Horn of Winter

"Not her?" Stannis's brows drew tight. He turned his head, his deep gaze as still as a cold pool as he stared fixedly at the roaring fire in the hearth.

Flames seemed to burn within Melisandre's eyes. Her low voice carried an uncontrollable fervor, flowing like an ancient incantation. "Not a woman, but a man. A man seated upon the Iron Throne, looking down upon the mortal world..."

Within the hall, with its doors and windows tightly shut, it was as though an invisible giant hand had begun to stir. A strange hot wind suddenly arose, lifting Melisandre's blood-red silk gown.

"A man..."

"That man..."

"Your Grace Stannis, it can only be you. Only you!"

"The one true god guides us through the blazing flames. The prince of prophecy will one day ascend the Iron Throne!"

As she chanted, the fire in the hearth abruptly burned even fiercer, its tongues of flame wildly licking at everything around it.

At the same time, the braziers scattered throughout the hall seemed like beasts awakened from slumber, flames surging forth from them.

The torches hanging upon the walls flickered and twisted madly. Even the feeble candle flames refused to be outdone, dancing desperately as wax ran down like tears.

The entire hall seemed to have been swept into a frenzied feast of fire.

Melisandre slowly raised both arms. Her cascading red hair spread out and floated, flying freely through the air. "This is the will of the Lord of Light!"

Tyrion's eyes widened as he stared in shock at the fantastical sight.

He was so deeply shaken that he could only stand there dumbly, watching the priestess dance with the flames as though he had been transported into another world.

When the priestess's chant ended and she lowered her arms, the hearth fire,