Unable to sleep through the night, Shireen rose before sunrise the next morning having been woken by nightmares where the flames came for her again. She could feel them biting, chewing into her flesh, twisting hot teeth around her legs, up her body and along her arms. When she woke again, her body dripping with hot sweat and freezing from the cool night air.

Rather than try to drift away again, Shireen decided to change out of her soaked nightclothes and washed herself down gently using a basin that had been left to heat on some hot coals. Earlier, when she had gone to bed, they had glowed phosphorescent red, but now they had shrivelled to an ashen grey. The bowl and water, however, were still pleasantly warm enough to wash herself in comfortably. Folding her bedding and clothes as well as she could, hoping to leave this room in good condition, Shireen changed into the travelling clothes that had been left upon a table at the end of her bed. They were thicker than the dress she had worn yesterday: green cotton diamonds weaved together using thin strips of golden velvet, layered over each other with thick folds to keep her arm and wide sleeves to help her arms move. Unlike other dresses she had worn, the dress cut off just below above the ankles, which she suspected allowed her more freedom to move. There had also been left out, a pair of fine wool stockings and black leather boots with a fur lining.

Wrapping herself in a cloak, Shireen climbed onto the window ledge so she could stretch out and try to spot the sunrise as it crept over the horizon in a blurred haze. Nothing seemed to be as it should have been in Asshai – the air was cold and the sun never seemed to escape from behind the clouds. Yet this city was supposed to lie within the hottest part of the world, almost along the equator. The temperatures should have been sweltering, yet she was wearing fur boots to keep her feet warm and an extra cloak.

Eventually a dim silver sheen began to spread from the south, with a few hues of dull gold outlining the edges of the city. Taking a deep breath, she blew upon the glass in a long line and sketched the words Onion Knight into the window, before blowing over the words again. "I miss you," she whimpered.

As the message dissolved through the glass, a small amber hue held aloft by a cloaked figure rounded a corner at the end of the street. Shireen followed the face of the figure until they reached in front of her window, knocking gently. When the torch was lowered slightly, she saw it was Nuski. "Ah, good. You're already awake."

Shireen shrugged, stood and unhooked the window, quietly slipping out. It was rather odd not carrying a bag with her. To have no possessions to put even in a little draw-string bag at her hip. Even what she was wearing now was borrowed or gifted to her by the Red Priests and she did not particularly want to keep them when she was done with them.

Softy, Nuski led her quietly through the labyrinth of alleys that brought her down from wherever she had been housed to the waterfront. A strange part of Shireen felt sad that she would not have a few more days to ask questions about the city or gain a chance to explore it. Maybe under different circumstances she would have sat down with the apprentices and taken a tour of the facility, but presently, all she wished was to leave before something else could happen to her.

It took them what seemed like two whole hours before they reached the waterfront. By that time, the sun had risen further and was catching the city in the haze of an early morning dawn. The closer the pair came, she could feel the mist stirring thicken between the buildings and stirring her skirts as she walked. At one point they turned a corner and found themselves face to face with several other apprentices, whom Shireen had quickly learned to recognise by the flame prints between their eyes. There were about seven of them, three of which carried large oil lamps. As one, they turned from their conclave to start at Nuski and Shireen, faltering into small titters. Without stopping, Nuski continued leading Shireen towards the group.

Warily, she cast her eyes around the group, who stared at her with a morbid curiosity that unnerved her. Although a couple seemed rather warm and excited by her presence, most of the group reminded her a bit of Melisandre. Their expressions were coldly intense, their entire postures still. These must be the apprentices who appreciate the value of King's Blood, Shireen thought. For a moment, she considered turning and running, but Nuski reached behind her, fumbled for her hand and squeezed it tightly. Taking a deep breath, she continued following him, walking between the red-clad figures shifting in the breeze as if they were a walkway of fire. As Shireen and Nuski stepped between them, they parted without a word.

Once they had turned a few more corners, Shireen took a deep breathe again. "Where they some of the people who think I should be burned?"

"Some of them, yes," Nuski replied evenly. "They are apprentices to shadowbinders, like Quaithe. A few of them are genuinely fascinated by the success of our ritual, and wished to invite you to worship with them in hopes you might see something in the flames."

"Were they serious?"

"Perfectly. When the shadowbinders began making their requests to burn you or to bring you into their rituals, Quaithe threatened them upon pain of banishment. As both a High Priestess as well as a shadowbinder, she commands an authority among her fellow practitioners, especially since she mentored most of them. Her commands are obeyed."

Shireen nodded and continued to follow him. After a few more meters, they reached a street that sloped down towards the waterfront. Instead of a pier at the end, the street continued underwater with a boat fastened to the doorway of a house. Unlike the traditional rowboats, it was long and thin, probably enough room only for one person to sit in each seat. Yarren, Logi and Zhuronga were already inside, each of them holding an oar and a small knapsack each. Besides the steady folding of the water upon the street stood Quaithe, still and firm in the breeze.

