章 45: Chapter 45

At some point during his excursions in the North, between the castles and the holdfasts, collecting tomes, scrolls and other materials, trekking to the host's library first thing in the morning became less of an act. He was antsy if he didn't begin his day working.

Dragonstone, though big, was nowhere near as massive as Casterly Rock. He was able to find the kitchen, grab some breakfast and climb up to the library tower just as the sun was coming up. It certainly was a less stressful meal than the welcoming dinner last night.

Thankfully though, after Melisandre's offer, the meal ended quickly. Stannis, finished with his food, stood and wished him a very formal good night. Selyse followed her husband out and Melisandre didn't say another word to him. Davos again came to his rescue and offered to escort him back to his room. He graciously accepted the offer, leaving the Red Woman alone to look to the flames.

Walking throughout the castle, he realized just how warm it was in that dining hall last night. The stone was cooled by the seashore and his journey to the library led him to an outside walkway where he savored the brisk sea squall. He paused on the passage, looking out at the water. He was low enough to feel the spray carried by the wind.

It was a bit of a disappointment to arrive in the library. The room was quite musky but Tiresias resisted the temptation to open the windows. Though he was high up, this library wasn't at the elevation of the one in Casterly Rock. Here, the sea could still damage the tomes.

Ignoring the pungency as best he could, he placed down his rucksack and began to scour. To pass time more than anything else. Unlike the rest of the holds and lords he had visited, Stannis and he had no prior arrangement to bring any tomes back to Winterfell. Gods, he'd be lucky if the Lord of Dragonstone started the obsidian trade again.

But that conversation wasn't until tonight. And he had to fill his time. There's only so long one could rehearse a half-truth. He might as well be a librarian.

His excuse took him to the back corner of the library where the lords stored the tomes they deemed useless. And just as it was in Casterly Rock, the tomes of Old Tongue were stacked there. However, there were only two spines and they were far less cared for than the ones in the Westerlands. Tiresias pulled out the nearest tome and with delicacy, cracked it open.

He was halfway through the third page when he heard the library door open. A child's footsteps froze by the hearth and Tiresias heard their heart race. They probably saw his rucksack.

"Is someone here?" the child asked, her familiar voice echoing through the shelves.

Tiresias breathed, trying to settle his heart, to not give anything away. It was younger than he remembered but that voice was definitely familiar.

"Aye," he called out. Closing the tome, he walked back to the center. Deliberately allowing his feet to fall heavy on the stone floor. As he turned a corner, he saw a small girl, standing at the end of the aisle, staring at him. Even in the shadows, the greyscale scars were prominent.

He halted a good distance away from her, inclining his head.

"Good morning, my lady," he said, lifting the tome. "My name is Tiresias. I'm the librarian from Winterfell that arrived yesterday. May I ask what your name is?"

Her eyes shined in recognition at his name, but she bit back her question and came to the center of the aisle.

"My name is Shireen Baratheon, daughter of Stannis Baratheon," she said with a neat curtesy. "I'm pleased to meet you."

"I'm pleased to meet you as well, Lady Shireen."

It was an effort not to call her Princess. All the times that Tiresias saw her, she was proclaimed Princess Shireen of the House Baratheon, from the reveal of her scars with her sad singing to the burning stake as she screamed…

He swallowed the image away and held the tome higher.

"I hope you'll forgive me, my Lady. My business with your father isn't scheduled until this evening and I had wished to peruse your library. To see if Dragonstone contained any tomes of the Old Tongue."

"That's all right," Shireen replied quickly. "I have my lessons but Maester Cressen isn't here yet."

She looked more scrutinizing at the tome he held in his hand. "The Old Tongue?"

"Aye." Tiresias walked past her to the table, where sunlight streamed through the window. He set the tome down and opened it carefully. As he ran his fingers gently across the first page, he heard Shireen come to his side. She pulled up a chair and climbed on top, peering at the writing.

