In the end, Shireen did what her father never did, and never would, were he still alive. She bended the knee. Bended her knee to the dragon queen and swore loyalty, in exchange for the lives of her mother, her father's men, and their family.
Her father's men – she thought of them as that still, years after his death, and years after she had betrayed his wish. "The king made me swear to avenge his death, and put you on the Iron Throne, my queen," Justin Massey had pleaded, to no avail. There had been too many deaths, too much bloodshed, too many bodies burned, for R'hllor and by the dragons.
Shireen was allowed to inherit Storm's End, but not Dragonstone. "I will not take away what had been the Baratheon seat since the days of Aegon's conquest. Orys Baratheon was a loyal general and a wise counsel to the first Aegon Targaryen. You will be the Lady of Storm's End, but not Dragonstone," the queen declared. "Dragonstone belongs to the Targaryen. Your father took it by force, like your traitor uncle took the throne by force."
Took it by force. Traitor. Shireen stifled the sudden urge to laugh, an angry, mirthless laugh. Everyone took something by force, one way or the other. They were all traitors, to one person or another. She was only sixteen, but wearied and jaded beyond her years.
She was not to marry without the queen's express permission. The queen feared the coming together of the Great Houses, it was soon clear, for she forbade matches after matches, not just for Shireen, but for all the heirs and heiresses of the Great Houses.
"If the queen would not agree to my lady marrying a Stark or a Tyrell, then my lady should consider one of your own loyal bannermen." The stormlords took to haranguing Shireen to marry their sons or brothers, their heirs. The competition was fierce, for they believed that whoever married her would be the true ruler of the stormlands.
There was only one heir she wished to marry, but she knew she could not choose him, or any other heirs to the stormlords. To elevate one over the others was to invite disaster.
And truth be told, she had no wish to be a mere figurehead, for a husband to rule in her name.
She stayed unmarried, ruling in her own right as the Lady of Storm's End. The Storm Maiden, some took to calling her. The Barren Lady, the more cruel ones said, like the Barren Queen sitting on the Iron Throne.
"A lord would know to do his duty. To marry and produce an heir," some of the stormlords took to grumbling. "A lord would never have bended the knee to the usurper queen," they soon took to whispering. "She is only a woman, poor soul. They are never meant to rule over men and the realm."
Never mind that Shireen had saved their lives and their lands by bending the knee. Never mind that peace, if not truly prosperity, had reigned in the stormlands and the whole realm since that other woman had ascended to the Iron Throne. They wanted a man ruling Storm's End, and they wanted a man on the Iron Throne.
It started with copies of a letter nailed to septs all over the stormlands. A letter purportedly from the late King Stannis Baratheon, legitimizing his brother's bastard son Edric Storm, and naming him his heir. Heir to Storm's End, Dragonstone, and the Iron Throne.
A forgery, those loyal to the Lady of Storm's End shouted. King Stannis had no love for his brother's bastard, (or for any bastard, some whispered), nor would he ever take away what was his daughter's by right.
The handwriting was not her father's, of that Shireen was convinced. And so was Devan, who would know better than most, having been King Stannis' squire. But the plotters had never claimed King Stannis wrote the letter by his own hand – it was some maester or other, the identity changed with each telling of the story – only that it had been written by his command, and signed and sealed with his name.
"Signatures can be forged easily," Devan told her, when she took out the few letters her father had written her to compare the signature with the one on the offending letter.
That her father had resented Edric was not news to Shireen. It was clear enough from his treatment of the boy when Edric was staying at Dragonstone. It had troubled and saddened her as a child, that her father had not relished Cousin Edric's presence at Dragonstone as Shireen had. But if that was the case, Shireen wondered now, why did he send Edric away just before they departed to the Wall? Could it be to keep Edric safe, until the war was won and her father had won the throne?
Her father was a man adamant about doing his duty, no matter how unpleasant or distasteful he found it to be. Perhaps he believed that it was his duty to have a male as the Baratheon heir, and having failed to produce a son of his own, his late brother's acknowledged bastard would have to do, even if he despised the boy himself.
Perhaps that truly was my father's wish, she confided her fear to Devan, and Devan alone.
Devan was incensed with her doubts. "How could you even think that your lord father would have wished it? He told Ser Justin to hire sellswords, and made him swear to avenge his death and put you on the Iron Throne. Why did he do that if he never intended for you to succeed him?"
