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After lisandre finished speaking, Clay finally understood why this woman had co looking for him.
Simply put, the so-called dualistic relationship between the Lord of Light and the God of Cold — this theory actually had a tiny bit of logic to it. As a servant of R'hllor, lisandre's body was brimming with volatile, fiery magic.
But the further north she ca, especially towards the regions beyond Westeros, the more her powers were suppressed. Even the magical resurgence brought about by the return of dragons to the world couldn't ease that suffocating sensation.
So, following that line of reasoning, unless R'hllor Himself personally descended upon the world, these so-called priests and servants of His could, in reality, barely have any influence on the God of Cold lurking beyond the Wall.
In fact, in this snowbound land where blizzards raged endlessly, even high-ranking priestesses like lisandre were no match for the Others —those cold, ghostly beings considered servants of the God of Cold in theory. For them to appear in the lands of eternal winter beyond the Wall was no different from holding a candle in utter darkness.
However, Clay, along with his five Witcher personal guards, operated entirely outside of this opposing magical system. They simply didn't face these problems. When Clay ventured beyond the Wall, his strength remained unaffected.
lisandre… or rather, R'hllor's true intention…wasn't simply to support his rise to power, to so-called resist the invasion of the God of Cold. More realistically, what they wanted was for the Witchers, this version of ice-and-fire-forged warriors he had created, to serve as the vanguard exploring the lands beyond the Wall.
To put it even more bluntly, they hoped to rely on these Witchers, magical warriors who could theoretically be produced in large numbers, to head north, hunt down the Others and the God of Cold's other servants, and gradually chip away at their strength.
So, the mont lisandre, or rather R'hllor, realised this possibility, she wasted no ti in knocking at his door. All that earlier talk about Azor Ahai was most likely nothing more than a carrot dangled in front of him.
We've already anointed you as the prophesied hero destined to save the world, the logic went, so why aren't you working with us yet?
It wasn't hard to guess their thinking.
Unfortunately for them, while their plan might sound convincing, the very fact they were trying to recruit him revealed sothing important: at least for now, they hadn't realized that sooner or later, they and Clay Manderly were bound to stand on opposite sides.
And that was perfect!
Because it ant Clay still had ti. Plenty of ti to play both sides for all they were worth.
The last thing he wanted was for both factions to view his Witchers as a threat to their existence, join forces, and eliminate him first before turning their blades on each other.
At present, Clay's wings weren't fully grown. He was like a young fledgling who had sprouted feathers and could already circle the skies a few tis, but was still a long way off from truly soaring to the heavens.
Right now, if he really had to go to war with the army of the dead, he honestly didn't have many good cards to play. What, was he supposed to summon his four dragons here again?
Given the size of his dragons at this point, sending them across the Wall without proper preparation would be nothing short of handing the Night King another gold dal in javelin throwing. Clay wasn't about to make such a foolish, suicidal move.
Originally, the Wall had been perfectly fine, with its magical barriers keeping the army of the dead firmly trapped beyond, unable to set foot across the line. The whole situation had been solid. Safe. Completely under control.
But then, his lovely silver-haired queen had to send one of the dragons north, using magic to combat magic.
And the consequences of that decision were disgusting.
The Wall was breached from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. The army of the dead poured across the breach, stepping onto the lands of the North. The first to bear the brunt of it were the unfortunate souls living along the border.
And so, in the grand hall of Last Hearth, the White Walkers staged their twisted little display of performance art, showcasing their uniquely disturbing aesthetic as intelligent beings.
"Alright, I get it now," Clay said, his voice calm as ever. "All I can say, Lady lisandre, is that your offer is certainly… tempting. But allow to ask one thing: what about Stannis Baratheon? The man you previously supported? His banners—his crown—bear the flaming stag of your Lord, don't they?"
When faced with this question, the Red Priestess of R'hllor clearly had her answer prepared. She didn't hesitate for even a mont, her tone calm and indifferent as she replied without the slightest pause:
"Stannis Baratheon was never truly a believer of the Lord of Light. During the ti I spent by his side, I ca to understand that very clearly. And a re mortal, one who does not walk in my Lord's light, could never be Azor Ahai reborn. Which ans… he holds no more value."
"Hmm… Azor Ahai… Hyrkoon… Yi-Tar… Nephryon… Edric the Shadowchaser… there certainly are plenty of nas pointing to the sa so-called hero, wouldn't you agree, Lady lisandre?"
lisandre's expression darkened ever so slightly. Of course she recognised the nas Clay was referring to. Those were the nas of the heroes from other cultures across Essos, the legends of those who had ended the Long Night in ages past.
And that… was precisely what the Red God's faithful could never tolerate.
A hero was only a hero because they were rare, unique, the one and only. They held a monopoly granted by the divine. But the mont that monopoly was shattered, and suddenly heroes began popping up from every corner of the world…
Well, the original hero would fall from their pedestal, stripped of their glory, discarded, forgotten, no longer worthy of worship.
"Clay Manderly… what exactly are you implying?" lisandre's voice grew colder. "Those words… sound rather offensive to us."
