Chapter 11

Méilisanzhuo gazed at the fire before her, various chaotic information came to her: some were fragments of a life without people, some were future scenes but it was unknown who they were or where they occurred, while others were exquisite and ineffable metaphors that often only became truly understandable after the events happened. Méilisanzhuo tried to decipher the metaphors before they occurred, but most had no clues, for example, a black fish leaping from the water to eat a passing bird, a snail falling from a tree to be swallowed by a foraging chicken……

This might be mundane illusions of life, but she would not doubt the power of the Light King, nor would she think it merely the Light King's bored babble. For those she could not interpret, she would not reveal them to anyone; and when she was certain, she would explain them to people in a tone of firm conviction, because she understood that if she herself did not show confidence, then don't even think about making others believe. True power does not come from real weapons, but from the human heart.

"Your Majesty, we need to make our voice heard in the Seven Kingdoms; if we linger too long on this remote island, the people of the Seven Kingdoms will eventually forget us……" Daifosi always wholeheartedly considers the king.

They had been discussing strategies for a long time; Daifosi worked hard, the king worked hard, but it must be said that the king's actual power was too weak, and together they rejected her.

There's no way; the Seven Gods have dominated their hearts for too long; even if the king does not believe in any deity, some notions of chivalry have already seeped into his marrow. The king does not balk at burning people alive, but he absolutely refuses to please the Light King by burning the innocent. Those chosen by the gods often need certain qualities; she has always thought this way, otherwise why would the gods not select the weak-willed instead?

The king's roar interrupted her thoughts.

"Forgot? You say forgot? I tell you, the people of the Seven Kingdoms have never remembered me! If they remembered, the one who should have taken Storm's End would be me, not Renly; if they remembered, the one who should sit the Iron Throne would be me, not that bastard; if they remembered, the Seven Kingdoms should be peaceful and orderly rather than this ghastly state now." The king had a beard, originally pure black, now half black and white. His whole person is now gaunt, complexion dull, but his eyes are sharp, like a piece of steel.

"Your Majesty, the people of the Seven Kingdoms have long known your courage and resilience. But we need to maintain action, so they know their legitimate king has not conceded; therefore I propose……" The king's mood was not good; Daifosi perhaps should speak at another time, but this trait of rising to the challenge might be why the king chose him as chancellor.

"You propose! Tell me, is it like the suggestion that Ailisite had me kneel to the bastard in King's Landing?"

If Ailisite were sentenced to death, perhaps he could be used as a sacrifice.

Daifosi was not driven back by the king's fury. "No, Your Majesty, you are the king; you need not kneel to anyone, but Your Majesty you need allies, reliable allies."

That is none other than the Light King.

The king fell silent. His gaze shifted from elsewhere to the map table. "The king does not need allies, but go on, who is our ally?" The king picked up the stone symbolizing the lion household's troops and tapped the wooden table of the Westerosi map.

Melisandre knew that the map chamber of Dragonstone Island was named after this table; the table is carved with a detailed map of Westeros, and as early as several hundred years ago, the conqueror Aegon used it to devise battle plans.

"The North. Your Majesty, the North could be our ally."

"Hmph! Robb Stark crowned himself King of the North, carving out most of the kingdom's lands including the Riverlands, he is an outright traitor; how could the North be my ally?"

"Your Majesty, Winterfell is now titled Duke of Winterfell, Warden of the North, for the heir Brandon Stark; he has not inherited Robb Stark's royal title. To confirm the wording of the news, I asked the maester to repeat it three times. Everyone knows they will never kneel to the false king of King's Landing who slew their father; this is our opportunity. And they also need us, perhaps they are waiting for us."

"The title Warden of the North requires the king's consent; this is overreach. Continue."

"Yes, Your Majesty. The situation of the Starks in the North is dire. The Red Wedding stripped the North and the Stark household of their elite forces; only the Dreadfort and a few families escaped major losses. Now Roose Bolton has prepared to sail from Saltpans back to the North; once he returns, he will surely attack Winterfell to confirm the authority granted to him by the false king of King's Landing." Daifosi paused slightly, then said: "For the Starks, worse still, the Red Wedding led to the capture of many northern nobles and their heirs; if the northern families fear for the lives of their lords or heirs, they likely cannot fight for Winterfell."

"Could they possibly fight for Bolton and Frey?" The king utterly despised traitors.

"Your Majesty, they have lost too many fathers and sons in war, and likely do not wish to see their remaining kin die needlessly." Daifosi sighed long, "Choosing is too cruel for them; the fewer they have left, the more they cherish what remains. They perhaps will not fight for Bolton, but openly supporting the Starks is difficult."

