There are usually seven statues inside a Sept of the Seven, each representing one of the Seven deities of the Faith.
But Catelyn's small sept was far too tiny to hold seven statues.
She was a woman and already married, so like many women in Westeros, she chose to worship the Mother.
Inside the pavilion shaped like a seven-pointed star stood only a single statue of the Mother, life-sized and lifelike.
It was still the old version of the Mother.
Well, the newer versions of the Mother were either riding dragons, standing atop a dragon's back, or guarded by a giant dragon behind her.
Tyrion's body lay on the small altar before the Mother's statue.
Oh, the dwarf was not quite dead yet, so it did not count as a corpse.
But when Jon and Sansa entered the sept and caught sight of the dwarf at first glance, they instinctively took that charred, blood-seeping body of skin and flesh for a corpse.
Miserable.
Truly miserable.
Utterly miserable.
The stench of suppurating skin mixed with the sharp smell of medicinal herbs made Sansa cover her nose with a handkerchief, and an unbidden trace of genuine pity rose in her heart.
The sept was only about fourteen or fifteen square meters in size. With one statue, a feather bed, and two living adults inside, there was hardly any space left.
"Tyrion, Tyrion."
Jon poked the dwarf's cheek, where the skin was scorched and crispy, exposing blackish-red muscle beneath. His fingers came away slick and scalding.
It was like throwing a live pig into a bonfire and rolling it around a few times, the inside half-raw, the outside charred and split open, with bloody fluid gushing out along the cracks.
Looking at his fingers, they were stained with black-red, foul-smelling blood.
But Tyrion's body was still warm, even burning hot, which meant he was definitely not dead.
"Jon."
Sure enough, he was not dead. Tyrion slowly opened his eyes, now lacking eyebrows and eyelashes, revealing a pair of dull eyes of unequal size and different colors.
"Sansa."
"How do you feel?" Sansa asked with concern.
"I… I feel terrible. I think I'm not going to make it!"
The dwarf's expression was twisted in pain. Every word he uttered made his facial muscles ache as if they were being torn apart.
"You won't die. I'll arrange for someone to go to King's Landing and invite the High Sparrow. When he treats Aegon's leg, he can take a look at you as well," Sansa comforted him.
"Aegon…" Tyrion's eyes widened as he murmured, "This time I really messed up. I was so careful, and yet I still fell to supernatural power. It seems the maesters' so-called 'real world' really is necessary.
This world where demigods roam everywhere is far too unfriendly to ordinary people like us who live by our wits."
"You're confused. Where are these demigods supposedly roaming everywhere?" Jon said, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"You don't understand. The Dragon Queen has almost slaughtered a dozen demigods already. I used to think she was bragging. But after encountering Melisandre, I finally realized that demigods really are active in the mortal world.
Euron might be one too, and you, by the seven hells! Westeros is terrifying."
The dwarf grew too agitated, and as he spoke, a black liquid mixed with blood foam and herbal decoction seeped from the corner of his mouth.
Jon truly thought the dwarf's mind had been fried by fever, and hurriedly reassured him, "Don't get excited. You're burning up and not very clear-headed. Once your burns are treated, we can talk about Melisandre and Euron."
"I'm perfectly clear-headed!" Tyrion suddenly reached out with his badly burned right hand and grabbed Jon's arm, saying urgently, "I don't have long left. There's no need to invite the High Sparrow. He won't come. Hurry, hurry and send me to Slaver's Bay. Only the Dragon Queen can save me!"
"You're too badly injured. You can't be moved casually!" Maester Seomore said nervously from the doorway.
Tyrion turned his head and glanced at the red-faced, portly man through the gap between Sansa and Aegon, his tone complicated. "Uncle Seomore, I must leave. I know my own condition. I won't last more than a few days."
"Uncle?" Jon and Sansa were both startled and turned to look at the red-faced fat man. "You're relatives?"
The red-faced man lowered his eyes to avoid their gazes and shook his head with a bitter smile. "Distant cousins from several hundred years ago. I'm not even sure Duke Tywin still remembers me.
