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.
And then I heard it—a crackling sound, sharp and familiar. The sound of fire.
I stumbled to a stop before a towering pyre of burning wood. Flames curled high into the air, licking toward the heavens in shades of crimson and gold.
Heat rolled from the blaze in pulsing waves, chasing away the lingering cold. But it wasn't the fire alone that I felt—it was Him.
His gaze was upon me, heavy and undeniable.
It was R'hllor.
I dropped to my knees, lowering my head. My hair fell forward, brushing against my cheeks. The heat from the flames kissed my skin, but it did not burn.
"My lord," I whispered into the flame, my voice trembling with reverence. "It is an honor to stand in your presence. I, your most faithful servant, have answered your call. Tell me what you wish of me—show me the purpose of this summon. I swear upon your sacred name that I will not fail you."
I had no doubt He could hear me.
Not a moment later, His voice answered—deep and resonant, echoing through the flames and the marrow of my bones.
"Gēlȳ iā nyke."
Come to me.
I rose without hesitation, drawn forward by the command. My steps were slow, deliberate. The warmth deepened with every step, blossoming into a blissful heat that wrapped around my limbs and seeped into my chest.
My body trembled—not from fear, but from the pleasure of His presence.
My lips parted as I bit down, forcing myself to maintain composure. No matter how euphoric His touch felt, I must not disgrace myself before Him.
Closer. Closer still. The flames roared higher, parting as I stepped into them. The heat surged around me, swallowing me whole.
But there was no pain.
Only warmth.
Only bliss.
Darkness fell around me as the flames consumed me.
"Ērinas."
Open your eyes.
A touch—a firm press against my forehead—drew me from the dark. My eyes fluttered open.
Before me stood a figure cloaked in black. His hood was drawn low, his face obscured beneath shadow.
A void stared back at me where his face should have been, but I knew—I knew—it was Him, the lord of light.
I knelt before Him, breathless.
We stood in a room—black and gold Lion decorations lining the dark stone walls. Oil lamps flickered in sconces along the pillars, casting pools of amber light upon the polished floor.
At the center of the room stood a table, scattered with parchments and ink.
My lord turned toward the table. A gloved hand lifted, gesturing for me to look.
I obeyed.
A young man sat at the table, his golden hair catching the dim light. His face was sharp and handsome, with high cheekbones and piercing green eyes fixed upon the parchment beneath his hand.
His quill moved swiftly—scratching across the page with effortless precision. He seemed utterly unaware of our presence.
"Who is he?" I whispered.
My lord turned to face me.
"He is my champion," He said with quiet certainty.
My gaze sharpened upon the young man. Admiration swelled in my chest.
"Azor Ahai," I breathed. "The prophesied prince who will bring an end to the Long Night."
My lord did not answer at once. After a long, weighted silence, He inclined his head.
"Yes, he is the one you will serve," R'hllor revealed, his voice low and certain. "In the future, he will make his move to Essos to prepare for a great conquest."
"Gather followers in readiness," R'hllor commanded. "When he sets foot upon the shores, you will serve him."
My hands curled into fists. I bowed my head.
"I will serve him as I have served you, my lord. I swear it."
"For your devotion, I grant you a gift." My lord stepped toward me, the room distorting into shadow and fire.
Heat roared to life, swallowing the hall into a void of flickering red and black.
His form ignited into flame, his gloved hand lifting toward my face.
He pressed a single finger to my forehead.
Heat surged into me—a white-hot rush of power. Fire and light exploded behind my eyes, pouring through my veins like molten gold.
My lips parted in a sharp gasp as the warmth coiled deep inside me, a burning pleasure that overwhelmed my senses.
My knees buckled beneath me.
"Ahhhhnnn…" The sound escaped before I could stop it—shameful and raw.
My back arched as the fire poured into me. My head lolled back, my mouth open, as more and more heat filled me to the brim.
My skin flushed under the pressure of it.
Pleasure curled through me, unbearable and divine. My eyes rolled back as darkness closed in.
Bliss consumed me.
…
Author Note: I'm back for now. Hopefully my writing hasn't deteriorated. Also I promise to finish this novel no matter how long it takes.