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Though neither she nor Stannis hails from the North, her husband has taken more to the chills of the region than Selyse has. While Selyse relies upon heavy garments and the warmth of fire, he seems to be kept comfortable in the same armor and dress that he wore at Dragonstone. Not that most people would recognize any change in his contentment, but Selyse, for all her flaws, has learned to read the slight shifts in his eternal frown and ever-furrowed brow. When they first came together, she longed for nothing more than to be able to crack his code. Now, she feels apathy. Before she understood Stannis, it was easier to live in ignorance. The failure of their union is so much more pronounced when she reads her own discontent reflected in his eyes. Neither of them wants to be here, but they are tied together, to death do they part.
Even colder than Stannis is the snow that falls relentlessly in the North. Though Selyse believes wholeheartedly in R’hllor, she also prides herself on having the foresight to align with a religion that embraces flame. It is as though R’hllor knew to appear to her in the form of Melisandre at the right time in her life. Without Selyse’s faith, the Wall would be unbearably cold instead of just undesirably so. She is thankful to be able to find solace in the Lord of Light and his priestess.
A cold wind spills through the room and Selyse draws her shadow black shawl tightly around her shivering body. It is days like this when the winds wail beyond the castle walls that she longs for the sunshine of her youth at Brightwater Keep. She fondly remembers sitting by the window and looking out at the way the rays of light touched the green grasses and vibrant flowers that surrounded her home. When she was young, before her mother had passed away of sickness, Selyse even had the chance to visit Highgarden.
She recalls the fields of golden roses, unlike everything she had ever seen before. Her mother’s hand was tight in hers as they walked through the majesty of the garden and Selyse recalls feeling inner warmth that she has never been able to recreate in the decades since. She thinks that must have been happiness.
Are we only allotted a fraction of happiness in our miserable lives? Selyse thinks with a bitter frown. Did I use up all mine in my childhood? Or, did I forfeit my right to it with my sinful desires?
Though Selyse is not entirely sure, she thinks that those seductive desires, that dark longing, came to be on that trip to Highgarden. Among the golden roses, Selyse remembers seeing girls and women of all ages with flowing hair and blooming dresses. It was not just the floral sights that caught her eyes; it was also the feminine forms that existed within them. The gardens of Brightwater Keep were nowhere near as stunning as the ones here, and neither were the women.
She remembers, with a certain shame, asking her mother if she might one day be married to one of Highgarden girls. Her brother Erren had laughed cruelly at this, even when their mother had tried to silence him. Her mother had brushed the incident off, likely writing it off as one of the silly inventions of childhood curiosity. Selyse had never forgotten though. The weight of her brother’s jabs, calling her mannish, and the sudden swelling of her heart in response to the wavy haired maidens had led quickly into dark thoughts. There was something wrong with her. Ladies do not lust after other ladies. She should want a gallant prince. But, the thought of a knight left her feeling empty.
It is a blessing, in some ways, that her lady mother died before seeing her union with Stannis Baratheon. Though he was of good stock and good name, Selyse could never convincingly play the role of anything more than a dutiful wife. Her poor mother, who had loved her little girl dearly, would have suffered a broken heart seeing the wretched thing between them.
She thought, once, that she would come to love him. When they had come together, Selyse had put aside her childish desires and tried to mute the feelings that she felt for women with flowing hair and beautiful gowns. She sent away the most stunning of her retinue and instead took up ladies with plain faces and requested that they clothe themselves in the sparse fashion that matched the atmosphere of Dragonstone under Stannis. Selyse had put the sunshine and flowers of her childhood in the closet on their wedding day.
She had starved herself of the things that brought her joy and in doing so had created a barrier between her and her husband. In her hunger, she had not grown to resent Stannis, but instead herself. Selyse should love him, or at the very least, care for him. Early in her marriage, Selyse had heard stories of Lord Eddard Stark and his bride from Robert during a visit to Dragonstone. The Tully girl, it was rumoured, was becoming quite happy with her Lord and he was taking a shine to her as well. In those days, that tale had been a source for hope. Selyse and Stannis might not be the kind of match that storytellers sing of, but they might find comfort in each other.