"The language of the First Men?"

Impressed, he looked at her with eyebrows raised. "That's right," he said, nodding. She gave a small grin, looking pleased with herself.

He returned to the page. "It came with them when they invaded Westeros. Twelve thousand years ago."

"Maester Cressen says it's extinct. Nobody speaks it anymore."

"Well, that's not entirely true," Tiresias murmured as he ran his fingers along the runes. "In the Seven Kingdoms, yes, it's practically gone. But a fair number of the Free Folk beyond the Wall speak it. Some hill tribes in the North. The children of House Stark are becoming proficient at it. There aren't many remains of the runes left though. Lord Stark, Maester Luwin and myself, we've been trying to collect and preserve what we can."

Finishing the first page, he turned to Shireen, smiling.

"Not too many collections of the Old Tongue below the Neck, I'm afraid. I'm surprised Dragonstone has two tomes of it. You wouldn't happen to know of any more lying around, would you?"

Shireen shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

She glanced to the open tome and then back to him, eyes wide. "Can you read the Old Tongue?"

"Aye, my Lady. As well as a foreigner can."

"Can you read some? Out loud?" She remembered herself and spoke again. More quietly. "Please? I've never heard the Old Tongue before."

It required no second thought from Tiresias. He pushed the tome gently so that it rested between them. He pressed his finger to the beginning of the page.

"I'll follow the runes as I speak them. Ready?". Shireen leaned over, eyes on the page and nodded.

Tiresias cleared his throat. "On this isle, the wind sings and the mountain rumbles deep. The Children here reside in caves and there, their treasures keep…"

He translated as he read. The little lady was an attentive listener. And student. She asked him to repeat words, tried them out for herself. She pointed to different runes and inquired their meaning. It took Tiresias ten minutes to finish the first page, but he didn't mind. It actually delighted him. The Stark children were all skilled in the Old Tongue and spoke it somewhat fluently. But none of them showed the incentive that Shireen did.

Well, perhaps Cara will when she becomes old enough. She likes to read more than Arya and Bran did at her age…

If it was anything like this, he'd lose track of time. As he read, translated and explained, he forgot why he was on Dragonstone. He didn't hear the wind as it railed against the castle. He didn't even notice the old maester until the man announced his presence.

"Good morning, Lady Shireen," Cressen called lightly. "And Tiresias, good morning to you as well."

Tiresias stood quickly. "Good morning, Maester."

He looked between the maester, Shireen and the open tome that laid before them and nodded.

"I suppose it's time I took my leave." He closed the tome and picked it up. "If I intruded on the Lady's studies, I do apologize. The Old Tongue is a fascinating read. And the Lady asked wonderful questions."

"Not at all," Cressen said with a true smile. "The Lady is a diligent student. We certainly have some time at the beginning for a special subject. It's not often a reader of the Old Tongue comes to this island."

"I'd wager not," Tiresias said. "Nevertheless, I'll return the tome to its rightful place and allow you two to resume your lessons."

After placing the tome back alongside the other one, he returned to the center of the library. Shireen was taking out her chalk and slate, while Master Cressen wiped his board clean. This library was far smaller than the one in Winterfell and there was no place to sit quietly out of the way. So Tiresias grabbed his rucksack and opened it.

Might as well be now. No telling if I'll see her again.

"Lady Shireen, Maester Cressen," He said, bowing slightly to them both. "I'll leave you both to your lessons. Before I leave however, I was hoping to give something to the young lady. I have a gift for her from Lord Stark."

And myself went unsaid. He was the only messenger. That was the image he had to stand behind here. And while the gift was his suggestion to Lord Stark, he remembered the origin of Shireen's greyscale. Gifts to the young girl were probably scrutinized closely. And while Stannis had his suspicions about the dragonglass trade, it was far easier to trust the honorable Eddard Stark than the mysterious foreign librarian he employed.