When I was an apprentice, I served as Lord Tyrion's tutor for a time, though I only taught mathematics."
"It's probably for the best that you leave," Jon said slowly, explaining the conditions Stannis had set for returning Aegon, as well as Melisandre's attempt to seize Aegon's wyvern.
In the end, he said, "Balerion has an owner, but if a wyvern loses its master, it becomes much easier to subdue.
Stannis has his eye on your Tessa. I'm worried Melisandre might act against you."
"Stannis." Tyrion's eyes were bloodshot. "Tessa is my life. Whoever lays a hand on her, I'll take his life first!"
"Where is Tessa now? If she can still fly, send Tyrion to Slaver's Bay at once," Sansa asked.
"She's resting at the base of the wall near the godswood. She was hit by dozens of ballista bolts last time. Luckily they weren't dragon-harpoons. She should probably still be able to fly," Jon said uncertainly.
"Jon." Tyrion tightened his grip on Jon's right hand. The wound on the back of his hand split open, dark red blood seeping out.
He stared fixedly into Jon's gray eyes. "At a time like this, you must make a choice, a real choice. Be a mature man and don't let illusory honor bind you."
"The key right now is to ransom Aegon back. Everything else can wait," Jon frowned and declined.
"You have ten thousand men. That's enough to decide the final victor in Winterfell," Tyrion insisted, eyes wide as he stared at him.
Jon turned his head away helplessly. "Then tell me, how do ten thousand men get past Melisandre?"
"You said it yourself. Five powerful knights are enough to deal with any mage." Tyrion's blood-smeared palm suddenly hardened like a pair of pincers.
Jon struggled, but could not break free. Afraid of hurting him, he did not dare use force.
"Jon, the True Dragon Alliance did not come easily. Aegon and I may well have only this one chance, a chance to change our fate!"
"No," Sansa said nervously. "Aegon is still in Stannis's hands. I will not allow you to take such a risk. The Red Woman cannot be killed. We should wait peacefully for Daenerys."
"No, Queen Sansa, listen to me, cough, cough." Tyrion coughed up several clots of bloody foam. His face twisted in pain, yet he persisted. "Melisandre is very powerful, but she can be killed. I am certain she is far more fragile than I previously believed!"
"You really have lost your wits," Sansa said, shaking her head repeatedly.
Jon asked in alarm, "What did you discover?"
"Melisandre can be assassinated. Unfortunately, Brienne killed a decoy!"
"How do you know?"
"Hey, tell me, didn't we fall into a trap?" Tyrion asked with a bitter smile.
"Of course. Even Ramsay, who was to serve as the sacrifice, had been prepared in advance. That means they were already waiting for you and Aegon to come."
At this point, realization gradually dawned on Jon's face as well.
"The assassination of Melisandre, and even the plans that followed, were all devised by you. Many decisions were made on the spot, and even King Aegon did not know the detailed process.
"So there could not have been a traitor leaking information. There was no time for it either. Yet Melisandre knew everything. If there was no traitor, then it could only be prophecy!"
"Yes. She must have foreseen a life-and-death crisis, and then…" Tyrion let out another heavy sigh, his unfocused eyes staring at the ceiling as he murmured, "That woman either used illusion magic, making Brienne mistake someone else for her.
"Oh, many people saw her at the time. It could not have been aimed solely at Brienne.
"Perhaps it was magic similar to the Faceless Men's face-changing, turning another person into her.
"Or perhaps she knows how to create duplicates. The one who went with Brienne to the godswood was merely a mental projection, like the Dragon Queen's glass candles.
"Considering that Lady Maege found her remains in the pool, the most likely possibility is that she used sorcery to make another person look exactly like herself.
"That is ten times more terrifying than the Faceless Men's face-changing!"
Hmm. Even with his head scorched by fire, Tyrion's mind remained sharp and his judgment precise.
Melisandre was indeed a demigod, but she was still physically delicate. Strike her vital points and she would die. Feed her poison and she would be poisoned to death. Knock her out and she would faint. Get her drunk and she could still be taken advantage of.
Because of her childhood experience as a sacred prostitute, she always harbored a deep sense of insecurity.
