Chapter 220: Parting Ways
The veins on Stannis's forehead bulged, and his face flushed a deeper red. The atmosphere sank into the heavy silence that precedes a storm as those present speculated on how the King would handle Melisandre's public affront... but to the surprise of everyone in the tent, Stannis ultimately did not explode.
"My lords, today's council is concluded. I have matters to discuss privately with my priestess."
The King had spoken, and the lords obeyed. Those who had participated in the war council stood, casting various glances at Stannis and the Red Woman before streaming through the entrance and vacating the tent.
Rumors had long circulated that the Red Woman had used black magic to assassinate Renly Baratheon; others claimed she was Stannis's true queen. After today, such whispers would only grow louder.
...
"Your Grace," Brynden The Blackfish Tully said as he was the last to depart. "We respect your faith and your gods, but no matter how much one wishes to prove their piety, a priest should not interfere in matters of state. After all, most of your vassals and supporters do not follow the Red God."
By rank, the Blackfish had no standing to speak such words, but as the great-uncle of Robb Stark, his seniority was high enough, and as the protector of the young Lord of the Vale, he represented the Vale to an extent. Stannis could not blame others for their suspicions—as a King, to swallow the insult of a public contradiction by a foreign priestess from across the Narrow Sea was enough to set tongues wagging. He merely gave a slight nod, indicating he understood.
"Woman... you are too bold. I am the King!" Once the tent was finally clear of people, Stannis spoke through gritted teeth. "Is there nothing that can wait for a private discussion? Do you have any idea what those Northmen are doing now? They are certainly seeking out the maester to read the pleas from the Night's Watch, and now I must waste my energy to appease them!"
"You are wasting precious time in the wrong place. As your loyal servant, I must offer blunt counsel. If you turn north immediately, there is still time!"
"And allow that pretender calling himself a dragon to sack the place of my birth, the ancestral lands of House Baratheon, and insult my vassals? To let him gain a foothold with the support of the Tyrells... while I ignore a direct enemy to chase peasants and ghosts in the North?" Stannis's expression was rigid. "It was only because of Robert's deathbed command and the vast gold of the West that the armies of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale gathered under my banner! Is there a more perfect opportunity to strike? I do not have Robert's charisma or his popularity. If I abandon this once-in-a-thousand-years chance, I will likely never get these three Houses to commit their full strength to me again! To go off and fight Wildlings at this juncture? I fear by the time I settle the mess in the North, the Red Dragon banner will already be flying over the walls of King's Landing. If this is the instruction your god gives me in the flames, then I am sorry, but I cannot obey!"
"My god?"
Why did this woman always fixate on semantics? Stannis shifted his wording with frustration: "Our god."
"Do you know what I am reminded of?" Melisandre looked directly at the King with displeasure. "A very crude common saying—'to cast aside the bridge after crossing the river.' Every sign and omen points to you. As the Prince That Was Promised, you cannot merely enjoy R'hllor's aid without fulfilling your duty!"
"Fulfilling my duty? I allow you to spread the faith of the Red God in the Seven Kingdoms, allow you as a woman the exception of traveling with the army, and even allow you to interrupt my war council without punishment! I have ordered half the Royal Fleet north to assist Eastwatch, commanded the Ironborn to help defend the Wall, and ordered hundreds of prisoners—Lannisters, Crownlanders, and even those from the Stormlands and Reach—to be sent to the Wall... I have even tacitly allowed the ridiculous tax-exempt status of the Night's Watch's businesses to continue. What more do you want from me?"
"You believe you have done much, but it is not enough... the prophecies show that only when the True King personally goes to the Wall can the darkness be stopped from crossing that final line and swallowing the world. If you do not go, no amount of schemes or support will be anything but futile!"
Speaking with the Red Woman was always an uphill battle; she ignored the logic and hardships of others, speaking only her own truth. Stannis found himself losing ground in the argument and flared with rage: "Fine! You go and strike down this pretender Aegon Targaryen for me, take Storm's End in my name, and deliver sufficient punishment to the Tyrells... once that is done, I won't say another word of protest. I will turn my army north and fulfill that damned prophecy!"
"You may only request the gifts of R'hllor; you cannot command them—"
"Save your damned endless rhetoric!" Stannis finally snapped. "I have seen no gifts from R'hllor. I have only seen you—a shadowbinder from Asshai—and your shadow magic! R'hllor calls himself the Lord of Light; why does he use such dark methods?!"
"Shadows are the servants of light, the children of fire. It was R'hllor who commanded the shadows to assist you onto your throne."
"Ha—naturally, you always have an explanation that sounds plausible."
"As the King wishes, I shall set aside religious phrasing." Melisandre's face remained unchanged as she switched to a more understandable explanation: "R'hllor has not shown the deaths of these men in the fires. They may die, but not yet."
...
The cost of any sorcery is far greater than ordinary men imagine. Melisandre had never seen this Aegon Targaryen; she had no way of knowing his voice, his features, or his physical traits. She didn't even know if he was truly in Storm's End or which room he occupied... under such circumstances, she had no way to kill him. However, admitting this would greatly diminish the awe others felt for R'hllor. Even to the Prince That Was Promised, she did not intend to be completely transparent.
"To use such magic requires strength. If you insist these men must die, continuing to sacrifice king's blood is a viable path—but Your Grace, your fires burn too dimly. I dare not draw a drop more, lest it cost you your life." She was not lying, though she embellished slightly. There was, however, another solution: "Your brother's bastards would be an excellent choice."
"Enough!" Stannis knew that Renly's sudden death had already caused widespread speculation across the Seven Kingdoms. If the same thing happened again, his credibility as King would take a heavy blow. "I do not wish to be a kinslayer again and again. I have the strength to win now without relying on your damned sorcery. I will take Storm's End honorably and hang those men you say have not met their time from the battlements, just so you know that even you cannot see everything in the flames!"
"Your Grace—"
"Either use your arts to sweep away my enemies again, or hold your tongue. You have helped me, and I can show mercy, but I promise you—the next time you undermine my authority before my vassals, you will find that a King's patience has limits!"
Melisandre fell silent, merely watching Stannis. The room descended into stillness once more.
Stannis was the first to tire of the standoff. He turned away, sat back in his chair, and looked no more at Melisandre. "Go. Get out of my sight. Go back to King's Landing, to Dragonstone... anywhere. Proselytize, rest... just stop chattering in my ear about where to go and what to do! I must secure my kingdom before I can mobilize the resources to fight your 'Great Other' from the prophecy! I give you my word: when the south is settled, I will go to the Wall immediately!"
Melisandre knew there was no turning back: Stannis stood in awe of her, but that awe could not overcome his stubbornness and self-confidence. After standing at the entrance for a moment longer, she turned, lifted the flap, and walked out of the tent.
...
The sky had darkened, and campfires had been lit across the allied camp. The soldiers along the path saw the Red Woman leaving the King's tent alone and whispered amongst themselves, gesturing at her back.
Melisandre did not care for the gazes of those around her. As she walked toward her own tent, her mind was full of thoughts: she had prayed to the sacred fires for guidance, yet the fires only repeatedly showed the cold, towering silhouette of the Wall. She had interpreted this to Stannis as "the Prince That Was Promised must hasten to the Wall," but could it actually mean something else—for instance, that "the Prince is already at the Wall," or that she must hasten to the Wall?
(Is it possible that my understanding of the images in the sacred fires was wrong?)
Once the thought took root, she could not shake it. She began to feel a doubt—and to resolve such doubt, there was no more direct way than to go to the location shown in the images and see for herself.
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