A Book of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones : Magic Network

"Ser Rolland Storm, have you not yet awakened? Do not be so stubborn. Persuade your men—enough blood has been shed."

Lord Beric Dondarrion sighed and shook his head, his thick golden-red hair swaying gently.

"Tell them to cease their flight."

"There is nowhere to flee beneath the grace of God."

"Indeed, consider the battle two days past, that scene..."

Lord Dondarrion's eleven-year-old squire, Edric Dayne, heir to Starfall, echoed his master's words, his face somewhat pale, as though he still could not banish the terrifying images of the battle from his mind.

The red priest Thoros silently appraised the stubborn prisoner.

Though bound hand and foot and covered in blood, Rolland Storm stood straight-backed, his pockmarked face filled with resentment and defiance, not deigning to speak a word.

A brave and determined warrior, or a stupid and obstinate prisoner.

To witness such power and yet maintain this stance—regardless, Thoros admired the man's persistence and piety.

"Bastard of Nightsong."

Thoros approached the prisoner, raging flames burning within his voluminous red robe.

Real flames.

Not drawn from blood, prayer, or sacrifice, but bestowed by King Joffrey himself.

Melisandre, a colleague from Asshai and favorite counselor to the king, was certain: this was the power of the Lord of Light, spread throughout the world through God's chosen emissary.

Thoros knew he should accept this proclamation without question.

But he knew better than most that his faith had never been sufficiently devout—neither as a child, nor in the temple, nor during his years in King's Landing.

Born in the Free City of Myr, Thoros had not willingly dedicated himself to the Lord of Light, but had instead been sold to the temple by his parents to prevent his seven older siblings from starving to death.

Thereafter, though Thoros donned the red robe, it was not solely for faith, but rather for combat, wine, and women.

Perhaps for this reason, he had never mastered the higher fire spells, nor could he discern prophecies within the sacred flames.

He had been dispatched to King's Landing across the Narrow Sea with a difficult and vital task: to convert the mad king Aerys II, who was obsessed with fire, to the worship of the Lord of Light.

Thoros had always been bewildered by the temple's decision.

Am I truly the best candidate?

As expected, he had failed in this endeavor.

Wildfire proved more alluring to the Mad King than the meager power granted by the Lord of Light. Until Aerys II's death in the throne room, R'hllor's reputation remained obscure throughout Westeros.

So Thoros ceased to regard himself as a priest of the Lord of Light, focusing instead on maintaining his position at court and enjoying life in the Seven Kingdoms.

He even employed the pyromancers' wildfire to set his longsword ablaze, rather than calling upon the divine power of the Lord of Light.

This trick worked most effectively against "The Hound" Sandor Clegane.

The emerald green flames of wildfire had also ensured his survival during the Greyjoy Rebellion; he had been the first to scale the walls of Pyke, earning the admiration of many.

Court life thereafter proved stable and lively.

King Robert often shared wine with him, and tournaments offered opportunities to win the laurels of the melee several times with his flaming sword, bringing wealth and acclaim.

Wine, martial prowess, women—what joyous days those had been.

Thoros no longer thought of Myr or the temple that had faded into memory, nor did he light the sacred fire to seek guidance from the Lord of Light.

However.

King Robert's death had changed everything.

The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros were no longer peaceful, and the turmoil in King's Landing and the Red Keep grew ever more violent.

King Joffrey demonstrated undeniable miracles and vast power. The power of flame and light was both strange and familiar, and his declarations immediately recalled to Thoros the teachings of the temple.

Melisandre, likewise clad in red robes, had sought him out. Since then, Thoros had become a member of the Gospel Department, working alongside the septons and septas of the Faith of the Seven.

The Seven Gods and the Lord of Light coexisting peacefully?

Not only did Thoros struggle to adapt to this notion, but the holy men and women of the Faith reacted with even greater vehemence.

Fortunately, the Seven had not granted them power sufficient to resist, and they could not stand against the divine might of King Joffrey.

The Rainbow Guard sent by Renly to assassinate him at the Great Sept had, ironically, succeeded only in transforming the Faith into the Gospel Department.

Even so.

Each time he walked through the Great Sept of Baelor in his conspicuous red robes, each time he prayed to the Lord of Light before the statues of the Seven, Thoros could not help but fear for his life.

The occasional glances from many septons still sent cold shivers down his spine.

How did the Faith of the Seven punish heretics?

Thoros knew little of this, and had no desire to learn more terrible details.

But he understood that the surest path forward was to prevent the Faith from ever being resurrected, and to work tirelessly to maintain the long-term harmony of the Gospel Department.

The Lord of Light and the Seven—who claimed they could not peacefully coexist?

In the dark and dilapidated stone house, the flames encircling Thoros' body burned more fiercely. The orange-red firelight illuminated the nighttime ruins, and its rich heat dispelled the cold brought by darkness.

Fire. Rolland Storm could not help but recall their previous encounter.

The red priest glanced at him.

"The night is dark and full of terrors, and the end approaches."

Indeed, the end draws near. King Joffrey, chosen by the true God, had proclaimed it himself, and it could not be false.

Melisandre had been first to add this prayer, and Thoros naturally followed close behind.

"Fortunately, the Hero King has already descended."

Thoros made a solemn gesture of prayer.

"Praise the light and flame, praise King Joffrey, praise the one true God, the Lord of Light."

Rolland Storm struggled to banish the painful memories, and regained his expression of indifference, dismissing the red priest's words with a contemptuous spit.

Thoros smiled slightly and shook his gleaming bald head.

"You hold fast to your faith, fighting for the so-called Warrior among the Seven, boasting of courage and unyielding spirit."

"But do you know that the Seven Gods you so faithfully worship—the Father, Mother, Warrior, and the rest, with seven faces in one—are merely different aspects of the one true God, the Lord of Light."

Rolland Storm glared instantly.

Thoros dared not fabricate such claims. Melisandre had spoken first, and presumably it was also King Joffrey's will.

Indeed, once the Seven and R'hllor were united, what cause remained for conflict?

The Seven were His names, the Lord of Light was also His title, and even false gods and foreign deities were the same. There existed only two gods in the world: He who represented light and flame, and the evil god who carried darkness and cold!

Thoros continued patiently, "His Grace has received the will and power of the true God, and the only ones in the world who can stand against him are the Cold God and the coming end of the world."

"Justice and victory do not belong to the usurper Renly."

"Ser Rolland, surrender yourself, and release the warriors who have entrusted their lives to you."

Rolland Storm remained silent.

"So be it." Beric Dondarrion reclined on his straw bed. "Let us rest early. We must deal with the remaining fugitives tomorrow, before sunset."

Thoros extinguished his flames. "Very well, then. Just fewer prisoners for us."

In the darkness, Edric Dayne's voice sounded clearly. "Lord Beric, I beg you, let me lead the vanguard. I wish to try a gentler approach."

"As you wish."

Rolland Storm could not help but shift his gaze, his eyes betraying a fleeting uncertainty.

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