"Gaining advantage through dirty tricks, this country is declining." The king pressed his lips together, his finger bent striking the map table.

"Yes, Your Majesty, the more so, the more we ought to unite whatever forces we can, to drive evil from the kingdom."

"Unite the Starks?"

"Exactly so, Your Majesty. The Starks refuse to acknowledge the false king of King's Landing, and the false king clearly understands this; if the report is true, together with the Earl of Dreadfort marching north, besides the Freys' two thousand soldiers, there is also the Lannister–Tyrell alliance; one can imagine the pressure the Starks of Winterfell will face."

"Tyrell? The bastard false king of King's Landing has already given Brightwater Keep to Garland Tyrell. Willas is his heir, Highgarden is his. His young son Loras has already joined the Kingsguard; what is the purpose of the Tyrell march north? To find an icebox for his dwarf mother?"

"The pressure of the false king. Without the North's submission, the Iron Throne is not legitimate. Relying solely on the Bolton, Frey, and Lannister armies is insufficient to utterly clear the ice field wolves. As long as the Starks remain in Winterfell a day, they cannot rest easy. And if the North remains under Stark control, the southern lords will also grow restless. Believe that the Dornish Martells do not like the current Iron Throne."

"The North doesn't have that many ports; how do they plan to ship all these troops north? Has the Earl of Manderly surrendered?"

"No, Your Majesty, White Harbour has not changed hands; the North still has plenty of landing shores."

"If the Starks were wise, they should just blockade them. Continue."

"Your Majesty, as I said before, the Starks' situation is dire. If half the news from the Wall is true, the North will also face the threat of a wildling host, and the North will bleed out in these conflicts. The Starks absolutely expect a powerful ally, rather than facing threats from all sides alone."

"You're right, the North is bleeding. But they ought to have knelt; otherwise how did this happen?"

"Your Majesty, precisely because they are losing blood, they can be our ally."

"This ally cannot give me even a single soldier or warhorse; moreover, they want my troops."

"At present they cannot provide us anything, but if the North is wholly retaken by the Starks, the situation changes. And now we need not supply them troops; the edict of the legitimate king of the Seven Kingdoms is enough to help the Starks overawe hesitating vassals, and will also better enable them to unite vassals still willing to fight for the Starks. And if the Starks accept you as the legitimate king, the Iron Throne will certainly not let the North go; thus our pressure will also lessen."

"You underestimate me, and you underestimate Tywin; the true threat to the bastards and their family is me. If the Starks submit, it will only turn their true spear toward me, but that's fine. Tell me, if the Starks lose, people will only say I have failed again."

"But if they win……"

"It's merely an irrelevant victory." King Stannis waved his hand, indicating he didn't want to hear more, "By sending ravens with orders, demanding their loyalty to me; if they agree, I will then allow Brandon Stark's child, named Brandon, to be Warden of the North."

"Your Majesty, the Stark family has held the Wardenship of the North for three hundred years; this is inherently theirs, you cannot take what they already have as a gift."

"This is not something they inherently possess. Does the Arryn family's tenure as Warden of the East compare shorter to theirs? Robert likewise withheld the 'Warden of the East'; Brandon is no older than Robert Arryn."

"Your Majesty, they are nearly the same age, but I believe their dispositions differ. Currently holding actual power over the North Stark is Mei yi sitake, she is Brandon Stark's guardian, completely different from Lishatul. Comparing them together is like comparing a fly and a butterfly."

"Brandon is merely a cripple, but I know that woman, the bastard daughter who crowned herself Queen of Love and Beauty. If her ability to deal with Bolton and Frey were half her skill with a spear, we would not need to worry about the Starks." Stannis walked silently beside the map table, "Nevertheless you are right. Send the message, grant him the Wardenship of the North, but he must declare fealty to me."

"Your Majesty, this would appear arrogant and insincere, and they might even deem it a deliberate slight. This cannot achieve union, nor can it be used to project a voice to the Seven Kingdoms."

"Ser Davos, they will not consider it a deliberate slight, as long as we offer them a suitable gift, they will be willing to kneel again to the legitimate king and pledge fealty." Melisandre's gaze finally shifted from the fire.

"Your Majesty, I have no gift for them; whatever they lack, I lack as well." The king turned his body, back to the map table, gazing out to sea.

"Your Majesty, there is one gift that is superfluous for you but extremely precious to them." Melisandre smiled; the king turned his face, trying to discern what witchcraft she was playing, while Daifosi hesitated, evidently thinking this was another of her magical tricks.

