"The child is very ill, my lord." It was Cressen's voice, always his voice, time and time again.

Which child?


"Careful with his head, Stannis!"

"I can hold a child without dropping it, Robert."

"It?" Robert said, incredulous. "He's a boy, not an it."

Exasperated, Stannis started, "I only meant –"

Robert interrupted. "He looks just like me, doesn't he, Father?"

Stannis studied the infant in his arms intently. "He looks just like any other newborn," he pronounced, after careful inspection.

"He has the Baratheon blue eyes," Steffon said.

"What will you name him, Father?" Robert asked.

"Your mother was certain she was carrying a girl this time. We had even agreed on a name for your sister. Alas, we must pick another name now, for your little brother."

"May I choose his name?" Robert asked eagerly. "Renly," he declared, before Steffon had given his reply. "Renly Baratheon. Is that not a glorious name? Then my brother and I will have the same initials."

"Why should our brother care if he has the same initial as yours?" Stannis scoffed, but deep down, he was secretly relieved. He had been expecting Robert to insist on Eddard, in honor of Ned Stark. The last thing he needed was for that name to be bandied about in Storm's End. Robert did it often enough in his letters and on his visits home.

"Renly," Steffon mused. Kissing his newborn's son on the brow, he said, "Do you like that name, my little one?" The baby made a gurgling noise.

"He likes that name," Robert declared. "See how he laughs so."

Stannis was about to say that it was not a laugh, only the incomprehensible noises that babies were prone to make, but Steffon forestalled the argument between the two brothers by saying, "Renly it is, then."

It was only after his mother and father were dead that Stannis thought to wonder about that daughter who never was, and the name they had once chosen for her.

Cressen knew. "Shireen," he told Stannis. "They would have named the child Shireen, if it had been a girl. Lady Cassana embroidered scarves and mittens with that name." Hesitating, Cressen finally asked, "Would you like to see them? They are kept in your lady mother's chest of drawers still."

"No," Stannis declined firmly.


"Our daughter has your eyes, husband," Selyse had written to Stannis in King's Landing. "Her eyes are of a paler shade of blue than your own, it is true, but I am certain they will grow darker as she grows older."

"What kind of a father are you, that you would miss the birth of your first child?" Robert had asked, incredulous.

"The kind who is too busy doing his duty as your Master of Ships, fortifying your fleet against the Greyjoy threat," Stannis retorted. The Greyjoys were primarily a naval power, Stannis had been trying his hardest to convince Robert. They must first be defeated at sea, before they can be defeated on dry land.

And what did Robert know about being present for his first child's birth in any case, Stannis grumbled. Robert left the Red Keep to hunt boars the moment Cersei took to her childbed for Joffrey's birth.

"Name her Shireen," Stannis wrote, in reply to Selyse's query about their daughter's name. He made no mention about the origin of that name, how it had come about in the first place.

"Shireen is a beautiful name," Selyse wrote back. "When the gods finally see fit to bless us with a son, we shall call him Steffon, after your lord father. It will be a perfect fit with Stannis, Selyse and Shireen." She made no mention about the origin of babies, sons or otherwise, and how any child was impossible to come about when the husband and wife were miles and leagues away, and apart, rarely sharing a bed.

"The child is very ill, my lord."

"You assured me not two days ago that he is only teething, that it is common for a babe to take ill with a slight fever at such a time."

"It is not common for the fever to be this high, or to last this long," Cressen said, brows furrowing, worry and anxiety etched deeply on his face.

What do you expect me to do? You're the maester! But Stannis was the brother, the flesh and blood, the guardian of the orphan child whose oldest brother was at the Eyrie, 'learning how to be a good lord,' as Robert had put it. Gallivanting and getting into scrapes, more likely, Stannis thought, based on the boastful content of Robert's letters.

"Should I write to Lord Robert?" Cressen asked.

"I will write to Robert myself," Stannis replied. Not that it would do any good. "Can you do nothing else for Renly? Surely there must be more you can do," he urged the maester, finally betraying his own anxiety.

