The cold wind lashed against Shireen's cheeks, no doubt berating her for each and every foolish and almost mad decision she made in the last three days alone. Would Steffon have done what I did? Would Father?

Against her better judgement, Shireen had decided to stay at Haystack Hall.

Against her better judgement, Shireen had sent out a flurry of letters to all the storm lords…with the help of Haystack Hall's maester, Gylbar.

And against her better judgement, Shireen had taken up the irresponsible and reckless habit of staring out her chamber window every morning at dawn as well as every evening, no matter if it was a warm morning or a freezing cold night like this one. Being granted good health was a gift; wasting it by being ravished by an icy breeze was foolish. Yet Shireen was drawn to staring out the window. Not for a knight in shining armour, by the Seven no, but for Father's bannermen to show up with their troops.

For the last three days, not one storm lord had appeared. Not one reply either. In fact, nothing much had occurred except a tense argument with Lord Errol. "No, it must be a jest my lady!" Lord Sebastion Errol had protested, panic painted over his face. "You sentenced my whole family to death!"

"I did no such thing my lord," Shireen had responded calmly. "Surely the king, my cousin, will be delighted to hear the lords of the Stormlands have gathered in your castle to help plan rid the Seven Kingdoms of a pretender? He'll consider it a deed of loyalty, Lord Errol. Loyal lords will be rewarded, as you well know. I can also inform the king of how much you did for House Baratheon – healing my lord father, providing me, Lord Seaworth and his son Devan refuge and allowing lords of the Stormlands to plan under your protection and such – and good fortune will come your way. Your future child may be raised alongside the king's future child, or even be a squire for the king." She'd been careful not to mention a marriage; it was not her place to broker marriage pacts.

"That is quite a gamble my lady."

"You swore fealty to House Baratheon, Lord Errol." Shireen had forced herself to sound stern. "I always thought you an honourable man."

"I cannot promise my good-father will approve, my lady. Lord Penrose had ah, ancestors who were Targaryens or had the blood of the dragons and he had also fought for House Targaryen in the past. I…I will uphold my vows to the king, but I expect aid in arms and soldiers if Lord Penrose attacks my lands."

Shireen had thought that would be quite unlikely as Lord Errol's wife was the Lord of Parchments' granddaughter, but for the sake of placating Lord Errol, she had given him a nod of assent.

Sighing, Shireen turned away from the window, her cheeks cold and her heart heavy. What if it is a mistake, sending the letters? What if the lords had enough of Father and are ready to accept a new lord paramount? Shireen instantly brushed her worried thoughts aside. The storm lords – most of them – had been steadfast supporters of the Baratheons for years. They wouldn't abandon her father for an Essosi sellsword lord paramount…would they?

There was a quiet tap on the door. "My lady?"

Shireen froze. "Devan?" she called hesitantly.

The door creaked open and Shireen almost sighed with relief when she caught sight of Devan's familiar face.

"Devan," Shireen said again, more warmly yet still carefully. She walked to the door and opened it wider. "Is there news of my father?"

"Maester Gylbar said he is on the road to recovery," answered Devan, stepping back a little, "but Lord Baratheon is still…" He hesitated. "Under the effects of the milk of the poppy."

Shireen nodded. "I pray he will recover swiftly." It was her turn to pause. "Are you hear to um, tell me more…more news?"

"I've watched you over the last few days my lady." Devan's cheeks grew red by the yellowish glow from the torch in his hand. "You stare out the windows even if the weather is cold. Aren't you afraid of catching a fever my lady?"

"I was hoping there would be replies," Shireen admitted. "I didn't expect half a dozen lords to appear, but at least a raven or two, but none came. I'm afraid if we wait here any longer and no lord appears, Lord Errol will think his fellow lords of the Stormlands have joined the Targaryen cause." She faltered. "Lord Errol won't hesitate to sell us to the Targaryen pretender for protection and safety."

"Be patient, my lady. It takes time for lords to travel here. It isn't Storm's End." Devan smiled shyly. Shireen slowly nodded. What he said made sense. How did I not consider the lords' travel time? Of course it would take some lords, especially the marcher lords, Lords Trant and Estermont more than three days to travel to Haystack Hall. What of the closer lords? A voice whispered in Shireen's mind. It'd take less than three days for Lords Peasebury, Rogers and Buckler to journey here. The thought did not fuel Shireen's confidence.

"Thank you Devan," said Shireen, returning a smile. "You are loyal to Father – I will never forget it. You should rest though. Long days to come."

