[291 AC]

A few hours later, Phenex sat on a quiet part of the beach with Rhaella between his legs, leaning back into his chest, both of them enjoying the sound of the clear blue waves crashing onto the shore.

The night breeze passed over them, as Phenex' warmth shielded Rhaella from the summer cold.

The former Queen closed her eyes, as she indulged in the sensation of one of Phenex' hands softly brushing over her thighs, while the other arm was wrapped around her small waist.

The dark green lace dress with long slits on both sides, giving him easy access to her smooth legs and what lay between. Rhaella being forward in her desire, spread her legs slightly, while a content sigh escaped her rosy lips.

Her head resting on Phenex' shoulder, while her face was turned towards his neck. Which the Targaryen lady took advantage of, as she lightly pressed her lips against his skin, inhaling his fresh scent while doing so.

Phenex had his hand placed on her inner thigh, slowly traveling up towards her sex, which was already leaking her arousal.

He stopped though, just as his fingers traced over the edge of the fabric of her underwear, a little transparent piece Rhaella had bought in Volantis knowing Phenex would enjoy seeing her wear it.

His muscles tensing for a moment, as Phenex' senses rapidly spread out and caught onto Melisandre calling out for him in a small bedchamber on Dragonstone.

"It seems I have to take you back to Volantis, Rhaella. One of my priestesses in Westeros calls for my help.", Phenex voiced out, as he slowly withdrew his hand from beneath her clothing, making sure to enjoy the smooth feeling of her thighs as he did so.

Her hands tightly holding onto the arm that was wrapped around her willowy waist, Rhaella replied: “It's ok, you have your duties.”

Placing another kiss on the side of his neck, she continued softly: “I will wait for your return, Phenex.”

Grabbing the former Queen in a princess carry, Phenex rose up to his feet, as fire erupted around them. And a moment later, they were already back in her bedchamber in Volantis.

Placing the silver-haired beauty down onto the bedding, he stole a kiss from her soft lips. Leaving a playful bite on her lower lip, while brushing over her rosy cheek with his finger, before he took a step back.

Looking over the gorgeous woman of Valyrian descent, he smiled lightly, as he said: “Don't go anywhere. I will be back soon, my Queen.”

His figure turned into a swirl of fire, as Rhaella looked on with heat and affection in her eyes.

…

Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and member of the Small Council as the Master of Ships, was staring down on the shore and out into the Narrow Sea, as he stood in the Chamber of the Painted Table in his castle on Dragonstone.

The small council room having only three walls, making it easy to have a wide view of what lay beyond the estate.

The Lord of Dragonstone was a stoic man that was very clear on his duties, bound by honor to serve under his brother's rule as the Lord of this rather barren island. His claim on the Stormlands lay forgotten, due to Robert 'gifting' him the former seat of House Targaryen.

Stannis knew that it had been somewhat of a custom for the heir to the Iron Throne under the Targaryen rule to live on Dragonstone. Rhaegar Targaryen had done so, and most of his predecessors had as well.

This, however, did nothing to stop the discontent in Stannis' heart to grow when he had been sent here by his elder brother, after Robert had won the rebellion.

He and his whole household had nearly starved to death during Robert's rebellion, though his elder brother seemed to not care about that in the slightest. This resentment only grew after he had been sent to this useless piece of land without even a word of thanks for what he had endured during the war that Robert had initiated.

Still, Stannis hadn't acted on his discontent and never planned to do so.

Resentment and dissatisfaction aside, he was a man of honor, and as such he did his duty for the Crown as the Master of Ships, while reigning the small piece of land that was non-arable for the most part and had little value in general.

Those things though couldn't be further from his mind at the moment as the pained wails of his three-year-old daughter echoed in his ears, even with her being in a room several corridors from the council chamber.

His fists balled until his knuckles were pale white, as even his stoic front started to crack under the worry and pain his daughter's sickness caused him.

Greyscale. Since age old, it had been one of the worst diseases in the known world, even worse than the grey plague. The grey plague may kill all those infected in only a few days time by slowly turning their flesh to stone, but at least they would be freed from their suffering upon death.

Greyscale was worse, as it didn't kill. It just made one suffer excruciating pain that would drive one mad, as grey scales slowly started to cover one's form. It was this madness that was responsible for and caused all those infected to be sent to the ruins all over Essos.

Hearing someone enter the room, Stannis turned his head minutely, as he caught a glimpse of red fabric and fiery hair. Turning back to face the dark night, the Lord of Dragonstone ignored the Red Priestess, that slowly stepped beside him.

"The Maester and Scholars can't help her, Lord Baratheon.", Melisandre voiced out serenely, "And even if they are able to stop the plague by some lucky coincidence, the Princess will forever be scarred by it."

A few moments of silence spread between them, as if he hadn't heard the priestess' words.

“So you want me to pray for your Lord's help in saving her?”, Stannis finally answered, suppressed anger lacing his words, “Aren't you a healer yourself, why don't you work your magic and save her from the plague? Isn't that the least you could do, as to show your gratitude to the Lord of this castle?”

Shaking her head slowly, the red enchantress stated calmly: “There are many things I am capable of doing, healing someone from greyscale isn't one of them. Maybe only the leader of the Healing Light and the Flame of Truth may be capable of such a feat amongst all the priests of the Red Temple, but their help is not something that can be bought.”

"The only one that can and will help your daughter is the Lord. And on your orders I can call for him.", Melisandre voiced out unhesitantly.

Again Stannis didn't speak for a few long moments, before he whispered quietly: “And at what cost would 'he' be willing to extend his hand in help?”

The Lord of Dragonstone remembered clearly the fiery figure that he had met on the Iron Island and the deep, almost primal, fear that figure's gaze had caused him.

Even with that divine being showing his goodwill by healing hundreds of wounded and dying soldiers, Stannis Baratheon was sure that this god was not a kind-hearted and selfless being, his battle-hardened instincts telling him so.

It was for this reason that he had refused the Red Priestess' help to cure his daughter several times until now. Finally though, he had reached a point, where he just could no longer watch his beloved daughter suffer like this. His duty and honor forgotten, as all that was left was a worried father.

“You have the wrong impression of 'him', Lord Stannis.”, Melisandre sighed lightly, her gaze directed at the distance.

“The Lord of Light doesn't do what he does in hopes of repayment. There is nothing us mortals could give him, be that wealth or land, that he needs or desires. The only thing of value to him is our unerring loyalty.”, she ended.