"Asshai, that's Essos. It seems you've come a long way," Hector said, his gaze sweeping over her torn robes and exhausted posture. "Alone, by the looks of it."
"Not by choice," Melisandre replied. She met his eyes steadily, trying to enchant him with her gaze, and she could feel it work as his features slackened just the slightest. She continued with her charming smile.
"I traveled with some acolytes. They died while we fled from the dead men that stalk outside these walls." She finished dramatically. Her sentence had been bait, a lure to see just how well they knew about what was going on outside these walls of theirs, and just like oblivious fishes, they bit.
Hector looked surprisingly nonplussed by her discovery. A murmur ran through the crowd, and when she turned slightly to gauge their reactions, her features twisted in confusion at the lack of the expected fear that came from telling people the dead were walking. Instead, all she could see was a guarded wariness, brows furrowed, and hands tightened on weapons. There was a confidence in them she had never expected.
She hadn't expected them to be surprised, but unmoved?
"Yet you survived, alone," a new voice said, sharp and distinctly unfriendly. Melisandre was almost confused until she remembered the track she had been on. "Funny how that worked out," the voice finished with a bite.
Melisandre turned to see another woman pushing through the crowd. She was younger than Melisandre appeared to be, with red hair that matched her own and eyes that flashed with something dangerous as she looked at her. She was pretty, Melisandre supposed. Pretty in a wild sort of way, with the kind of confidence that came from knowing how to wield the axes on her slim hips. It was a man's confidence.
Melisandre could tell that the suspicion the wildlings looked at her with had subsided a smidgen, especially with the way Hector had accepted her. The same could not be said for the red-haired woman. Instead she looked at Melisandre like she was a threat.
"The Lord of Light protected me," Melisandre said carefully, noting the way the woman walked up and stood just slightly closer to Hector than the others. An equal? She noted, already trying to figure out the dynamics of the settlement and how she could slither her way into a prominent and preferably powerful position. "As he has protected this settlement," she finished, gesturing to the surroundings.
"Ha!" The woman replied with a laugh, and the wildlings surrounding them laughed and chuckled in response. The woman turned to her fellows and spoke, confidence and bravado in her gesture as she swung her arms to the men and women around them.
"I do not know of the Lord of Light you speak of, Kneeler. What I do know is that we protect this settlement," the redhead started, her voice ramping up to the grumbled and nodded agreement of her people. "We stood amidst the walls as the dead clambered over it, as the Others themselves breached and tried to slaughter us. We stood, we bled, we lost men, we bent, but we did not break. We protect ourselves with the aid of Lord Dracula and his Castellans, not your Lord of Light." She finished her speech with a spit to the ground and to the subdued cheers and agreement of her fellows, and all of a sudden Melisandre felt the tide immediately shift.
She almost frowned, but consciously forced herself to keep up the soft smile. She had made a mistake. She had pushed too hard, too fast. She had thought the barbaric wildlings were as simple-minded as they looked, and with the dark-skinned man beside her, cushioning their suspicions and caution, she had hoped to plant the seeds of enlightenment in them. That had been a mistake. The woman before her was no great orator or speaker, yet the way she spoke reminded Melisandre of her younger self, unrefined, crude, yet true and fierce in her beliefs.
"Ygritte," Hector said, a note of admonishment in his voice.
Her fellow red-haired, Ygritte turned to him with a frown. "I do not like her, Master Hector. She shows up alone, and despite the many bloodstains few are hers. Then she claims all her people are dead, and suddenly starts preaching about a weird God?" Ygritte stepped forward just the slightest, her hand resting on the axe at her belt. "I don't trust it. I don't trust her, and if Master Isaac was here as well, I doubt he would eit—"
The girl froze at once, and Melisandre had to hold back a massive grin. She had overstepped.
That was the issue with firebrands. They could whip up a crowd easily through sheer magnetic force of will and charisma, yet without proper training and discipline, they let their fire inflame their words until it burned them. That was what the girl had done. Melisandre did not know who Lord Dracula was, but the title lord spoke to a higher station. Master Isaac had to be referencing someone of the same status as Hector, and the girl had just undermined Hector by mentioning the other person.
"I did not mean t—" Ygritte tried to recover and backtrack as her hands left the axe, and she turned to Hector with eyes wide like a cat that had been struck.
"You don't have to trust her," Hector replied, aggressively bullying past her apology. His features had darkened, the kind of man to wear his heart on his sleeves, then.
He continued, "And Isaac is not here, I am. I hold final say over whether she gets to stay or leave, and I've not come to a decision yet. I will speak to her first."
There was silence in the clearing. One did not need to be a political and crafty animal like Melisandre to know Hector was angry, and it showed in how everyone suddenly got tense. There was even some fear, slight as it was, yet it spoke a lot considering these were the same people who had not even flinched at the mention of the dead at their walls.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The sound of a walking stick slamming into the stony road formed of carefully broken rocks that raised the road slightly higher than the ground echoed out, and Melisandre turned to see a woman approach.
She was an old woman, hunched over by the weight of her years, with white hair, wrinkled features, and closed eyes. She was dressed in the rough homespun cloth a lot of the wildlings wore, and perched on her shoulder was a black crow that stared at Ygritte with black, unmoving beady eyes.
"Master Hector."
"Mother Mole," Hector replied with a slight nod of greeting at the older woman.
