Chapter 44: Chapter 44
His feet hit the beach, splashing in the surf as he lent a hand to turning the rowboat around. The Dornish guards were told to drop him off quickly and return. No favor would be sought from a Baratheon. Not in this lifetime.
They didn't ask for his help turning the boat, but they didn't refuse. No one said a word as they rowed back to the Martell ship. Tiresias watched them depart, his feet still in the waves.
When they were a respectable distance away, he walked up the beach and found a rock to sit on as he dried off and put his boots back on, which were strapped to his rucksack. His eyes downcast until absolutely necessary. Finally when he buckled his boots, he hitched his rucksack onto his shoulder and took in the castle.
In the heat of the summer, Dragonstone was not nearly as intimidating as he had seen it other times before. The sun gleamed off the black stone. Banners of yellow fluttered in the distance.
No burning heart yet…still a stag.
He adjusted his own banner, the Stark armband from Sansa, with its fresh stitches. He was a proper representative after all. His eyes traveled to the serpentine stairs connecting the castle to the beach. A band of guards was making its way down the way, led by an older gentleman.
Tiresias cast a look about the empty beach as he stretched his arms.
Don't think they're coming for anyone else here.
However, they approached quite languidly and so he returned the favor. He made his way to the beginning of the stone stairs and waited. As the guards neared, the man in front came into clearer view. Tiresias stared before ducking his head and laughing lightly.
I'd hoped I'd run into you. One friendly enough face on this island.
He wiped the smile from his face, rendering it neutral before lifting it to greet the guards. They rounded the corner and halted at the top of the stairs. Tiresias nodded to the man in front, his hair not quite as grey as he remembered, but the pouch he wore was still around his neck...
"Hello there. My name is Tiresias." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the summons. "Lord Stannis asked for me."
He pointed to a dragon carved in the stone, unable to resist a small grin. "Assume this is Dragonstone, aye?"
"It is," Ser Davos said, returning his grin. He came down the stairs and extended his left hand. "Ser Davos Seaworth, at your service. Welcome, Tiresias."
Tiresias shook the offered hand with his own left one. Davos glanced off the shore, to the departing rowboat.
"I presume that Prince Oberyn won't be gracing us with his presence?"
"Nah," Tiresias said. "Just kind enough to give me a ride. It's too bad. I'm sure he and Lord Stannis would have gotten on marvelously."
That got a snort out of the Onion Knight. "I'm sure. Lord Stannis asked that I see you to the castle. There you may bathe and rest before supper with him and the Lady Baratheon. He will speak with you then."
An evening supper settled between Stannis and Selyse Baratheon…
Could be worse. You could be settled between Margaery and Cersei, Cersei and Joffrey, Roose and Ramsay…well, not that one anymore, but still…dinners between the Westerosi nobles are hardly any fun. Least not the ones I've seen outside the North.
"Sounds delightful."
Davos turned and walked up. Tiresias followed him through the guards, who parted and then followed behind them as they made their way up back to the castle. He desperately wanted to speak. The Onion Knight was one of the men he most wanted to meet in Westeros and now that he was here, he couldn't think of anything to say.
He didn't make the mistake of glancing at him sideways though. He kept his eyes firmly on the castle and on the serpentine steps that led to it. A chill ran through as he recognized the place.
Jon and Tyrion walked up these steps. This is where Drogon swooped and screeched…
His head turned to the north, to the empty clear sky. There was no dragon there. The only such beasts on this island now were carved in stone.
Would I even be able to sense them before they're upon me? Will I smell them? Feel their heat? Hear their wings as they cut through the wind?
Coming to, he saw Davos looking to the northern sky as well, then back to him.
"See something?"
He shook his head, bringing his gaze back to the castle.
"Not used to such skies like these in the North. Mostly it's just overcast with rain and snow. Here the wind doesn't chill you." He shrugged. "Compared to Winterfell, Dragonstone is quite balmy."
"Aye," Davos said. "It's a long summer. Though the sea winds keep the heat at bay."
"Keep the stink at bay too, I imagine? Compared to King's Landing?"
The former smuggler smiled. "Aye, thank the gods. Though, for those not used to it, the sea can stink."
Tiresias shrugged. "I like it."
"Raised up by the water, aye?"