"What are you saying, Red Woman?" Stannis gritted his teeth, appearing inflexible and unyielding.

"Your Majesty, the gift has already arrived." Melisandre ignored their mockery.

A dilapidated cargo ship docked in the harbor, aboard a restless crew and a maiden. Melisandre precisely calculated the timing; as she reached the pier, the ship had just berthed. She resolved the guards' baseless interrogation of the newcomers.

Melisandre arranged for personnel to prepare hot water and rooms for those on the ship. But this young woman with auburn hair could not; she insisted on being taken to see the king.

The girl followed her into the chamber of the Stone Drum Tower, wholeheartedly uneasy and fearful; she had seen such a great hall before, but likely never one so dim and vast.

"Don't be afraid, child. Standing before you is the legitimate king of the Seven Kingdoms, Stannis Baratheon of House Baratheon; you may tell him your name and everything."

The girl was like a startled fawn, but no matter how frightened she was, she had struggled hard to maintain composure.

"Your Majesty. I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully." Her voice trembled with fear, yet was quite fluent.

Melisandre stepped forward to smooth her disheveled hair, so she could cease her anxiety and trembling. Her lovely gown was spattered with congealed bloodstains; she had tried to wash and conceal them, but there was simply too much.

"Lady Sansa, I grieve for the fate of your father, mother, and brother; I hope you can find courage." The Onion Knight spoke softly.

"You are truly kind, ser. I still do not know your identity."

"This is my King's Hand, commander of the Narrow Sea fleet, Earl of the Rainforest, Ser Davos Seaworth." The king's words were icy, he sped up his speech, thoroughly impatient with these pleasantries.

"You are the Onion Knight; my father once told me of your deeds, and your legend is also known in the North." The girl conducted herself properly.

"Your father Eddard Stark and King Robert once made a marriage pact, betrothing you to the bastard Joffrey of House Lannister; later, Tywin Lannister transferred you to his dwarf son, and the Lannisters will not easily relinquish you. Tell me, how did you escape from King's Landing to here?" The king only wanted to know what he wanted to know.

Sansa confessed everything she would experience, then took out from her bosom the letter Dontos had written.

The wedding has become so dangerous. Tell me, was it the imp who poisoned Joffrey?

No, I don't know, I don't know who poisoned him.

Your Majesty, the false king is dead, which shows the might of the Lord of Light. Melisandre wanted to remind him that this was the result of the power previously exerted.

I am not sure whose might this is, but the one truly sitting on the Iron Throne is the bastard's grandfather or grandfather-in-law, Tywin Lannister; as long as he does not die, the situation will not change. The king shook the letter in his hand: "Dontos? I remember him; he fought bravely in the Ironborn rebellion, I knighted him, then he took to drink and became more of a drunkard. He brought you out of King's Landing, which actually makes him more of a knight than a fool. I can grant the request in the letter." As for you, your marriage to the imp lacks any witness from parents or brothers, and has not been sanctioned by the lawful king; it is invalid, I annul it, so I will not send you back to King's Landing. He turned to Melisandre: "Since you say this is a gift, then send the gift back; upon receiving this great gift, I hope he will remember to kneel."

Lady Sansa, congratulations, I'm sure you miss Winterfell greatly. Davos said softly.

Your Majesty, sending the lady of Winterfell back is not simple; otherwise Dontos would not have brought her to Dragonstone. Melisandre looked at Davos: "The ports to the North are either untrustworthy, already occupied by the enemy, or too far. Ser Davos, if you smuggle Sansa Stark back to the North, I believe they will no longer treat our orders lightly; when you reach an accord with the Starks, I believe the Seven Kingdoms will hear our voice and know our actions."

The king paced back and forth in the hall, glanced at Davos, said nothing, evidently he had not yet made a decision.

I am the King's Hand appointed by the king; I should be at the king's side. Davos had the smuggler's cunning: "And you, my lady, you have spoken of the clash of ice and fire, light and dark; Winterfell is closer to the battlefield you speak of than you are; you should bring the girl back to Winterfell, perhaps you could even change the Starks' faith and add glory to your Lord of Light."

Davos's words struck her as absurd. Even the old Seven Gods never conquered the North, let alone the Lord of Light.

You are wrong, Ser Davos; mortal faith cannot add to the glory of the Lord of Light. For the great battle, fate has already been arranged; I have prepared to march to the North and even the Wall. But in my dealings with the Starks, we discuss royal affairs, and that is for you to accomplish. Melisandre gazed at Davos's flashing eyes.