"I have done all I can, my lord. The rest is up to –"

Do not say it, Stannis willed, silently. Do not say the Mother's mercy, or the Father's –

"- the rest is up to the gods," Cressen continued, meeting Stannis' furious glare with a look full of compassion. Compassion, but not understanding; for the maester had failed to understand that Stannis' fury at the gods was not something that was likely to fade with the passage of time, with the subsiding of his grief.

"I will not have it! Your skills, your learning and your potions will save Renly. You will save my brother, Maester. You will not leave it to any god."

"My lord –"

"Any god monstrous enough to drown a father and a mother while their sons stood watching would be more than willing to snatch the life of an innocent child, only months after he was orphaned."

When Stannis visited the nursery later that day, he found the wet nurse rocking Renly to sleep in her arms, singing softly under her breath.

"I know that song," Stannis said, startled to recognize the words.

Her voice low, so as not to disturb the sleeping child, the nurse replied, "You would, my lord. My mother used to sing it to her own children, and to all the babes she nursed."

"You're Dalla's daughter?" Stannis recalled a plump woman with long brown hair, and the smell of freshly-baked bread. Dalla's husband had been a baker. There were many children, most of them daughters.

"I am, my lord."

"What is your name?"

She hesitated, looking uneasy. Stannis frowned. Surely it was not such a hard question to answer, your own name? His mother had engaged this woman to be Renly's wet nurse, so Lady Cassana must have found her trustworthy. And yet, why was she hesitating to tell Stannis her name?

"What is your name?" Stannis repeated the question, his tone harsher this time.

Finally lifting her eyes to meet Stannis' gaze, she replied, "Cassana, my lord. My mother named me after your kind and gracious lady mother. But I am called Cass."

Cassana. Of course. To curry favor, no doubt, Stannis scoffed. He was learning how the game was played, from the highest of lords to the lowest of the smallfolks.

"It was not done to flatter or to curry favor, my lord," Cass protested, even though Stannis had not spoken the words aloud.

Your face tells all, Stannis. You must learn not to show your disdain and your contempt so openly and so clearly.

Too late now, Mother. I am what I am, and you are not here to show me otherwise.

"Lady Cassana was very kind and generous to our family," Cass continued. "My mother was wet nurse to you and Lord Robert both, after she gave birth to her youngest, my only brother. Anything that was given you and Lord Robert – food, drink, potion, tonic – Lady Cassana made sure that my brother was given them too. And when my brother took very ill a few years later, Lady Cassana sent Maester Cressen to treat him, even though my mother was no longer in her service by then."

"Did he live, your brother?"

"Oh yes, my lord. Maester Cressen's medicine made him better." Her eyes gazing at the child in her arms, Cass said, her voice soft, "Your brother will be better too, soon. I know it."

"No one knows. Even the maester doesn't," Stannis said, bitterly.

"His fever is down already. See for yourself."

Renly's forehead was cool to the touch, Stannis confirmed. The look of relief on his face was unmistakable. "Would you like to hold him, my lord?" Cass asked. Then, sensing Stannis' hesitation, she said, "You will not break him, you know."

"I have held him in my arms before," Stannis protested. Not since their mother and father died, though. He had not picked up the child since that day. The eyes held him back, every time. Those blue eyes on that guileless face in the cradle, already asking questions Renly would not be able to articulate for a few years more, at least. Questions Stannis would not know how to answer, when the time came, no matter how much time he had to prepare for them.


Gazing intently at the child he was cradling in his arms, Stannis recognized the square jutting jaw Shireen had inherited from her father, and the Florent ears she had inherited from her mother, features which would only become more prominent as she grew older. The child was born already possessing of unfortunate features deemed not pleasing in the eyes of many, even before the greyscale added its own brand of disfigurement.

She lived; that was all that mattered, he knew.

Her life would not be an easy one, he knew that all too well.

Her eyes opened, startling Stannis. He waited for her to cry, but she stayed quiet. The eyes closed again. She slept the strangely peaceful sleep of a child who had escaped death, narrowly. He brought his head down closer to her scarred cheek, staring at the stiff flesh and the cracked, flaking skin. Holding his breath, he touched her cheek with his palm.