"For a time. Wouldn't call myself a sailor though. Worked the docks in Lorath. Pentos."
Ser Davos nodded. "How long have you been working for Lord Stark?"
No tangent for that one, aye? With the same smile and all.
He resisted shrugging again. "About six years. Longest I've lived anywhere."
The castle gates creaked open in front of them, revealing the full front of Dragonstone Castle. He tried not to be awed by it. It was certainly busier than he had ever seen it before. Not abandoned after a failed attempt to claim the Iron Throne. Merchants, tradesmen and laborers bustled around them. Fierce guards stood to attention.
Strict as they would be under the command of Stannis Baratheon.
A familiar feeling rose up inside of him. The sight reminded him of his first glimpse at Winterfell and the full force of the North before they were decimated in the conflict. The War of Five Kings really set this continent on a losing path.
And that's only a few years from now…even if it concerns fewer claims to the throne after Robert's death, it will still be a catastrophe…what are you doing to do about that?
He didn't know how to answer that and he couldn't be distracted right now. Stannis requested him specifically to explain the dragonglass. As to why, he could only suspect. But he hadn't see her so far…
As they made their way to the castle entrance, Tiresias registered quite a few whispers and stares coming his way. Being escorted by guard into a castle was a draw for some. But if there was anything he learned in this country, whispers and rumors could spread anywhere. Stannis summoned Tiresias, the man who slew the Mountain, to Dragonstone. A ship sailing from the North, with Martell banners, a single man docking…it wasn't the hardest guess in the world who he was.
Hoping for some distraction, he turned back to Ser Davos.
"And you, Ser? How long have you been under Lord Stannis' service?"
"Since the Rebellion. Just a smuggler then. Though he raised me up afterwards. Gave me a lordship."
He glimpsed down to the man's hand.
Paid a fair price for it.
"That's quite a jump in rank."
The man gave an unamused smile. "Lord Stannis is quite generous, Tiresias. A more just man you'll never meet."
A more stubborn one, more like.
The interior of the castle drew his eye. With the exception of the Red Keep, all the other castles he'd entered in Westeros were far older than this one. And this was the only castle raised by Essosi hands. He took in the black stone which encompassed them as they passed through the corridors.
Even up close, the castle didn't betray its age. Hundreds of years of sea wind and salt spray was the equivalent of a millennium on a land castle. The maintenance on the eastern face of Dragonstone must be a bear.
The walk to his room wasn't nearly so long as in Casterly Rock. However, Ser Davos opened the door to a similar view. The open window to the north gave him a spectacular of Dragonstone's coast. It relieved him to find his room rather utilitarian. He didn't wish to indulge in any luxuries as he did in the Westerlands.
But some things he would indulge. A small tub was already before a fire with several steaming pitchers of hot water surrounding it.
He turned to Ser Davos, who remained outside.
"An escort will come and escort you to dinner in two hours' time. Until then, rest easy."
"Thank you," Tiresias heard himself mutter. The smuggler gave a brief nod before closing the door.
He dropped his rucksack, resisting the temptation to fall onto the bed and sleep. The seawind may have disguised it, but now he was back on land and there was no escaping the fact that he needed to bathe.
Stripping down, he pulled out a clean shirt, having saved it for when he wasn't besieged by sea travel and salt. Mal had mended the sleeve before he left. He ran his fingers gently over the stitch, a thread of forest green.
If I'm to receive any more threads from you, she had said. I'd rather you come home and give them to me yourself. Come back whole, aye?
His fingers left the thread, dropping to his side.
I'll try, Mal. I'll do my best.
Setting the shirt and other clean clothes on the bed, Tiresias stepped into the basin and reached for a pitcher. Once wetted, he picked up the soap and began to scrub.
Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help a shade of a grin as he was led to the dining quarters. In his years of traveling, he had been the guest of a lord multiple times. Admittedly, mostly minor ones of the North, but still, being received, being dropped off at one's quarters, bathing, being led to the dining hall by a silent servant. The fact that this was all becoming standard fair…it just amused him quietly at points.
He did his best not to be and dropped the small grin well before he entered the dining quarters for Dragonstone. A part of him was a little disappointed that he was not taken to the table of the Seven Kingdoms. But this was dinner, not a war council. He didn't want Stannis to make that step. Not quite yet.