In that case, let my Hand accompany you in bringing Sansa back to the North; that will ensure everything is safe.

Your Majesty, what about you?

I am the king, not a child; I do not need you to attend me. Since you have no better counsel now, hurry and depart.

Your Majesty, if it is counsel, perhaps I have one more. Davos awaited the king's nod: "A marriage alliance. Although Princess Shireen is your heir, she too needs a spouse; Lord Eddard Stark has three sons."

One is dead, one is crippled, and one is still nursing. Ser Davos, the matter of Princess Shireen does not require your concern; I do not wish her to be unhappy over this.

Your Majesty, I am the King's Hand, and Shireen is the realm's future queen; I need to attend to this. Davos insisted.

No, my brother, Bran Stark is not crippled; he has recovered and can walk on his own. It was my sister who healed him. Sansa interjected; perhaps this was one of the few good tidings she had heard in King's Landing.

Then go and see for yourself with this mission. But I warn you, if the marriage negotiations bring shame upon the king and the future queen, I will hold you accountable. The king furrowed his brows and gave Davos an order.

Melisandre smiled faintly, unsure whether the Onion Knight had understood.

After the king left, only Melisandre and Davos remained in the hall; Davos appeared extremely uneasy, but Melisandre would not let him go just like that.

Davos. The crewman named Gand will surely not be able to return to King's Landing after being knighted; let him come with us. Melisandre stepped out of the hall, turned, and continued: "We will depart tonight."

Tonight? My lady, I think there's no need to rush; Sansa can stay on the island a while longer.

Ser Davos, the Storm God has already raised huge waves and filled the southern seas with gales; it has not yet swept here, so setting out tonight will harness its favor and all will go smoothly. Melisandre slowly adjusted her outer gown. Her nonchalance was also a sign of confidence, something easily noticed, which she had realized early on.

As far as I know, you worship the Lord of Light.

I am a servant of the Lord of Light, I serve the Lord of Light. But I understand what you want to say. Apart from the Lord of Light and the ancient, nameless gods of darkness and cold, all others are petty false gods; they are lice and cockroaches beneath the two true gods, bearing weapons that frighten mortals, which they brandish wildly; but no matter how noisy they are, in the end they are nothing more than children playing house. This smuggler had keen insight and firm conviction; Melisandre, when faced with those she cannot convince, always maintains a smiling, accommodating demeanor—this is her habit.

If one can summon a storm, that is hardly child's play; it is enough to steer the course of mortal realms. Moreover, I have never seen them brandish weapons. Davos naturally did not believe.

No, you have seen it. Melisandre smiled, and under his questioning gaze continued: "The grey scale on Princess Shireen's face is exactly that. It is the spread, by the false god known to mortals as 'the Mother of the Rhoyne,' of its abandon or loss of control, which infects people's fire and feeds on the power of flame."

Since you know it, why do you not help Princess Shireen be rid of it?

The Lord of Light has not granted me that ability. But I can tell you, she will recover.

How do you know? Davos was obviously pleased.

Ser Davos, I have told you many times already. I have seen it in the flames. Melisandre gave him a faint smile: "I have invited you, but you never agreed."

Melisandre knew Davos wanted to know what she had seen, and also knew he would never do anything that would make her think he would turn to the Lord of Light. He is a man who upholds a strange moral bottom line while holding orthodox views—perhaps this is why he rose from smuggler to Hand. In the Seven Kingdoms, there is no Hand of lower birth than he.

My lady, as you have arranged, I have no time. I need to ready the ship, check the supplies, and the night tide is soon. Please excuse me. He hurried away.

Everyone fears her, and she well knows it. She can see what others cannot, understand what others do not, and knows the secrets between the gods.

The tide came in as expected at night. Melisandre brought Sansa aboard in succession, leaving Dragonstone. After seeing Sansa settled in her cabin, she came onto the deck, gazing at the distant storm from the tossing ship. She sensed someone behind her.

Ser Davos, are you also observing the heavens? She looked toward Davos still in the dark.

Being discovered perhaps embarrassed him. "My lady, I do not know how to read the heavens. But I know the wind is just right now; if all goes well, we might reach any port in the North in as little as a week."

This is a gift from the Lord of Light. Melisandre laughed, seeing Davos's lack of concern.

If I recall correctly, you said this was the work of the Storm God? He would list every doubtful trait to deny her faith. Melisandre felt that the more he did so, the more she ought to demonstrate her power to convince him, for he was pure and reasonable.