Just like the Sacred Grace Temple of Slaver's Bay, the Red God also has priestesses who serve as sacred prostitutes.
Aunt Mel's original name was "Melaryel." She was a pitiful little girl, born a slave, bought by the Red God's temple and raised as a "thin horse." After growing up, she seemed to have endured some tragic experience that left her with lasting psychological scars.
Perhaps Melaryel wished from childhood to control her own destiny. Perhaps it was the habit of mages trained by her mentor. Perhaps she simply wanted to survive in the perilous Far East.
In any case, after becoming a formal shadowbinder, every morning Mel would divine the fortune and misfortune of that very day.
For several hundred years, her prophecies in other matters were sometimes accurate and sometimes not. But when it came to predicting dangers within the same day, she had never once failed.
The first time she foresaw her own death, she panicked. Her methods of dealing with the crisis may have been crude and clumsy. The second and third times, she gradually grew accustomed to it. After countless times, she had turned it into an art, the art of putting on airs.
For example, when Maester Cressen, who regarded the Baratheon brothers as his own sons, offered her poisoned wine and drank with her, Mel had already taken an antidote. Then, before the old maester's eyes filled with despair and terror, she calmly drained the cup.
Mel's motto was this: put on airs in the most relaxed and mysterious manner, so that others would feel fear. This is not someone's nonsense. She really said it.
This time was no exception. Mel foresaw that Brienne would come seeking her with murderous intent, so she arranged a decoy to be slain. Then she made a stunning reappearance amid the chaos at Winterfell.
It was truly stunning. It scared Aegon and the dwarf half to death. They would have preferred wetting themselves. Unfortunately, the reality was a million times more miserable than soiled trousers.
Tyrion also accurately deduced Mel's decoy method: illusion magic.
In the original storyline, although Mance Rayder was captured by Stannis, he was not burned to death. Mel secretly used another wildling, Rattleshirt, disguising him as Mance Rayder, and disguised Mance as Rattleshirt (ps).
Even Stannis was kept in the dark, because the wildling king Mance was meant to be a subordinate prepared for the true chosen one.
The fake Mance was sacrificed to R'hllor in full public view. The Night's Watch, Stannis's Knights of the Flaming Heart, and thousands of onlookers were all deceived.
Just like this time, Maege salvaged the corpse of the fake Mel and burned it to ashes, finding nothing amiss in the process.
Mance, wearing Rattleshirt's face, wandered openly among people for months without anyone noticing anything unusual.
That is how formidable Mel's illusion magic is.
Unfortunately, Daenerys intervened unexpectedly, and none of the above events ever took place. As a result, Jon had no idea that Mel possessed such a trump card.
Not just Jon. Even Daenerys did not know, and could not even imagine, that in this low-martial, low-magic fantasy world, such a bug-level sorcery could exist.
Fortunately, the big nephew stepped on this killing thunder in advance.
As for the number one mage in A Song of Ice and Fire, it truly can be none other than Mel.
(ps: Mel's illusion magic requires a magic ruby as a casting medium. On both Rattleshirt and Mance Rayder, there were hidden scorching rubies that flickered with red light and radiated fiery power.
She can even, to a limited extent, control the target of her spell through the ruby.
Rattleshirt did not willingly sacrifice himself for Mance. He did not want to die. However, his soul seemed to be under Mel's control. That is why, despite so many onlookers, the fake Mance was never exposed.
In A Song of Ice and Fire, Mel displays sorceries including fire magic, sacrificial rites, altering the weather by calling wind and rain, illusion, soul attacks, prophecy, potions, curses, blood magic, and detoxification.
Each has been tested in actual combat and proven powerful and efficient.
Her abilities are terrifyingly comprehensive. Scour the entire series, and you will not find a single person who can truly match her.
Well, the second mage after Mel is probably Quaithe. But Quaithe excels at prophecy and putting on airs. Her combat abilities have never been tested, so her true strength is uncertain.
Therefore, Mel's position as the number one mage is by no means undeserved, even though she really is extremely flamboyant.)
(End of chapter)
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