Devan dipped his head. "Good night my lady."

"Good night Devan." Shireen watched Devan Seaworth turn and slip away. She kept watching until the quivering yellow light from his candle shrunk into a little speck and then disappeared all together. Shireen softly closed the chamber door and looked at her bed. Might as well get some sleep, she contemplated. Hopefully good fortune would come and pay a visit tomorrow.


The sound of shouting shook Shireen awake from a fitful night's sleep. Bleary-eyed, Shireen stumbled out of bed and hurried straight to the window. Her eyes widened. Waiting in the courtyard were troops of men and horses. Errol men had ran this way and that way, taking horses to the stables and gesturing for the men to enter the castle, probably to the Great Hall.

Without wasting another second, Shireen swiftly changed into the dull yellow gown cinched at the waist with a plain black belt. Lady Errol had kindly given her a few dresses of her own. In gratitude, Shireen had worn them. However, as there would most likely be a meeting of sorts today, it would be only fitting for Shireen to be present in House Baratheon's colours.

Giving her hair a quick yet careful brush, Shireen left her chamber and walked to the Great Hall, butterflies fluttering wildly in her stomach.

"Lady Shireen," said Lord Errol, hurrying towards Shireen, his uncle marching behind him. "I did not expect to host all those soldiers! There's not enough grains, meat or preserves to feed all the men and for my household to survive winter! It is impossible! A few lords I can handle, but armies? Now the Targaryen pretender will be certain to turn his ire to Haystack Hall!"

"Once the Targaryen pretender's dead and his allies of the Reach subdued, it'll be guaranteed that some of their grains will go to you," Shireen said patiently. "I am grateful," she added, giving Lord Errol a smile. "I truly am, my lord." The Lord of Haystack Hall managed a tiny smile, his eyes clouded with anxiety. "How many lords are here?" asked Shireen, as the doors of the Great Hall came into sight. "I'd only glimpsed the banners of Houses Buckler, Fell and Peasebury." It felt strange to make inquiries to Lord Errol as it would frequently be the Onion Knight whom Shireen would direct her questions to.

"Lord Hasty's also here my lady," grunted Ser Stanwell. Shireen hid her look of astonishment. Over the last few days, Ser Stanwell Errol had not uttered a single word to her. Now he decides to speak to me? "As well as representatives from the noble Houses of Tarth and Grandison," Ser Stanwell finished. He glanced down at Shireen. "It seems your letters were somewhat effective, my lady."

The guards stationed outside the Great Hall pushed the doors opened. Shireen waited for Lord Errol and Ser Stanwell to enter before she herself went in. About three quarters of the Great Hall was filled with lords and soldiers. As Lord Errol made his way to the dais, Shireen followed, fully aware of people gawking at the greyscale-scarred part of her left cheek.

"My lords!" said Lord Errol loudly, once silence appeared in his hall. "I greet all of you to my home."

A tall, dark brown-haired man garbed in green and black stood up. He held up a rolled piece of parchment. "I received this message a little over three days ago," he announced. He looked at the parchment and read out clearly, "My lords of the Stormlands, as you are aware, my royal cousin, our rightful king, is defending the Iron Throne against the man claiming to be Aegon Targaryen. As the king's loyal vassals, it is our duty to aid His Grace in this time of war and conflict. In the name of my lord father Stannis of House Baratheon, Hand of the King, Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and my lord brother Lord Steffon of House Baratheon, I, Lady Shireen Baratheon, command you, my lord bannermen of the Stormlands, to raise your troops and march to Haystack Hall." He looked at Shireen in the eye. "I believe you wrote this, my lady?"

Shireen nodded. "I did, my lord…?"

"Harwood Fell, my lady."

"I did, my lord Fell." Shireen's eyes flickered to the other lords present before returning to Lord Fell. "You may claim that I have no right to send such a letter to you as I am a woman and I have two brothers, but I'm in the Stormlands and in a position to ensure we fulfil our duty to the king." She smiled. "I'm pleased that all of you have shown up with your men."

"We won't desert House Baratheon!" shouted another man. "We won't desert our king!" A dozen other men nodded in agreement.

"When will we march?"

"Who will lead us?"

"There's not enough time for us to wait for all the storm lords to gather here! I heard the sea is rough and the Estermonts have only started their journey here! I won't wait another week for them!"

Shireen watched helplessly as the lords and their soldiers began bickering. Oh, what would Father do? What would Steffon do in this situation? Writing a letter was much different to bellowing at the lords to be quiet. I have never screamed at anyone in my life before…

"QUIET!"