"The boat you will get on shall take you to Tolos, after which you shall follow The Demon Road to Volantis, where you shall take another boat to Braavos. We hope that the frequent changes in your route will throw anyone who might follow you off your trail."

"Thank you," Shireen's voice quaked. "I do mean it, I am so grateful. You risked your lives so you could save mine. I only wish I could repay you for all you have done."

"Repay us through making your life worthwhile, Princess," Quaithe nodded solemnly. "Life is but a brief gift of R'hollor and easily snuffed out. To honour his gift is to burn the brightest you can before the wind catches you out."

Still a little uneasy with their beliefs, Shireen merely nodded and climbed into the boat, hitching up her skirts a little to try and avoid getting them wet. She tucked herself in at the front of the boat, facing forward, whilst Nuski climbed in front of her to face towards her. Shooting her a small smile, he patted her hands gently and whispered kindly, "Everything will be well, Princess. Have faith in R'hollor."

May I not have faith in my own Gods, Shireen nodded slightly, only to cast her eyes away. She dared not openly speak her mind about her continuing disgust for a religion that worshipped fire. As she stared into the muddying waters of the bank, she realised her silence was less from fear and more of respect. Breathing a little easier, as the oars began to weave in an out of the surface to push the boat along, Shireen reached underneath to trail a small finger through the darkness. Gradually, the crusting shells and stones trailing the street below disappeared into the darkness, and with the rising sun, the surface paled into gritty silver. A thick stench of salt began to permeate the air, and around her, Shireen noticed a few fish bobbing listlessly. Their bodies were bloated, decayed and poisoning the water with their oily residue.

"The water is too salty here for anything to live in," Nuski spoke quickly, drawing Shireen's attention back to him. He must have followed her gaze. "Ever living thing that drinks a mere cupful of this water dies. Some foolish apprentices have done the same before they know better."

"Why would anyone build a city here then?" Shireen asked. "Where there is no sun to grow crops and the water is too salty to live on? Where animals will not dare make their home?"

"So that no unwanted guests may disturb us, Princess," Nuski cast a small, devilish wink that transformed his face into something ugly for a moment. "Can you imagine the sort of people life would bring here? No people attracted to death are much better company to practice magic with."

The boat pulsed a little as a small wave hit the starboard side, distracting everyone long enough so Shireen could shiver without being noticed.

The North

Luvnac slept upon the cliff tops in those days following Hephaesta walking into the fire. No where else could afford him the security he felt to drift off. Upon the morning when he woke, his blankets and clothes were swollen with water, and he knew her sacrifice had worked. Yet he could find no solace in such a turn of events.

As he'd stoked the pyre that had burnt out from the night before, Luvnac had stripped down his wet clothes and set them to try off on a spit. As the steam hissed from his clothes, he pushed his consciousness into the fire, desperately trying to seek out Hephaesta amongst the many fates R'hollor had a grip upon in this war. Though he saw her not, he did see Shireen curled up in a small room at Asshai and King Stannis sharpening his sword with a stony determination. Dancing around them, as if caught in a mad frenzy, were thousands of soldiers abandoning their posts in the camp and fleeing through the forest.

Then the images swelled gradually together and merged into a single woman, sickly and frail, plaiting a rope together from her dresses, tears dripping from her waxy face. Once she was done, without hesitation, she wrapped it around the strongest tree branch of a fine oak and kicked another one out from under her. Instead of rolling away from her, it cracked, spilling maggots and all other hibernating beasts into the earth. They swarmed and scattered, leaving the woman's feet hovering morosely above the ground as they twitched one last time.

"Stupid woman," Luvnac spat bitterly, feeling no pity for the Queen. He had watched in the flames how she had turned on her own brother, long before she had turned on her daughter. This woman had not held a single qualm until it was too late, and now she paid the price for her barbarity. He only wished Selys Baratheon would have had the courage to kill Melisandre before she took her own life and spared him much more trouble.

He'd spent the rest of the day seeking out Hephaesta in the fires, but to no avail. All that was shown to him was Stannis's failure at the hands of first the Bolton's, and then his own betrayal as Brienne of Tarth emerged from the cracks in the fire to deal him justice. He tries to reach out for her, hoping to catch her in Sansa Stark's flame, but she was gone as soon as her sword struck Stannis's heart.

After the sun set, not wanting to see any more of the burning Baratheon's, Luvnac redressed himself and continued his watch over the fire for two more days. A few times, he thought the Bolton scouts or Baratheon deserters might stumble upon his location, but both times they passed him by without much consequence. It was only after the third day, upon noon's peak that the pyre once again roared to life as it had done that night.

Without fear, Luvnac raised himself and gathered Hephaesta's clothes from beneath the blankets he had buried them in so they became neither stained nor damaged. The raw screaming, tight on his eardrums, nearly choked him, but he remained static, as was the custom. Gradually, the core of the fire shifted and spun, weaving itself into human form. Just as they reached their peak, the flames then died, leaving a shuddering, crisping body in its wake.

"Hephaesta!" Luvnac nearly sobbed with happiness. "I was beginning to despair that I may not see you again."

"I too," she croaked. "I too."