Indeed, Maester Cressen nodded with no hesitation. He stepped back, looking to Shireen.

"Of course, Tiresias. I'm sure the Lady would be honored by Lord Stark's thoughtfulness."

The librarian reached into his rucksack and extracted a small package wrapped in cloth.

"It's not in Old Tongue," he said. "But it's a fun read all the same."

He held it out to Shireen, who took it carefully. She pulled off the cloth to reveal a tome. He remained silent, letting her brush her fingers against the leathered spine, cracking it open to the first page. Her finger ran along the words as she read the title.

"Howls in the Northern Cold…" she read, looking up to him. "Is it a story of wolves?"

Tiresias nodded. "One or two of them. It's a collection of stories, my Lady. Some scary. Some sad. Of creatures and wonderments in the Northern Kingdom and beyond the Wall. In the Land of Always Winter. It's best read in the south. Under a warm sun. On an island where they can't reach the reader."

He knelt to her level, meeting her wide eyes.

"Dragons aren't the only beasts in the world, Lady Shireen. I've only adopted the North as my home. I'm just a foreigner. But there are creatures up north that are just as old and mysterious as the winged beasts from the East."

Looking up, he gave a calculated smile to Cressen.

"And they make for wonderful stories, don't they, Maester?"

The old man was probably going insane at the growing influence of the Red Woman over Stannis and Selyse. At any mention of the supernatural. It was best to avoid that area and present the tome as just a collection of frightening stories.

Once he talked with Stannis, the whole situation could change. However, for now the maester nodded knowingly with a smile.

"Indeed, my Lady. An exciting collection for leisurely reading. Though it should be saved for later. Now, we must resume your studies."

Tiresias stood. "Of course, I'll leave you both to it. Goodbye, Maester. Farewell, Lady Shireen."

She curtsied to him again. "Farewell, Tiresias. Thank you for the book."

"You're welcome." As he turned to leave though, he heard her call back.

"Will you read the Old Tongue again with me? Before you leave?"

He didn't need his intuition or even his knowledge of the show to hear the loneliness in her voice. Trickles of sadness for the young Baratheon flowed from him, but he didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep. He still had no idea what Dragonstone meant for him.

So he turned and met Shireen's hopeful face, giving the best answer he could.

"If I can, I would be honored to, my Lady," he said. "But I'm afraid I don't know how much time I'll have. Your father and I have a lot to discuss while I'm here. However, if I have time, I'd love to."

The disappointment in her eyes was tempered by his honesty. It was the best he could do. And it felt perfectly inadequate. She nodded though and turned to her slate. Tiresias exited the library as Cressen began his instruction.

He shut down the feelings of inadequacy, as well as he could, as he walked back through the castle. He gave the lonesome girl what he could. He wasn't on Dragonstone to cure her solitude. There were much bigger things he had to deal with.

Angry gusts buffeted him as he made his way across the beach. His meeting with Stannis was still hours away. And as he had already perused the castle's library as the librarian of Winterfell, he was out of legitimate excuses to waste his time.

He could have gone to the training yard. His exercises have become scattershot in the last month as he traveled here. It's difficult to train on a boat. He could have used an hour or two in the castle to really stretch out. But he didn't want to pull any more eyes to him. Most of the soldiers here didn't know him by sight and he preferred it that way.

Also, there were training yards everywhere else in Westeros, but hardly any other dragonglass deposits. And he wanted to see the cave before he met with Stannis. Before he performed the story that Lord Stark and he agreed upon.

Turning to the sea, he squinted against the wind and sun. Ships were making their way to the docks and back out again. The merchants and traders came ashore and left with empty vessels. Plenty of them too. More than he saw in the show. Before Stannis declared a claim on the Iron Throne.

I could easily ride out with one of them. Earlier than when the fur trader arrives. Granted, their likely destination is King's Landing, not White Harbor. Still a ship to the North would be easy to come by in the capital…all this assuming that Lord Stannis allows me to leave...

