Chapter 128: Melisandre and Jeyne Belaerys
The Stepstones, Tyrosh, the Purple Palace
"Clang—clang—clang..."
As the massive gates opened, the sound of bells echoed through the air, reaching Davos and Melisandre.
A shift change was underway at the outer fortress of the Purple Palace. Seeing the rows of disciplined soldiers lining the passage above, Davos felt a subtle pressure weigh on him.
After passing beneath the iron portcullis, a towering statue came into view.
It was a composite monument of three figures.
On the left stood Aegon Targaryen the Conqueror, astride his dragon.
At the center was Archon Agni Tosh, known as the Restorer.
On the right stood Argilac Durrandon, the last Storm King.
After the chaos of the Century of Blood, the people of Tyrosh had erected this statue at the entrance of the Purple Palace to commemorate these legendary figures.
Many Tyroshi had already accepted Jon's identity as a Targaryen descendant. In their eyes, being defeated by a Dragonlord was far less shameful than losing to a mere upstart.
Compared to the doubts spreading through the Seven Kingdoms, Tyrosh had embraced him completely.
Beyond the statue stood the central structure of the Purple Palace—a grand building shaped like an enormous seashell opening skyward.
The uppermost level housed the Whispering Garden, stretching toward the rear of the complex. The front sections served as administrative halls, while the rear housed private residences.
The higher one ascended, the more luxurious everything became.
Since Jon had taken control, nearly half of the palace's original residents had been removed.
"Come. Tyrosh is not what it used to be. Normally, you'd never be allowed inside at this hour."
Salladhor Saan spoke as he guided them into a wooden lift.
"How likely is this alliance to succeed?" Davos asked once inside.
"As long as the price is right, Lord Aegon is willing to lend his fleet. It depends entirely on what King Stannis can offer."
"Aren't you afraid of losses?"
Melisandre's sudden question interrupted them.
She had originally intended for Aegon and the Iron Throne to weaken each other—not cooperate.
Salladhor laughed.
"Our fleet exists for war. With gold and manpower, we can rebuild it at any time. More importantly, we have Lord Aegon. He always leads us to miracles."
Davos and Melisandre exchanged a glance.
Rumors about Jon were everywhere—some true, others wildly exaggerated.
Some claimed a Targaryen with three dragons was marching on Slaver's Bay. Others said he had turned into a dragon to escape King's Landing.
The conflicting stories made it difficult to know what to believe.
With a metallic click, the lift came to a stop.
The doors opened, revealing a lavish corridor leading toward the Throne Room.
Even Davos, who had seen Dragonstone, was stunned.
Compared to this place, Dragonstone seemed bleak and impoverished.
When they entered the Throne Room, a silver-haired woman was already seated upon the throne.
Even from a distance, Davos felt an inexplicable pressure emanating from her.
It was the same unsettling sensation he felt from Melisandre—something beyond ordinary humanity.
A herald's voice rang out:
"Before you stands Dragonlord Archon, former Councilor of the Valyrian Freehold, Queen of High Sothoryos, Pioneer of Exploration, and Lady of the Bloodline Preservation Society—Jynnaera Belaerys! Present your respects!"
The long string of titles left Davos momentarily stunned.
"Ahem… greetings, my lady. I am Davos Seaworth. This is Lady Melisandre."
His voice was slightly stiff, but he managed.
"Hmm…?"
The moment Melisandre lowered her head—
Something changed.
"So… even after my resurrection, I encounter a Dragonlord bloodline tainted by divine interference. Since when did our kind kneel to gods?"
Jeyne Belaerys spoke with clear disdain.
Suddenly—
Boom!
Flames erupted around Melisandre's body.
"Careful!"
Salladhor Saan reacted instantly, dragging Davos back while raising his staff.
Three zombies materialized in front of him, forming a defensive wall.
Though slow, they were durable—perfect shields.
"Alotam…"
Jeyne began chanting in an ancient tongue.
The air distorted.
Space itself twisted.
Then—
The floor beneath them turned transparent like glass.
Davos froze.
Beneath his feet, within that impossible depth, two monstrous entities clashed in a silent, endless battle.
Their presence felt like a storm, like a collapsing world.
"…You have come…"
"…I have always been here…"
"…The ancient pact…"
Whispers echoed through the void.
Then—
It all vanished.
The hall returned to normal.
Davos blinked, breathing heavily.
"Was… that a dream?"
But the zombies still stood before him.
It had been real.
"Now," Jeyne said calmly, as if nothing had happened, "tell me—lost bloodline—what is your name?"
Melisandre lay collapsed on the ground.
Her beauty was gone.
Her red hair had turned white. Her skin wrinkled and withered, as though decades had passed in an instant.
"La… Lady… what happened to you…?"
Davos stared in horror.
"I… I am Sarene… I am Shiera Seastar… I am Melisandre…"
Her voice trembled.
"I… who… am I…?"
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