"I'm simply telling you…" Clay replied, his tone sharp, "don't try to fool with prophecies. I don't believe in that nonsense for a second. The only things that truly belong to … are the ones I seize with my own hands. I hope I've made myself clear enough."
Clay's words were blunt and direct. Westeros was a land steeped in religious tradition, which was why talk of prophecies always found eager ears. Even a man like Stannis Baratheon, stubborn to the bone and once standing at the pinnacle of power, had not been able to escape that influence.
lisandre sighed quietly in her heart, a flicker of frustration passing through her eyes. It was her first ti encountering soone like Clay…utterly unmoved, completely indifferent, showing no reverence whatsoever for R'hllor or the Lord of Light.
But after thinking it over, she could more or less understand where he was coming from. After all, this man… was himself the mortal vessel, the earthly emissary, of so unknown divine power.
"Very well then, Clay Mandrel," lisandre finally spoke, her tone softening slightly. "Since you refuse to accept what I've told you… what are your terms?"
She had decided to take a step back. The most important reason for her visit this ti was to ensure that Clay wouldn't deepen his ties with the Old Gods.
Even though the Old Gods and their chosen emissary—the Three-Eyed Raven—stood opposed to the God of Cold and his servants in most circumstances, that was only because the God of Cold always sought to encroach upon their territory.
Likewise, they viewed the priests of R'hllor, the Lord of Light, with extre wariness. The only reason there hadn't been open conflict yet was because the weak and declining Faith of the Seven still lingered in the South, keeping the tension hidden beneath the surface.
But now… with Clay Manderly's sudden appearance, everything had changed. To them, Clay himself represented an entirely new divine power entering the ga.
If that power leaned toward the Old Gods, if Clay chose to ally himself with the Three-Eyed Raven and helped gradually restore the faith of the Old Gods across Westeros, then R'hllor's dream of fully assimilating this continent would beco far more difficult.
And that… was the outco lisandre, Thoros, and the other Red Priests dreaded most.
The Three-Eyed Raven was hiding away in his hollow tree, barely clinging to life, while Clay was alive and well, full of energy, quietly tightening his grip on the most powerful ard force in the Seven Kingdoms.
And more importantly… this brat had lured away Daenerys, the very woman they had planned to invest heavily in, the one ant to be the cornerstone of their grand design.
It was precisely because lisandre learned that Daenerys had followed Clay to Westeros that she had made the decisive choice to leave Dragonstone behind entirely, abandoning Stannis Baratheon, and co straight to Clay.
"Terms?" Clay chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair. "You an the terms for abandoning my deal with that crow and choosing to work with you instead?"
"Yes." lisandre nodded. "You can think of it that way."
"Alright then, I'll be blunt," Clay replied, his voice steady, yet carrying a quiet, unshakable edge. "I don't care what your master wants. But if it ever conflicts with my goal… of unifying all of Westeros under my rule… then your master, your faith, your entire order… will be my enemy."
"But of course," lisandre answered smoothly. "We support you sitting on the Iron throne. A king with a clear mind and sharp understanding of the world is far better than those drunken fools who chase us out of their palaces the mont they hear a word they dislike."
"And one more thing," Clay added, his gaze sharp as a blade now. "From this mont forward, I demand that you and all your people cease all contact with any lords across the continent of Westeros. If I find out that your people are still whispering in their ears… our agreent is off the table."
"That's acceptable," lisandre agreed without hesitation. "Thoros will leave King's Landing very soon. The others will do the sa."
"And lastly…" Clay's voice turned cold, like winter creeping in through an open door. "For now… I will not allow you to spread the faith of the Lord of Light within my territory. Not now. Rember that. Stash away those ambitions of yours. And if I even suspect that you plan to replace with so more 'obedient' puppet…"
A faint, dangerous smile curled at the corner of his lips.
"Then your grand Red Temple… might not stand for long."
lisandre frowned slightly, falling silent for a mont before speaking in a low voice, her tone carrying a faint chill.
"Is that… a threat, Clay Manderly? You ought to know, we ca here to help you."
"Help ?" Clay's lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. "Without you, I can still win this war. It'll cost a bit more, sure, but it's nothing I can't handle. But you lot? You're asking for far too much."
Clay's voice turned even colder as he laid bare the truth. It was no different from bringing money into a partnership… sure, you had the capital, but that didn't an you got to dictate terms to everyone from the mont you walked through the door.
If things worked like that, who would ever want to work with you? It would only end with you getting devoured alive. Everyone here had a brain. No one was stupid.
Truthfully, there wasn't much lisandre could do. Clay was simply too dominant, and he held an overwhelmingly favorable position in these negotiations.
If they couldn't win Clay over… then they would have no choice but to destroy him. They couldn't risk standing by and watching him join forces with the Old Gods, slamming the door on R'hllor's westward expansion once and for all.
"Then let's take a step back," lisandre offered after a mont's thought. "You must guarantee that you will no longer cooperate with the Old Gods. You cannot allow their faith to spread across the Neck on a large scale. That is our bottom line."
"Fine." Clay nodded without hesitation. "That was part of our original agreent anyway, though there's no rush on that front. So in principle, I agree to that condition."
