Jon and Melisandre finally stood before the towering structure of the House of the Undying. The building was a singular tower rising more than fifty feet into the air. Its walls were made of dark stone, and scarcely any window could be seen in the walls. Surrounding the tower, a garden was stretching which was filled with countless trees. The majority of the trees were those bearing blue coloured leaves.
"Melisandre," Jon said quietly. "Be careful. We do not know what these people are truly capable of. Keep your eyes watchful."
This was not the first time he was saying such a thing. He had already repeated a couple of times during their journey towards the House of Undying from Xaro's mansion.
A sword hung ready in Jon's hand, while Melisandre gripped a medium sized dagger. But both knew their steel would not give them the true advantage. The weapons were little more than decoys.
Their real strength lay in surprise. The warlocks inside the building had no knowledge that Jon and Melisandre could wield magic. That ignorance was their greatest weapon. And they needed to exploit it.
Jon had wasted no time in coming here. He had wanted to strike before word of what had transpired at Xaro's mansion could reach the rest of the warlocks. He did not want to give them any chance of gauzing their capabilities.
With careful steps, the pair moved toward the entrance. The building was unnervingly quiet, emptier than it had appeared when Jon had spied on it through his warging. They slipped inside unhindered.
"Is it empty?" Melisandre whispered as they pressed forward.
Jon shrugged and replied, "Even if the remaining warlocks were sent elsewhere, their chief should still be inside."
Melisandre nodded, and they continued deeper into the tower. The ground floor was deserted, a hollow silence echoing through the stone corridors. Cautiously, they began to climb the stairs to the next level.
They were halfway up when two men descended from the first floor. Their eyes widened in shock as they spotted Jon and Melisandre.
"Who are—?" one began, but the words never finished. Jon and Melisandre moved with deadly speed, plunging their blades into the men's throats, silencing them in an instant. They placed the bodies on the ground without making any sound.
"Not warlocks," Melisandre muttered, noting their normally colored lips.
Jon gave a curt nod, and the two pressed on. They reached the first floor, only to find it as barren as the ground below. Now, only one floor remained.
With even greater caution, Jon and Melisandre ascended the final steps and reached the second floor. But what greeted them there caught Jon completely off guard.
The entire level was a single vast hall. And in the very center, seated upon a simple wooden chair, was a frail-looking old man. Like every other warlock Jon had seen, his lips were stained blue and his skin pale as bone. Three more warlocks stood like silent sentinels at his side.
"Aeloros," the old man muttered the moment his eyes fell on Jon.
Jon's brows shot up.
"You know me?" he asked, grip tightening on his sword as a rush of adrenaline sharpened his every sense. Beside him, Melisandre was equally tense, her dagger steady in her hand.
"And Lady Melisandre, the red priestess," the old man continued, ignoring Jon's question entirely, his gaze sliding to fix on her.
"You…" Melisandre breathed, her voice filled with shock. "How do you know me?"
She had not been to Qarth in years and had neither encountered a warlock in years. But she did not wait for his reply.
Recognition dawned on her face, draining the color from it.
"You… you are the First Warlock," she whispered, almost stumbling over the words. "You are still alive."
Jon felt his own heart jolt in disbelief. The First Warlock? Alive, after thousands of years? What the hell was happening?
"Hahaha!" the old man's laugh echoed, dry and mocking. "Truly, you are gifted, child. Last time I saw you, you were nothing more than a wandering priestess, still fumbling in search of true devotion."
"But alive…" he shook his head slowly, lips curling in a mirthless smile.
"Alive is not the word I would use. And yes…" his blue stained lips parted wider, "I am the First Warlock."
"How are you still alive?" Melisandre demanded, her voice trembling between awe and defiance.
The First Warlock did not answer immediately. Instead, he snapped his fingers. Instantly, Jon's sword and Melisandre's dagger were ripped from their grasp by an invisible force, flying across the hall to clatter against the floor at his feet.
Jon had felt the pull but did not resist. Losing the blade was the least of his concerns. If the old warlock lowered his guard from the illusion of control, so much the better.
Then the ancient warlock clapped his hands. From the far end of the chamber, two chairs scraped against the stone and slid across the floor, stopping directly in front of Jon and Melisandre.
"Sit," he commanded in a low, resonant tone.
Jon and Melisandre exchanged a long glance, silent understanding passing between them, before they complied and lowered themselves into the waiting chairs.
"There is so much we can talk about," the first warlock said. "And yet, my patience is running thin."
"I must thank you, Aeloros," he continued.
"Whe me?" Jon questioned.
"Becasue your arrival woke me up from my slumber," he replied with a mysterious smile on his face.
"What do you mean?" Jon asked with a frown.
"Do not act so ignorant," the first warlock replied. "With the red priestess by your side, you must be knowing a lot of things. Especially about yourself."
"Your body… is filled with so much magic," he continued. "I can sense the magic thumping inside you even from this far. So much power. I could do so much… achieve so much if I had that kind of magic running wild in my blood."
"But," he smiled with a glint. "Sooner, I will have all of it. I will have all of that power. I will take over your body and there would hardly be anyone who would have the capability to stop me."
"Take over my body?" Jon asked with raised eyebrows.
"Yes," it was Melisandre who replied. "Although he is the first warlock, this is not his original body. For years, it seems that he has been changing his physical body to make himself an immortal."
"True… very true," the first warlock laughed. "As expected of you, Lady Melisandre of the Red Temple."
Jon had his eyes squinted as he anticipated for the first warlock to talk even more and spill some of his secrets.
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