Recalling the revelation she received from the sacred flames, Melisandre fixed her blazing gaze on Dany and said, "It's highly likely—you are the wife of the Prince That Was Promised!"
"Melisandre, you're the third shadowbinder I've met, the most powerful sorceress by far... and also the most arrogant prophet."
Dany's expression was peculiar. She had meant to say "the most foolish," but the shadowbinder before her was too powerful. If she took offense, who knew what she might do?
Looking through her red eyes to probe the foundation of her magic, Dany felt as though the woman was cloaked in a world where fire was the sky and shadow the earth.
The strength of her sorcery was overwhelming—tenfold, even a hundredfold greater than her own.
Terrifying. This red priestess was likely a true demigod.
But demigods in this world were somewhat overrated. Dany didn't let it shake her confidence. She mocked, "Do you think a true dragon would marry a grasshopper crawling on the ground?"
"King Stannis is a true dragon, not a grasshopper," Melisandre replied, frowning.
"He's nothing but a grasshopper in late autumn—he won't be jumping for long. In fact, from the moment he killed Renly, he lost all chance of ever sitting on the Iron Throne.
In this knightly realm steeped in Andal culture, no one in Westeros would ever accept a kinslayer as their king.
Look at the history of the Seven Kingdoms. The Targaryens had legitimacy, the Faith of the Seven, and multiple dragons as military backing. Yet just the taboo of sibling marriage sparked a church rebellion that lasted over a decade and took hundreds of thousands of lives.
Even when Maegor burned down the Great Sept of Baelor with Balerion, the Faith and the knights did not submit.
Stannis has no charisma, follows the Lord of Light, has no dragons, and his crime of kinslaying is ten times worse than incest. Who in the Seven Kingdoms would support him as king?"
The red priestess hesitated, then argued, "Stannis is not a kinslayer."
"Come on, the word's already out. Lady Catelyn saw it with her own eyes—Stannis' shadow slit Renly's throat."
Dany waved her hand dismissively and said with certainty, "That sort of magical scene might be mysterious to most Westerosi, but I've got a few shadowbinder friends myself. I've seen the blood magic rituals they use to control shadows. It's not just me—many people in Essos have figured out the truth."
"There is only one truth, and all will see it," the red priestess said calmly. "The Long Night is coming, and only Stannis can save the world."
"Do you really believe that?" Dany sneered. "In this world, personal strength has its limits—no one can save the world alone.
If it weren't for this morning's surprise attack on the wildling camp, maybe he'd still have a shot at being a savior. But now, he's destroyed his last chance."
"Why do you say that?" Melisandre asked, her brows knitted in confusion.
"Melisandre, you're ultimately just a sorceress—you don't understand politics. Stannis is a good general, but he's no true strategist."
Dany sighed and explained slowly, "You know about the Agreement I made with the wildlings, don't you? At the very least, you know I was negotiating with them, right?"
After a moment's hesitation, the red priestess nodded.
"I'm guessing Stannis didn't want those talks to succeed. He was afraid I'd gain the wildlings' support."
This time, the red priestess remained silent—neither agreeing nor denying.
"But you missed something important. The wildlings could have become my strength—or yours. According to the Lease Agreement, the wildlings had two choices: come with me across the Narrow Sea to settle and farm new lands, or stay in the North to guard the Wall.
Sailing carries risks, and while many yearn for the warmth of the southern lands, few are willing to make the leap and leave. If Stannis had joined the Agreement as a second monarch, he could've gained a large army to help him fight for the realm."
"You would let him take your people?" the red priestess asked skeptically.
"That's where I differ from Stannis." Dany smirked and asked rhetorically, "If Stannis had two dragons, what do you think he'd do?
First, he wouldn't have come to the Wall at all—claiming the Iron Throne would be his top priority. Second, even if he did come, he wouldn't negotiate with wildlings—he'd be riding a dragon, burning their camps. Third, if I led a thousand cavalry to disrupt his plans, he'd burn them all without a second thought—especially since they lacked heavy crossbows."
"You and he still view the world from a warlord's perspective. I'm thinking about how to unite all available forces to deal with the White Walkers. Of course, I have dragons—I can afford to speak so boldly.
But even if the White Walkers are real, people like Roose Bolton or Walder Frey won't lift a finger to help. If Stannis could lead the wildlings south and unite the North, I'd be happy to see it.
After all, he calls himself the savior who will end the Long Night. If he controls the North, it only strengthens the 'Anti-Walker Alliance.'"
Melisandre sighed silently, a hint of regret and disappointment in her heart. She hadn't foreseen this possibility in the flames.
"It's not too late. Stannis defeated the wildlings and captured their king. If Mance Rayder submits to him—"
"It is too late," Dany cut her off sharply. "I have dragons, yet I didn't burn the wildling camps. That's why any rational wildling gave me some degree of trust.
Now, thanks to Stannis, even that small trust has mostly vanished. Do you think they'll follow him?
