The Citadel Library: Ancient Texts and the cold god's Weakness in the Dead of Night
The summer nights at The Citadel were always cloaked in the musty smell of old books. Deep within the library's "Restricted Section," candlelight flickered on a bronze candelabra, casting Maester Sam's long shadow. He knelt before a wooden shelf piled high with ancient texts, his fingertips tracing a cracked leather-bound volume—this was *The Spirit of Winter and the Pact of Light*, unearthed last night from the "first men Archives."
The edges of its pages were riddled with wormholes, yet the inscription on the flyleaf, written in High Valyrian, was still legible: "For Greenseers and R'hllor faithful only."
"If I can't find any more clues, the allied forces' dragonglass weapons will truly run out," Maester Sam rubbed his sore eyes, spreading the book on the wool-blanketed floor. Around him lay a dozen similar ancient texts, mostly "Wight Research Manuscripts" sealed by The Citadel centuries ago, some still stained with the black blood from past battles against Wights.
Since Arya and Illyrio departed for the western continent, The Citadel's pressure had intensified—they needed to supply the allied forces with dragonglass and research the cold god's weaknesses. Maester Sam practically lived in the library, even sleeping with parchment detailing dragonbreath ore in his arms.
The candlelight suddenly flickered, and Maester Sam's gaze fell on page 37 of *The Spirit of Winter and the Pact of Light*. It depicted a faded rock painting: Children of the Forest holding burning holy fire staffs, and before them, "ice-like creatures" (consistent with the cold god's creations seen in Bran's Greensight) were melting.
Below the rock painting, ancient first men script had a charcoal-marked annotation. Maester Sam gently applied The Citadel's special "developer," and the Vague text gradually became clear: "The Spirit of Winter fears light, especially the lord of light's holy fire—where holy fire reaches, the ice core disintegrates, the ice mist disperses, and cannot re-coalesce."
Maester Sam's heart pounded, and the developer bottle in his hand nearly fell to the floor. He repeatedly confirmed the text and cross-referenced it with other ancient texts—*The Holy Canon of the lord of light* recorded that "holy fire is the embodiment of light, capable of purifying all dark creations."
*The Chronicle of the Wight Wars* mentioned that "the Children of the Forest sealed Wight lairs with holy fire." Even the most conservative *The Citadel Historical Records* subtly alluded to "holy fire having a restraining effect on ice-based creatures."
These fragmented pieces of information now finally connected into a crucial clue: the cold god's core weakness was the lord of light's holy fire!
"Is... is this true?" Maester Sam's voice trembled. He immediately found parchment and quickly recorded his findings with charcoal, not daring to miss a single punctuation mark. In the candlelight, his fingers were white with excitement—the allied forces' greatest dilemma against the cold god was "how to completely destroy the ice core."
Dragonglass could severely wound Wights, and dragonflame could suppress ice mist, but neither could achieve "complete purification." The appearance of holy fire, however, might be the key to breaking the stalemate.
Just then, the wooden door of the Restricted Section creaked open, and Dr. Marwyn, the conservative leader of The Citadel and head of the "Historical Research Department," entered. He wore a gray robe embroidered with The Citadel's emblem, leaned on a bronze-inlaid wooden staff, and his eyes held their usual scrutinizing gaze: "Maester Sam, still researching these 'heretical texts' late at night? Have you forgotten The Citadel's rules—records of Wights and the cold god require approval from the Conclave to be accessed."
Maester Sam quickly tucked the parchment detailing the holy fire into his robe, his voice urgent: "Dr. Marwyn, I've discovered the cold god's weakness! The lord of light's holy fire can completely destroy the ice core, this is crucial for the alliance against the cold god!"
Dr. Marwyn scoffed, walked to the wooden shelf, and casually picked up a volume of *The Holy Canon of the lord of light*, his fingertip tracing the pages: "Holy fire? Just a lie fabricated by the Red Priests! What became of Stannis when he relied on holy fire? The Citadel has researched Wights for centuries, and there has never been empirical evidence that holy fire can restrain ice-based creatures. Don't be misled by these absurd records."
"It's not a misleading!" Maester Sam stood up, presenting *The Spirit of Winter and the Pact of Light* to Dr. Marwyn. "This is a document jointly recorded by the first men and the Children of the Forest. The rock painting and text corroborate each other, and I've compared three manuscripts from different periods, all of which mention holy fire's restraining effect on the Spirit of Winter!