"Perhaps that was only to keep Edric safe," Shireen replied. "If no one suspected that Edric was the real heir, then –"
"He wanted Edric to die," Devan interrupted. "For what he was convinced is the greater good. My father spirited Edric away, out of the king's reach. Your father never sent Edric away, to keep him safe or for any other reason."
Shireen was speechless. A sacrifice to the red god. Was that what Devan was telling her?
"So you see, it is not at all possible that King Stannis had legitimized Edric, or ever meant for Edric to succeed him."
You should have told me this long before, she wanted to rail. But she didn't. She knew why he had kept his tongue silent on the matter. She was not the only one who had loved her father, to the puzzlement of many.
'Heir to the Iron Throne' were the words that ultimately doomed the plotters and conspirators, before their plan had time to mature. If only they had been content with making Edric Lord of Storm's End. But they had bigger ambitions, flew higher and wished for the moon and the stars, and therefore crashed to the ground a lot sooner. The queen might have overlooked a threat to Shireen's rule in the stormlands, but she would never overlook a threat to her own rule over the Seven Kingdoms.
Edric was arrested along with the conspiring lords and knights, and they were all hastily tried in King's Landing and found guilty of treason, for which death was the only possible sentence. Shireen went to King's Landing to beg for Edric's life. She owed him that much at least, after what her father had wanted done to him.
The queen refused to budge. "They are claiming now that there was never any plan to unseat you as the Lady of Storm's End, only for Edric to marry you, for he has loved you since you were children playing in Aegon's Garden. Love," the queen scoffed, her tone withering. "An unlikely tale. Even if he does mean to marry you, more likely it is to beget an heir by you, for the satisfaction of those who do not believe the tale about him being your father's true and legitimate heir. What do you think your fate would have been after you have given him a son? Death, I'm sure, so he can then rule as his infant son's regent."
Shireen could not get a word in. The queen continued, "You must marry, to prevent more schemes and plots like this one. I have chosen a groom for you. A most loyal man who would never dream of usurping your rightful position.
Or yours, Shireen thought.
There would be no reprieve for Edric and the stormlords who plotted with him. They were put to death even before Shireen's betrothal to Jorah Mormont was announced. Her betrothal to a man older than Shireen's father would have been, were he still living.
There had always been stories about Jorah Mormont and the queen, since the day Daenerys Targaryen first set foot in the Seven Kingdoms. That Jorah loved the queen was never in any doubt, not to anyone who had seen the way he looked at her, or spoke to her. The queen's own feeling was less clear, an intense fodder for rumors and speculations. She had been married twice before to foreign men from foreign shores, but both husbands had died before she ever reached the shores of Westeros. There were stories that she had loved another man, one whose identity was shrouded in mystery, but this man had died too, the story went.
The more romantic tales claimed that she did not wish to wed Jorah Mormont, or even return his affection, for fear that he would die as well, like her two husbands and the mystery man she had once loved. The more cynical tales spoke of Jorah's wife, a lady of House Hightower, believed to be still living. Nothing was heard of her for many years, not by her family, not by anyone. He had done away with her long ago to leave himself free for the queen, darker tales insisted.
Years passed, and the queen did not wed Jorah Mormont, or any other man. And suddenly Jorah Mormont had a wife once more. The lady Lynesse of House Hightower, claiming her rightful position next to Lord Jorah Mormont, his sins and crimes under Robert Baratheon's reign long ago pardoned, a trusted member of the queen's council.
He could have set her aside for good cause, some said. The rumors were plentiful. She had abandoned him when he took flight from Westeros. She had been a whore, and had brought many men to her bed with impunity. She had been a mistress to a rich merchant, and bore the merchant a bastard son.
She died, not three days after arriving in King's Landing and reuniting with her not-so-joyful husband. Of an illness caught during the journey to Westeros, some said. Of poison, muttered others darkly. Lord Jorah murdered his lady wife to pave the way to marry the queen and rule as king. The queen murdered Lynesse Hightower to have the man she loved all to herself. Lord Jorah and the queen conspired to murder the poor woman for she held many secrets of their dark past. Whispers and rumors flourished, of evil deeds and dark portents.
