The streets of Qarth were quieter now, but they still thrummed with the life of a city that never truly slept. The smells of exotic spices and the salt of the sea mingled in the humid air, but Melisandre, draped in her crimson robes, paid no attention to the world around her. Her mind was still fixed on the vision she had seen in the fire. A house, unlike any she had ever encountered, with lush gardens and a shining pool in the middle of an endless desert. And within it, a man and a woman who seemed to wield immense power.
The Red Priestess entered the bar, its dim lighting contrasting with the glow of her ruby necklace, which pulsed faintly with the rhythm of her heartbeat. The tavern was filled with the hum of conversation. Merchants and travelers huddled in small groups, nursing mugs of ale and wine. As she slid into a shadowy corner, her ears tuned to the low murmurs around her.
Two men at a table nearby caught her attention.
"That place—it's unnatural, I tell you. Been trading through the Red Wastes for years, and suddenly this 'Haven' appears out of nowhere," one of the men muttered, his voice gruff with age. He was weathered, his hands calloused from years of labor. "There was never an oasis out there before."
"Unnatural, yes. But profitable," the other man replied, taking a long drink from his mug. He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "You've heard the stories. Slavers who try to enter never make it back. Same with the Dothraki. A whole horde disappeared just riding close. Turned to ash, they say. But if you're a merchant... well, they treat you like royalty. I've seen it myself. You trade goods with them, they give you food, a bed, and merchandise unlike anything I've ever seen."
The first man grunted. "What about those stories about the children? Runaways and orphans being taken in. Seems strange that slavers can't get in, but they welcome children. You ever wonder what happens to them?"
The second man leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "They say the children are adopted by the guardians, treated like family. But they all wear these... golden crosses, or so I've heard. Part of some strange religion."
Melisandre felt a chill run down her spine. The crosses, the children—this was no ordinary place. She was sure now that it was the same location she had seen in her vision. A place protected by forces she could not yet understand.
Before she could overhear more, the room quieted as a bard climbed onto a table in the center of the bar. The clatter of mugs and low conversations faded as the bard, a tall man with long dark hair and a weathered lute slung across his back, looked around the room with a knowing grin.
"Ah, I see I have your attention. You've all heard the whispers, no doubt. Of the oasis that lies deep within the Red Wastes. Some of you have seen it, others have only heard of it. But I'll tell you the truth of it—the story of Haven and its guardians."
The bard's voice was deep and commanding, drawing everyone in as he began to weave his tale. He paced slowly across the table, gesturing dramatically as he spoke.
"Far beyond the reach of any sane man's journey, beyond the scorched sands and blistering heat of the Red Wastes, there lies an oasis. Not a mirage, mind you, but a real place—lush with greenery, waters clearer than any you've ever seen. In the middle of it stands a house, unlike any you'll find in the Free Cities or anywhere else in the known world. A house with strange powers."
The bard paused, letting his words settle in before continuing.
"Two guardians rule over this oasis—though 'guardians' may not be the right word. A man and a woman, so beautiful they could be mistaken for gods, though some say they are more like devils. The man, Mark, is a cold one—literally. The air around him is freezing, and some say he commands the very elements of ice. But it's his powers over creation that keep the oasis as it is. He can build anything, change anything, as long as he's within the boundaries of that strange house.
"Then there's Clara, his companion—his mother, some say, though they look more like siblings. She's warm, but only when she's got her wine in hand. A healer, they say, who can mend wounds with a touch, but without her wine... well, you don't want to see that. She's a red giant, they call her, and it's no metaphor. When she's deprived of her drink, she grows, swells, becomes something far more terrifying than even the Dothraki."
The bard stopped again, scanning the faces of the tavern-goers, ensuring he had their rapt attention. "But it's not just the guardians that make this place so strange. Haven—yes, that's what they call it now—has become a refuge. A place where no slaver, no raider, no man of ill intent can step foot. The slavers tried, and they were turned to dust before they could get within a stone's throw of the house. The Dothraki, thinking their might would let them pass, charged at the gates, and they too were reduced to ash.
"But for those with honest hearts—for merchants, wanderers, and most importantly, children—Haven is a paradise. You see, the guardians take in orphans, runaways, the lost children of the world. They say those children who find their way to Haven are adopted into the guardians' strange religion. They wear golden crosses around their necks, and they're taught the ways of their faith. Christianity, it's called—a religion none of us here are familiar with, but it seems to matter deeply to those who live there."
Melisandre narrowed her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. The golden crosses—the symbols she had seen in her vision.
The bard continued, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "The merchants... well, they adore the place. Haven is becoming a hub of trade, not just because of the safety it provides, but because the goods that come out of there are unlike anything you'll find elsewhere. Food that never spoils, weapons that never dull. And they say the guardians don't ask for much in return—just a few coins for what they give."
The bard smirked, leaning forward dramatically. "But mark my words, there's more to Haven than just trade and hospitality. Some say it's a beacon, a place of power unlike any in the world. And perhaps... perhaps it's a place we should all fear, for the guardians are not of this world. They may look like us, but they are something else entirely."
The tavern erupted in applause, the bard's performance ending with a deep bow. But Melisandre's mind was racing. Everything she had heard confirmed what she already knew. The house, the guardians, the children wearing golden crosses—it was all real. And it was tied to the great Other, the enemy she had been sent to fight.
She rose from her seat, slipping out of the tavern as the applause continued. Her path was clear now. She needed to find Haven. But she would need help to get there.
She approached a group of merchants preparing their carts for a journey. The leader, a broad-shouldered man with a graying beard, noticed her approach and raised an eyebrow.
"I need passage to the desert," Melisandre said, her voice low and commanding. "To Haven."
The merchant eyed her warily. "Haven, eh? That's a dangerous place to be asking after. But... if you've got the coin, I can take you there."
Melisandre held out a small pouch of gold dragons. "This should cover the cost. And an introduction to the guardians."
The merchant's eyes widened as he took the pouch, weighing it in his hand. "That'll do, Red Woman. We leave at first light. Be ready."
Melisandre nodded, her heart steady as she walked away. Soon, she would face the guardians of Haven. And with their help—or their destruction—she would ensure that the great Other's influence would never spread across this world.