Chapter 53

The Dragonstone guard, holding a knife shorter than his palm, hesitated for a moment, then shrugged apologetically at Aegor as he approached.

Bound at his torso and limbs, Aegor could only manage a token struggle, squirming in place as he watched the guard come closer. His mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening. What was this all about? Could it be that, as a transmigrator, his blood somehow held the kind of power the Lord of Light, R’hllor, demanded? And if that were true, would he one day find himself sacrificed to the flames at some critical moment?

He had come to this world with knowledge far surpassing anyone else’s. He had grand plans to establish a foothold, build a network, and use his advantages to influence the game of thrones. He aimed to alter the outcomes of key events and shape this world’s fate. He had evaded the White Walkers and fled the Wall, ready to start a new life. Was everything about to come to an end on this barren island at the mouth of Blackwater Bay?

Aegor’s eyes fixated on the knife in the guard’s hand. A few drops of blood weren’t enough to scare him into losing his composure or begging for mercy. But the real question was what would happen afterward. How would they deal with him then? He prided himself on being a clever man, like Tyrion, but in the face of an adversary whose motives and sudden hostility he couldn’t fathom, he was left utterly powerless.

“Go for the arm—lightly, please. Thanks,” Aegor said, eyeing the trembling hand of the guard with the knife. It was a minor concession, but at least he could retain this small measure of control over the situation.

“Alright…” The young guard, barely twenty, had been a child during the last war and had only been in Stannis’s service for about a year. This was his first time drawing blood from another person. Aegor’s calm and precise instructions only made him more nervous. His hand shook as he made a shallow cut, so light it took several seconds for a thin trickle of blood to seep out.

Hurriedly, the guard scraped the blade against the wound to collect a few drops of blood before rushing over to Melisandre.

The red priestess took the knife and wiped it clean with a cloth, carefully soaking up the blood. Without hesitation, she tossed the bloodstained fabric into the brazier and fixed her gaze on the flames.

Aegor’s eyes followed hers. He saw nothing unusual. His blood, of course, held no special "power." The flames consumed the cloth swiftly, flaring up momentarily but without any significant change in color or intensity.

Yet Melisandre’s expression turned grave. Her eyes widened as though she saw some profound revelation hidden in the flames, some ultimate answer written too small to read. She leaned forward, grasping the brazier’s stand, drawing closer and closer to the fire—so close that Aegor, in astonishment, noticed the flames licking at her hair without leaving so much as a scorch mark. The priestess of the Lord of Light truly possessed some unexplainable abilities. She wasn’t afraid of fire.

After a long moment, Melisandre released her hold on the brazier and stepped back. Her gaze returned to Aegor, filled with renewed intensity. Her lips parted, ready to speak.

But before she could say a word, the door burst open with a resounding bang. A man strode into the room.

“You arrested the Night’s Watchman?”

Silhouetted against the firelight, Aegor couldn’t make out the man’s features, but his tone and commanding presence left no doubt about his identity.

“Lord Stannis!” Aegor exclaimed, grasping at this unexpected lifeline. “I was sent by Jeor Mormont to oversee the extraction of dragonglass. Surely you’re aware of this? I swear I’ve done nothing wrong on your island. If there’s been any offense, it was unintentional. Please, release me so we can discuss this like civilized men! I’m even willing to face Lady Melisandre in any inquiry to clear my name.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Stannis ignored Aegor’s plea and turned a cold gaze toward Melisandre. “The Stark lord informed me by letter that the Night’s Watch would be coming to mine dragonglass, and I approved it. Who do you think you are to order the arrest of a guest on my land, one I personally allowed entry?”

Melisandre inclined her head respectfully, but her smile remained unfazed. “Do you recall the ancient gods I told you about, my lord? I sensed a strong aura of their power from this Night’s Watchman. I wanted to know if he—or they—had sent him here.”

“I don’t care what you think you’ve sensed, Melisandre,” Stannis said flatly, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. “I tolerate your presence on this island because of your... abilities. But if you keep spouting nonsense and causing trouble, I may have to reconsider. Now, either release this man and secure his forgiveness, or leave Dragonstone immediately!”

Relief flooded through Aegor, leaving him momentarily dazed. He’d survived this ordeal purely on the whims of these "great figures." His knowledge and plans seemed meaningless when his fate could be determined by a single word from someone else. He clenched his fists behind his back. He needed to turn his advantages into tangible power—resources, allies, influence. The urgency of that goal had never been clearer.

“As you command, my lord,” Melisandre said softly, her expression shifting subtly. She lowered her head in apparent submission. “Release him.”

The guard holding the knife looked bewildered, but with both Stannis and Melisandre in agreement, he had no reason to hesitate. Moving behind Aegor, he began fumbling with the knots binding him.

Stannis snorted in disdain and left the room without another word.

The guard struggled clumsily with the ropes, either rattled by Stannis’s earlier anger or simply inexperienced. After several seconds of failed attempts, Melisandre sighed impatiently. “Leave it. I’ll handle it.”

The priestess, who had kept her distance from Aegor since ordering his capture, finally stepped closer. The heat radiating from her body was palpable as she reached out, her hands gliding along the ropes that bound him.

A faint, stinging heat brushed against Aegor’s skin. With soft crackling sounds, the ropes snapped one by one, charred black and smoking as they fell to the floor. Aegor flexed his arms, noting the slight warmth on his skin but no burns. He glanced at the severed ropes, their edges blackened and smoldering, still releasing faint tendrils of smoke. Burning through the bindings without harming him? That was beyond anything Aegor’s knowledge could explain.

Melisandre stood within arm’s reach, seemingly vulnerable, yet Aegor couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d be powerless against her.

“My apologies, black-cloaked friend,” Melisandre said in a softened tone. Yet her expression betrayed no hint of regret, making her words ring hollow. “It was my first time encountering such a powerful aura of a god—one not of the Lord of Light. I was startled and may have acted rashly. Please, forgive the offense.”

Aegor wasn’t about to let it slide so easily, nor did he plan to flee in disgrace. A good-natured man’s anger was not to be trifled with, and Aegor loathed the idea of being someone else’s pawn, a target of a scheming foe lurking in the shadows. He resolved to get answers tonight. If Melisandre couldn’t provide a reasonable explanation, she might just end up on his blacklist—permanently.

Before he returned to King’s Landing to gather supplies, recruit soldiers, and continue building his influence, he might first have to find a way to deal with this woman. And he already had an idea.

Jaqen H’ghar, the Faceless Man, was currently imprisoned in King’s Landing. Yoren might select him as one of the next recruits for the Wall. But a devotee of the Many-Faced God would hardly consent to becoming a brother of the Night’s Watch. If Aegor could secure Jaqen’s release, perhaps he could persuade the assassin to eliminate Melisandre. Aegor couldn’t help but wonder—what would happen if a Faceless Man, claiming the power to kill anyone, faced off against a red priestess wielding the mysterious power of her god?

“Convincing me to tell Lord Stannis that I forgive you is easy enough, my lady,” Aegor said, taking a deep breath. “But I was dragged from my meal, bound to a post, and cut open without warning. If you can’t tell me why, I doubt anyone in my position could simply let it go. I need an explanation, Lady Melisandre.”