There was only one other figure in the room when he entered. Ser Davos turned from the hearth, giving him a courteous and guarded nod.
"Tiresias, good evening. I hope you had a chance to rest in between now and when you arrived?"
He nodded back with as much courtesy. "I did. Thank you, Ser Davos. Will you be joining us this evening?"
"Aye. I was asked by my Lord to attend dinner tonight." The old man didn't lose his courteous smile. "I do hope that you will not begrudge my presence."
"On the contrary, I'll be honored," said Tiresias smiling truly, ignoring the suspicion that crept into his brain. "And much relieved. I do respect Lord Stannis and am grateful to him for his hospitality."
His look to Davos turned sideways.
"But based on what I heard of him, I don't wish to eat alone with him."
Davos was not a man to be offended by a light critique of Lord Stannis. But he didn't smile at the remark. Not that Tiresias intended it to be funny.
"I'm sure," Davos stated with a most civil tone. "That Lord Stannis won't insist on supping with you for the rest of your stay. If that worries you."
"Not in the least," Tiresias said, regretting what he said. "Besides, at least when I'm eating with Lord Stannis and making conversation, I know I won't be served horseshit."
That got a true grin out of Ser Davos. A small one, but true nonetheless.
"Aye," he said. "Aye, he speaks quite true. I'm glad you're prepared for it, though I'll try and rescue you if I can."
Tiresias smiled politely. "Appreciated. You wouldn't happen to know what Lord Stannis has planned for me, aye?"
Ser Davos kept his grin. "I wouldn't tell you even if I did, Tiresias."
Not surprised, Tiresias wandered to the fire, gazing into the flames. "You're a good man, Ser Davos. Lord Stannis is lucky to have you."
In his periphery, the Onion Knight look slightly taken back, but he accepted the compliment, nodding.
"I'm lucky to serve him. Lord Stannis is a good lord. A good man."
Tiresias kept his eyes on the fire.
Aye…to a point. Fanaticism will drive him well past that point. Is it too late for that?
Swallowing that thought, he turned to the table.
"Where shall I sit?"
Davos directed him to his seat and took the one opposite. However, taking the Onion Knight's example, he merely stood behind the back and waited. There was no use playing power games with Stannis Baratheon. He didn't even touch his goblet, instead looking to the table. For the first time, he noted the number of chairs in the room.
"I count five chairs, Ser Davos. Is Lady Shireen joining our table tonight?"
Davos shook his head. "No, Tiresias. She is unwell and kept to her room tonight."
The Onion Knight didn't betray any thoughts on the matter. At least not to anyone with normal eyes. Tiresias saw the tension in his forehead, the tightening of his jaw and the shade of melancholy in his eyes at the mention of the little Baratheon.
His voice remained amiable though, and like most things in this world that he was not supposed to know about, Tiresias nodded and accepted the answer without further ado.
"I'm sorry to hear that." He turned back to the fifth chair, right next to his. "Then who is dining with us?"
Davos didn't answer. His eyes went down and Tiresias saw the shadows on his face lessen. He blinked. It wasn't an illusion.
His eyes went to the hearth. The fire was modest only a moment before. Was it blazing more now, banning the shadows?
Just as he was contemplating the flames, he heard footsteps from the corridor. A decisive stride leading them.
Tiresias turned to the door. Davos followed his sight and straightened his posture. Together, they waited for the Lord of Dragonstone.
A servant opened the door briskly and Stannis entered the dining room, with Selyse right behind him. She looked just as warm as she did when Tiresias first saw her.
Davos gave a light bow. "M'Lord," he said, extending his right hand to him. "May I present Tiresias, the librarian from Winterfell?"
Stannis' eyes fell on him the moment he entered the room. Tiresias bowed lightly as well.
"My Lord," he said quietly, before turning to Selyse. "My Lady."
No ice melted from either of their eyes as they regarded their new guest on Dragonstone. Tiresias swallowed a smartass grin at their humorless faces. This was funny from a distance, in a story. Here, now…there was no place for mockery.
He continued. "Thank you for your invitation to Dragonstone and to dinner."
"You are Tiresias?" Stannis asked unblinking.