And as for Mance, you clearly don't understand wildling customs. Their king is elected, like the Triarchs of Volantis. His authority is nowhere near that of a true monarch."
The red priestess indeed didn't understand wildling traditions, but she didn't place much value on the power of mortals anyway. She only felt regret for a moment before returning to her main point.
"Daenerys, you are a woman—you will eventually marry. Joining with Stannis and fulfilling the ancient prophecy would be the best outcome for both of you—and for this world."
"He already has a wife."
"Queen Selyse is wise and deeply devout. As a faithful follower of the Lord of Light, she would surely agree to annul her marriage with Stannis for the sake of the prophecy."
"Does Stannis know about your plan?" Dany asked calmly.
"I will persuade him," Melisandre said firmly. "For the sake of saving the world, he's willing to make any sacrifice."
"You're doing something even harder than ending the Long Night," Dany said sharply.
"You left Slaver's Bay and traveled thousands of miles to the Wall—wasn't it to stop the White Walkers?"
"First of all, he may not be the prophesied one; second, I don't believe the reincarnation of Azor Ahai can really save the world. If the world has truly fallen so far that it must be saved by a ghost from thousands of years ago, then let the White Walkers destroy it!
In the end, defeating the White Walkers and ending the Long Night is for a better life—but marrying Stannis would disgust me more than dying at the hands of the White Walkers."
Her words were vicious enough to make even Melisandre, usually calm, show a hint of displeasure.
"You cannot change your fate, Daenerys," the Red Woman said, her crimson eyes flaring as if they could see straight through her soul and destiny. "The servants of the Other have already set their sights on you. Your dragons can't help you, your magic can't help you, your Unsullied, your Queensguard—none of them can help you."
"W-what do you mean?" Dany asked, her skin crawling. A chill pierced through her like icy needles trying to wake her, followed by a thick fog of confusion.
"Chanting the Lord of Light's name might help you a little," the Red Woman said, casting her a strange glance before rising, flicking her sleeves elegantly, and walking out of the hall with grace.
Something stirred in Dany's heart. She returned to her room, grabbed her pack, and walked out the gates. Mounting Drogon, she called for Rhaegal. Amid the shouts of astonished knights, she soared into the southern skies.
The sun drifted westward, painting the sky a dim crimson. Her shadowcat-fur cloak fluttered like a banner in the wind. After flying for over an hour, Dany patted Drogon's back and sat upright from her forward-leaning position.
The black dragon, attuned to her thoughts, began to circle slowly above a pine forest. The evening glow cast a golden hue over Dany's pale cheeks.
She pulled a glass candle from her pack, and her magical energy surged in her consciousness. A silver-gray glow flickered at the candle's tip.
She was trying to activate Quaithe's soul beacon.
But there was no response from Quaithe.
Dany didn't get discouraged. It was likely the middle of the night on Shadow Isle—Quaithe was probably asleep.
She kept trying over a dozen times, and finally, a quarter-hour later, her consciousness slipped into a silvery, twisting tunnel. In a blink, she arrived in a dark, empty crypt.
It was gloomier than the one she remembered—narrower too, with low, rough stone ceilings overhead. The walls, just three meters away, were carved with ancient and abstract murals.
Quaithe sat cross-legged on a wooden divan, her eyes glowing dimly as she stared at Dany. "I've tried to reach you at least thirty times in the past two weeks. Why didn't you respond?"
"Thirty times? I never received any psychic signals from you," Dany replied in confusion. "Has it really been two weeks since we last spoke?"
Quaithe's tone became urgent. "Where are you?"
"Westeros, of course. We spoke last time in Oldtown. Have you forgotten already?" Dany asked, baffled.
"Someone is blocking our connection," Quaithe said darkly.
"Oh? Then what are we doing right now?"
"You're different. You have dragons with you—no one can block your magic. But I was blocked by someone," Quaithe said seriously. "I'm not joking. I've been trying to reach you nonstop these past few days."
Dany's expression turned serious. "Who blocked you?"
"A sorcerer ten—no, a hundred times more powerful than either of us."
"Melisandre!" Dany blurted out, gritting her teeth. "I finally met her face-to-face. As you predicted, her power dwarfs mine. I'm almost certain she's a demigod.
Just now, she even threatened me directly. That's why I left the Wall and flew hundreds of kilometers to contact you—I'm here to ask for your help."
"Other than prophecy, I can't help you," Quaithe said after a moment of hesitation. "The best option is to leave Westeros immediately. Get far enough away that even gods can't reach you."
"Kill him, kill him, kill him, kill them, hehe… kill them, hehe, kill them…"
Suddenly, a smoky, whispering voice filled the room, as if dozens or even hundreds of people were speaking at once—some old and dignified, some weak like women, some crisp like young girls, some crackling like boys in puberty, some like a lover's murmur, others full of rage, curses, or hatred.
"Kill him, kill them, skin them alive, rip open his belly…"
The voices wound through Dany's mind like flexible steel wires, drilling deep into the core of her soul.
(End of chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09