To Shireen's surprise, it was Ser Stanwell Errol who bellowed at the men. He'd most likely been a soldier or a general before. Ser Stanwell grunted at Shireen as if telling her to continue speaking.

"My lady," spoke another storm lord, standing up. "I admire your sincerity and staunch loyalty to King Orys, and you are bold to summon us. However, you are a woman. You have no experience on the battlefield and you have no knowledge of battle strategies and tactics let alone how to wield a sword and shield. It is not ah, only your gender that is a hindrance, but your um, age as well. You cannot lead a squadron of men into battle. You do not have the experience."

"My lady." A man with a nasty scar on his right cheek stood up. He was a little shorter than Lord Fell. "I, Lord Ralph Buckler, will be delighted to lead the armies into battle. My House and yours have always been close in the past, my lady."

"Lies!" roared a lord attired in the Hasty colours of white and purple. "Houses Buckler and Baratheon were not close in the past! My men will not ride behind a single Buckler man in the vanguard! I will march my men straight back home! I'll not have my men fight under the command of a Buckler!"

"Really?" Everyone – Shireen included – turned their heads to the doors. With a tiny sigh of relief, Shireen smiled as she saw her father slowly stride in, Devan and Ser Davos behind him. Men quickly moved aside for him. Father must still be in pain, but he did not show it. His expression was solemn as always, but he was pale – sickly pale. Father's jaw tightened as he walked closer to Shireen and Lord Errol. Is it because of the pain? Shireen wondered. Or is he angry that I summoned his lord bannermen without his knowledge?

"Lord B-Baratheon!" stammered Lord Errol. "You've r-recovered!"

Father nodded grimly. "Your maester is an efficient healer my lord." He looked around and Shireen noticed his dark blue eyes were fixed on Lord Hasty. "What's that you said about marching your men straight home, Lord Hasty?"

"Nothing my lord," mumbled Lord Hasty, cowering as Father loomed over him. "A little…little jape, that is all."

"You and your men will be in the vanguard," Father ordered. His eyes moved a little away from Lord Hasty and fixed on Lord Buckler. "Any news, my lord? I had heard from Lord Seaworth that the Dornish attack in King's Landing was naught more than a sacking in the name of an Essosi man claiming to be a Targaryen."

"Indeed my lord," confirmed Lord Buckler. "I also received word that the lords of the Narrow Sea have allied with the false dragon and most of the Crownlands have fallen to the false dragon. There's also rumours that the false dragon has um, the queen mother and the queen in his clutches as well as others of nobility."

Father nodded and promptly turned to a gawking Lord Errol. "Lord Errol, with your permission, I wish to call a council of war for all the lords of the Stormlands present in your solar in half an hour."

"Of course my lord," said Lord Errol immediately.

Father turned back to the field of lords and soldiers. "My lords, there will be a war council meeting in Lord Errol's solar in half an hour. That will be all now." As the Great Hall suddenly became full of noise as the men and lords slowly headed out, chattering to each other, glancing now and then at Shireen and Father. It was not long before the Great Hall was empty with the exception of Shireen, the two Errols, the Onion Knight, Devan and Father.

"I thank you my lord for your hospitality," Father said solemnly to Lord Errol, without any sign of hesitation. "You've done your duty to House Baratheon and it will not be forgotten." He nodded stiffly. He looked at Ser Stanwell. "You'd fought in Robert's war," he said, seemingly recognising him. "My late brother was quite impressed by your skills, from what I remember." He nodded again. "You consent to fight in the vanguard with me, Ser Stanwell?"

Ser Stanwell gave a short nod and grunted affirmation.

Shireen readied herself. Father will speak to me next, she thought with a drop of certainty. Will it be a reprimand? Better to be prepared for one. As she guessed, Father looked at her once he finished speaking to Ser Stanwell.

"Father," said Shireen quietly, not able to meet his eye. "I am glad you're much better. I'm pleased you recovered."

"You summoned my bannermen," Father said bluntly.

Shireen nodded. "I did, Father."

"You were not authorised to summon my bannermen as you aren't my heir – I suppose you know why?" Father did not wait for an answer. "Regardless, if you'd not summoned the lords, we would be spent the entire length of the war waiting for troops to appear." He grimaced – or was it the faintest of smiles? Shireen was never certain. "I'll send ravens to the lords again," he decided. "Some lords might have chosen to ignore your letters Shireen. They will not ignore mine." His scowl had darkened considerably.

