Inspired by this scene from The Sworn Sword:
"When the king named Lord Bloodraven his Hand, your lord father refused to be part of his council and departed King's Landing for his own seat," he reminded Egg. "He has been at Summerhall for a year, and half of another. What do you call that, if not sulking?"
"I call it being wroth," Egg declared loftily. "His Grace should have made my father Hand. He's his brother, and the finest battle commander in the realm since Uncle Baelor died."
He was younger than Cousin Tommen, Lord Velaryon's son and heir. 'Monty', Shireen had heard his lady mother calling him during one of the rare feasts held in Dragonstone. But Shireen was not to call him by that shortened name, her own lady mother had reminded her. "Call him Monterys, or better yet, my lord of Velaryon. He is a supercilious little beast, according to his nursemaid, liable to throw a tantrum fit to bring the castle down if anything upsets him, or if he does not get his way."
Monterys Velaryon - Monty to his mother - was not looking like a little beast at the moment. He looked overwhelmed, even scared. Shireen felt very bad for him, though all her efforts to reassure and comfort him so far had been met with less than favorable response. She did not know what else she could do. Perhaps if she had been an older sister, she would have known better how to make this little boy feel better.
"When will my father be back?" Monterys asked, for the third time. "Where did he go?" he fretted.
His father was in the Chamber of the Painted Table with her own father, Shireen patiently and gently explained to Monterys, for the third time. "He will be back to fetch you soon enough, I am sure. Would you like to hear another story while you wait for him?" she offered.
They were supposed to be playing together, Shireen and Monterys. but not outside the castle. Lord Velaryon was convinced that the grounds outside the castle was full of dangerous creatures just waiting to pounce and harm his son and heir. Even the inside of Dragonstone was suspect. Monterys' nursemaid was stationed just outside the door of the room in which he and Shireen were playing, presumably ready to snatch the boy away at the first sign of any danger.
"Why does he even bother bringing the boy with him, if he has so many concerns and reservations about Dragonstone?" Shireen's mother had grumbled about Lord Velaryon. But alas, Mother had continued, guests were guests and must be welcomed and treated accordingly.
This particular guest was making the transition from scared and overwhelmed to rude and cranky. He sighed and rolled his eyes when Shireen started telling him another story, this one about the storm queen who rode a stag to battle. He put his hands over his ears when Shireen switched to reading stories aloud from a book, instead of telling him the stories of her own creation. He played with the food, even going to the extent of destroying the exquisite and beautiful spun sugar treats Cook had painstakingly made to resemble seahorses, in honor of Lord Velaryon's visit. He crushed the spun sugar seahorses into little pieces, before dumping those pieces into the jug containing the honey lemon water.
"It is not sweet enough," he said, with a smirk, when Shireen finally noticed what he was doing.
It was more than sweet enough, Shireen knew. There was more honey than lemon in the drink. In fact, there was hardly any lemon in it at all. Her father would have scoffed at this drink being called any kind of lemon water.
He is a guest, Shireen reminded herself. He is only six, only a little boy. A scared little boy pretending to be brave by acting out. She must be kind to him, the way she would have wanted a little brother or a little sister of hers to be treated kindly by others, to be comforted when they were scared or lonely.
Putting down the book she had been reading aloud for Monterys' benefit, Shireen said, "Shall we play a game now? I like monsters and maidens best. Which game do you like best?"
"Any game I don't have to play with silly, silly girls," Monterys replied, scowling.
"Girls are not silly," Shireen protested. "And I am not silly. Tell me, what have I done to make you think I am silly?"
Monterys looked uncomfortable, as if he was not used to being challenged, to have to defend his accusations. "Well, you ... you ..." he halted, suddenly lost for words. He looked down at his feet, at the symmetrical pattern on the rug, at anything other than Shireen. Then, inspiration must have struck. Looking up, he declared, triumphantly, "You told me our fathers were in the Chamber of the Painted Table discussing ships and trade routes. They are not. Even I know that, and I am younger than you. Only a silly girl would think our fathers are talking about ships."
Hands folded over her chest, Shireen demanded, "And I suppose you think you know what they are really discussing?"
"Certainly," Monterys declared. "My father is telling your father to stop sulking in Dragonstone. That is what your father is doing, sulking. He is a sulker, a great big sulker," said the boy who was looking particularly sulky himself.
"He is not! You take that back. You take that back right now," Shireen demanded. "My father is not a sulker. You take that back right now, Monterys Velaryon!"
"Why should I? Why should I take it back, when is it the truth?" he replied, obstinately.
"It is not. It most certainly is not the truth,'" Shireen declared, indignantly.
