Chapter 180 — Melisandre's Doubt
An hour later, Jon finally reached the wounded Stannis.
After being stabbed in the abdomen, Stannis had received only the most basic bandaging before mounting his horse and retreating with his men. The wound had reopened during the escape, and the heavy blood loss had driven him into unconsciousness. Jon hadn't expected his condition to be this dire.
Though his time with Stannis had been short, Jon's feelings toward him had grown complicated.
From Bran Stark, he had learned of Stannis's fanatic devotion to the Lord of Light—his willingness to use blood magic, even his role in the shadowy assassination of his own brother, Renly Baratheon.
And yet, when the army of the dead marched south and every great house turned a blind eye, Stannis had come north with what remained of his forces to aid the Night's Watch.
His motives might have included recruiting wildlings and strengthening his army—but he had still fought, still bled, and now lay dying because of it.
That earned him Jon's respect.
Inside the chamber, Melisandre sat beside the bed, her expression distant, almost lost, as she stared at the barely breathing Stannis.
The maester had already told her the truth—his condition was critical.
And that was what she couldn't understand.
If Stannis truly was the chosen one—the reborn Azor Ahai—how could he be so… fragile?
Had she misunderstood the visions in the flames?
Had she been wrong all along?
When she thought back, everything seemed to unravel.
Yes, the shadow that killed Renly had gone exactly as foreseen. But from the Battle of the Blackwater onward, Stannis's fortunes had steadily declined. Even the leech ritual—meant to curse the usurpers—had only claimed two false kings. And now, at the Wall, he lay on the brink of death.
She had crossed half the world from Asshai because of an ancient prophecy:
After a long summer, when the stars bleed and darkness falls upon the world, a prince will rise—wielding the sword Lightbringer—to defeat the Great Other and drive back the night.
That prince would be the reborn Azor Ahai.
Long ago, Azor Ahai had forged Lightbringer through sacrifice—tempering it in the heart of his beloved wife, Nissa Nissa. With that blade, he ended the Long Night.
Melisandre had seen Stannis in the flames.
That was why she had believed.
But now… doubt crept in.
"Your Grace… how is he?"
The question broke her thoughts.
Jon had entered the room, his gaze falling on Stannis's pale, lifeless face before turning to Davos Seaworth, who sat nearby.
"It's not good," Davos replied quietly, his face lined with worry.
Melisandre's eyes shifted toward Jon—and suddenly, something sparked within them.
She remembered another vision.
In the flames that consumed Mance Rayder, she had seen Jon Snow.
At the time, she had assumed he was like Gendry—someone with royal blood she could draw power from.
But what if she had been wrong?
What if the Lord of Light had been showing her something far greater?
Could Jon Snow be… Azor Ahai reborn?
The thought took root.
Still, she wasn't ready to abandon Stannis—not yet.
She needed certainty.
"D… Davos…"
A faint voice came from the bed.
Stannis's eyes had opened.
"My king," Davos leaned closer at once.
"Take care… of Shireen."
Stannis's gaze flickered briefly toward his wife, Selyse Baratheon, before returning to Davos.
Davos's eyes reddened as he nodded.
He had already told Stannis that Shireen Baratheon was safe on Dragonstone. Stannis hadn't tried to bring her back—perhaps believing she was better off there than in this doomed war.
Years ago, during Robert's Rebellion, it had been Davos who smuggled onions and salted fish into the starving garrison at Storm's End, saving Stannis from surrender.
For that, Stannis had both punished and rewarded him—cutting off the tips of his fingers for smuggling, yet raising him to knighthood.
Later, he made him Hand of the King.
Even imprisonment after the Blackwater hadn't shaken Davos's loyalty.
Through it all, he had followed Stannis without hesitation.
And now, as his king lay dying before him, there was nothing he could do but keep his final promise.
The bond between the two men, forged over more than a decade of loyalty and service, was about to come to an end. For Davos Seaworth, it was not something he could accept easily.
"Your Grace… Your Grace!"
He had barely nodded in response when Stannis Baratheon's head suddenly slumped to one side. Jon Snow called out twice, but there was no response.
Selyse Baratheon glanced once at her lifeless husband, rose from her chair, and walked out of the room without a word.
Davos stood in silence for a long moment before moving forward. Carefully, he began lifting Stannis's body, preparing to carry him out for cremation.
With the army of the dead approaching, any corpse could be sensed and raised by the Night King. There was no time for ceremony—only necessity.
"Don't burn him yet."
The voice stopped him.
Melisandre stepped forward, her tone firm.
Davos turned, frowning in confusion. If she intended to use Stannis's body for some blood ritual or dark purpose, he would never allow it.
"I want to try… to bring him back."
She said it plainly.
When she had once hunted down Gendry, she had learned of something extraordinary—that Thoros of Myr had revived Beric Dondarrion not once, but six times.
Even now, she still didn't fully understand why the Lord of Light would expend such power on Beric, a man who seemed insignificant in the grand design.
But Stannis… Stannis was different.
If anyone deserved that miracle, it was him.
"If he can be revived," she continued, "then he may still be the chosen one… Azor Ahai reborn. But if he cannot…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't need to.
Davos studied her carefully, trying to judge whether she spoke truth or madness. The idea of raising the dead sounded impossible—but he had seen her birth a shadow assassin with his own eyes.
There was no denying her power.
Jon, however, was visibly shaken.
From Bran Stark, he had already heard of Melisandre's strange abilities. And on the Wall, he had just witnessed her set weapons ablaze with magic.
But bringing someone back from the dead?
That was something else entirely.
"You're going to do it now?" Davos asked.
"Clean his wounds first," Melisandre replied. "I need to prepare."
With that, she turned and left the room.
Back in her quarters, she sat quietly on the edge of the bed, recalling the incantations she had learned long ago.
Resurrection was not her strength.
In truth, she had never attempted it—not once.
Even she had once believed reviving the dead to be impossible. That was why she had been so shocked when she first learned what Thoros had done for Beric.
She closed her eyes and began murmuring the unfamiliar words under her breath.
Again.
And again.
Gradually, her racing thoughts settled. Her breathing slowed. Her mind steadied.
After several repetitions, she rose.
It was time.
When she returned, Stannis lay on the bed, his upper body bare, his wounds cleaned, his lifeless form still.
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