"You are injured," Shireen blurted out.

Father frowned at her.

"There are still bandages around your arm," Shireen said, nodding at the fresh linen and bandages wrapped around his wounded arm. "You can't possibly think of marching into battle in that condition."

Father continued frowning at her. "I thank you for your…concerns," he said at last. "However, a wounded arm is naught compared to the damage the pretender will inflict on this land." He looked at Lord Errol. "My lord Errol, may I have a few minutes alone with my daughter?" It did not sound like a request.

Lord Errol and his uncle left the Great Hall without any protests.

"The Stormlands will be attacked soon," said Father promptly, before Shireen could speak. "This castle's too close to the sea and the Penrose lands. You will not be safe here. You will leave in an hour for Storm's End."

"Storm's End?" Shireen was shocked. "Surely-"

"The false dragon will attack Storm's End first?" Father interrupted. "Yes, Lord Seaworth told me his reasons for bring us here. He had fair reasons too. However, Storm's End had never been taken in a siege. It will probably be attacked if we do not retake King's Landing, but for now, it will be a secure place for you. Besides, I need capable people at Storm's End. Your brother Robert is too young to manage the affairs and Steffon and Cassana are safe in the Eyrie.

"You will leave for Storm's End with Devan and a retinue of a hundred soldiers. Ser Andrew Estermont should still be there. He will be in charge of defence and I trust him to be castellan."

"Wouldn't it be dangerous travelling there now?" said Shireen uncertainly.

"The main threat would be the Fells as they sided with the dragons in Robert's war, but as Lord Fell is here, the Fells are most likely loyal to our House this time." Father paused. "You will be safe."

"If you're a lady in my position, what would you've done?" Shireen asked on a sudden impulse. She regretted it at once. Her eyes darted to the Seaworths. Lord Davos looked uncomfortable.

Father grinded his teeth. "This is not the time for those thought of questions. It is a time of war, Shireen." His lips mechanically moved into a forced smile. "I ah, I wish you luck on your journey to Storm's End. Keep an eye on your brother when you are at Storm's End. I will ensure you're well-supplied with food in case there happens to be another year long siege at Storm's End."

Awkward silence descended in the Great Hall. The last time Storm's End faced a siege was when Father defended Storm's End during Uncle Robert's war.

"Milord," spoke Ser Davos tentatively. "Maybe I can escort the Lady Shireen to Storm's End? Perhaps Devan will follow you to battle. He is your squire."

Father shook his head. "Your truthful words and expertise in the sea are more of use to me than you escorting Shireen to Storm's End."

Sensing Father was done talking to her, Shireen said softly, "I'll go to my room and um…pack." There wasn't that much to pack. "I will be praying for you Father. I will pray for victory for you and your men." She dipped her head and started to walk away. As she reached out to open the door, she heard Father mutter, "There are no gods in this world."

Yes there is, Shireen thought obstinately, walking out of the Great Hall towards the corridor of guest chambers. All you have to do is believe in the gods. Since she was young, she had often found solace in praying. She had prayed for acceptance, and the Seven had granted that particular prayer. Even when Mother shouted at her and looked at her with disgust, she had held on to hope. It'd also helped with Devan keeping her company from time to time.

"My lady?"

Shireen looked up and saw a tall, muscular woman with long, shoulder-length brittle hair the colour of straw. She was wearing armour like a man.

"Yes?" said Shireen cautiously. "Do I know you?"

The tall woman shook her head. "We've never met before today my lady. I am Brienne, my father Lord Tarth's representative. I want to say…" She hesitated. "It is brave of you to summon us here. Not may women had summoned bannermen to a lord's castle before."

Shireen smiled. "Thank you Lady Brienne. Will you march with my father?"

"I'd hoped to," admitted Brienne Tarth. "However, I don't think Lord Stannis is the type of commander who will accept a woman in his army."

"He wouldn't," Shireen agreed. A thought struck her. "Can you instruct me in a few basic sword skills? For defence purposes?"

Lady Brienne frowned. "I…I don't think Lord Baratheon will approve."

"Oh." Shireen was disappointed, but what Lady Baratheon said carried a lot of sense. Father would not want her learning to fight – even for defence. "Good luck in battle," she said finally. "I hope we meet again, Lady Brienne."


Happy New Year! I hope you'll all have a great 2018! :)

Some parts are a little cliché, but I had to get the storm lords moving. I had a bit of trouble with this chapter (and the last). Hopefully the next few will improve.