Stannis

I watched as the men dragged her towards the pyre. I had no idea who they really were and felt a pang of intense suspicion in my guts. As per usual my outward expression was stern and unemotional but inside I felt like a newborn child, vulnerable and too aware of the dangers of the world. The idea of her, there, with unknown men, it worried me- but I squashed down my parental side.

I had to do this- one life for the many millions of people in Westeros- I had to do this.

I let her make the choice, I tried to remind myself, but it left a bitter, nauseating taste in my mouth. What did Shireen know about politics and war? Davos was right, she was just a little girl. I hadn't let her make any choice, she didn't even know there was no choice for her.

I noticed that she was holding on tightly to little toy stag I'd seen Davos carving every night for the past week. I had harassed him at first, not understanding why he would want to lug carving tools into the battlefield, but now I understood that his love for my daughter was more important than any inconveniences. I felt guilty that he was more of a father to her than I had ever been.

I could hear from her screams, her desperation- she was terrified, but there was also determination and stubbornness too. She was calling out for me, believing this was all the red priestesses doing and that a mere whisper from me would make her captors falter and release her.

I turned to face her as they tied her to pyre, and tried to maintain a confident posture. Although I abandoned the old gods a long time ago I couldn't help what was drilled into me as a young boy. I might have been passing the sentence, but I was not swinging the sword, and the best thing I could do was to look my daughter in the eye. But I couldn't help slouching slightly, it felt like in sacrificing my daughter, I was sacrificing a part of me too and I felt that if I wasn't a King I would very easily let myself collapse on the floor.

But I was a King, I reminded myself and took comfort in noticing that Selyse has joined me and has taken my hand in hers. Whilst our marriage was arranged, and like many arranged marriages had plentiful difficulties and irritations, we had grown to treasure each other dearly and found a kinship in our shared unashamed objectivity. If there is one person who I could rely on to remind me to forget my heart and think with my head then it was Selyse.

"It's what the Lord wants," Selyse began in a raspy tone, almost as she was speaking to herself, "It's a good thing. A great thing."

I agreed with her. When I conquered Winterfell I would host a grand memorial and Shireen would enter in the history books, alongside her favourite characters, as a noble heroine. Without this Shireen would have never played significant role in Westeros- yes, she would be Queen but she would be ruled by her husband and shunned for her greyscale. I took a melancholy pride in knowing that one day little boys and girls of her age would be reading about my daughter in books and the maesters would tell them all about her bravery and sacrifice. She would be an honoured martyr.

I listened to Melisandre's speech, delivered once again in its clear and confident tone and watched as the soldiers, began to wrap the ropes around her. A part of me panicked that they were too tight and that she would be unable to breathe, but then I reminded myself of what was to come and told myself to stop thinking so foolishly. It would have been better if she were to pass out from fright or breathlessness- but she was a true Baratheon and I had no doubt she would go out kicking and screaming.

I heard Selyse's fast breathing and I wondered if she was excited, she often was by such displays of the Lord of Light's power.

"If we don't act we'll all starve here," she began, speaking in a trance like tone, "All of us. But if we make this sacrifice…"

Selyse stopped suddenly and I could hear her voice trembling. I could only remember a handful of times that she had ever cried because of Shireen. When our little girl was born, and we believed that finally we were going to be able to have children who could survive, when she got greyscale and we saw her strength fading away each hour and when it was cured, and finally, when Shireen took her first steps- a whole year later than normal- and we knew she was going to be alright.

I tried not to think about those memories, about my daughter's little quirks- about how she would fall asleep reading or hide Davos' gifts so her mother wouldn't find them- and about the fact that she wouldn't grow old. She wouldn't know true love, she wouldn't get to hold her own children, to teach them how to walk and read and rule. If the war hadn't happened then I would have been at home in Dragonstone arranging a marriage between her and one of the sons of the other noble houses- perhaps one of Ned Stark's boys, or maybe even on Davos' sons- they were the only children of roughly her age she had ever met after all.

I watched as one of the soldiers passed Melisandre a flaming torch and Shireen looked at the flame in horror and realisation. She knew I wasn't going to do anything but she wasn't quite yet broken.

"Mother!" she yelled out, "Mother, please!"

Her screams were piercing and I noticed Selyse watching her, trying to steady herself, but her eyes were immensely sorrowful and I was surprised to think that someone who had previously argued about wanting to whip our child, and called her sinful and deformed would show so much compassion now. It almost made me believe that Selyse could be like a normal mother, and show love to her child.