What the allied forces lack now is a method to 'completely destroy the ice core.' If we can invite Red Priestess Melisandre to join, our chances against the cold god will increase by thirty percent!"
Dr. Marwyn's gaze fell on the rock painting, his brow furrowing slightly—though stubborn, he understood that The Citadel's duty was to provide knowledge support to Westeros, not to cling to preconceptions. After a moment of silence, he took the book and carefully examined the wear marks on the rock painting with a magnifying glass: "The age of this document is indeed ancient, not like a forgery. But Melisandre is from the Free Cities. Why would she help us? Red Priests have always only served 'those chosen by the lord of light.' Queen Daenerys and Commander Jon may not move her."
"She will come," Maester Sam's tone was firm. "Melisandre once helped Jon revive and also fought Wights at Winterfell. She understands the threat of the cold god better than anyone. Furthermore, Bran's Greensight says that Melisandre is currently in Braavos in the Free Cities, seemingly awaiting 'the lord of light's guidance'—this might be her opportunity to join the alliance."
Dr. Marwyn put down the book and finally relented: "Alright, I won't stop you from contacting Melisandre, but you must guarantee that if the holy fire intelligence proves false, you will bear all responsibility. Additionally, I will explain to the Conclave. What you need to do now is to quickly send a reliable messenger to King's Landing, and then forward it to Melisandre—the allied forces don't have much time left."
The Citadel Post Station: Selecting a Messenger and the Weight of Intelligence
The next morning, The Citadel's post station was crowded with waiting messengers. Maester Sam stood on the steps, his gaze sweeping over the queue—among them were old messengers who traveled between The Citadel and King's Landing for years, as well as newly joined apprentices.
Each carried a satchel filled with dried provisions and anti-cold medicine, and a dragonglass dagger hung at their waist (to guard against remaining Wights on the road).
"I need someone familiar with the Braavos route and capable of handling unexpected dangers," Maester Sam's voice was clear and strong. "This mission is not a simple document delivery; it is to deliver intelligence about the cold god's weakness to Melisandre and invite her to King's Landing to join the alliance against the cold god.
You may encounter ice mist, remaining Wights, or even Qarth scouts on the way. Who among you is confident in completing this?"
The queue was silent for a moment, then a tall young man stepped forward—his name was Torren, twenty years old, once a Northern ranger. He was injured fighting Wights at the Wall, and after recovering, he joined The Citadel's messenger corps, familiar with routes in the North and East.
"Maester Sam, I'll go," Torren's voice carried the steady calm characteristic of Northerners. He pulled open his tunic, revealing a scar on his chest. "This was from a Wight's claw. I know how to deal with them. And I've been to Braavos three times; I know the local tavern owner and can find Melisandre's whereabouts."
Maester Sam looked at Torren's scar, then at the dragonglass dagger at his waist and the anti-cold medicine on his back, and nodded: "Good, you're chosen. This is a letter for Melisandre, detailing the holy fire intelligence and the alliance's invitation, as well as Bran's Greensight hint—she is active near the 'lord of light's Temple' in Braavos."
He handed Torren a wax-sealed parchment letter, the wax seal bearing the joint emblem of The Citadel and the alliance. "Additionally, this is a fragment of a dragon-seeking mirror. If you encounter ice mist or Wights, the fragment will glow blue, providing an early warning."
Torren took the letter and the fragment, carefully placing them in a deerskin pouch close to his body: "Maester Sam, rest assured, I will arrive in Braavos within seven days and personally deliver the letter to Melisandre.
If I encounter danger, I will prioritize protecting the intelligence. Even if I die, I will not let the intelligence fall into enemy hands."
Maester Sam patted Torren's shoulder and handed him a heavy money pouch: "This contains The Citadel's funds, enough for your travel expenses. If you need to hire guides or boats, don't be stingy. Remember, safety first, intelligence second—as long as you can reach Melisandre alive, a few days' delay is fine."
The old messenger from the post station came over and handed Torren a folded sea chart: "This is a detailed map of Braavos, marking the location of the lord of light's Temple, and also routes to avoid Qarth merchant ships. The Eastern seas haven't been peaceful lately; the Qarth people are looking for 'dragon-controlling mages.' Try to take small coastal paths and avoid their strongholds."
Torren took the sea chart, folded it carefully, and put it in his satchel. He turned and gave Maester Sam a Northern salute, then nodded to the other messengers, and led the swift horse prepared by the post station towards The Citadel's East Gate.
