Melisandre I

Melisandre threw her head back in ecstasy and allowed herself to enjoy the sensation of the young king inside of her. She inhaled the salty fumes of the incense he’d lit, and let the smoke build up on her lungs. It felt like being washed by the blessed flames of her lord.

When Tommen Baratheon finished, his essence would reinvigorate her for years to come, and she would continue to work toward her red lord’s ultimate victory. She could feel the power thrumming through his veins. He was a king, oh yes, a man born to rule. But he was not her prince; he was not Azor Ahai come again, no matter what she told him. Ever since she left Essos for Dragronstone, all signs pointed to Stannis. Now, her vision showed victory in his road north. He would be reborn amidst salt and smoke there, as the prophecies foretold, and R’hllor would have his champion.

However, Stannis would be staying in the north for the foreseeable future. And they would need the strength of the Seven Kingdoms to beat back the monsters of the Great Other. Perhaps young Tommen would be of more use to her and her prince alive, as a puppet to be strung and paraded about, until his usefulness came to an end.

She smiled at the idea. Her hips quickened, moving up and down on Tommen’s length. He hit a spot deep inside her, and she moaned into the king’s neck, breathed in his scent. He still smelled of sulphur and blood, and the intoxicating mixture made her head spin with pleasure. His slaying of her shadow-child was unexpected, but not overly detrimental to her cause. The origins of her spell that night were one of the many lies she’d told Tommen Baratheon.

Shadow could only exist given light; she would never make use of a power that originated from the Great Other. Her Lord would strike her down the moment she did so, and if not him, then her brothers and sisters in the red temples would cut the rotting hand to save the arm, as it had been done before many times with priests who delved too deep into their studies of the Other’s darkness and were in turn corrupted by it.

Tommen Baratheon’s hands roamed upwards, first to her full breasts that spilled out of her dress, then to her slim shoulders, reaching for her like a supplicant. His touch left burning trails on her skin, and Melisandre felt her climax approaching. She wanted him to finish at the same time as her, as she knew the euphoria of her orgasm and his essence’s power would send her into delirium.

Her hands grasped and tangled on the king’s silky blond locks. “Inside me, my prince,” she cooed, looking down at him.

He looked nothing like the energetic king she spied earlier in the night through the fires. His vibrant green eyes were blood-shot and bugged out, his breathing shallow and rasping. Seeing him like this—seeing the power she had on him—was like a drug.

The slow build up of pleasure inside of her reached its crescendo, ready to snap like a coiled spring. Tommen stirred under her, as if to stand up. His hands were grasping at her shoulders and neck now, but she barely noticed. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and one of her own hands went down to where they were joined. She wanted to feel it spilling into her.

The hand that was on her neck suddenly regained its dexterity and clinched the choker at her throat. She felt it being yanked down at the same time as the king jumped to his feet. Her vision spun with pleasure and vertigo for a moment, then she was on the ground, her back digging against the centre table.

Melisandre looked up at the king, ready to put him in his place; but a fog had risen up in the room, and she could barely see a foot in front of her. She tried to rise again, her arms pushing her up, but the world had suddenly gone dull and lifeless, and she had no strength left in her.

xxxxx

(Tommen POV)

My vision was going blank. I clawed desperately at my pocket, trying to find the tiny vial I’d put there when I stopped at the wine cabinet. The surge of adrenaline I got after the poisoned wine took effect and washed away Melisandre’s spell had faded away, and I fell back on the sofa.

I was already feeling my heart-beat rocketing up on my chest. There were glass shards on my lungs, and every breath I took shredded my insides. Another minute of this and I would end it myself if the poison didn’t do it. My hand brushed against glass, and I clasped the vial between numb fingers. I brought it to my mouth and uncorked it, then downed it in one go.

The relief was instant. Air rushed through me cleanly, the numbness in my extremities evaporated, and my senses realigned to reality. No more than half a minute had passed since I’d shoved Melisandre off of me, and she was still dazed on the floor. She looked like she’d aged a hundred years. Her lustrous red hair had turned bone white and brittle; her glowing skin was sallow and sunk in at the cheeks and eyes.

I frowned and quickly pulled my pants up. Even though my gamble had paid off, I had to admit some of the circumstances of my plan had not been thought through enough. Like the fact that I knew she was almost a skeleton walking and still had sex with her.

Being free of her entrancing influence felt like turning on the lights in a dark room. For minutes there all I could think about was her, her words and her taste and her smell, and I didn’t see what was right in front of me. All her lies and manipulations were clear as glass now that I could think back on them clearly.

Still, I’d gotten my prize. I felt the choker with the red ruby still safely clutched in my left hand and breathed a sigh of relief. I looked around the room to reassert myself. The fire at the hearth had dimmed, and the incense sticks at the table were almost burned out. The room was filled with the salty smell of the sea.

I turned back to Melisandre, a satisfied smile spreading on my face. “Well.” My voice came out raspy and ragged. I cleared my throat. “Well. I certainly liked you better when you were all red. White definitely does not suit you.”

She looked up at me, eyes white and dull, pale lips replacing full pink ones. The only thing that wasn’t white was the inside of her mouth, as all her teeth had fallen out. “You…” she trailed off, voice grating. She didn’t have the strength to continue.

Even in her weakened state, I had no idea what kind of sorcery a priestess of R’hllor who’d lived in godsforsaken Asshai could pull off, so I turned away from her and reached for my sword. I remembered watching Thoros of Myr and the lightning lord, Beric Dondarrion, and I had a mind to copy them.

Slowly, lovingly, I pulled Hopebringer out of its scabbard. No. I realized it would have to be called something different now.

I admired its ripples in the gloomy light of the room, blood and death in shades of red and black. I brought out the Melisandre’s choker and pulled the ruby off its center. I heard a moaning, “Noooo,” from the floor, but focused on the work.

I threw the golden choker over my back, and carefully placed the ruby gemstone into the furrow I had carved into the handle earlier tonight. When it slotted all the way in, the blade pulsed in my arms, and I smiled.

I planted my free hand on the sharp edge of the sword, then slowly dragged it against my palm. Crimson king’s blood bathed the valyrian-steel blade, running over its ripples like rivers following their courses. When the sword was done, I turned to the ruby-encrusted hilt. I positioned my closed hand over it and squeezed.

Blood ran dark here, and the sword burst into fire the moment crimson met ruby. The flames were a beautiful black, as dark as my sins. I watched in awe as their sable light washed over the room. The black fire swirled around the blade, licking hungrily at everything around it. Dark burn scars were left in its wake, but I didn’t feel their heat.

Melisandre was watching me from the ground, wonder and horror stamped on her ancient face. Amidst my black flames and the salty smoke of the incense, I grinned down at her.

“Here’s your Azor Ahai,” I said. Then I stabbed Lightbringer into Melisandre’s heart.