He stared at his host. It wasn't unusual for him to encounter doubts about his identity after the death of the Mountain. But people either tried to hide their disbelief discreetly or they openly mocked him. Stannis never mocked and he certainly didn't bother to hide his doubt.
It was almost polite. Stannis certainly wasn't embarrassed by his own bluntness. Under the crackle of the flames, he heard the Lord's heart beating steady and calm.
"Aye."
Stannis still didn't blink. "You're not as short as I've heard."
How tall am I supposed to be? In that stupid song they sing?
He risked a slight shrug. "No, but I'm sure stacked to the Mountain, everyone comes up rather short. Makes for a better story I suppose."
Stannis ignored the the remark, walking to the head of table. Davos remained standing and Tiresias copied him as Selyse walked to her chair. All three men waited until she sat and a servant pushed in her chair.
As Tiresias scooted forward in his seat, he looked to his right. The fifth chair was still empty.
"Our other guest will be late," Stannis said. "And has requested that we begin eating."
He glanced to Lord Baratheron. The omission of the guest's name seemed deliberate. As did the omission of their gender. Stannis liked his facts out in the open. That he was withholding information now only made Tiresias more uncomfortable.
Allowing himself a few deep breaths as the servant poured the wine, Tiresias looked to Ser Davos, away from the iron in Stannis' eyes.
The Onion Knight, perhaps misinterpreting his glance, nodded and picked up his full goblet.
"As always, to you, Lord Stannis. To you, my Lady," he said quickly before looking back to the foreigner. "And to the honored guest of Dragonstone, Tiresias Mountainfall."
"Here, here," Tiresias muttered before sipping the sour wine.
He thanked the gods that Davos kept it short and didn't raised his voice. There was no room tonight to indulge such cheer. Still, he supposed those nights were rare in this place.
Fresh bread arrived, along with four steaming bowls of fish soup. Tiresias tucked into it gladly, surprised he wasn't sick of seafood yet. Over the past fortnight of sailing, if he and his Dornish host wanted any fresh meat, they would have to catch it from overboard. It was their evening meal practically every night.
However, after years of being in the middle of the North, seafood was a rarity. And so he indulged whenever he got a chance; White Harbor, King's Landing, Casterly Rock…
And though the fish soup wasn't nearly as savory as anything he had eaten in the Westerlands, he still swallowed it without difficulty. Even Davos' use of his moniker didn't annoy him. Granted the man's tone was earnest, without mockery, but traveling with Oberyn for a month helped deaden the impact of that nickname for him.
But he still made note of it. And he wasn't the only one. After a few minutes of silent chewing, Selyse looked to him.
"Do you have a family name, Tiresias?"
It was the polite, insidious version of the question that Jon asked him shortly ago. He met Selyse's eyes. The light there made his skin crawl.
Tiresias shook his head before swallowing. "No, my Lady. Tiresias was the only name my parents ever gave me. Only name I've had until recently."
"Are you a bastard then?"
Perhaps it was height of her politeness that Selyse wrinkled her nose ever so slightly at the thought. It was barely discernible, but no matter. The rest of the table heard her tone clear enough, though Ser Davos was the only one who looked a little offended, or uncomfortable rather, on his behalf.
However, Tiresias merely shrugged.
"My parents were married," he said calmly. "Under the eyes of their god, they were made one."
He then shrugged, placing his spoon back in the soup
"However, it wasn't under the Seven. Or the old gods up North."
Or even the Lord of the Light.
Swallowing a ladle of broth, he continued. "And with no family name or sigil to place on a banner…I doubt any highborn in Westeros would call me trueborn. You're certainly under no obligation to do so, my Lady."
Tiresias smiled and nodded shortly, hoping that would close the subject. For once, his wish was granted. Stannis shot his wife a warning look and Selyse looked down to her soup, her grip on the ladle ever slightly tightened.
Desperate to fill the silence, Tiresias turned to the Onion Knight across from him.
"I don't believe I'm the only one here with a moniker. I've heard you have one as well, Ser Davos?"
The former smuggler sipped his wine, nodding. "Aye, though I must say, it's not nearly as impressive as Mountainfall."
Tiresias shrugged. "I like the name 'Onion Knight'. It's certainly a creative flourish. How'd you come by such a name? If I may ask?"