I said, the so-called Storm God is nothing compared to the Lord of Light—just lice and bugs. It is only by the Lord of Light's guidance that we can harness its power. We are sailing with a fair wind, are we not?

Forgive my frankness, my lady, but I think this is mere coincidence and luck. He spoke solemnly: "I have sailed many years, experiencing both smooth voyages and the misfortune of capsized ships and drowned crews."

This time, you will experience smooth sailing and good fortune. Melisandre hoped to plant another seed in him with this: "When you go ashore, give it good thought."

Ashore? My lady, this is exactly my problem—where are we to land? The North's ports and coasts are crawling with pirates and enemies. Melisandre studied his face to see if this was merely a trick. He had a plain, weather-beaten countenance.

Ser, I am not the captain. She chuckled: "Such a question should be asked of a navigator or the Hand or envoy; he would know, wouldn't he?"

Davos stared at her, unsure how to continue. After a long while he recovered: "The North's eastern coast has many landing points, but I am not sure which are reliable. If we prioritize reliability, it would be East Sea Watch." He paused: "But even if we reach East Sea Watch, we would still have to go south all the way to Winterfell, and now traveling the king's road is truly dangerous; many reports say the wildlings have appeared south of the Wall."

Very well, East Sea Watch is ruled out. She said.

He gave her a strange glance: "The shores of Seal Bay have many suitable landing spots, but… the people of House Umber are exceedingly savage; if we were taken for smugglers, that would be awful, and moreover, the southern route is not much better than East Sea Watch."

Not bad, we have one fewer option to agonize over. She encouraged him to go on.

Or we could sail into Greycliff Bay and go straight to see Karhold. But Robb Stark severed Rickard's head; taking Miss Sansa there would be quite improper. He did not let Melisandre interject: "The other inlets down the line are either under Bolton's control or unsuitable for concealing our identity."

So it seems only the obvious one remains; what are you worried about?

The White Harbour Baron's sole remaining son has been captured. If he were willing to exchange his liege, he would likely not balk at giving Sansa Stark in trade for his son. He worried.

He will not, Melisandre thought this amusing, Hand Stannis's head is enough.

His eyes widened, somewhat deflated: "Since we need not provoke a nominal liege and can recover the heir, I would do the same."

I hope you have not forgotten your smuggling experience, Onion Knight.

As they spoke, the distant storm gathered, and lightning began to fall from the horizon. The lightning lit the sky and turned the surging waves into terrifying ancient beasts, which vied with each other, swallowing everything before them, emitting a triumphant rumbling.

Melisandre turned: "The Storm God is exerting its power farther south, and that force is beginning to spread and affect us here."

This is merely a natural storm. He, as usual, doubted and disbelieved: "And it will soon catch up to us."

Its target is not us, Melisandre explained, Ser Davos, your observation is not fine enough; if you looked closely, you would see the Storm God. It is accepting an offering.

What offering?

"Blood." She looked toward Davos, perhaps Davos would feel her contempt.

"Forgive my bluntness, madam. I see nothing but an ordinary storm, ordinary lightning." He quickened his speech, "I see no sacrifice, please forgive me, I must..."

"You always overlook the obvious signs," Melisandre interrupted Davos, pointing ahead, "Look carefully ahead, wait for the next moment."

Davos was half‑skeptical, began to gaze at the sea.

In an instant, multiple bolts of lightning struck from the distant horizon onto the sea surface, illuminating the entire sky where the storm raged. If he still had his senses, he would see a lifelike giant hand formed from dark clouds, pressing down upon the sea, with thunder and lightning beneath it. Perhaps he would doubt his eyes, but the lightning never ceased, giving him ample chance to observe.

His face filled with shock. "Storm God?"

"It is the manifestation of the Storm God. It is enjoying the offering."

"The Storm God is a deity believed to exist only in the Iron Islands." He had not yet recovered from his shock.

"The Drowned God and the Storm God are a pair of false gods. They are worms among the divine that cannot stand on high ground. The Drowned God dreams of conquering the land, but when it comes ashore it cannot remain, often ending up enslaved by humans; the Storm God dreams of conquering the sea, yet it is always subject to the sky. They are playthings of the true gods. Their prophets are doomed to fail, yet they themselves are unaware. The happier they are now, the more tragic their future will be."

"Madam, your metaphors are too many, and I have been illiterate for most of my life; I truly do not understand..."

"Serve the true god, stay away from false gods." Melisandre looked at Davos, his eyes dark and bright, "You must watch over the ships."

She left the deck, leaving Davos alone in his astonishment.