It was a situation that Tiresias was annoyed to be familiar with. Another tenuous guest at a suspicious lord's castle. The Dreadfort, Casterly Rock and now Dragonstone…

At least he had the option of running from the others. Dragonstone was an island. It did not escape his notice that he had no guards trailing him. And for good reason. They weren't needed.

He turned back to the castle. The whole thing filled him with dread. An excellent structure by most standards, but the people who occupied it…

Stannis would still make his claim once the news of Cersei and Jaime broke. There was no hope of the opposite. The most stubborn man in Westeros would not be pacified by anything else. The chain of inheritance was ironclad in his mind.

His skills as a battle commander would be useful…but what good was a man who put his claim above all else? If the North was able to stay neutral in the upcoming war and Stannis was able to defeat Tywin, would he be so keen to assist the North in their fight against the Army of the Dead? Would he really see it as his duty?

Assuming that he actually preferred Stannis to emerge victorious from that conflict? On a personal note, he wanted Davos and Shireen to survive. But then again, he wanted certain people on every side to survive. He wanted them spared. To not be dragged into the conflicts of the Seven Kingdoms.

Wars didn't work like that though. He knew that even before watching the show. It was a mistake to think otherwise. To believe he could manipulate an entire continent to his will. Things have already gotten out of control. Once open war began…what he wanted would become much more difficult to implement.

The beach was not a large one and soon he came upon the cave. At least he guessed it was the correct cave. It looked familiar. His assumptions were confirmed as soon he reached the entrance. A wagon with a burlap cover stood right inside, protected from the sea wind. Lifting the burlap, he saw picks, hammers, chisels and buckets. Tiresias touched the end of a pick and rubbed his fingers together. Black particles fell from them. Dragonglass remnants.

Brushing his hand against his leg, he turned to the cave's interior. Darkness looked back at him and though he had a good feeling that his eyes would see fine, he still wanted fire.

With his flint and steel, he lit a torch resting in a sconce on the cave wall. Holding the torch high, he proceeded. One corner turned and the darkness surrounded him, all day light gone. Another corner and the sounds of the sea ceased. Though the smell remained as he walked farther and farther into the cave.

No miners were in this cave today, but Tiresias saw their handiwork. The torchlight passed over bare rock. Some patches were fresher than others. Did they start from the front and worked back? He was curious to know. They had been mining and shipping the dragonglass north for years…

Not long enough. We don't have enough. Not yet…

But perhaps there wasn't a sufficient amount of dragonglass in the cave to begin with. Not enough to beat back the Army of the Dead. A tidal wave of corpses descending on Winterfell…

His throat tightened at the thought. As he walked farther along, no black obsidian gleamed in the torchlight. Just scarred rock from picks and hammer swings. It was an ugly sight. And it got only worse.

Before too long he came upon the huge cavern. And though he knew what he was doing when he advised Lord Stark all those years ago to mine it, it still made his heart sink as he raised the torch and looked.

No black dragonglass gleamed purple and dark blue back at him. No etchings from the Children of the Forest were there. Looking higher, he saw that they had even built scaffolding to reach the ceiling. Supports were there to ensure that the whole thing didn't collapse.

Such a sight meant that dragonglass was in Winterfell and prepared to be used against the Army of the Dead.

That's what he told himself. And he'd be glad for it when he returned home. When winter came. When wights would fall to the dragonglass. For now though, as he stood alone in the cave, he couldn't help but feel some shame for such a blight. History was destroyed here.

Another opening told him the cavern went even deeper. Deciding to explore and escape the sadness of this scarred cavern, he turned to proceed.

Something caught his eye as he walked past. Gleaming violet in the firelight.

Tiresias turned back, holding his breath, hardly daring to believe it. He walked back, his footsteps a dull echo in the cavern. He saw the figures drawn before he raised the torch to them.