Ser Davos glanced to Lord Stannis and Tiresias followed his gaze. In the middle of chewing, Lord Stannis considered the subject, before returning to his meal, judging it appropriate. All without a word.
He turned back to Davos, who cleared his throat.
"It was during the siege of Storm's End during the Rebellion…"
Of course, Tiresias knew the story. It was an easy thing to remember. But even with Ser Davos' humble recounting of delivering relief to Storm's End, the whole discussion ate quite a bit of their time. When the Onion Knight finished on the topic of his severed fingers – with an apologetic look to Selyse Baratheon – Tiresias had finished his soup and was soaking black bread into the broth.
Stannis had finished as well. He left the bread untouched, taking conservative sips of his wine. His wife ate slowly. With no pleasure.
Tiresias washed down a piece of soaked black bread with water. He switched from the wine after the first cup.
"That was quite a heroic feat, Ser Davos." He dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "And quite a stoic manner in which you paid your price. I nearly lost my arm in the Westerlands. I didn't handle it with nearly as much grace."
"Well…" Davos shrugged. "Quite a difference, between losing a whole arm versus your fingertips. And though Lord Stannis swung true and swiftly, I can promise you there was no grace about the occasion."
"I bet," Tiresias said lightly. He had no fondness for pain. And Davos' refusal to play up his own courage about it warmed even more to the man.
Careful, mate. You might like the man but he's still loyal to Stannis. He's not your friend. He stood silent on the beach with the others, while Selyse's brother was offered as a sacrifice. Burned at the stake…
His nostrils twitched. He smelled ash. Glancing to the hearth, he stilled. Was the fire that big when he last looked to it?
And that smell of ash…tinted with spice…it wasn't coming from the hearth, but from the corridor. Accompanied by soft, graceful footsteps…
Resisting the urge to look behind him, he brought the water up to his lips, barely sipping. Trying to get his pulse under control.
The rest of the table didn't seem to realize another was approaching yet. But they did realize he had stilled. Over the rim of his cup, Davos lowered his ladle.
"Is something the matter, Tiresias?" he asked.
Tiresias lowered his cup, shaking his head.
"Tired from the voyage, I suppose," he said easily. He glanced to Stannis, the man's gaze piercing him. "I'm afraid I didn't rest as much as I…"
His excuse was shortened by the door opening behind him. The smell of ash and spice came fully now, as the graceful footsteps. Ser Davos rose, nodding to the newcomer.
"M'Lady," he stated shortly, polite as can be.
Selyse Baratheon rose as well, the first expression of warmth flickering across her face. He stood with Stannis, who followed his wife, his face still grim. Taking a breath, Tiresias turned see their arrived guest.
Melisandre halted before the table, positioning herself before the chair next to Tiresias. A servant pulled the chair out, but she didn't sit right away. She nodded to each of them.
"Lord Stannis. Lady Selyse. Ser Davos." She turned and met Tiresias' eyes. Her small, knowing smile didn't change, but Tiresias saw the fire reflected in her eyes and swore it came from within.
She nodded to him. "Tiresias. I beg forgiveness from all of you for my late arrival."
"Not at all, my Lady," Selyse professed, her voice gentle. "We would have waited for you, had you not insisted."
"I'm glad you started," Melisandre answered, her own voice just as gracious. Though she kept her eyes on Tiresias. "But still, I ask your pardon."
Tiresias nodded quickly. He didn't like how alluring her eyes were.
"Of course, my Lady," he said. "May I ask your name? I'm afraid I wasn't enlightened before your arrival."
A hint of amusement flowed over her small smile, but it was gone instantly. The Red Woman, with peering eyes unblinking, raised her hand.
"My name is Melisandre. Of Asshai."
Tiresias took her hand and kissed it. Not too quick as to be impolite. But he didn't hold onto it.
"A pleasure, Lady Melisandre."
Melisandre nodded and sat down as a servant pushed in her chair. All the others around the table settled as well. Tiresias felt numb as he leaned back into his chair, eyes on his plate. More for something to do than actual hunger, he picked up the remaining bread and chewed it slowly.
The fact that his suspicion about Melisandre was confirmed, that she was on Dragonstone, provided him with little relief. Though she was now conversing with Selyse and giving the Lady her gaze, he couldn't help but feel that she was still watching him.