Memory flashed. The cold, stony feel of his daughter's cheek reminded him of something else.

His hand on his mother's cheek, after she was drowned.

But that was only a dream. In waking life, Cassana's body had been too decomposed when it was finally washed ashore for her sons to be allowed to touch her, or even to see her.

This was not a dream. This was his daughter, his living daughter, still alive, if not altogether well.

"The flesh is dead," Cressen had told Stannis and Selyse, referring to the grey mottled skin running from Shireen's cheek down to her neck. "She will not feel any pain there," Cressen continued, trying to reassure the anxious parents.

"She will not feel anything there," Selyse had retorted in reply, not soothed by Cressen's attempt at comfort and reassurance. "Not our touch, our kiss, not anything. She will feel nothing there!"

"You must touch her on the other cheek, where she can feel it, and know that she is loved," Selyse said now, her voice calmer. How long had she been watching him? His wife moved so quietly and stealthily though the castle like a ghostly presence, since their daughter's illness. Bending down, Selyse kissed Shireen on her brow, her nose, and finally her cheek – the side with the living flesh, where she could still feel.


"I won't eat that! I won't!" Renly shouted, folding his hands over his chest.

"You must eat, Renly," Stannis insisted. Maester Cressen, great uncle Harbert, his nurse, the cook, the maids, all had failed to convince the boy to eat.

"It's disgusting! I am not going to eat rats. They are dirty, disgusting animals scurrying around in dark corners eating dirty and disgusting things." He paused, before inspiration struck. "Babies," he declared. "They eat babies, that's what rats do."

You could fault Renly for many things, but lack of imagination was not one of them. He could spin an elaborate and colorful yarn from almost anything, it seemed.

"Rats don't eat babies. And babies are not dirty and disgusting. You were a baby once," Stannis pointed out.

This piece of logic failed to move the boy.

"You will die if you don't eat," Stannis warned, alarmed, counting the ribs beneath Renly's nightshirt.

"I don't care! You can feed me to the rats when I am dead. Then you will have bigger and fatter rats to eat. Or even better, you can eat me and forget about the rats altogether. I must taste a lot better than those disgusting rats. You can make me into a stew, with onions. Only we don't have any onion in the kitchen, but I suppose turnips might do, if we have that. Or -"

Stannis slapped him. Renly was too stunned to cry, at first. No one had ever laid a hand on him before. He stared at Stannis, his eyes round and large, tears pooling in his shining eyes.

"Don't you ever talk like that again!"

Renly wailed.

"You are not going to die. Do you hear me? You will eat this soup even if I have to pry your mouth open with my bare hands."

Renly wailed even louder. "I want Robert!" He shouted, between hitching sobs.

"Robert is not here."

"I hate you!"

"You can hate me all you want, but you will still eat this soup. Now open your mouth," Stannis ordered.

"I want to die," Renly sobbed. He was trying to shout, but he was clearly tiring, and his voice came out thin and reedy. "I want to die and go live with Mother and Father and not be hungry all the time, or eat horrible things and watch my kittens and my ponies be killed."

"Enough, Renly," Stannis warned.

"You made me eat Thunderbolt!" That was the worst of Stannis' sins, the accusing look on Renly's face seemed to be saying.

"We slaughtered many horses that day, my own horse among them, not just your pony. We have to feed the people in the castle, Renly, or they will die. And you must eat even if you dislike the food, or you will die. Do you understand that?"

"What happens when the rats are all gone?" Renly asked.

Stannis said nothing. They had eaten all the other animals within the castle walls. The horses were all gone; so were the dogs and the cats. Robert was far away fighting his battles, and Stannis had made a solemn promise to his older brother that he would hold Storm's End, no matter what.

"Stannis?" Renly called out, his voice small, a scared, hungry little boy too exhausted to pretend to be anything else at the moment. "I don't really want to die," he confessed. "Mother and Father might not even know me, if I go to them now. Not like you and Robert and Maester Cressen and everyone here know me. I was a little baby when Mother and Father went away. They might be … confused. Who is this boy? Why is he so tall?"

