Melisandre looked at Stannis's face, the rigid, resolute expression signaling that the stubborn man had finally bowed his head to reality. Her smile deepened.
"Excellent."
Melisandre's voice carried a bizarre, soothing magic. "You have made the absolute right choice."
Stannis didn't say a word.
He walked heavily to the massive Painted Table, gripping the edges so hard his knuckles turned white. His eyes locked dead onto the carved markers for Storm's End and King's Landing.
His two ultimate enemies were sitting right there.
One was the arrogant younger brother who treated him like an irrelevant joke.
The other was the psychotic, incestuous nephew who had stolen his rightful throne.
He was going to take back everything that belonged to him.
No matter the cost.
A long, heavy silence stretched across the room.
"What exactly do I need to do?"
Stannis finally spoke, his voice laced with the heavy, dark uncertainty of stepping into the unknown.
"The Lord of Light's gifts are never given freely."
Melisandre glided over to stand right beside him.
A strange, intoxicating scent radiated off her—a heavy blend of exotic spices and burning fire.
"We require a sacrifice."
"A sacrifice?" Stannis's thick brows crashed together into a deep frown.
"You want me to murder someone?"
Melisandre slowly nodded.
"While the Lord of Light is infinitely merciful, manifesting His miracles into this world requires a heavy toll."
"That toll is the raw power of life!"
"And the power coursing through your royal bloodline is the absolute purest, the absolute strongest in the world."
Stannis violently snapped his head toward her, his dark eyes flashing with lethal suspicion.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Your son. Prince Shireen."
Melisandre dropped the name with absolute, terrifying calm.
Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight who had been standing silently in the corner the entire time, violently convulsed as if he'd just been struck by lightning.
He snapped his head up in absolute, horrified disbelief, staring at the red woman.
"No! You can't!"
Davos lunged forward, throwing his body directly between Stannis and Melisandre.
"Your Grace! Shireen is just a little boy! He's already suffered enough!"
Stannis's only son, Shireen, much like the Princess Shireen in other timelines, had contracted the horrific disease known as greyscale as an infant.
It was a terrifying, lethal affliction that slowly turned the victim's flesh as hard and dead as solid stone, completely robbing them of all feeling.
Eventually, the disease would consume the entire body, turning the victim into a lifeless stone statue.
Desperate to cure his son, Stannis had exhausted absolutely every resource he had. He brought in every maester, healer, and apothecary across Westeros, but nothing had worked.
Prince Shireen was like a fragile plant slowly withering away, his life force draining drop by agonizing drop.
And now, this red witch was actually targeting that poor, dying child!
Stannis's face instantly turned the color of ash.
"Get out of my way, Davos."
Stannis's voice was as freezing and unyielding as the black rock of Dragonstone.
"Your Grace!"
Davos dropped to his knees, desperately grabbing fistfuls of Stannis's trousers.
"I'm begging you! Shireen is your only son! You cannot do this..."
"I said, get the fuck out of my way!"
Stannis violently kicked Davos off him.
It wasn't that his own heart wasn't bleeding.
It was that he literally had absolutely no way out.
"I am not going to harm him."
Melisandre looked down at Davos, her eyes flashing with a bizarre, alien pity.
"I merely need to borrow a tiny fraction of the King's fire burning inside his veins."
"If anything, this ritual will actually alleviate his suffering."
"You swear to that?" Davos glared at her with raw, bloodshot eyes.
Melisandre didn't answer him directly. Her face simply settled into an expression of absolute, fanatic devotion.
Stannis stood in dead silence.
He looked at his most loyal knight, weeping on the stone floor after being kicked aside.
He thought of his son, lying in his bed, half of his small face already consumed by dead, grey stone.
Maybe... maybe Melisandre was right.
Instead of letting the boy slowly rot away in agonizing pain, it was better to let him contribute his final, ultimate value to his father, and to the realm.
Everything he did was for the realm... and out of absolute duty.
Yes. That was it.
This was his inescapable destiny.
"Fine."
Stannis slowly squeezed his eyes shut.
"Your Grace!"
Davos let out a devastating, absolutely broken wail of despair.
But Stannis didn't even look at him.
"Selyse." Stannis called out toward the heavy wooden doors.
Moments later, a tall, incredibly thin woman with a severe, unforgiving face walked into the chamber.
It was Stannis's wife, Selyse Florent.
She was also one of the absolute most fanatical, zealot worshippers of the Lord of Light.
Selyse's face was completely devoid of emotion, as if she already knew exactly what was about to happen.
"Bring Shireen here."
Stannis issued the command with absolute, ironclad authority.
Selyse didn't ask a single question.
She simply turned to Melisandre and offered a deep, highly reverent bow, a gesture reserved strictly for the clergy of the Red God.
Then, she turned and left.
A short while later.
Selyse returned, carrying a small, incredibly frail child in her arms.
The boy looked to be about seven or eight years old, with the thick, coal-black hair that was the absolute signature of House Baratheon.
But the entire left side of his face and neck was completely swallowed by a thick, scaly crust of dead, grey stone.
Greyscale.
The child appeared to be deeply asleep, his breathing incredibly shallow and weak.
The second Davos saw the boy, he completely broke down, letting out a heavy, muffled sob he couldn't hold back.
"Place him on the bed."
Melisandre pointed to a simple, unadorned cot in the dark corner of the chamber.
Selyse compliantly followed the order.
She gently laid her only son down onto the mattress, even tenderly pulling the heavy blanket up over his small shoulders.
There wasn't a single shred of maternal grief or hesitation on her face.
Only a terrifying, almost psychotic level of religious fanaticism.
It was as if the child lying there wasn't her own flesh and blood, but a flawless, pristine offering about to be presented to a literal god.
"Alright. Everyone, leave us."
Melisandre pulled several thick, pitch-black candles from the deep folds of her robes and began lighting them, placing them in a deliberate circle around the bed.
She then pulled a handful of unidentified, shimmering powder from a pouch and tossed it into the air.
The heavy, exotic scent in the room instantly spiked, turning suffocatingly thick.
"No. I'm staying right here. I'm watching."
Stannis's voice was absolute granite.
Melisandre shot him a long look, but she didn't argue.
"Very well."
She turned back to the bed and began slowly circling the sleeping child, her voice dropping into a low, hypnotic chant in a dead, ancient tongue.
Her voice constantly shifted, sometimes soaring into a high, piercing wail, then dropping into a guttural, vibrating hum.
The flames on the black candles began to dance wildly, violently stretching and warping Melisandre's shadow against the stone walls.
The twisted, writhing silhouette looked exactly like a literal demon crawling straight out of the deepest pit of hell.
Davos stayed on his knees, burying his face in his hands, completely terrified to watch the horrific scene unfold.
Stannis stood dead center in the room, planted like a stone statue.
His fists were clenched so incredibly tight his fingernails drew blood from his own palms.
He aggressively forced himself to keep his eyes open.
To watch this red witch perform her sick, twisted blood magic on his only son!
Suddenly.
Melisandre's chanting completely stopped.
She slowly, deliberately turned around to face Stannis.
A highly unsettling, bizarre smile stretched across her face.
She took a slow, methodical step toward him.
"My King."
Her voice was dripping with an absolutely irresistible, hypnotic power.
"The Lord of Light requires fire."