Why the miners preserved this one piece, picked around it so it jutted out from the new wall of the cave, he didn't know. In all of the correspondence between Winterfell and Dragonstone, there was no mention of the cave drawings and whether to preserve any of them. All of the circular designs and patterns the Children drew were gone. That dragonglass was converted to weapons up north.

But the etching of the Night King and his three lieutenants standing to attention behind him…that stayed the miner's pick.

Time seemed to disappear as Tiresias regarded the Night King. It was a crude drawing but it was him all right. The crown was a dead giveaway.

You really are an old bastard, aren't you?

The torchlight danced on the cave wall. Tiresias felt himself still as he continued to stare. Perhaps it was just the color gleaming from the dragonglass on which the Night King was sketched. But he swore those blue eyes were beginning to stare back at him…

His ears twitched. Against the crackle of the torch, which echoed in the cavern, he heard footsteps approaching. He turned away from the Night King and walked to the center, staring towards the entrance, shrouded in darkness. The smell of the sea still permeated the cave and he couldn't identify the incoming party.

Tiresias frowned. That was an advantage he'd gotten quite used to. He held the torch steady as they approached. The footsteps belong to a single person, walking softly, nearing the cavern.

Resisting the urge to call out, he waited. As the person rounded the last corner, he recognized the languid gait from last night. It certainly didn't belong to Stannis or Davos. Tiresias exhaled through his nose.

The flame on his torch seemed to bolster and a greater light filled the cavern. Tiresias eyed it in his periphery before returning to the entrance.

Another dramatic entrance for you, aye?

Melisandre emerged from the darkness, sauntering into the torchlight. She stepped straight up to his torch and paused, peering at him unblinking with a slight smile. The same look she wore last night during dinner.

The fire danced dangerously close to her face, but she didn't seem to mind. Tiresias was the one who had to hold his arm steady, reminding himself that this was a Fire Priestess. She could bear the heat.

And under the soft torchlight, he stood silent, regarding her. Tiresias saw her intrigue quite plainly. It wasn't hard for him to remain silent. He didn't want to speak. Didn't want to give her anything. He sensed the heat coming from her. It was too much. It wouldn't burn him. But it would be too much if she came any closer.

However, before it became too much, her gaze turned to the side. To the walls of the cavern. She stepped past him. Steeling himself, he turned and followed her, holding the torch high. It was pure politeness. He knew she didn't need the light.

Nevertheless, he followed behind, her scent of ash and spice prominent now that she was close. She came to the walls and reached her hand out, stroking the scarred surface. With her eyes on the stone, she began to speak.

"The remnants of your work, Tiresias Mountainfall."

"I don't like that nickname," he replied evenly behind her. "And I didn't mine a single inch of this cave."

She walked along the wall, grazing her hand upon it.

"But you did advise Lord Stark to do so. Setting us all on the path that led to this."

It would be a mistake to deny it.

"You avoided answering me last night when I asked." Tiresias tried to swallow his spit silently. To be more brave than he felt. "Did you see that in the flames, my Lady? Me advising Lord Stark?"

"I did," Melisandre responded with complete sincerity. "Your victory over Ser Gregor brought Lord Stannis' eye to you. On his behest, I searched for you, to see what the Lord of Light would show of the Warrior Librarian of Winterfell."

The back of her hair glowed with the fire as he trailed her. She spoke softly, her voice free from the zeal of her fanatism.

But it was there. Though he couldn't hear it, it was there.

And so he kept his distance.

"I didn't believe I was important enough for the Lord of the Light to take notice. More than happy not to believe it."

It wasn't false modesty, but a genuine want not to be noticed by such an entity. When he thought rationally, Tiresias didn't wish to even know what the Lord of the Light had planned or any interpretations on such. He had enough going on, trying to navigate what was coming for Westeros. He didn't have to add on the enigmatic wishes of any divinities.

