Chapter 129: Melisandre's Rebirth
The Stepstones, Tyrosh, the Purple Palace
"Time is a terrifying thing. It steals away what you cherish most without you ever noticing. Though the power of R'hllor is great, every power comes with a price. You gained beauty and strength—but lost what mattered most."
Jeyne Belaerys's voice echoed faintly through the hall, carrying a strange, distant emotion.
"Senanas…"
As the incantation began, Davos suddenly felt nauseous. The ground beneath his feet trembled slightly.
Crack…
What he saw next filled him with dread.
The floor beneath Melisandre seemed to come alive.
Threads of liquid-like matter emerged, writhing and spreading, forming countless tendrils like the tentacles of some deep-sea horror.
"You… what are you doing?!"
Davos instinctively reached for his sword—only to grasp empty air.
Only then did he remember: all weapons had been confiscated upon entering the Purple Palace.
"Relax, my old friend. Lady Jeyne means no harm. If she intended to kill you, you wouldn't have made it past the gates."
Salladhor Saan's calm voice stopped him in place.
At the same time, the three zombies subtly shifted, boxing Davos in.
Unable to act, he could only watch.
Melisandre's body was slowly encased—layer by layer—until she became a stone cocoon.
Despite his dislike for her, the sight made Davos uneasy.
A thought crept into his mind:
This world… is changing into something I no longer understand.
"Salladhor Saan, escort the envoy away. Let him return tomorrow morning. By then, I will return her—whole and complete."
Jeyne's tone carried a trace of fatigue.
"As you command, Lady Jeyne. Come, my friend—let's retire for the night."
Suppressing his worries, Davos followed Salladhor out.
When they were gone, Jeyne stepped down from the throne.
Standing before the stone cocoon, she gazed at Melisandre with a complicated expression.
"Humans are never satisfied. Once they obtain something, they crave more. In that, we are alike. The difference is—I succeeded. You did not."
"Perhaps it's precisely because of that dissatisfaction… that humans create miracles."
A familiar voice answered.
Jeyne turned.
Jon—Aegon Targaryen—was descending from the throne.
"You caused quite a disturbance. How could I not come take a look?"
He stepped forward and casually wrapped an arm around her waist.
Their closeness spoke for itself.
"That was fast. How is the progress?" Jeyne asked.
"Good enough. But your little display just now… wasn't exactly subtle."
Jon smiled faintly.
Then his tone shifted.
"R'hllor's influence is growing. The force we discussed may be preparing to act."
"No need to rush," Jon replied calmly. "R'hllor and our true enemy are intertwined. Let them fight among themselves first. The one we should be wary of… is the Demon King."
Jeyne's expression tightened.
"Someone on your level?"
"Close. I can't pinpoint him, but… he's likely hiding in the ruins of Valyria."
At the mention of Valyria, Jeyne fell silent.
After a moment, she spoke:
"I don't believe they all perished so easily. Especially the Fourteen Dragonlords… beings who stood near the level of gods."
Sensing her unease, Jon gently patted her shoulder.
"I'll grow stronger. Anyone who stands in my way… will fall."
He paused.
"And you—focus on regaining your power. With the Long-winged Dragons, we can rebuild our forces differently."
The next morning.
Davos hadn't slept at all.
Melisandre's fate—and his king's future—weighed heavily on him.
Without support, Stannis had nothing left.
Dragonstone was on the brink of collapse.
If war came now, they would lose everything.
When permission was granted, Davos made his way to the Throne Room.
This time—
Someone else sat on the throne.
A young man, clad in dark armor bearing the dragon-and-wolf sigil.
Davos immediately understood.
Aegon Targaryen.
"Lord Aegon, the envoy of Stannis Baratheon has arrived!"
With no lengthy titles announced, Davos felt oddly unprepared.
"Ahem… Ser Davos."
A quiet reminder snapped him back.
"Respected Lord Aegon… I am—"
"Presumptuous! Stannis Baratheon is a usurper! Our prince is the rightful king!"
A courtier—Kapo—interrupted sharply.
"That's enough," Jon said lightly. "Power decides kingship—not titles alone."
He looked at Davos.
"Welcome to Tyrosh, Ser Davos."
The respect in his tone caught Davos off guard.
"Y-You are too kind…"
"Let's not waste time," Jon continued. "We accept your terms."
Davos blinked in shock.
"All… of them?"
"I am curious," Jon added, amused. "Your stubborn king finally chose cooperation?"
Davos hesitated—then answered honestly:
"That… is due to Lady Melisandre."
"Ah. Speaking of her…"
Jon gestured.
"She should be ready."
From behind the throne, a woman stepped forward.
Jeyne Belaerys.
She raised a staff toward the stone cocoon.
Crack… crack…
Light flashed.
The stone shattered.
"Mm… ah…"
Melisandre emerged, as though waking from a long sleep.
Fragments of stone fell away, briefly revealing her form before she covered herself with a cloak.
"Thank you… Lady Jeyne. Lord Aegon."
Her voice was steady.
"I have regained my memories… and reclaimed myself."
The ruby at her throat had dulled.
Her red hair began to fade—
turning slowly into silver.
"Melisandre is still Melisandre," she said quietly.
"But from this day forward… I believe only in myself."
Her eyes burned bright—
no longer with blind faith—
but with clarity.
"I will never again be a puppet of the gods."
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