Sunlight spilled on his back, his satchel on the horse's back bulging, containing not only dried provisions and medicine but also the alliance's hope against the cold god.
Maester Sam stood in front of the post station, watching Torren's figure gradually disappear into the distant woods, a hint of worry rising in his heart—the situation in the East was more complex than imagined.
Qarth scouts, remaining Wights, and even potentially the Faceless Men (after Arya left the organization, the Faceless Men were still investigating people related to her) could all become obstacles for Torren.
But he also understood that this was the only chance. If Melisandre could be brought back, the alliance would possess the "last key" to fighting the cold god.
Eastern Seas: The Messenger's Journey and Hidden Dangers
On the third day after Torren left The Citadel, he arrived at "Saltpans" in the Eastern Seas—this was a necessary stop on the way to Braavos and a trade hub between The Citadel and the Eastern city-states.
The stone tablet at the town entrance was engraved with "Free Cities Border." In the surrounding taverns and shops, merchants in exotic clothing were everywhere, and many Qarth people were among them—most wore veils, their eyes vigilantly scanning passersby, clearly searching for a target.
"Young man, are you heading East?" A middle-aged man in rough clothes, Old Ho, a guide from Saltpans who regularly helped messengers plan routes, approached. "The Qarth people have been checking strictly lately; they're looking for 'people with The Citadel's emblem.' If you're going to Braavos, you'll have to take a different route."
Torren gripped the dragonglass dagger at his waist warily: "How do you know I'm going to Braavos?"
Old Ho smiled, pointing to Torren's satchel on his horse's back: "I recognize The Citadel's satchel, and your dragonglass dagger at your waist—only those fighting Wights carry that. I mean no harm; I just want to earn a guide's fee. If you trust me, I'll take you on the 'Reef Route.' It can avoid the Qarth patrol boats and get you to Braavos a day earlier."
Torren hesitated for a moment, recalling Maester Sam's instruction to "hire reliable guides if possible," then nodded: "Alright, I'll hire you. But you must guarantee the route's safety. If we encounter the Qarth people, what should we do?"
"Don't worry, only I know how to avoid the reefs on the Reef Route; the Qarth people's large ships can't enter," Old Ho promised, patting his chest. "And I know the Red Priests at the lord of light's Temple in Braavos and can help you find Melisandre—she's been frequenting a tavern near the temple lately, reportedly waiting for 'someone with holy fire intelligence.'"
The two of them led their horses along the coastline of Saltpans, heading towards the entrance of the Reef Route.
On the beaches along the way, they occasionally saw ice shards washed ashore by the waves—ice mist from the Arctic ice sheet had spread to the eastern seas.
Torren's dragon-seeking mirror shard glowed faintly blue, reminding him that danger was not far away.
"These ice shards only appeared recently," Old Huo said with worry.
"Saltpans has never had such cold weather before; it seems the cold god's threat is truly nearing the East."
Torren clutched the dragon-seeking mirror shard, his resolve to find Melisandre as soon as possible growing stronger.
He recalled the days fighting Wights on the Wall, and the comrades swallowed by the ice mist.
If Melisandre could not be brought back in time, the common people of the East would suffer the same fate.
The entrance to the Reef Route was hidden beneath a cliff, the seawater a deep green, and the surrounding reefs covered in barnacles.
Old Huo skillfully led the horses onto a small boat prepared in advance, then smeared a layer of "reef-avoiding oil" (made from special local plants, it reduces friction between the reefs and the hull) on the gunwale.
"Hold on tight, this part of the journey is a bit shaky."
Old Huo pushed off with the oar, and the small boat slowly entered the reef area, where the surrounding reefs appeared and disappeared in the seawater, easy to collide with if one wasn't careful.
As the small boat reached the center of the reef area, Torren suddenly heard a "rumbling" sound from afar—it was Qarthian merchant ships shelling a nearby small island, clearly searching for "suspicious persons."
Old Huo immediately paddled the small boat behind a large reef, lowering his voice: "Don't make a sound, the Qarthian patrol is nearby, and their ships have 'Dragon Controllers' who can sense the presence of living people."
Torren held his breath, hiding The Citadel's emblem in his inner garments, and tightly gripping the deerskin pouch containing the intelligence.
The shadow of the Qarthian merchant ship swept across the distant sea, mages on the deck wearing purple robes and holding glowing crystal balls, searching everywhere.
Fortunately, the seawater in the reef area interfered with the crystal ball's perception, and the merchant ship gradually moved away, allowing the two to breathe a sigh of relief.