Still…he looked at Melisandre, watching for a reaction. Trying to see if she would divulge any more of what she saw in the flames. What she told Lord Stannis. If she only saw the dragonglass deep in the catacombs of Winterfell or something else?

Her gait slowed and she paused. Tiresias stopped himself from sighing. As if answering his unasked question, she regarded the remaining dragonglass in the cavern. Where the Night King and his lieutenants stood, sketched against the obsidian. Tiresias wasn't surprised, though he remained several feet behind her.

She gazed at the sketching for a solid minute and the cave endured a deep silence. Crackle from the torch echoed. During which, Tiresias wondered if she saw the blue eyes flickering to her as well.

If they did, the Red Woman didn't show it. She gazed upon the artwork with no fear in her eyes. Just a knowing that made Tiresias' skin crawl.

"Do you know who this is?" she finally asked, her eyes still on the dragonglass.

"Do you believe I do?"

Melisandre turned to him, her hands folded in front. "What gods did you worship in Essos, Tiresias?"

"If I say anything but the Lord of Light, would you set me to a stake and burn me alive?"

A shadow of a smirk cut across her face. "Burn you alive?"

"If you want to make a joke, go ahead, but don't expect me to laugh," Tiresias said, his quiet voice like a knife. "I've heard of your god. I've heard of his priests. I've heard of his followers. I know the extremes you could go to."

The smirk vanished, but a calm, resting smile took its place. It didn't put him at ease. Melisandre entered this cave with the Lord of Light behind her. He was alone here. Fear trickled through him.

However, the Red Woman only smiled, stepping away from the wall. She walked along the edge of the torchlight, circling him.

"You are an honored guest of Lord Stannis, Tiresias. Even if you weren't, I have no intention of burning you."

She halted and faced him.

"It would be foolish of me. To set you to the stake."

"That's a right relief," Tiresias muttered.

"The Mountain was a great warrior," she said. "His name and reputation were known even in Volantis. A berserk giant. Brought down by your blade."

"Aye, I was there," Tiresias stated shortly. "Is that all you wished to say to me?"

Melisandre's eyes drifted. They fell over him and slowly undressed him before coming back up to meet his gaze again.

Tiresias bit back a sigh. Oh fuck me…

"Did you know of me before you arrived at Dragonstone, Tiresias? Your eyes locked on me with such familiarity when we dined last night."

She stepped forward. He ignored the urge to retreat.

"I heard of a red priestess come to this island, in service to Lord Stannis. Helped that you were the only one smiling. Miserable bunch in that castle."

It was a pitiful attempt at humor and it didn't stop her from advancing.

"You say you've heard of the Lord of Light. Of his servants in Essos. But we are more than fire worshippers setting people to the stake."

She was shorter than him, but not by much. He felt the heat radiating from her. It was unlike any warmth he'd ever felt before, permeating him. He suspected the cold from the White Walkers would feel suspiciously similar, seeping through his bones.

Melisandre stopped before him. "Did you hear what else we could do?"

His feet planted firm; he met her gaze.

"A warrior such as you," she whispered, her voice barely higher than what the cavern echoed back. "What you would get from me. What I could give…"

"I have a wife," he stated. His voice quiet, but sound. "I have no taste for another woman."

Melisandre gave that shadow of a smirk again.

"Do you truly believe I'm just another woman, Tiresias?"

Her hands went to his sides. They were warm, even through his clothes. She pressed close to him, as her mouth neared his, opening slightly…

Tiresias halted her, bringing his hand up quickly to her shoulders. Her eyes opened wide. They stared at each other for a few seconds, their silence punctured by the crackling of the torch.

Leaning down past her face, he brought his nose to her neck and sniffed. Trying to smell. Trying to detect anything…

When he came back up, amusement colored her face. He took her arm and pushed down her sleeve, brushing his fingers gently down. The arm was quite relaxed, she gave it to him without protest. After a number of touches, he dropped it and met her eyes again.