They will not be confused, Stannis almost snapped. They cannot feel anything, think anything, do anything, be anywhere, because they are dead. It is not a place you can visit, death. But looking at his brother's tear-stained face, he only said, "You are not going to die. I won't let you."

"If I eat that horrible soup, do you promise I will live?"

Stannis only nodded, not saying a word, as if that made the lie more excusable. You will live another day, that is all that matters for now. He handed the bowl with the soup to Renly, who spied the bits of meat floating in it with distaste unmistakable in his eyes. Renly slurped a spoonful of the broth, but avoided the meat like a plague. He could not hope to survive on broth alone.

"You must eat the meat, Renly," Stannis said.

"Not a rat, not a rat, not a rat," Renly repeated, over and over again. It was a game of his that Stannis very much disapproved, in normal circumstances - this play-acting, this pretending that a thing was not what it really was, but something entirely different, something that existed only in Renly's imagination. I am a rain god, I am a king, I am a dragon, anything but what he really was, a motherless and fatherless boy, lonely and often scared.

But this, after all, was far from normal circumstances.

"That is seagull meat," Stannis said, willing Renly to take a bite.

"Why seagull?" Renly asked.

"Our lady mother craved seagull, when she was carrying you in her belly. She would eat no other meat. Father shot down the seagulls himself."

Renly took a bite. "This seagull meat is delicious," he declared, not quite smiling.


"Who gave you those candles, Father?"

A boy who loved to pretend. A man who was still a boy, in many ways. A brother who was loved, despite all appearances to the contrary.


"It was never meant for Shireen."

"It was meant for me. Because you want to be king, now."

"It was never meant to kill. I am not a kinslayer!"

"Then what is your scheme? To make me so gravely ill that you can rule the realm as Regent?"

"No, only to ensure that you could not father any more children. That you could not produce a son; that is the only thing that matters, truly. Why should we wish to harm Shireen? A daughter will not inherit the Iron Throne before a brother, that is the law. And everyone knows what a stickler for the law you are, Stannis. You will not bend the law even for your own daughter's sake, not if you believe that I mean to stay loyal to you."

"We? Tell me the names of the others."

"Does it matter? You were the one who gave the candles to Shireen."

"Don't you dare turn this into my doing!"

"You gave the candles to Shireen. I would not have harmed your daughter."

"Why should I believe you? You have no great love for her, for your own niece. You mock her often enough, behind my back. Do not think me so ignorant, Renly."

"You cannot distinguish mockery from actual harm, Stannis. That has always been a grave failing of yours. Words are wind, brother. It is foolish to take them too much to heart."

"Do not call me your brother! You almost killed my daughter."

"Ah yes, your precious daughter. Who was it who saved her life? Who was it who told Cressen the name of the substance, so that he could prescribe her the cure?"

"Do you expect my gratitude? Even you could not be as stupid and lacking in sense as that."

"I could have stayed silent. I could have said nothing."

"I already knew, before you opened your mouth."

"You suspected. You did not know. And you certainly did not know what was used. She might not have died, of course – a grown man would not have died after all – but then again, she is only a child, and a sickly one at that."

"She is not sickly! Not before you and your fellow schemers and conspirators made her ill. Which Tyrells, Renly? Margaery? Her father? Her mother? Her grandmother? All of them together?"

"This is getting very tedious, Stannis. You always were such a bore."

"Or is it your precious Loras?"

"Leave him out of this! He has nothing to do with this."

"Why should I take your word for it?"

"If you harm Loras in any way, I swear to all the gods old and new –"

"If he is guilty, then he must be punished."

"He is not!"

"He will be questioned and examined, like the other Tyrells."

"Too late, Stannis. You will find that all the rats have already deserted the sinking ship."

"Not Loras. He was demanding to see you, just before I came here."

"You will not touch one hair on his head, do you hear me?! You should be on your knees, thanking him. You owe your daughter's life to Loras."

"Why, exactly?"

"Because I told him a story about two brothers and a seagull, once. Loras reminded me of that story, when I was determined to keep my silence."