The Burnt Prince-GOT SI (OC x Ashara Dayne)

Part 7

Chapter 7

A week had passed since the Great Trial by Fire, the aftereffects of which could still be observed in the Great Temple. She crouched down and touched one of the various cracks that sprang out of the great platform. The ground had torn itself apart.

Repairs were being carried out as the Gret Flame burned in the centre as it always had, yet a sense of unease and anger had enveloped her ever since. Benerro, the High Priest, stood ahead, praying as he had been for the weeks since the Trial, along with many a red Priest, for they had found their fate renewed after feeling the presence of their Lord and Saviour.

Yet he stopped as he glanced at her and descended the stairs slowly, knowing already why she was there.

He came down and stood face to face against her as she looked him in the eye.

"Where is he?" she asked. He didn't shift as she repeated the question.

"Where R'hllor wished him to be," came the answer, same as always, and her lips thinned as she spoke up.

"Benerro, tell me where is the Prince. I have to talk to him, and I must know what happened," she implored. After the Trial, as the Prince had remained unburnt in the Great Flame, the Prince had been taken away by Benerro's men as per their God's calling, at least according to him. Her own visions in the pyre had been tumultuous, and she had found herself lost.

"You already know what happened," he replied.

"But the fire didn't burn him. The Trial didn't conclude," she reiterated heatedly, her own belief in him being the Promised Prince strengthened by that display.

"It did, and your Prince failed, it is time you accept that," he spoke heatedly, and Melisandre's lips thinned as her gaze lowered. Yet she refused to believe so.

"Yet I see that you remain unconvinced," he suddenly began making her head snap towards his face.

"So, I shall indulge you and let you seek the truth for yourself," he began as he turned away from her and began to ascend the stairs once more, stopping momentarily to glance back at her and speak up.

"Your Prince is in Meeren. Leave now, and you might be able to see him alive before the pits devour him."

0000

DAEMON TARGARYEN

The Sun had set long ago, as Daemon, along with his retinue of around a thousand men, nested in between the forests surrounding the King's road. There were no fires and no sounds, and the men were quiet as a whisper as they sat there, ready to pounce on the enemy infront.

The Lannister forces were setting up camp around half a hundred yards away from them. The five thousand under the command of Amory Lorch had stopped their march for the day, about half a day's ride away from the capital.

They were tired, he could tell, the men seemed to have been riding hard for days now, and they seemed to be resting themselves for the battle they believed they would be having tomorrow. A battle in which they seemed rather confident of their victory if their joyous mood was anything to go by.

And he wished to take advantage of that already another group of five hundred men under the command of Morro was moving towards the Lannister men's back, cutting off their retreat, and the rest of the fifteen hundred men were a few yards infront quiet, and discreet, waiting for his signal.

They were quiet, their armours light and thin, for they had to move without alerting the enemy.

So, he sat there atop a tree, looking through the shroud of darkness with a narrowed gaze as he waited for the enemy to let down their defence. The thrill of the battle stilled his senses, it was something he had noticed about himself, a gift of sorts, one that had served him well in his life till now.