LynnS Posted June 23, 2021 Share Posted June 23, 2021 16 hours ago, Black Crow said: On performance thus far Danaerys the Dragonlord has been hailed by the Red Lot as Azor Ahai, and so she might be. The Three-Fingered Tree Huggers have been waiting for Bran for a long time, and of course Jon Snow is being drawn to something cold in the woodshed. Why is it that Benerro and Melisande are not on the same page as far as the identity of AAR is concerned. Benerro is bent on the idea that Dany is AAR, the savior of the world, who will bring on everlasting summer. Melisandre must be aware that there is a Queen across the sea who has been able to wake dragons from stone. She is bent on the idea AAR is male, the son of fire and warrior of light. She keeps asking R'hllor to show her AAR, yet she never sees Dany: Quote A Dance with Dragons - Melisandre I Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow. Whenever she was asked what she saw within her fires, Melisandre would answer, "Much and more," but seeing was never as simple as those words suggested. It was an art, and like all arts it demanded mastery, discipline, study. Pain. That too. R'hllor spoke to his chosen ones through blessed fire, in a language of ash and cinder and twisting flame that only a god could truly grasp. Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames. Yet now she could not even seem to find her king. I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow. "Devan," she called, "a drink." Her throat was raw and parched. Why doesn't Benerro see Jon Snow in the fires? Who is really sending Melisandre visions of Jon Snow? Is it Bran and Bloodraven? Quote A Dance with Dragons - Melisandre I Dawn. Another day is given us, R'hllor be praised. The terrors of the night recede. Melisandre had spent the night in her chair by the fire, as she often did. With Stannis gone, her bed saw little use. She had no time for sleep, with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. And she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night. She would sooner sit bathed in the ruddy glow of her red lord's blessed flames, her cheeks flushed by the wash of heat as if by a lover's kisses. Some nights she drowsed, but never for more than an hour. One day, Melisandre prayed, she would not sleep at all. One day she would be free of dreams. Melony, she thought. Lot Seven. Devan fed fresh logs to the fire until the flames leapt up again, fierce and furious, driving the shadows back into the corners of the room, devouring all her unwanted dreams. The dark recedes again … for a little while. But beyond the Wall, the enemy grows stronger, and should he win the dawn will never come again. She wondered if it had been his face that she had seen, staring out at her from the flames. No. Surely not. His visage would be more frightening than that, cold and black and too terrible for any man to gaze upon and live. The wooden man she had glimpsed, though, and the boy with the wolf's face … they were his servants, surely … his champions, as Stannis was hers. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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