The queen certainly could not marry him now, if she had ever entertained any thought to do so. She was a queen who claimed that the throne was hers by right, as the last true-born Targaryen, but who in the eyes of many won her throne by right of conquest. Two of her dragons had died, only one remained; her power was not what it had been when she won the throne. It was to silence the rumors and the whispers, and to smother any thought of open rebellion that she banished Jorah Mormont from court, marrying him off to Lady Baratheon the Storm Maiden. In doing so, she also ensured that she would have a loyal spy in Lady Baratheon's household, in the event the lady was ever foolish enough to entertain any thoughts of the throne once more.
In this, the queen was unfairly slandering the Lady Baratheon, for the good lady had a deep aversion to war and more pointless deaths, after witnessing so many.
Shireen wed, bedded her husband as was her duty, produced an heir and a spare as was her duty, and gave birth to three daughters besides. Jorah Mormont was known to be the queen's man, suspected to be the queen's spy by many, and none in the stormlands trusted him to rule in his wife's name. So Lady Baratheon ruled in her own right, a figurehead to no man.
She went to King's Landing very rarely. The queen was content to let Shireen rule her land quietly, as long as taxes were paid to the crown's coffer promptly, and no rumbling of a rebellion against the throne was ever heard. Her husband was kind and gentle, offering his advice and counsel only when she asked for them, seemingly content to be a doting father to their growing brood. He jested that he was old enough to be their grandfather, which of course he was. In darker moments, he wondered if he would live long enough to see any of them wed. He died peacefully in his bed, surrounded by his wife and children, three days after the birth of his first grandson. He had been, if not happy, at least content, Shireen believed.
He never stopped loving the queen. Shireen forgave him that. She had never stopped loving Devan, and even if they never spoke of that, or of his love for the queen, Shireen knew Jorah would have forgiven her too. They had made a life together, she and Jorah, despite everything, with what remained of their hearts. If they had been disloyal to one another, it was only in their hearts of hearts, only in thoughts, never in words or deeds.
The queen never married. When the lords finally conceded that no amount of pleading or haranguing was going to convince the queen to take a husband, they proceeded to beg her to name a successor. She kept her own counsel, until she was ailing herself, after the death of her last dragon. She summoned Shireen to court.
"I will not wage war for the throne after your death, Your Grace," Shireen assured her. There was no reason to dissemble; they both knew the queen was not long for this world.
"Your son might," the queen retorted. "I had hoped to name my brother's son as my heir, to legitimize him in the eyes of gods and men and make him king after my death. But he refuses time and time again to leave the Night's Watch. He could never abandon his vows, he claims. But I know better. He still misguidedly believes that he is a child of rape, that my brother forced himself on Lyanna Stark. He wants nothing to do with his Targaryen heritage." The queen paused. "How could he believe such cruel lies about my gentle brother? He would not have believed such lies if he had known his father."
You never knew your brother Rhaegar either, Shireen thought. "Whoever you name as your heir, I will swear an oath of loyalty to him, as I did once to you, Your Grace."
"Your Grace," the queen repeated. "You have never addressed me as 'my queen.' Not once."
Shireen said nothing. There was nothing to say, and they both knew it.
"I did you a great kindness once by marrying you to Jorah Mormont. Oh yes, I sent him there to spy on you and the stormlords. But everyone in the stormlands knew that, so they were content for you to rule in your own right, not as a mere figurehead to your lord husband, as it would be if you had been married to anyone else."
"I am grateful, Your Grace," Shireen said, and was surprised to realize that she meant it.
"I don't want your gratitude," the queen said dismissively. "I will name you my heir, but only because you are the closest thing to a Targaryen in the land. You will accept the throne not as the daughter of Stannis Baratheon, or as the niece of the usurper Robert Baratheon, but as the great-granddaughter of Rhaelle Targaryen, and the great-great-granddaughter of King Aegon V Targaryen."
"I have no wish –"
"There will be another war if I do not name a satisfactory successor. You bended the knee once to prevent more bloodshed. You will ascend to the throne now for the same reason."
It was a command, not a request. But she could refuse the queen, like Jon Snow had refused Her Grace.
She would not. She knew she would not refuse, even before the queen had given the command.
Father, I will sit the Iron Throne, as was your wish. He would not have condoned her means of getting there, but she had long forgiven him that.