The woman turned to Melisandre, and even without opening her eyes, Melisandre could tell that the woman could see her. She could feel it like an itch at the back of her neck. Magic.
Mother Mole turned back to Hector and spoke, her voice a low and soft thing. "Little Ygritte speaks out of turn, but her heart is in the right place. She simply worries for the settlement, especially with Lord Dracula's and Master Isaac's disappearance. This is the first time in many years that we have woken without the presence of the Black Castle stiffening our spine. I'm sure you can forgive her."
Hector stayed silent for a second, then let out an exhausted sigh before nodding in agreement. The tension in the clearing diffused with just a few words from the older woman, including Ygritte, who sent an appreciative smile toward the old woman. Melisandre immediately began to mentally record the woman's role in the settlement. An elderly figure people listened to. A spiritual figure.
"I understand, Mother Mole, however I plan to speak to her regardless," Hector said.
"Of course, Master Hector. As the sole Castellan, it is within your rights," the old woman said, with a gumless smile and a wave before turning to Melisandre. Melisandre could not figure out the woman. Unlike Ygritte, the woman was not obviously hostile, nor did she seem the slightest bit suspicious. Yet the way she carried herself confused Melisandre.
Hector turned back to Melisandre, and she saw some fair amount of calculation in his eyes. He was measuring her, and he was going to weigh her words to decide if she was worth the trouble.
"You said you came here for a reason. What is it?"
This was it. The moment where she could either gain an ally or make an enemy. Hector would be the one to tip the scale on how she would be accepted or treated in the settlement, so Melisandre chose her words carefully.
"The Lord of Light showed me visions," she said. "Of a great darkness spreading across the North." Hector's brows furrowed the slightest, and Melisandre immediately knew to change tacks, so she focused on the more obvious enemy. "He sent me visions of the dead rising and marching south. Of a war that will decide the fate of all living things." She paused, noting the way his brows eased as her words sank in. Speaking of the other reason she was here, she was definitely out until she knew more about the settlement, she judged at once as she continued. "He showed me this place. Showed me that here I would find answers to questions I did not even know to ask. That is why I am here."
"And what questions are those?" Hector asked.
"Why the Others are moving now, after thousands of years. What they want. How they can be stopped." She met his eyes again, and this time she let him see the desperation beneath her calm facade. "I am not your enemy, Hector. Nor am I an enemy of the Free Folk or the living."
Silence. The crowd waited, watching Hector for his response. Even Ygritte had gone quiet, though her hand had gone back to her axe, while Mother Mole remained as simple and as oblivious as she had been previously, with only the membrane of the avian on her shoulder sweeping sideways in a blink showing some interest.
Finally Hector nodded. "Alright. You can stay, for now, at least until we've talked further. But you'll be watched, and if you try anything—"
"I won't," Melisandre assured him immediately, letting out another carefully crafted mask of relief and happiness. "I can promise you that, Master Hector. I have come too far and lost too much to waste this opportunity."
"Good." Hector turned to the crowd. "Someone find her some bread and salt, as well as a place to rest. She looks like she's about to fall over."
As the crowd began to disperse, Melisandre allowed herself a moment of true relief, hidden as it was. She was in. She had found her target. Now came the harder part: learning the games and the players. Starting with the Others, then pivoting to Lord Dracula and Master Isaac, as well as the fire without heat and the great darkness she had received in her vision all those years ago. She was certain Hector knew the answers to the questions she sought, and she was going to figure out how to wrangle those answers out of him and use that knowledge to serve the Lord of Light's purpose.
She could already tell it would be easy.
But as she followed one of the Free Folk toward a small, surprisingly well-built building, she felt a burning at her neck. She turned slightly and caught Ygritte's eyes on her, as well as the bird's. The other redhead was still watching, still suspicious, and there was something distinctly predatory in her gaze. Then there was the crow.
The bird stared at her with beady, empty black orbs. Even as the older woman had turned to the side to speak to Hector, the bird's head remained fixated on her, its neck twisted in an unnatural way that was more fitting to be seen on owls.
That would be a problem. A woman protecting her territory, seeing Melisandre as a threat not just to the settlement but to something, or someone, more personal. Hector, most likely, given the way Ygritte had positioned herself near him.
Melisandre had dealt with jealous women before. It usually required either removing the competition or proving she wasn't one. With Ygritte, she suspected it would be more complicated. The wildling woman didn't strike her as someone who could be easily swayed or intimidated.
Then there was Mother Mole and her bird. She played neutral, yet Melisandre felt something churning in her gut with the way the bird's attention never left her.
Still, that was a concern for later. For now, she needed rest, food, and time to plan her next move. Hector was the key to everything. All she needed was to gain his trust, his confidence, and even his favor.
Charm, her old mentor had once told her, was just another form of fire. Used correctly, it could warm or illuminate. Used incorrectly, it could burn.
Melisandre had always been very good with fire.
She glanced back toward where Hector stood, still talking with Mother Mole. As if he could feel her gaze, he turned to meet her eyes. There was caution in his, yet when she smiled at him she could see the caution melt slightly, as well as the reappearance of some red on his cheeks. Then Melisandre ducked into the door that had been opened for her and stepped into the wooden building.
Yes, she thought. He would be her focus. Whatever secrets he held, whatever connection he had to the darkness and the dead, she would uncover them. All she needed to do was appeal to his baser needs, a weakness of all men.
He would not be her first, and Lord of Light willing, he would not be her last either.