"My father said your father refused to return to King's Landing to take his place in the small council because the king made someone else his Hand. My mother said your father wanted to be Hand, but he is not Hand, so now he is sulking like a little boy whose favorite toy has been taken away from him."
Toy? How could being Hand of the King, a position with countless duties and responsibilities, with a burden too heavy to carry for some, be compared to a toy? Shireen could tell from the way Monterys was saying 'Hand' that he did not truly understand what the word really meant in this instance. Perhaps he thought it was merely some kind of reward or gift. When Shireen pointed this out to him, he grew more belligerent, saying, "Well, I know that your father has never spent much time in Dragonstone before, but now he has been here for months and months. What do you call that if not sulking?"
"I call it being angry. Rightfully angry. My father should have been Hand of the King after Lord Arryn's death."
"Why? Just because he is the king's brother?"
"No, because he is the most qualified to be Hand. Because he would have done the best job. My father spent years in King's Landing managing the realm with Lord Arryn. No one else alive knows and understands the duties and responsibilities of Hand like my father. Even Lord Arryn said he hoped my father would be Hand of the King after him. I heard him say it with my own ears, when I was visiting my father in King's Landing."
Shireen went on for a long time, listing her arguments and emphasizing her points, forcefully and passionately. Finally, Monterys said, "I was only repeating the things I heard." He whined, "You don't have to be so angry."
Shireen took a deep breath, calming herself. Then, in gentler voice, she said, "I am not angry. Well ... I was angry, but I am not anymore. I am only -"
"Defending your father?"
Shireen nodded.
"Your father will be ever so pleased, when you tell him. He will say, what a good daughter I have, and you have made me proud, Shireen," Monterys said, sounding almost envious.
Would he, though? Would her father be pleased? Shireen was not certain of that. Perhaps her father would say, I do not need a child to defend me.
Or perhaps he would scoff, I do not need any defending at all from baseless rumors and scurrilous words.
Monterys held out his hand to Shireen. Slowly, haltingly, he said, "Can we still be friends? I am sorry I called your father a sulker. And i did not mean to call you silly. You are not silly at all. You are ... well, you are ... you are marvelous!"
Shireen took the hand he extended, not because he had called her marvelous, but because he looked so hopeful and expectant, yet so apprehensive at the same time. "I suppose we could try being friends," Shireen said.
"Can we play monsters and maidens now? And you can call me Monty if you like," he offered, shyly.
Perhaps she and Monty could really be friends after all, Shireen thought, while they were playing together. Most boys with whom she played monster and maidens expected her to be the maiden, but Monty was happy enough for Shireen to be the monster chasing him. He even promised that he would never again randomly accuse all girls of being silly.
Later, after Lord Velaryon and his son had left Dragonstone, her father would unexpectedly ask, "Did you quarrel with that Velaryon boy?"
Shireen winced. He started it! was hardly a dignified response for a girl her age. And she did not want to get Monty in trouble.
"We disagreed on certain matters, but it was only a temporary state of affair. We are the best of friends now, Father," Shireen carefully replied, borrowing some of her mother's phrases.
The corners of Father's mouth twitched, as if he was about to laugh, or at least smile. But he coughed instead, clearing his throat before gravely saying, "You will hear many things about your father, Shireen. Not all of them will be true."
"I know!" Shireen exclaimed. "I know that you are not sulking in Dragonstone, no matter what people like Lord Velaryon are saying. I - oh -" Shireen gasped, putting her hand over her mouth.
"I expect that Velaryon boy has been parroting his father's words. The boy is not to blame. It is nothing I have not heard before. I know what Monford Velaryon and his ilks have been saying behind my back. The only surprise is, Velaryon turns out to be as cowardly as the rest. He does not dare say to my face what he has been saying behind my back. The most he would venture was, "Perhaps Lord Stannis should consider returning to KIng's Landing to resume your duty." Duty! As if I needed a lesson on duty from the likes of him. And the man is not privy to all my reasons for staying away from court. He does not yet know all that I know."
"I know that Uncle Robert should have made you his Hand, Father," Shireen said, though the thought of her father leaving again was unbearable. If Father is Hand, he will not be in Dragonstone. He will not be here with us, with me. The equation was simple, but her feelings were anything but. She wanted Father to be Hand, because that was what Father wanted, what he deserved, but she also wanted her father to be home, to be with her and Mother.
Her father was staring at her. He asked, "Do you really know it to be the truth, or are you merely parroting your father's words, like Monterys Velaryon was parroting his father's words?"
"I knew it long before I ever heard you saying it, Father."
"Shireen."
"Yes, Father?"
"You must not feel that it is always your duty to defend me from any and all accusations, no matter the circumstances."
"Why? Because you do not need a child to defend you?"
"Because a child of mine deserves better than having to spend her life defending her father."