Years had past and she had failed to thaw the ice that surrounded Stannis’s heart. Only his daughter and his loyal hand, Davos, could even slightly melt his hardened exterior. And, even they could only affect a limited reaction before he froze up again.
She knows what they, from the servants to the knights to the lords, whisper about her in voices loud enough for her to hear. They discuss her appearance. They chide at her loveless marriage. They go so far as to forgive Stannis for his disinterest in her. Because, they say, why would anyone love a woman who has more hair on her face than warmth in her body?
Though these words once bothered her, Selyse has learned to stand tall and ignore the words of those less than her. She is a queen. She is their queen. If her godforsaken marriage has got her anything worth having, it is this title.
Before she had the title and they had headed to the North, Selyse had taken Shireen to Highgarden to call upon her childhood friend Alerie Hightower, now of the Tyrell name. The woman, with her long silver hair and flowing green dress, had been as stunning as ever. Selyse despised how it made her heart beat faster than the sight of her husband ever could. Even then, those brief days with Alerie brought Selyse a lightness that she had not felt since her betrothal. She had secretly hoped that Shireen, her damaged yet sweet daughter, would steal looks at the maidens among the roses as she had. She had hoped in vain that this trip would endear her daughter to her and that she might see a part of herself in the child’s eyes. However, Shireen took more interest in Highgarden’s library than its gardens and local beauty.
Shireen. Oh, R’hllor, she thinks, what did she do to deserve this? She wants to love her. But, Shireen is the product of a loveless union. She is a child born out of reluctant duty. She also carries the serious nature of her father. When Selyse looks at her daughter, she sees none of herself. It seems more accurate to call the girl a product of Stannis and Davos, the former giving her serious temperament and the latter treating her more like a beloved daughter than either of her true parents.
She knows logically that Shireen is her child. Selyse’s stomach grew as a testament to this. She carried proof that Stannis had bedded her for nine months. It felt wrong to wake up alone and feel the weight of the infant inside her. When the babe was born, she wanted to love her in the unconditional way that a mother should. But, she couldn’t. And she hated herself for that too.
It didn’t matter that Shireen was the perfect angel of a child. Selyse knew that her daughter was fiercely smart and sweet without measure. Though her face was marred with disease, her heart and mind were abundant. There were millions of reasons to love the girl. But, the motherly bond never solidified. It was as though she was raising someone else’s child. Selyse was always proud of Shireen, but she did not love her. She could not love her.
Stannis tried to infect her with a son a handful of times following Shireen, but none of these attempts lead to fruition. It was a duty that neither of them enjoyed. He apologized to her each time. Stannis always knew her discomfort when he entered her. He did not enjoy her body any more than she did his. Their bedroom was a strange compromise to the shared burden of a duty.
She would later insist to anyone that would listen that her inability to bear the son that Stannis claimed to crave was a result of Delena and Robert’s actions, but she knows this to be untrue.
When Robert carried Delena off to deflower her, he took a piece of Selyse with him. That had been her wedding night, but the evening before she had laid in bed with Delena sharing all her trepidations about the match. Delena had agreed with her fears and had asked if she was scared to be married off to such a stern man. Selyse had nodded at this, though not for the reasons that Delena had proposed it. Delena thought that sternness was a despicable quality in a partner. Selyse, in actuality, found the quality of being a man to be much worse. Selyse was never made to love a man.
She had begged Delena to kiss her then, under the guise of practice. Delena had obliged. That moment, along with the one from her childhood amid the roses and another where Alerie held her hand, are among the cherished ones where she recalls feeling normal. In them, she feels like herself. She has never been comfortable with who she is with her husband. Stannis does not know the real Selyse. Selyse barely knows the real Selyse.
Years into their marriage, she had been aimlessly looking for something, some kind of meaning or light to guide her. That was when she found Melisandre. The woman spoke words laced with gold that she imagined, if cut, could bleed an even deeper passion. There was something there. In Melisandre’s voice and eyes, she saw a fire and a will that she could hardly imagine channeling. That was what first enamoured Selyse to the Lord of Light and his beautiful servant.
Melisandre does not look at Selyse with love, but something far more valuable. Selyse Florent gave up any hope at love and being loved when she traded her name in for Baratheon. Instead of such girlish expressions, Melisandre treats Selyse with respect and reverence. She treats her like a queen.
