The Last Reyne

Melisandre

"Tell me, what do you see?" The rumbling voice of the High Priest whispered in her ear. "What do the flames tell you?"

"The cold, the enemies of our Lord" She whispered, her voice a mixture of awe and fear. "In the West... the lords will squabble for a seat forged from burnt flesh but in the north..." 

In the north lies the true threat... She thought but her voice wouldn't cooperate. Eyes that burned with the cold were etched into her memory.

"The long night will soon be upon us Melisandre, and yet the prince that our Lord has promised to us is yet to come. Azor Ahai will be reborn and vanquish the cold." 

She nodded. The High Priest was a ferocious man, the first servant of the Lord of Light: Benerro. Much like her, he was a freed slave as well and he had the marks on his face to prove it. She respected him. 

"And what will you do with this vision that our Lord has given?"

"If  R'hllor wills it, I will follow."

The High Priest looked at her, his expression undecipherable. "The time is not yet nigh, and prophecies from the flames can be tricky." His eyes took on a glassy look. "When the first war for the throne is over and the stag sits on it. You must make your way to the land you saw. Westeros." His eyes then landed on her. "Remember, the flames do not lie and err but our mortal mind makes us."

That was all Benerro told her before she was dismissed. As she walked through the streets of Volantis, the people looked at her in many different ways: curiosity, dread, veneration, hatred. But none dared to lay a hand on her and that made her walk a little taller. 

As soon as she arrived at her quarters, she once more stared into the flames. "The stag seats on the throne..." She murmured. "Azor Ahai... yes... he will stand in the stronghold of the dragons... the north..." 

She gasped as icy chills pricked her back. She looked away from the flames and clutched the ruby that burned against her skin. 

The long night... they know it's about to come...