Stepping Into Dawn

Melisandre walks into the sunlight.

Author's Note: This story contains spoilers for 8x03 "The Long Night." Melisandre has long been one of my favorite fictional characters, and I wanted to pay tribute to her in her final moments. I hope you enjoy.

It was time. The first rays of sun crept over the parapets of Winterfell. The quiet sounds of the triumphant yet exhausted living were heard from the gates.

Melisandre turned away from them. It was time. She had fulfilled her purpose. The Priestess of R'hllor made for the open gates with a slow but steady tread.

The living had won. The Night King was dead. Arya Stark had closed his blue eyes. The allies of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen would rally and march south to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. Cersei Lannister who had saved the capitol from the false gods with fire's cleansing power. She had briefly considered building a temple to R'hllor on the site. She could steer Westeros into the light of the Lord.

Faces swam before her eyes as she walked.

Maester Cressen, her would-be killer on Dragonstone, fell before her.

Varys the Spider, no doubt hiding in the crypts below. She had told him that she would return to die. Would she now that the night was at an end?

High Priestess Kinvara in Volantis. She had not once questioned Melisandre's desire to return and fight at Winterfell. She simply blessed her and said farewell, her eyes not even leaving the fire.

Would it be so bad to find a secluded corner of the land and live in peace for perpetuity?

More faces flashed before her.

Beric Dondarrion, returned from death so many times by the Lord only to die at Winterfell.

Thoros of Myr, another of her order who had fallen beyond the Wall.

Stannis Baratheon, her first, beloved king, whom she had led to ruin.

Shireen burning as her mother screamed and fought to save her.

Melisandre felt eyes on her and the distant scrape of a blade. There was no question in her mind who was watching her with a drawn blade. She found that she was pleased not to be alone at the end, even in the presence of one whom she had so greatly wronged.

The living would burn the dead, and life would go on. She had once sought to put a loyal servant of the Lord of Light on the Iron Throne. To burn the Great Sept of Baelor and put up a Red Temple. But, again, the Lannister queen had already seen to the sept, and her days were surely numbered.

Daenerys Targaryen knew the power of the Lord of Light. She had been called back to Winterfell by the fire in the trench during the battle. Jon Snow himself had been brought back to life by the power of her god. Beric Dondarrion, also resurrected so many times, gave his life to allow Arya Stark to end the Long Night once and for all time.

That was enough.

My time whispering in the ears of kings has come to an end. The words echoed in her mind.

Her hand went to her glowing, ruby necklace. She was surprised to find that the stone felt quite cool to her touch, when it was usually quite warm. She quickly unclasped the necklace and let it fall, the light from the ruby fading.

Melisandre walked further out into the snow, passing still scenes of revolting carnage as she strode farther away from Winterfell. Each step seemed to age her another 50 years. She felt her hands becoming gnarled, her skin beginning to slip, and her knees starting giving out.

Her bony shoulders shrugged from her red dress as her haggard form sloped downward towards the snow.

No more nightfires. No more ceremonies. No more Jon Snow or Davos. No more magic. No more miracles. No more dark nights, full of terror.

As the sun crept over the horizon, Melisandre was relieved, and then she knew no more.