"I can't," Selyse protested, grabbing for my arm. She was not highly emotional, but instead spoke with a strong defiant tone.

"There is no other way," I replied trying to shake off her hand, but she grabbed for me again, "She is King's blood."

Selyse's eyes showed how much she was trying to plead with me. Pleading wasn't something that any of us Baratheons were used to and there was only so much pleading were able to do and I could tell that Selyse was pleading as much as she was capable of doing so.

"Please, father! Please!" Shireen yelled.

It looked like she hadn't given up hope that I might change my mind and it only fuelled her mother's hope even more. In my mind's eye I could see myself marching forward knocking the soldiers out of the way to pull my little girl off that wretched pyre and comfort her- soldiers and objectivity and leadership be damned. But my feet stayed where they were placed on the ground, unmoving. I had earnt my uncaring reputation for a reason, and it was what my soldiers relied on- my objectivity was what they admired. They wanted their objective ruler, not some crying half-man.

I watched as Melisandre set fire to the wood, it was slow to catch as the snow was falling a lot heavier. I could see some of the soldiers looking queasy and shaking their heads in disgust, and I wondered how they would react now, although I knew that when we secured a victory everything else would change, their whole perception of this ugly event would change.

It is them that I expected to defy my decision, however I felt my wife shaking me slightly before darting off into the crowd of soldiers. They all made way for her, moving to let her past, but my other soldiers followed her, grabbing her and pulling her back before she could reach Shireen.

Melisandre stood silently, a thin smile of satisfaction on her lips, and I noticed she was smiling because the flames had started to burn the hem of Shireen's thin dress. I looked up and noticed the look of terror on Shireen's face and it felt like a punch in the stomach.

Is this really worth it? A voice inside my head- suspiciously sounding like Davos- asked, you never wanted to be King, you did all of this because you believed you had to, because Melisandre said you should. But you never want this.

I knew I wanted power, I reminded myself, I didn't mind the idea of being King.

But what kind of King would you be? The voice asked me, you'd be worse than the Targaryeans, you'd be worse than the Lannisters. Even they don't kill little girls.

That last sentence stuck in my mind and I remembered that the Dornish often said that phrase. Funny, when you considered that it was a Dornish man who had given my family that doll. But he was a trader from Dorne, not really Dornish. If the Dornish didn't sacrifice their children and still were able to have power over me, then how could I sacrifice my daughter and expect to have any power over them at all.

"Let my wife go!" I yelled at the soldiers, before racing myself towards the pyre. I could see the flames had almost engulfed half of my daughter and I could tell that she was beginning to lose consciousness, "Get some water! Now!"

"But the sacrifice," Melisandre protested, "You are the true King and we need this."

"She is my daughter, your princess!" I yelled in reply, as I scrambled towards the pyre, watching as the men began to pour whatever water was available onto the fire, but there was too little. Instead they began to grab snow and placed large balls of it over the pyre.

The flames began to recede quickly, and I was able to survey the damage. Shireen was unconscious and slumped limply forward, her legs were bright red and black in places and there were similar burns on her arms and hands. Surprisingly, her little hand had shut firmly around the stag toy.

I began to climb up the pyre, refusing all but a couple of soldiers' offers for help. I tried to untie the ropes and they come away quickly- almost disintegrated. The soldiers passed me their cloaks, which I wrapped around Shireen's body and I cradled her in my arms as if she were an infant.

Selyse crept forward haggardly, struggling to walk. She collapsed next to me in the snow and we formed a tight semi-circle as we held our little girl close to us. How could I have ever thought this was the right decision? I resolved to swallow my pride, Davos was right we should wait it out- for now at least, wait for one of the milder episodes of the winter, take time to gather more troops, gather more allies and food. Jon Snow would help us, a well-loved boy like him was a charmer and we could easily use his Stark heritage to help our cause.

"Is she?" Selyse asked, her cheeks stained with tears, "I mean, there's no way she could…"

I pulled the thick glove off my hand and tried to find a pulse. I listened carefully to see if there were any signs of breathing.

No, she couldn't be. No.

I must be imagining it. It must be a dream.

I took Selyse's hand in mind and placed it over Shireen's wrist, and watched as her face lit up.

"She's only just alive," I told her, "But we must hurry, we must do everything we can. I won't let her die, not after everything she's been through. I doubt she'll ever trust me or love me again."