𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝐀𝐜𝐭 𝐕𝐈: 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐀𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞

꧁ ACT VI ꧂

CHAPTER I: ALONE
300 AFTER CONQUEST

꧁MELISANDRE꧂

The King was dead, she knew. Visions of antlered beasts made out to be gods were proven to be but mere men as they were slaughtered in fire and steel. She watched through the flickering flames, watched as the apparent Lord's Chosen drew his last breath whilst against the walls of the castle he meant to take. Winterfell does not belong to Stannis, she thought to herself, the realization having come but days ago, the realization given to her not by her Lord, but through the words and histories of men. Her fires only confirmed their words.

Melisandre had been so consumed by the slaughter in her dreams that she had not taken to realizing the slaughter that had occurred there that very night. But when she finally snapped from the visions, she could feel the whole world was thrown out of balance. It was just a feeling, a knack, but even the biggest of fools could just sense that something was wrong.

"You poor soul.."

She whispered in understanding, a smile crossing her lips. She shook her head sadly, wishing that the Stark would listen. Heed her words and her fires, the words the Lord of Light screamed and shouted to the world, the truth. But alas, it seemed that Benget Stark did not.

She heard it then, the howl of direwolves. Sad and alone, heartbroken and angered. The howls sounded tired and exhausted, as they had been screaming in agony the whole night, into the early morning, she had lost track of her time and surroundings. She shook her head softly. Poor beasts..

Rising from her seat, Melisandre turned from the fire in the hearth of her room, making way to the door, opening it to the frigid morning air. But what she had not seen through the window was the light that lit the night sky. A light that bled crimson blood. A sign so obvious and frightening that it actually made her heart skip a beat. The moon and stars coward away, what little they revealed of themselves was gashed and sliced, bleeding into the sky as though the heavens above were in pain from their loss. Looking to the courtyard to the dark fateful corner of Castle Black, that's when she realized that they had killed the younger one too.

Clicking her tongue, nonchalantly she stepped through the snow covered ground, the boards creaking and crying as she moved to the steps leading to the courtyard. Her feet crunched through salt and snow and mud, and she stood now above the bodies of the fallen, of the foolish fallen.

"'TRAITORS.'"

She read out loud, an anger flaring within her heart as she stared at the bloody hand print that was stained against it. Iron was thick in the air. The Stark had described her smelling as such, that wolf-like sense to him that could catch such things, the wolf shining through the scales of his hide. But the iron in the air was not like the heat of her own, it was on fire. A furious fire that dared to destroy everything within a second. And yet the world was silent besides the crying of wolves.

"Oh, you foolish boy.."

Caring not for her dress dirtying of the cold of the snow and salt, Melisandre knelt upon pools of frozen blood. Kings Blood, despite the cold, despite the blood soon to be growing black, the power she felt through just smelling it was undeniable to her.