"Thankfully, it was a false alarm."
Old Huo wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and resumed paddling the oar, "Two more hours, and we'll be out of the reef area.
Then we'll switch to a larger ship for Braavos, which will be much safer."
Torren looked at the gradually brightening sunset in the distance, a glimmer of anticipation rising in his heart—he knew he was getting closer to Melisandre, and closer to the hope of the alliance.
The small boat slowly advanced through the reef area's waters, the sound of oars cutting through the surface intertwined with the distant waves, like a silent battle song accompanying this journey of hope.
Braavos: Melisandre's Waiting and the Call of the Holy Fire
The "Temple of the lord of light" in Braavos was situated on a high ground by the sea, with golden holy fire burning on the torch stand at the top of the temple, exceptionally conspicuous even during the day.
Melisandre stood before the temple's terrace, wearing a red Red Priests robe, holding a holy fire staff inlaid with rubies, her gaze fixed on the eastern seas—her holy fire perception told her that "the one who can change the tide of the war against the cold god" was approaching, which was consistent with the lord of light's prophecy.
"Red Priests, the tavern owner sent word that a messenger from the North, carrying a token from The Citadel, is looking for you."
A young Red Priests hurried over, holding an emblem of The Citadel—the very one Torren had.
A glimmer of light flashed in Melisandre's eyes; she turned and walked down the terrace, her red robe fluttering in the wind like a burning flame.
"Bring him to the temple's secret chamber; I want to see him personally."
Her voice carried a gravitas unbefitting her age.
Since leaving King's Landing, she had been waiting in Braavos for the lord of light's guidance, and now, the guidance had finally arrived.
In the secret chamber, the holy fire flickered in a bronze basin, illuminating the lord of light mural on the wall.
Torren followed the Red Priests in, and the moment he saw Melisandre, he immediately knelt on one knee, pulling Sam's letter from his embrace: "Lady Melisandre, I am Torren, a messenger from The Citadel.
Maester Sam has sent me to bring you intelligence on the cold god's weakness, and an invitation to the anti-cold god alliance—the alliance hopes you can come to King's Landing to help us fight the cold god with holy fire."
Melisandre took the letter, her fingertips tracing the The Citadel emblem on the wax seal, and gently opened it.
When she saw the content that "holy fire can completely destroy the cold god's ice core," her eyes erupted with a strong light—this perfectly matched the lord of light's prophecy, "where there is light, ice disperses."
"The lord of light has not abandoned Westeros."
Melisandre said softly, placing the letter beside the holy fire basin; the letter glowed faintly red under the holy fire's illumination.
"Maester Sam's discovery confirms the truth of the prophecy."
"Will you join the alliance?"
Torren asked eagerly, "The allied army's dragonglass weapons are running low, and the cold god's ice mist is getting closer.
We need your holy fire."
"I will go."
Melisandre nodded, her gaze falling on the flames in the holy fire basin.
"The lord of light guided me to Braavos precisely to await this moment.
However, I need to prepare first—the training of R'hllor Warriors requires special rituals.
I must bring the r'hllor powder from the lord of light's temple and the 'Holy Fire Covenant'.
Only then can the holy fire exert its maximum effect in the allied army."
She turned and ordered the Red Priests: "Immediately pack the holy fire equipment and prepare the fastest ship.
We will depart for King's Landing first thing tomorrow morning.
Additionally, notify the lord of light's followers in Braavos to continue monitoring the ice mist movements in the eastern seas.
If there are any anomalies, immediately notify The Citadel via raven."
The Red Priests acknowledged and left, leaving only Melisandre and Torren in the secret chamber.
Melisandre walked over to Torren and handed him a small bottle containing r'hllor powder: "This is the r'hllor powder from the lord of light's temple.
Sprinkled on dragonglass weapons, it can enhance their lethality against Wights.
Take this back to King's Landing first, and tell Queen Daenerys and Commander Jon that I will arrive within three days to discuss the training plan for the R'hllor Warriors with them."
Torren took the small bottle and carefully placed it in the deerskin pouch: "Thank you, Lady Melisandre.
Everyone in the alliance will be grateful for your help."
"It is not I who helps the alliance, but the alliance that helps Westeros."
Melisandre's gaze swept towards the sea outside the temple.
"the cold god's threat is not the concern of one faction, but of all Westeros.
Only by combining holy fire with dragonflame and dragonglass can we truly fight the darkness."