And it wasn't just her gaze or her scent. His skin tingled with the same sensation he felt whenever he entered the godswood in Winterfell. Or even more so…when he was beyond the Wall and encountered the raven by the stream…
The black bread now pure pulp in his mouth, Tiresias gazed about the dining hall. Melisandre had yet to touch her food or raise her goblet, still giving Lady Selyse her attention. Davos and Stannis continued to eat, though Tiresias could see the deepened lines in the smuggler's forehead. He didn't need his sight for that.
Stannis, on the other hand, appeared relaxed…well, as relaxed as he would allow himself to become. He ate with a quiet efficiency. The presence of a witch in his dining room didn't seem to perturb him…
On that thought, Tiresias inadvertently turned his gaze back to Melisandre, who finished her words with Selyse and met his eye. She smiled and raised her wine to him.
"I'm sure I missed a toast or two before my arrival. Would you indulge me, Tiresias?"
He felt his hand grip his cup and lift it automatically. The others may have lifted their cups as well, but he didn't check. His focus remained on the Red Woman.
Melisandre smiled. "To you, Tiresias. And may I say; what a pleasure it is to meet a fellow Essosi on this side of the Narrow Sea. Particularly one as talented as you are."
Tiresias nodded and drank, grateful for the cover. His throat was particularly dry and his cup was empty when he set it down.
"Thank you, my Lady," he said, reaching for the water pitcher. "I hope you'd excuse a lazy compliment when I say the feeling's mutual."
"Oh?" Melisandre held her ladle lightly in her bowl. "I've heard of you, Tiresias. Your exploits in this country have reached this island. But you have heard of me as well? Of my talents?"
He placed the pitcher down, willing his hand not to shake.
"Well, I certainly didn't place your accent from anywhere in Westeros. Though I've never been to Asshai."
And I have absolutely no desire to either.
"As for the talents, well…" He shrugged, reminding himself not to sip again so soon. "I've been to Volantis. Seen the red temple there. Heard the whispers that surrounded it. Of the Lord of Light. Of his servants and what they could do."
He turned his attention to Stannis, nodding to him.
"With all I heard of Lord Stannis, I can't imagine he'd entertain a priest or priestess for long without reason. You must be quite talented, my Lady."
Melisandre smiled. And as warm as she was, that smile chilled him.
"You flatter me falsely, Tiresias Mountainfall. I have no talents. No gifts. I am only a vessel for the Lord of the Light."
"As are we all, my Lady," Selyse chimed on, her voice slightly breathless.
The Red Woman turned to her and smiled. "Indeed, Lady Baratheon."
Facing forward, Tiresias caught the eye of Davos. The former smuggler gave him the slightest raise of his eyebrows before returning to his meal. He took his own covering sip of water. Desperate to bring the conversation away from the subject of religion, he turned to the head of the table.
"Lord Stannis," he stated. "On the subject of the obsidian and Winterfell's desire to continue mining it, I'm prepared to answer your concerns and any further questions you may…"
"We will speak on the subject tomorrow evening," Stannis cut across him. The Lord of Dragonstone looked up from his meal and faced him unblinking. "It is not a conversation for this table."
He didn't raise his voice, but everyone froze. Even Melisandre. Tiresias swore her heat seem to lessen. Though she wore the same small smile in his periphery. As for him, it took all he had to maintain eye contact with Stannis. Even Tywin Lannister wasn't nearly as difficult to stare down.
Then again, I was a little high on the Milk of the Poppy when I met the Old Lion…
Tiresias nodded. "Of course, my Lord. I beg your pardon."
Assuming enough time had passed for another sip of water, Tiresias lifted his goblet as the table came back to life. Melisandre started on her bowl of fish soup. The sight of her eating bewildered him more than he expected.
Lowering his goblet, he turned back to Stannis.
"May I ask then, my Lord, how long our business will last? I would like to send a raven to Winterfell in the morning, notifying Lord Stark of my arrival and my estimated departure."
"I can't imagine more than a day," Stannis replied brusquely. "Though your departure will be determined by what ships arrive here and their future destinations."
Tiresias had the same thought as he sailed here. "That's very true," he admitted.
