemies.
The woman stood on a rough-hewn oak platform and spoke with the full projection of someone accustomed to crowds. Her long copper-red hair spilled over her shoulders, and though her body was wrapped in a deep crimson robe, the grace of her figure was still visible beneath it.
The gold necklace at her throat was set with rubies that seemed to hold their own light, as though embers were banked inside the stones.
Four guards flanked the platform, their cloaks bearing the crossed swords and sun of House Florent embroidered in red thread.
A crowd had gathered below — mostly idle men with nowhere better to be, drawn by spectacle as much as faith. King's Landing had work enough for those who wanted it these days, and the docks and the building yards were always hiring; if the city didn't suit you, there was always land to be cleared in the riverlands. A man without work was a man who had chosen to be without it.
"Disperse! Disperse immediately!"
Dozens of men in gold cloaks pushed through the crowd's edges, banging short spears against their shields in a steady rhythm, herding the onlookers back.
The crowd scattered like pigeons from a thrown stone, leaving behind dropped parcels and one man's boot. Most of them had learned years ago what the gold cloaks meant and how they operated. You did not need to have done anything wrong to decide that being somewhere else was wiser.
Only a handful remained — perhaps two dozen people who had been listening long enough that the words had taken root. They were shouting the Lord of Light's name and positioning themselves between the gold cloaks and the platform, arms spread, trying to hold the line.
"Resistance constitutes unlawful assembly with obstruction." The officer in charge, Colin, gave the order without raising his voice. "Subdue them."
The gold cloaks shifted their approach. Ten of them set down their short spears, drew the short wooden clubs at their belts, and waded in.
One blow to the back of the knee folds a man. Two blows to the ribs take the air out of him. A firm knock to the back of the skull ends most arguments.
The remaining gold cloaks, shields locked, pushed the four armed guards against the alley wall and held them there, spears leveled, until the fight went out of them.
Colin led the rest up onto the platform and fixed iron shackles around the woman's wrists.
She did not struggle. She let him work the shackles into place and simply looked up at him when he finished — not frightened, not angry, just watching.
The protesters below were bound with rope and sat against the wall. After the gold cloaks had spent some time explaining the consequences of further resistance, the shouting stopped. Some of them were weeping quietly now. A few seemed to be reconsidering their afternoon's decisions.
The recruiter who had been standing in the back of the crowd — a Night's Watch man, there specifically because these situations sometimes produced desperate volunteers — was looking over his prospects with professional interest. Colin caught his eye and gave him a nod.
"Ser — what is your name?" The woman in red asked the question without urgency, as though she were asking about the weather.
"Not a ser," Colin said, with the easy smile of a man who had been told he had a good smile and had tested the theory extensively. "Colin Sаsman. Commander of the Blackwater Bay Fleet, by appointment of Lord Henry, and soon to take command of the King Robert's Hammer when she's fitted out." He leaned against one of the platform posts. "I've been sent to escort you back to Dragonstone. You're not burning anyone in this city."
"As I understand it," the woman said, a faint amusement at the corner of her mouth, "all fleet appointments are made by Lord Stannis in his capacity as Master of Ships. The King Robert's Hammer was built for the Royal Fleet."
"Lord Stannis has been absent from the Small Council rather longer than the King finds acceptable," Colin said, "and has ignored several summons back. His Grace has asked Lord Henry to cover those duties in the interim." He straightened up, pleased with himself. "The Hammer has been confirmed by the King himself — she'll be the Blackwater Bay Fleet's flagship, running the bay alongside the Lady Lyanna." He glanced toward the river with something wistful in it. "Still miss my Nightcrawler, if I'm being honest."
The woman in the red robe leaned toward him then — not much, just enough that he became very aware of her shackled hands resting near his. Her fingertips were warm in a way that registered distinctly.
She held his gaze. "Colin Sasman. I can see it in your eyes. I see you standing under Lord Stannis's banner, kneeling before the Lord of Light. This is the path meant for you. You could have everything you've ever wanted."
Colin pulled his hands back, unhooked the hood from his belt, and dropped it over her head with the brisk efficiency of a man who had heard this particular kind of pitch before.
"Are all the red priests this interesting?" he said cheerfully, to the burlap. "What's your name? I've sailed the Narrow Sea from one end to the other. I've got no objections to a woman with unusual beliefs."
Lord Henry gave me the largest warship in the Seven Kingdoms when I asked for a rowboat and a fair wind, he thought, watching his men secure the others. I've made my choice in this life.
"My name is Melisandre," said the hood, with the tone of a woman who was still smiling. "Servant of R'hllor. I've come to speak with Lord Reyne. With the Red Commander."
"I suspect the Lord Commander has opinions about your method of requesting an audience."
"Red Robe." Henry regarded Melisandre from the head of the table, the hood removed now. "You wanted to see me."
Melisandre stood beside Colin and said nothing. Instead, she turned slightly, presenting her shackled wrists in a pointed display.
"Search her," Henry said.
"Gladly, my lord." Colin stepped forward with professional enthusiasm.
His hands moved through the folds of the crimson robe and emerged with an assortment of small glass bottles and clay jars — scarlet powder in some, viscous dark liquid in others, a few dried leaves of foreign origin that smelled faintly of smoke. He laid them on the oak table one by one, confirmed there was nothing with an edge, and stepped back.
Henry surveyed the collection. "Speak, my lady. What brings you to King's Landing?"
"I am here to show you the path that has been set before you, my lord." Melisandre moved forward, unhurried. Her eyes held his the way a hawk holds a thermal — patient, certain of the outcome. "I have seen you in the flames."
A flicker of something moved through Henry's expression. "Have you. And what did the flames say?"
"Very little, as yet."
"Your god doesn't seem particularly interested in me."
"The flames show me fragments. But if you would let me look into your eyes directly, I would see far more." She took a step closer. "Remove the armor. The enchantment on it obscures my sight."
Henry leaned back. "Remove my armor so that a priestess in chains can perform magic on me."
She took another step forward, close enough now to feel the cold that emanated from the metal. It was not the cold of a winter morning. It was something else.
"Why give your loyalty to a man who has given you nothing but burdens?" Her voice had the quality of water finding its way into stone — not forceful, just persistent. "Robert drinks himself insensible and beds every woman in arm's reach. He has handed the realm to his council and handed King's Landing to you. A man who cannot rule himself cannot rule the Seven Kingdoms."
Lord Stannis is the rightful king. He sees your worth. He needs what only you can give.
Henry raised his hand and turned aside her reaching fingers. "Tell me what you saw first."
"I saw you armored in red, with a sword burning in your hand, fighting the servants of the Great Other in the ice and snow." Melisandre's voice rose, carrying the conviction of someone who believed every word they were saying. "The banner of the flaming heart flew behind you, and R'hllor's fire kept you whole. That is your destiny. Serve Lord Stannis — he is the one true king."
"And where was King Robert, in this vision?"
"I did not see him." She met his gaze without flinching. "Robert cannot govern. He has left the realm to the council and King's Landing to you."
"Yes," Henry said, almost gently. "He was a magnificent fighter once. A better commander than he had any right to be, given everything else about him. He's also a drunk, and a bad husband, and a worse father, and he's left his city and his son in my keeping while he hunts and feasts." He was quiet for a moment. "All of that is true."
"Then you see it." Melisandre leaned forward. "Abandon a failed king. Choose the true one. Stannis will give you everything you have earned."
"Perhaps he would," Henry said. "But Robert is my king."
He held her gaze with the steady, untroubled look of a man who had examined this question and arrived somewhere that satisfied him.
"And I will stand behind my king."
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