DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 2 - CLASH OF THE KINGS

Jon VIII

The sky unleashed a relentless downpour as Jon stepped off the ship, accompanied by Prince Oberyn, now disguised in Captain Waylock's ill-fitting attire. Despite the mismatched clothes, a hat concealed Oberyn's identity effectively, masking the Dornish Prince's dangerous allure.

Jon envied Oberyn's hat as rain cascaded from the heavens, obscuring the view of the walled city. He tightened his cloak around his neck and forged ahead along the main road leading out of the port, guided by the knowledge that Melisandre awaited him somewhere along its path.

After five minutes, the rain abated a little, though it persisted enough to obscure the surroundings. Jon could discern the hilly cobblestone road ahead. The buildings, constructed of muddy brown or grey stone, blended with the dreary weather, while the streets felt wider and less oppressive compared to King's Landing, likely due to the shorter buildings.

"Do you know the way?" Oberyn inquired.

"The Gull and Net," Jon said.

"We're going the wrong way," Oberyn declared. "Follow me."

"You're familiar with this city?" Jon queried.

"I know all the finest inns and brothels. What more do I need?" Oberyn retorted.

Jon paused. "The woman we're meeting. She's beautiful, but she's a red priestess of R'hllor."

"Ah, so I shouldn't attempt to fuck her, lest she siphon away my essence," Oberyn acknowledged.

Jon's brow furrowed. "How did you know?"

"I've travelled far and wide. I forged six maesters links at the citadel and while in Essos, I became acquainted with various religions practised there. I understand the ways of priestesses and their desires. I assure you, I can resist her charms, no matter how enchanting," Oberyn assured him.

They turned right, then left, eventually arriving at a sizeable establishment adorned with a sign depicting a gull and a net. On the doorstep, Oberyn emptied the water collected in the brim of his black hat, while Jon shook his cloak, ran his fingers through his now longer wet hair, away from his brow and eyes to clear his vision, and wiped his now stubbled face. By the time he reached Winterfell, he hoped to resemble his usual self, with long hair and beard, just as Sansa liked him.

The inn's common room bustled with heat, crowds, and clamour, as if the entirety of Gulltown sought refuge from the dreadful weather within its walls.

Jon scanned the room, searching for the proprietor or someone in authority, when an elderly woman, her hair grey and her eyes clouded blue, approached.

"My Prince," Melisandre's voice emanated from the aged woman. Jon gazed at her in astonishment, but it was Oberyn who responded.

"Do I know you?" Oberyn inquired.

Jon realised the misunderstanding. Melisandre must have concealed herself in some magical guise, leading Oberyn to mistake her reference to "Prince" as directed toward him.

"You appear quite different, my Lady," Jon interjected.

Oberyn looked at Jon incredulously. "I thought you said she was beautiful," he muttered.

"She's using magic to disguise herself," Jon explained, then turned his attention back to Melisandre. "Shall we proceed to your chambers?" he suggested.

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Despite the coin paid for the room, Melisandre's accommodation was sparse. A modest cot, a table with two chairs, a roaring fire accompanied by a blazing brazier—Jon recognized it as Melisandre's—along with four sizeable chests that Jon doubted she had taken with her. Despite the darkness of the wooden walls and the dust-filled air, the room felt somewhat illuminated between the brazier and the fire.