POV: Three-Eyed Raven
Prophecies are strange things.
They always come true, but never in the way anyone expects. Men twist them to fit their desires. Priests see what they want to see in the flames. And in trying to prevent what they fear most, they bring it about with their own hands.
I have watched this dance for lifetimes. Seen it play out again and again across the ages.
And tonight, I watch it happen once more.
I slip into the owl's body as easily as breathing. The shift is smooth, familiar. Through its golden eyes, I see the world in shades of gray and silver, every detail sharp even in the darkness.
The forest clearing spreads below me.
Duncan kneels on the ground, working by strange lights that have no flame. Small cylinders that glow white and bright, positioned in a circle around him. I have never seen their like. It was neither a torch nor a candle. Just pure and steady light.
Beside him sits a red metal barrel with a tube attached. Another mystery. Another thing that does not belong in this world.
The boy Aegon is sleeping, wrapped in something that is not quite a blanket. It gleams faintly, too smooth to be wool or fur. The child is safe. Warm and Unaware of what his knight is attempting.
Duncan dips his fingers in blood and draws.
The ritual circle takes shape slowly, carefully. Runes I recognize from ancient times. Symbols of life and death and the thin border between. He works with surprising precision for someone so young, so new to this knowledge.
The blood is fresh. From the bandits, or I say, people hired by the red priestess that he killed on the road. Their bodies lie in the forest nearby, already cooling.
Duncan finishes the circle and sits back on his heels, breathing hard.
Then he reaches into that impossible space where he keeps things, and pulls out a body.
The puppet girl.
Tanselle.
She appears on the ground before him, preserved as if she'd only just died. Her head was separated from her body, the wound clean and bloodless.
This is the beginning of the end.
All because a red priestess misread what the flames showed her.
Duncan takes a red stone from around his neck. It pulses with inner light, warm as blood. He places it on Tanselle's chest, directly over her heart.
The ritual begins.
Duncan speaks words I cannot hear from this distance, but I feel the power moving. The air grows heavy. Cold. The temperature drops until frost begins to form on the grass.
The blood in the circle glows faintly red.
The stone blazes brighter.
Tanselle's head lifts from the ground, floating, turning. It moves toward her body as if drawn by invisible hands. The edges of the wound begin to knit together. Flesh reaching for flesh. Bone seeking bone.
The head settles onto her neck.
The wound closes.
Tanselle's body begins to shake. Her chest rises slightly, as if drawing breath. Her fingers twitch.
She is coming back.
The ritual is working!
Suddenly, a burning arrow comes from the sky.
It streaks out of the darkness, trailing fire. Strikes Tanselle's chest directly over the bloodstone.
Flames erupt instantly.
Her body ignites like dry tinder soaked in oil. The fire spreads faster than thought, consuming her in seconds. She burns with unnatural heat, unnatural speed.
Duncan lunges forward with that red metal barrel. He points the tube and white powder explodes out, covering the flames.
But it does nothing.
The fire burns through the powder, burns through everything. In moments, there is nothing left but ash scattered across the ritual circle.
Duncan spins toward where the arrow came from.
Six figures step out of the trees. Five men in red robes holding weapons. Swords. Spears. A mace.
And one woman.
Lady Ashford.
She wears a red stone around her neck, glowing in the darkness. Her face is calm. Pleased, even.
"It is done," she says. "The abomination is prevented."
Duncan's face goes blank, I can't see any emotions on his face.
Then a sword appears in his hand.
It is six feet long, far too large for any normal man to wield. But Duncan holds it easily, as if it weighs nothing. The blade gleams silver in the strange lights, and along its length run runes.
I know those markings.
Sharpness. Strengthening. The work of Valyrian smiths before the Doom.
But this blade seems new, freshly forged?
Duncan moves.
The first red priest dies before he can raise his spear. The great sword takes his head cleanly, without effort.
The second tries to block with his mace. The sword cuts through the weapon and the man behind it.
The third and fourth die together, caught in a single sweeping stroke that opens them both from shoulder to hip.
The fifth turns to run. Duncan's blade takes him in the back.
Five men dead in less than five breaths.
Lady Ashford raises her hands, flames beginning to gather in her palms with unnatural speed.
But, Duncan was faster.
He closes the distance in two strides and catches her by the throat. Flames in her hands sputtered and died.
He reaches for the red stone around her neck and tears it away.
Her face ripples and starts to change.
The pretty features of Lady Ashford vanished, revealing what lies beneath.
Kinvara.
High Priestess of the Red Temple in Volantis. One of the most powerful servants of R'hllor in all the world.
And she is here, in a forest in Westeros, because she misinterpreted something that she saw in flames.
"Why?" Duncan asks. His voice is flat. Dead.
Kinvara spits in his face. "You are a killer! You will kill Azor Ahai. You will murder the Prince That Was Promised before he can sav—"
"You and your god can rot."
CRACK
With a twist of his hand, Kinvara's neck breaks with a sharp crack.
He stands there, breathing hard, covered in the blood of red priests and the ash of Tencelle.
Behind him, Aegon sits up.
"Ser Duncan?" the boy calls. "What happened?"
Duncan turns. His face was carefully blank. "Red priest. They're dealt with."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
Aegon looks at the bodies on the ground and the great sword that just vanished from in front of his eyes.
His face looks pale because of all the blood and gore. But he still holds his nerves. "Should we move camp?" he said.
"Yes. Help me pack."
They work in silence, gathering the strange devices, extinguishing the unnatural lights, and even the red gem that the priestess had worn around her neck. Within a few moments, it is as if the ritual never happened.
Only ash remains where Tanselle's body burned even that was collected by Duncan.
I watch from my perch as they ride away into the darkness, the boy and the knight, heading toward a destiny neither of them understands.
Because of what Kinvara did tonight, because of her certainty that Duncan would kill Azor Ahai, she has guaranteed it.
Prophecies are strange things.
In trying to prevent Duncan from killing Azor Ahai, she made him exactly what she feared.
And when the time comes, when Rhaegar Targaryen stands with Lightbringer in his hand, red priestess by his side. Proclaiming himself the Prince That Was Promised…
Duncan will be there.
…
(A/N: I have foreshadowed how Tencelle's story will end, when mc was thinking about reviving her after he won the tourney and fire broke out.
I have foreshadowed the red princess, too; she was wearing too much red. In the future, I won't add this kind of author's notes.)
(A/N: I will upload extra chapters according to the power stone received.)