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Chapter 62

Chapter 62: The Faithful Follower
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Melisandre POV

I stood in a vast, snowy wasteland, the wind tearing across the barren stretch of ice and rock with a howling fury. The sky above was a dull, bruised gray, heavy with the threat of more snow.

The cold lashed at my face in sharp, stinging bites, but the warmth beneath my skin pushed it back with quiet defiance.

And yet, I could still feel the cold, even if it didn't truly touch me.

I breathed in deeply, tasting frost on the air. The sting in my lungs was sharp, too sharp to be a dream. But it had to be.

After all, only moments ago, I had drifted to sleep in my chambers in Asshai, lulled by the quiet crackle of a fire.

But now I find myself in this cold wasteland, where the biting wind howls through the emptiness and the frozen ground stretches endlessly beneath a bleak, gray sky.

The only reason I could see anything at all was the torch in my hand. Its flame flickered and danced, casting warmth and fragile light against the dark.

It had been with me the moment I arrived in this place—waiting in my grip as if placed there by an unseen hand.

I glanced down at myself. My red robes clung to my body. The deep crimson silk marked my station—a symbol of my devotion to the Lord of Light. My long sleeves trailed behind me in the wind, snapping like banners.

I flexed my fingers around the torch. The wood was rough beneath my grip, the flame crackling as it licked at my wrist.

Snow gathered in my hair, the heat of my skin melting it into rivulets that slid down my forehead.

Every breath I took was sharp and true, the chill biting at the back of my throat.

The rise and fall of my chest was steady, measured. Even the dry scrape of my throat as I swallowed was too tangible for a mere dream.

R'hllor.

His name stirred something deep within me—a quiet thrill beneath the heat in my blood.

Only He could conjure a dream this vivid. Only He could make the cold feel so real. My pulse quickened at the thought of Him.

He must have brought me here.

And if He had, I had to discover why.

I closed my eyes and prayed to R'hllor to guide me through the storm.

Not a moment later, I heard a voice—deep and commanding, cutting through the howl of the wind like a blade.

"Āegon iā ñuha dīñēvys vāedar."

Come to me, my loyal follower, my lord said in Valyrian.

My eyes snapped open. The storm screamed around me, but the voice lingered in the air, resonating in my bones. I didn't hesitate.

My feet moved toward the sound before my mind could catch up, my heart hammering in my chest.

Joy surged through me—a trembling, breathless joy.

To hear the voice of my lord... was breathtaking.

I ran through the endless snowfield, my breath ragged and sharp. Huff... huff... huff... My lungs burned, and my legs trembled with exhaustion, but I never slowed.

I could feel it—radiating warmth cutting through the cold. His warmth. His presence.

The storm began to thin as I pressed forward. The swirling snow softened, the bitter wind quieting to a low hum. Even the dark sky above seemed to brighten, the shadows bleeding into a muted gray.