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The same title, the same infuriating tone, yet compared to Brynden Rivers' voice—dry and brittle like the cracking of dead tree bark—Melisandre's voice carried a different kind of charm altogether. It had a strange allure, something that made one instinctively want to listen more closely, even if the words themselves weren't welcome.
Clay turned his head, eyes drifting toward the tent's entrance. There, leaning lightly against the fabric of the doorway, stood a tall, curvaceous silhouette. The faint outline of her graceful figure, draped beneath that thin red robe, easily stirred the imagination.
Lifting his gaze slightly, Clay let his eyes settle on her sharp, defined features. Magic had gifted this woman an almost unreal beauty, flawless and enchanting… but when that magic faded one day, how much of that beauty would remain real?
In Clay's eyes, this Red Woman looked like a candle, forever burning, never dimming. The glow and heat radiating off her washed over him, but this wasn't warmth born of kindness… it was the probing, calculated pressure of someone testing their opponent.
A cold snort echoed silently in his chest. Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, Clay steadied his breath, quietly channeling his magic outward, coating his entire body in a thin, invisible layer. And in the next instant, that searing heat—the unmistakable power bestowed by R'hllor—wrapped around him like invisible chains.
Clay could feel it. That heat, that magic, was trying to burrow into his body, trying to seep under his skin, but every time it got close, it was blocked… stopped cold by the protective barrier of his own magic.
The two of them simply stood there, staring at each other in silence, their gazes locked, their magic clashing in a quiet, unseen battle… a confrontation invisible to anyone watching from the outside, yet raging fiercely in another layer of existence entirely.
Nearly two full minutes passed before Melisandre finally realized her attempts were futile. His magical defenses were watertight, leaving not the faintest crack for her to slip through.
At last, she gave up on that particular approach. The corners of her jewel-like eyes curved ever so slightly as a light, teasing smile spread across her face.
"Seems I've found the right person after all," Melisandre murmured softly. "You are Clay Manderly. Even the flames my lord bestowed upon me… cannot touch you. That, I must admit, is both puzzling and rather unexpected. So…"
Her voice lowered, silky and elusive, as if her words brushed directly against his ear. Her eyes locked onto his, their depths impossible to read.
"So tell me… are you my enemy… or a friend?"
Clay ignored the question entirely. Without a word, he turned and settled into his chair, tapping his fingers lightly against the tabletop… a clear invitation for her to sit down and speak properly.
He had always been the kind of man who preferred to hold the upper hand during a negotiation. Letting someone else lead him by the nose? That wasn't happening.
"Friend or enemy… that depends on what brings you here, my lady," Clay replied calmly.
Of course, he already knew who Melisandre was. But saying that aloud? That would be unwise. If she so much as suspected that he had been watching her, tracking her movements, or worse… keeping tabs on R'hllor himself… things could completely spiral out of control very quickly.
Melisandre tilted her head, that faint smile still lingering on her lips. "Allow me to introduce myself properly then," she said slowly, her voice steady and composed. "I am Melisandre… though I believe you already know that, don't you?"
She took her time, her words deliberate, giving him no room to pretend otherwise.
Clay nodded, his eyes drifting almost lazily down to the two snow-white peaks and the brilliant crimson gemstones that strained faintly against the fabric of her robe.
If the rest of Melisandre's body embodied fire, then that place… that place was like molten magma, ready to erupt at any moment.
"Yes," Clay finally replied, dragging his eyes back up to meet hers. "I did not expect the Lord of Light's messenger to come all the way here… especially to this place. This is Old Gods' territory, after all. Your power… should not work so well here."
Melisandre's smile didn't falter in the slightest. "The Raven told you that, didn't he?"
"Does it matter?" Clay countered, his tone calm and steady. "All I need to know… is that you, a messenger of the Lord of Light, came here on purpose. There are plenty of your kind in this world, Melisandre. The Red Temple is not short of servants across Essos."
A faint pause, his eyes narrowing just a touch.
"So for you to come here alone… to meet me… I have to say, that does not strike me as a particularly wise decision."
At his words, Melisandre pressed her lips together faintly. She didn't deny it, but she didn't argue either. It was the truth, after all… though not the whole truth.
"You will not kill me," Melisandre said softly, her voice smooth as silk, carrying a quiet certainty. "Because you do not trust that raven… or the gods of this land. Is that not so, Emissary of the Foreign God…?"
Clay's expression darkened, irritation flickering in his eyes as he waved a hand dismissively, his voice turning cold and sharp:
"If you don't want me to cut your head off right here and now, you'd better stop using that ridiculous title. I have a name. If you insist on calling me something else… I can give you one I like the sound of."
"Very well… Clay Manderly. If you insist, I'll respect your wishes. After all, I'm the one who came looking for you… am I not?"