The eyes…he regarded them, absorbed her amusement, tried to see past it. Everything else failed so far. He simply couldn't tell, but he knew…

Melisandre cocked her head ever so slightly. "What are you searching for, Tiresias?"

A soft chuckle escaped from him, appearing from nowhere. "It's remarkable," he said, his voice light. "I can't see past it. Can't feel it or even smell it...it's just remarkable."

The light in Melisandre's eyes glowed still, but a question now colored it. She didn't voice it though and the two of them stared at each other for a solid time before Tiresias pushed her away. Gently.

He felt her eyes on his back as he walked past her, trying to come back down to earth. It wasn't the offer of sex that stirred him. He wasn't tempted by that, but looking into her eyes was like looking at a bright flame. One shouldn't look directly at it. Not for long.

"You would do well to accept the blessings of the Lord of Light, Tiresias."

Turning back, he saw no anger with that statement. No hurt or injured pride at having been rejected. The amusement was gone though.

Tiresias swallowed. "Is that a threat?" he asked evenly.

"The Lord of Light is above such things. He merely takes from those who work for the darkness and gives to those who'd accept his blessings."

"His blessing?" A laughing smile came over his face. "A tryst with you?"

Melisandre returned his smile. "Blessings are not all doomed affairs, Tiresias."

"This one would be." He didn't hesitate saying so. "I'm not opposed to an older woman…"

He stepped forward, halting before her. She didn't move at all, peering at him perhaps more curiously than before.

"But you…" he said, his eyes tracing her whole being before coming back to her gaze. "You're pushing it, my lady. Truly you are."

"Pushing what?" she asked softly.

He lowered his voice, though he knew they were alone. Isolated by the cavern, the beach, and the island of Dragonstone itself. Shielded from any living thing…

"I've seen your true form…hag."

The smirking, knowing smile…it melted away slowly as the Red Woman regarded Tiresias standing before her. The flame in her eyes…it vanished as well, leaving darkened, cavernous orbs pondering this stranger.

Don't think the Lord of Light mentioned that about me.

His eyes dropped briefly to her necklace, before meeting her gaze again.

"Never take that off, do you?"

The answer was clear on her face.

Tiresias shook his head. "No…no, I bet you don't even know what you look now. But I do."

Melisandre didn't respond. Her pulse didn't quicken. Her heat didn't drop. Her gaze didn't waver. It seemed to go deeper into him. He let it, ignoring the small urge to brush his fingers across his dagger hilt.

Fire is our friend in this battle, man. No need to snuff this out now.

It must have been a solid minute before she moved. She turned and walked toward the exit in the cavern, her steps echoing off the stone. Tiresias sighed silently. He would have to return to the castle as well. He counted his blessings that his trek back through the cave would be solo.

However, the steps stopped. He looked to see Melisandre turn back towards him. Just on the skirts of the torchlight. Her form just barely dimmed by the darkness. A weight grew in his stomach. Her knowing look was back.

"You didn't see my true form, Tiresias," she said calmly. "Clark did."

The blood left him. Left his hands, his chest, his head. He didn't remain still out of stoicism. He simply couldn't move.

She didn't need him to. It was enough for her to see. She nodded to him and exited the cavern, disappearing into the darkness, leaving him alone in the crackling torchlight.

But he couldn't hear it now. He couldn't move. He could only stare into the darkness where she had left, trying to absorb it…

Clark saw it…Clark saw her true form…she saw…she saw him…me…how…how did she…

He stayed in the cavern for a solid time. By the time feeling returned to his feet, the torch was almost extinguished and a deep blackness surrounded him. He could still see though. He left the cavern, with the feeling that Night King was watching him from his dragonglass drawing.

That illusion was gone soon. In a short time, he stepped out onto the beach and made his way back to the castle. The Red Woman was nowhere to be seen. The wind had tempered and now grazed his face gently.

It took an effort to feel it.