When the others exchange harsh words about Selyse or her marriage, Melisandre gifts them a glare that manages both to burn with the heat of flame and freeze with the intensity of ice. After years of standing beside Stannis as his “miserable” wife in their godforsaken marriage, it is a breath of fresh air to meet someone who does not fixate on the things that Selyse already detests herself for.
She did not even blink an eye when Stannis had confessed to his trespasses with Melisandre. Selyse had nodded and then, quietly, asked if that was all. He had looked at her then with something that was almost an emotion. In his stormy eyes, Selyse saw pity. If she had stirred with even an iota of rage or anger, it might say something different about their marriage. Though they both had accepted the reality a long time ago, it was then that it became clear.
While she had anticipated his confession, she was slightly surprised to feel that she felt no animosity toward Stannis even for the way it might reflect in the words thrown at her. Instead she felt apathy and even slight elation. Let Melisandre lay in his bed. Let her flame lick his cock in all the ways I loathe to.
But, in the days that followed this, something else weighed upon her. She was, in fact, jealous. Yet, the jealousy had less to do with Stannis. She could not care less if her husband found comfort in another, though that was a joke in itself because comfort was the least of Stannis’s concerns. Instead, she found her cheeks burning and her eyes watering at the thought of the two of them together. She was bitter that he that got to touch Melisandre in the ways that she longed to. Selyse wanted to pry the details from Stannis’s stern mouth. She wanted to know how Melisandre’s back arched and how her breasts bounced when they came together. She was hungry for the details. That was the closest thing to lust she ever felt for her husband, the desire to experience Melisandre through him.
The worst of it was how this ignited a passion in Selyse that she scarcely believed possible. Instead of feeling apathetic and indifferent, every fibre of her felt enflamed. There was no conceivable way to mute the feelings that grew wildly within her. Melisandre awoke a hunger within her, a fire that longed to be kindled. Why should Stannis have the pleasure of lying with such a woman when he was so restrained and awkward in the task of making love?
That night, she stole into Melisandre’s chambers. Selyse tore her black garments from her body and threw herself, like a sacrifice, onto Melisandre’s bed. Take me, she had whispered fiercely. Melisandre had replied, of course, my queen.
It was as if the red priestess had been waiting for her to submit, because she wasted no time in running her hands and mouth across Selyse’s body. There were sensations within Selyse that she had never felt before or dreamed possible. Under Melisandre’s hands, she felt the ice of years with Stannis begin to drip and then give way to a flowing steam of wetness. From her mouth, Melisandre brought the passionate volume Selyse saved only for worship.
Was this passion or worship? Selyse thought that it must be both. Anything that feels this powerful can not just be a product of human desire, R’hllor must have blessed it. And then, it had came, the moment that Selyse felt herself rise out of her corporal body. She lost herself in the extreme wave of heat and rush of exhilaration. It was as though years of tension and resentment had exploded from her body and she suddenly felt tired from the years of duty. She fell asleep in Melisandre’s bed with the woman holding her in a way that Stannis never had.
When the light of the sun broke through the winter clouds in the morning, Selyse awoke to the warmth kissing her naked body. Melisandre had already departed, but the bed still held her spiced fragrance and the warmth of her form. Selyse rolled over to the other side of the bed to drink it in like a lovesick maid. Immediately after, she felt shame at indulging in such trivial things. Though, she wanted desperately to feel the same release of the night before once again.
Standing by the window, Selyse saw Stannis in the courtyard with Shireen. Their daughter was pointing at something and Stannis was leaning toward her, explaining it. There was tenderness to this scene. It was a father and daughter sharing a moment together, warmth that the cold of the Wall rarely sees.
Neither Stannis nor Shireen are as happy when she is present. It was watching this scene, fire still igniting her veins from Melisandre’s touch, when she realized how wrong everything is. Her family would be better off without her. She is a burden on their happiness as they are a burden on hers. She was never meant for the North or for the man that she swore herself to years before.
Selyse is not one for the cold; she is one for the flame. Now, that she has been awoken, she knows no other choice. For R’hllor, her family, and herself, she must escape, with or without Melisandre.