In reality, there had never been such a clause in Clay's original agreent with the Three-Eyed Raven. All the Raven wanted was to maintain the current balance, quietly encouraging Clay to clash with R'hllor's forces.
But since lisandre had said it so directly, Clay might as well lie through his teeth and do her a favor. It was the perfect opportunity to show a little "sincerity" without actually having to give up anything.
In truth, in the original tiline, Daenerys had been the key chess piece for R'hllor's westward march. With lisandre's help, once she conquered all of Westeros, the Red Temple would have almost certainly replaced the Faith of the Seven as the dominant religion.
After all, during Aegon's conquest, the Faith had stirred up no small amount of trouble for House Targaryen. But at the ti, the fledgling dynasty hadn't yet amassed enough strength to uproot the deeply entrenched Faith entirely.
With no better option, they had chosen the path of compromise. Even Aegon's coronation had been presided over by the High Septon himself.
But by the ti Daenerys ca along, Westeros was already a ruined wasteland. The Great Sept of Baelor, headquarters of the Faith, had been blasted to pieces by that overly clever Cersei. At that point, the Red Temple becoming the new state religion had practically beco inevitable.
And yet… who could have predicted that Jon Snow, that sentintal fool, would suddenly grow a conscience and plunge a dagger straight into his lover and conveniently close relative's heart?
The Red God's faction had been completely blindsided.
In the end, it was the Old Gods who ca out on top. Their chosen vessel, the new incarnation of the Three-Eyed Raven, Bran Stark, ascended the throne in his wheelchair, signaling the complete victory of the Old Gods' faction in this long and silent war.
Borrowing the Red God's strength, they wiped out the servants of the God of Cold, eliminating the threat that had been creeping up from behind.
Then, they turned around and gutted the Red God's followers, claiming the throne for themselves, plucking the final fruits of victory with ease.
How to put it… from Clay's perspective, that outco had been flawless. Completely rigged. Couldn't have gone better.
"Oh right, my n reported seeing so strange folks up in the lands of the God of Cold," Clay suddenly rembered sothing and turned his head to glance at lisandre. "They didn't look like the usual bunch of frozen, ice-jawed servants of the God of Cold. Did your master ntion anything about that?"
"Strange folks?" lisandre frowned, her expression darkening. "What exactly do you an? The lands beyond the Wall are completely under the God of Cold's shadow. Apart from the wildlings you crushed not long ago, beings out there are His servants. No other intelligent life could possibly survive there."
"Hmm… is that so?" Clay rubbed his chin thoughtfully, nodding slowly. "In that case, maybe my n got it wrong. No need to dwell on it."
But in his heart, Clay wasn't so easily convinced. If his n hadn't reported false information, if those rangers who barely escaped with their lives hadn't been seeing things in their desperation… then it ant only one thing: R'hllor's grand map—the divine vision of the Lord of Light—was completely blacked out in these lands beyond the Wall, nothing but empty, shadowed territory.
lisandre quickly ran Clay's words over in her mind. But from her perspective, this was probably just the usual confusion of a commander being misled by bad information from his subordinates. She thought it over for a mont but didn't take it too seriously.
"lisandre," Clay suddenly asked, his expression pensive, "do you ever wonder… is the North really supposed to be this cold? I an, if the God of Cold really disappeared, would it still be snowing beyond the Wall all the damn ti?"
The thought had only just occurred to him. He'd looked at plenty of maps of the world of Ice and Fire. The lands beyond the Wall weren't even that far north. With such a small distance, how could it possibly be this frozen?
But clearly, this wasn't a question the red witch had ever considered before. She frowned slightly, thinking it over for a while, and eventually gave Clay an answer that left him… less than satisfied.
"The God of Cold represents darkness, ice, and death. The lands beyond the Wall… this is a place deprived of warmth and light. Once the God of Cold fades away, this place will undoubtedly improve," she replied softly.
She spoke without much thought, but Clay… he certainly caught the deeper aning in those words.
If that were true, then didn't that make R'hllor and the God of Cold the world's… climate regulators? If the God of Cold disappeared, temperatures across the whole continent should rise, shouldn't they?
If that happened, sure, the lands beyond the Wall and the North would be nice and cozy… but what about everything south of the Neck? Would it all turn into Dorne?
As for Dorne… well, Clay could already imagine the outco: a land full of sun-dried human jerky, fresh from the source.
If that logic held up, then Westeros's wild, unpredictable climate—moody as a teenage boy—finally made sense. Wasn't this all just the result of R'hllor and the God of Cold fighting behind the scenes?
When the God of Cold grew stronger, the Long Night descended, the White Walkers road freely, and the living world ca under siege.
But when R'hllor's power was on the rise, the Long Sumr arrived. Dorne beca unbearably hot, yet the rest of the world enjoyed peace and prosperity.
And based on everything Clay rembered… at this particular point in ti, the power of the God of Cold was stronger than that of R'hllor.
That… was interesting. If that was really the case, Clay needed to completely reevaluate the current situation.
On the surface, all anyone saw was the struggle between the Starks, the Lannisters, the Baratheons, and the Targaryens. But behind the curtains… the powers backing each of them were far from ordinary.
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