Stannis sipped his wine. "In four days' time, a ship belonging to a fur trader will arrive here. It's gone straight to White Harbor in the past. No reason to assume it will do otherwise this time. I'll speak to our harbormaster and pay your way."
"That's quite generous, my Lord. Thank you."
"Generosity has nothing to do with it. You're my guest. I'm expected to see you safely off the island."
On these words, Tiresias found himself glancing to the right. To see if the Red Woman had any alternate plans. However, Melisandre didn't return his glance and continued to eat neatly. He looked back to Stannis.
"Well, I'm expected to thank a thoughtful host, so thank you." He cleared his throat. "What time tomorrow evening should you and I discuss our business?"
"Immediately after supper will suffice," Stannis responded with no hesitation. He probably scheduled that time before coming to the hall. "If you'd take your meal in here, I'll have a man escort you to my solar."
"That's very practical, my Lord," Tiresias stated, as evenly as he could. "I'll be here."
A small sliver of hope arose in him. Not that he was more optimistic about restarting the dragonglass trade. But Stannis stated that his business with him will be brief and his departure from Dragonstone imminent. He could be sailing home before he knew it.
But even as the hope rose in him, he reluctantly tempered it. His way off this island, out of the crutches of Stannis Baratheon was not guaranteed. Once he spoke with his Lordship tomorrow evening, once he fed him the halftruth that Lord Stark and he agreed upon…his stay could certainly be extended.
And all the while, the Red Woman still sat at his side, eating quietly as the rest of the table finished their meals. Tiresias enjoyed a comfortable silence now and again, but there was nothing comfortable about this.
She could destroy you, mate. One word from her and you may be the first sacrifice on Dragonstone to the Lord of Light. Do you want to die burning?
Ignoring the obvious answer to that question, Tiresias tried to relax. He had another question for this table. One which he was hesitant to ask, though he suspected the answer. Still, one didn't meet a brutally honest man every day.
Tiresias cleared his throat, determined to speak casually.
"Excuse me, my Lord," he said, addressing the head of the table. "Forgive me if this subject relates too closely to the obsidian, but I'm simply too curious to wait until tomorrow…why did you call me to speak on the now suspended trade? I was never mentioned in any of the correspondence between you and Lord Stark. Not to my knowledge."
Stannis fixed him with his piercing gaze, but, for the first time, didn't answer him right away. Tiresias returned the gaze, waiting for the reply. But it was no surprise to him when the reply came from his right.
"I advised Lord Stannis to speak with you, Tiresias," Melisandre stated. The small smile still graced her lips as she dabbed them with a napkin. She then turned to him, lifting her goblet.
"After all," she said. "You were the one to advise him to import it to Winterfell. Who informed him of the deposits in the caves along the beach."
Now everyone at the table directed a piercing gaze at him. He even felt Davos' eyes fall on him, lightly suspicious. Determined not to be cowed, Tiresias ignored his pulse beginning to race.
"Did you see that in your flames, Lady Melisandre?" he asked softly. Upon her silent stare, he shrugged. "As I said, I've heard of the Lord's servants are capable of."
Melisandre turned her gaze to the hearth, to the medium blaze within.
"The Lord of Light shows much." Her voice was softer than his. The heat emanating from her seem to strengthen. "But it varies from person to person. Everyone sees something different in the flames."
She sipped her wine. "I do hope, Tiresias Mountainfall, that you would spare some time during your brief visit to come and see me."
On that, she turned back to him. He still saw the fire reflected in her eyes.
"If you wish to stare into the flames…he may show you things as well. Much more than you imagine."
"A generous offer, your Ladyship," Selyse stated. Tiresias almost jumped. For a brief few seconds, he forgot that others were in the room as well. "You would do well to accept it, Tiresias. The things one sees…it's remarkable."
Tiresias looked to the Lady Baratheon, who looked upon him with something akin to respect. The closest she had come to it all night. Davos seemed wary but unsurprised. His suspicion of the Red Woman was obvious, even he hadn't witnessed it before in the story.
As for Stannis…the man's face was a stone wall and he didn't offer any opinion on the matter. Voluntary or not. Tiresias couldn't read it.
So he returned to the Red Woman, to the fire burning in her eyes and smiled politely.
"Perhaps, my Lady."
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