Melisandre

“TELL ME THE WHOLE STORY,” HE SAID CALMLY. “TAKE YOUR TIME.”

She stared, from him to the other and back again, clutching the charred remains of the wooden stag, her heart pounding at a rapid pace in her chest. She didn’t want to do it, always knew this day would come back to haunt her at the most inconvenient of times. Even knowing that she brought him back to life, made it possible for him to carry on and reclaim Winterfell, he could execute her with the swiftness of his blade, and no one would stop him.

“Wha’ is that?” Jon Snow asked, waiting for her explanation.

“Tell him,” Davos prodded.

A chill raced down her spine as she held the wooden object in her hand that Davos threw at her only moments earlier. She stared at it, impressed that it managed to survive the pyre’s glorious inferno. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for what was bound to come.

“Tell him who it belonged to.”

The Red Priestess looked down at the floor in an attempt to push down every ounce of sudden guilt that began to swim in her mind. Melisandre raised her chin, yet knew no matter how she explained, rationalized her visions, it could never bring the girl back or give Davos the comfort he sought. “The princess Shireen.”

“Tell him what you did to her,” Davos ordered, his teeth gritting together, the anger he brought forth penetrating every inch of her being and sucking the light from the room. “Tell him!” he yelled, his bellow echoing through the stone chamber.
Swallowing hard, she turned to focus all of her attention on Jon Snow, newly named King of the North. She could use her magic, use her powers to sway him. The flash of memory of standing naked once before him filtered into her mind, a reminder of his disinterest, so different from Stannis. Her best defense would have to be the truth, and tell it she would, ready to receive whatever punishment befell her.

“We burned her at the stake,” she uttered, thrusting her eyes away from them, the silence in the chamber a sign of her impending fate.

Davos took one step forward. “Why?”

Melisandre speared a glance toward Davos and then to Jon. “The army was strapped; the horses were dying. It was the only way.”

“You burned a little girl alive,” Davos spat, the outrage in his voice vibrating through her body.

“I only do what my lord commands.”

“He commands you to burn children?” Davos shouted incredulously. “Your lord is evil.” The disgust came thick from voice.

The nonbelievers always questioned, needed to make sense of every detail, but she knew, knew that the rhyme and reason wasn’t for them, only her Lord knew the reasons why things happened the way they did. Courage swelled, just enough to find her voice again. “We are standing here because of him. Jon Snow is alive because the Lord willed it.”

“I loved that girl like she was my own. She was good. She was kind and you killed her!”

His grief stricken voice sought to play upon her heart, but she couldn’t let it. Following her mission, the direction her Lord dictated was her only course. She wouldn’t stand there and be admonished by the likes of Davos when she did her duty, exactly as she was supposed to, and she was not the only one to blame for the loss of the child.

“So did her father. So did her mother,” Melisandre asserted looking Davos dead in the eye. “They knew it was the only way.”

“The only way for what?” Davos asked. “They all died anyway. You told everyone Stannis was the one. You had him believing it, all of them fooled. And you lied.”

“I didn’t lie,” she interjected. The visions were real, the signs real, yet sometimes the glimpses would be so brief they were difficult to interpret fully. “I was wrong.”

“Aye, you were wrong. How many died because you were wrong?” He turned his attention back to the King of the North. “I ask your liege to execute this woman for murder. She admits to the crime.”

Jon took in the request, moved around the table to stand before her and her heart leapt in her chest. This was it. The moment had come and there was no turning back for her.

“Do you have anythin’ to say for yourself? Jon asked.

She took a deep, steadying breath. “I’ve been ready to die for many years. If the lord was done with me so be it, but he’s not.” Every word she spoke etched with truth. “You’ve seen the Night King, Jon Snow. You know the great war is still to come. You know the Army of the Dead will be upon us soon. And you know I can help you win that war.” There was no question in her statement. No one could deny it, not even Davos, and not even Lord Snow himself.

Jon moved closer, directly in front of her, his dark eyes piercing right into the very depths of her ancient soul. “Ride South today. If you return to the North, I’ll have you hanged as a murderer.”

His words held no remorse, no sorrow, not even a hint of anger, just a statement of fact. Melisandre took a deep breath, one long last look and set the stag on the edge of the table before turning to leave.

“If you ever come back this way I will execute you myself,” Davos promised.

She headed down to the stable, no belongings to take with her. Her horse waiting, as if sensing their impending departure. The hand helped her onto her mount, and with her head held high she rode out of Winterfell. South. No other direction to go in. They could banish her today, tell her to never show her face, but one day she would be back and they would welcome her presence. The Army of the Dead would be coming for all of them, and the only way to stop them would be to band together. She saw it, saw it as clear as day. A slight knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she rode, the chill of winter promising dark things to come.

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