The next morning, at the port of Braavos, Melisandre, leading ten Red Priest/Priestesses, boarded the ship bound for King's Landing.
Torren had already departed earlier, carrying the r'hllor powder and Melisandre's promise, speeding towards King's Landing.
Sails unfurled, propelled by the sea breeze, the ship sailed towards the western continent of Westeros.
Melisandre stood at the bow, the tip of her holy fire staff glowing orange-red.
She knew that a contest between holy fire and the cold god was about to begin in King's Landing—and this time, the power of the lord of light would become the alliance's sharpest weapon.
The Citadel Laboratory: Sam's Preparations and the Foreshadowing of Holy Fire
After Torren and Melisandre departed one after another, Sam did not idly sit by.
In The Citadel's laboratory, he gathered a dozen apprentices skilled in "magic and mineral fusion" and began researching how holy fire and dragonglass could work together.
On the experimental table lay dragonglass shards, r'hllor powder, anti-cold potions, and samples of dragonbreath ore from Dragonstone Isle (sent by Arya and Illyrio), each labeled with detailed information.
"According to the holy fire records Melisandre left before, when r'hllor powder is mixed with dragonglass, it produces a 'high-temperature purification effect'."
Sam picked up a dragonglass shard, sprinkled r'hllor powder on it, and the shard instantly glowed orange-red.
"Look, the temperature of this light is much higher than ordinary dragonglass.
If it is applied to dragonglass weapons, when fighting Wights, it can not only pierce ice armor but also purify the residual power of the ice core."
The apprentices gathered around the experimental table, carefully recording Sam's every action.
One apprentice named Lily suddenly raised a question: "Maester Sam, is the supply of r'hllor powder sufficient?
The r'hllor powder Melisandre brought may only be enough to equip a small portion of soldiers."
"I have already considered this issue."
Sam pulled out a scroll of parchment from his embrace, on which was drawn the method for making r'hllor powder.
"Melisandre mentioned in her letter that r'hllor powder can be made from 'holy fire ash from the lord of light's temple + weirwood fiber + dragonblood'.
The Citadel has ample weirwood fiber, a small amount of dragonblood can be taken from Drogon and Rhaegal on Dragonstone (dragonblood is regenerative), and the holy fire ash requires guidance from Melisandre's Red Priest/Priestesses for its production.
As long as we master the method, we can mass-produce r'hllor powder to meet the needs of the allied army."
He paused, pointing to the dragonbreath ore sample in the corner of the experimental table: "Additionally, news from Arya and Illyrio states that dragonbreath ore from Dragonstone Isle can amplify dragonflame temperature.
If r'hllor powder is mixed with dragonbreath ore and applied to the dragons' scales, perhaps it could give dragonflame 'holy fire properties'.
In this way, Drogon and Rhaegal's dragonflame could directly destroy the cold god's ice core, without needing to rely on the cooperation of R'hllor Warriors."
Excitement flashed in the apprentices' eyes; Lily immediately picked up a dragonbreath ore sample and began experimental mixing with r'hllor powder.
Sam watched the busy apprentices, a hint of satisfaction rising in his heart—the knowledge of The Citadel could finally play a crucial role in the war against the cold god.
He walked to the laboratory window, looking towards King's Landing, as if he could see Melisandre arriving with the holy fire, and the allied army, equipped with holy fire dragonglass weapons, fighting the cold god on the Arctic ice sheet.
As the sun set, the experiment finally yielded preliminary results—dragonglass shards mixed with r'hllor powder could instantly melt ice shards upon contact, and the purification effect was stronger than expected.
Sam immediately sent the experimental results to Daenerys and Jon in King's Landing via raven.
The letter read: "The combination of holy fire and dragonglass is feasible.
Mass production of r'hllor powder requires Melisandre's guidance.
It is recommended to build a holy fire weapon workshop in King's Landing to prepare equipment for the allied army in advance."
The raven spread its wings and soared, disappearing into The Citadel's night sky.
Sam stood by the window, holding a dragonglass shard mixed with r'hllor powder; the shard emitted a warm, orange-red glow, like a tiny sun.
He knew that The Citadel's preparations, Melisandre's arrival, and Arya and Illyrio's explorations in the West, all clues were converging towards one direction—the final battlefield against the cold god.
And holy fire, this belated "blade of light," would ultimately stand shoulder to shoulder with dragonflame and dragonglass on the Arctic ice sheet, cutting through the cold god's darkness.