Melisandre leaned in slightly, her posture subtle, yet her every movement seemed carefully calculated to show off her allure and charm.
Clay didn't bother looking away. He never had any moral scruples about that sort of thing. His gaze slid down, lingering for a moment along those curves, drifting across the valley of her chest, before he finally pulled it back.
He had never been opposed to getting involved with a beautiful woman… as long as it brought him real benefits.
Daenerys had been the product of that same logic!
In this filthy world, riddled with betrayal and murder, clinging to some ideal of pure, true love… what else could that be but naive foolishness?
"Alright, we can leave the small talk for later. For now… Lady Melisandre, state your business."
He paused for a moment, then added in a more casual tone, "Oh… and thank you for the help you gave my army. The North will remember that."
A faint, almost mocking smile curved Melisandre's lips. "Oh… I didn't do it for the North," she replied simply, her voice carrying a hint of disdain. "Make no mistake. I did it for you. Besides… I don't like the smell of these people. So I gifted them a little of my lord's power. Their magic turned chaotic… whose fault is that, really?"
Clay responded with a half-smile, indifferent and noncommittal, neatly sidestepping that topic altogether as he quietly waited for her to finally explain why she had come looking for him.
Melisandre's red eyes shimmered faintly—though it might've just been Clay's imagination. Her voice flowed gently into the tent:
"Clay Manderly… have you heard of this prophecy before?"
Her crimson lips parted slightly, and she spoke slowly, each word steady and deliberate:
"There will come a day after a long summer… when the stars shall bleed… and the cold breath of darkness will fall heavy upon the world. From the land of smoke and salt… Azor Ahai shall be reborn, wielding the burning sword, Lightbringer… and he shall stand against the enemies of R'hllor… the White Walkers… to save this world."
Of course Clay had heard that prophecy. In fact, even after all those years… even after the show had ended… he had never truly figured out who Azor Ahai was supposed to be.
"Stannis… Daenerys… Jon Snow…"
"…What?"
"Nothing," Clay replied, his voice calm and indifferent. "I've heard that tongue before… Lady Melisandre."
Unconsciously, he had whispered the names that drifted to the front of his mind. That was how prophecies worked. The moment someone even partially fit the conditions… the world would twist itself trying to make them fit the rest.
Melisandre only caught the faint sound of Stannis' name, but as for the rest… Clay had spoken too softly for her to hear clearly. But seeing the look in his eyes and the way he brushed off her question, she didn't press him. She understood well enough. Prying further would be pointless.
"If you've heard the tongue…" Melisandre's lips curved into a sly little smile, her voice light and teasing, though her words still caught Clay off guard. "Then… Your Grace… the Dragonlord… tell me, who do you think is Azor Ahai reborn?"
Her words made Clay's eyes flash with surprise. His hand instinctively pressed to the hilt of the sword at his waist. But after a brief moment's thought, he let it go.
Sure enough, Melisandre didn't test his patience any further. She moved smoothly to her next sentence.
"No need to be so tense, Clay. My lord's power… let me see you, soaring on dragonback… through the flames."
Damn it… you people… why the hell does everyone have map-wide vision?
Clay cursed silently in his heart. The Three-Eyed Raven was like this… the North, blanketed in the Old Gods' power, anywhere the ravens could reach… that was within their sight. And now this priestess of R'hllor was no different. Even riding his dragon, playing the part of the aloof, mysterious dragonlord… they could still spy on him as they pleased.
Clay was utterly speechless… but there was nothing he could do about it. Neither of those two had any real idea what his actual situation was. As the so-called Outsider, the representative of a foreign god, he was, in truth, nothing more than a lone wolf without a pack. They couldn't get a clear read on him… and that was precisely why they were treating him so cautiously.
"Lady Melisandre, there's no need for us to keep testing each other like this. Why don't you just tell me… what exactly do you want?"
Clay was starting to lose his patience. This woman kept circling around the topic, never getting to the point. If circumstances allowed, Clay honestly would've smacked that full, tempting cheeks of hers by now. No way would he have let her babble this long.
Reading the growing irritation in Clay's eyes, Melisandre recalled the image she had seen in the flames… that figure wreathed in magic, wielding both ice and fire alike. She wisely chose not to push her luck any further.
She took a deep breath, her full chest rising and falling ever so slightly. Her red eyes locked onto Clay's, quietly searching for the slightest glimmer of connection.
"Clay Manderly… I want to know what agreement you've made with the Three-Eyed Raven."
Clay narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't question how she knew. That unwavering certainty in her voice made it clear—this wasn't some guess. She knew.
In that case… there was no point denying it. He might as well admit it.
But what truly amused him… was this. The priestess of R'hllor… had come all this way to ask him… about the specifics of the deal between the Three-Eyed Raven… the Old Gods' chosen… and himself, the so-called Outsider.
What exactly… was she planning?
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[Chapter End's]
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